“We were a munitions camp.”
My eyes strayed to the dark-haired girl with the bird perched on her shoulder, and I felt sick that children like her, and like the others from the bunkhouse last night, had been exploited so freely under Sabara’s reign. It was hard to imagine children making weapons.
I had never considered where Ludania’s weapons had come from, or where they were coming from now.
You did this, I accused Sabara. They’re only children, and you turned them into slaves.
They were nothing, she hissed back. They had no homes, and I housed them. No food, and I fed them. I gave them a purpose.
She ignored the part where they’d been overworked and tortured and experimented on, but there was no way she hadn’t known. She just didn’t care.
You cannot maintain an empire without an army, and that army must be invincible, Sabara justified, as if there were any excuse for her actions.
I shook my head, trying to purge Sabara from my mind. Not wanting her corrupt logic to poison me.
Casting me a curious grin, Caspar continued, unlocking the massive warehouse door. “But this . . .” He tugged the handle, and the door started to open. “This is what we’re most proud of,” he announced smugly.
“This? This what?” Brooklynn asked, sounding skeptical. I felt my thoughts clearing. What could a bunch of kids possibly have inside that warehouse that could be useful to us right now?
Slivers of sunlight streamed into the dark interior from windows high above, shining at odd angles and casting squares on the concrete floor like checkerboards. Above us we heard the frantic beating of wings as a flock of birds from within the building took flight into the rafters. The girl’s bird, however, remained as still as ever.
But all that faded into the background the moment we spotted the machinery taking up the center of the floor. I wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but it was most definitely a vehicle. Some sort of massive, strangely shaped, motorized vehicle.
“What the . . .” Brook’s question trailed off as she approached the beast of a machine, her fingers outstretched toward it. “Can I?” She turned her wide brown eyes on Caspar, beseeching him to say yes.
He was powerless against her, and he nodded mutely.
When her hands fell against the steel, Brooklynn let out a sigh. A sound that was equal parts ecstasy and relief. “What is it?”
“We call it a Vehicular Assault Navigator. Or VAN,” Caspar said with a chuckle. “It’s like a portable armory. We got it outfitted for travel too, though. You can hole up in there for weeks on end. Trust me, we know. We had to do it more than once when we been out hunting.”
I hadn’t thought about how they’d gathered food, but it made sense that they’d have to hunt, I supposed. I had to admit they were a resourceful lot, and I respected Caspar for taking care of his charges without help.
I hated that I’d have to turn him in once we returned home, but I couldn’t just leave them out here to fend for themselves.
“So, what? You’re just letting us take it?”
“Yes,” Eden told Brook. “It’ll make it easier to travel at night. Safer to keep . . . her . . .” She looked at me and frowned, as if she hadn’t considered what she was supposed to call me in front of anyone else.
“Layla,” Brook offered, with a roll of her eyes as she glanced meaningfully at Eden, waiting for her to continue with her explanation.
Eden frowned at me. “To keep Layla here hidden.”
I ignored the looks they exchanged and hoped Caspar hadn’t noticed, as I turned my attention back to the VAN.
The vehicle was long—as long as three of any other vehicle I’d ever been in before, and it was painted no singular color but rather a mishmash of blues and reds and greens and browns, all smattered together like a slapdash collage. The tires were enormous as well, almost as tall as I was, and they seemed almost too large for the VAN itself.
It was hideous, but magnificent all the same.
As I rounded the VAN, I noted there were windows that ran all along both sides. Most of them still had glass, although some had been painted over and some were crusted with age-old dirt and grime. But there were other openings in the sides as well, small rectangles below the windows that had been cut all the way through the metal and were soldered around the edges.
I ran my finger around one of the welded gaps.
“For weapons. So you can fire without opening a window,” Caspar explained from behind me.
I nodded. “Can we go inside?” I didn’t even have to ask the question. Caspar was already opening the door to lead us in.
I wasn’t sure what my trepidation was all about. I wasn’t afraid, but I was most definitely awed. It was very much the way I’d felt when I’d first held Zafir’s sword in my hand, like it was too powerful for me. Too much to handle.
The interior of the VAN was dark, and the oily scent of petroleum mixed with the smells of mold and stale dirt. Even without much light I could make out five rows of bench seats, paired two by two across a short aisle from each other. Each seat could hold two people—and perhaps three, if they squeezed together. After those five rows, there were metal shelves that were battened down to the floors and walls with large metal rivets. They were likely sturdier than they appeared. Beyond those there were three large steel barrels and some floor mats and blankets.
The inside was as colorful, and as daunting, as the outside.
Brook sat in a bucketlike chair at the very front of the VAN and ran her hand around the steering wheel. “Who’ll drive it?”
Caspar clapped Eden on the shoulder. “Eden here can drive just about anything. She can fix about anything too.” His chest puffed up with obvious pride. “Taught me everything she knows. Isn’t that right, Sis?”
Eden glared at her little brother but didn’t argue.
Brook eyed the control panel, all of the gauges and dials, her fingers hovering just above—but not touching—them. “Do you think I could learn to drive too?” she asked, sounding far more hopeful and childlike than she’d probably meant to.
I thought Eden would bark at her, tell her not to mess with anything and ridicule her for thinking she’d ever allow an amateur like Brook behind the wheel of such a formidable vehicle. Her mood was definitely impatient.
But something stopped her, and her answer wasn’t at all what I’d anticipated. “We’ll see,” she answered instead, surprising both me and—from the way Brook’s eyes widened eagerly—Brooklynn, too. “Not sure I want to risk my life. Let’s just see how things work out.”
Brooklynn practically squealed, a giddy sound that made me grin, and if it had been anyone but Eden—and if I hadn’t been afraid she might push me or punch me or abandon me altogether—I might’ve hugged Eden for giving Brook that moment of glee.
Instead I turned to Caspar; I had more pressing matters on my mind. “How will we fuel it?”
Caspar marched to the rear of the transport and knocked on one of the disfigured steel drums. “There’s enough fuel in here to get you across the country and back. Twice.”
“Where’d you get it all?” I asked, impressed and a little uneasy that anyone had provisions like this. I wondered if my own army had this much fuel at its disposal.
“That was one of the perks of being a munitions camp. We were never short of fuel around here,” he replied, winking at me.
He turned back to the drums again and pounded on the third one—one that looked identical to the other two. “This one’s water. You’d be smart not to mix ’em up,” he told us, then winked at me again.
The idea of drinking anything that came from one of those barrels made my stomach turn.
“We better get moving,” Eden interrupted. “We have a lot to do before we go.”
niko
“That bitch,” Elena cursed, pacing once more to stand in front of the mantel. She stared into the empty fireplace, a space she’d been contemplating for the past hour, ever since hearing news of her si
ster’s betrayal. “What could she hope to gain by freeing Xander? What good could she possibly expect to come from this . . . this escapade of hers?” Her fists clenched at her sides and she threw back her head, writhing as she struggled to maintain her composure, her fury getting the best of her. “I needed him. I needed him!” Her shrieks echoed into the yawning black space of the hearth.
Recoiling from her words, Niko tried to ignore the way they knotted around his gut. She was right, of course. Sage had derailed his plans by stealing away with Xander, and now they’d lost some of their leverage. Even if Charlaina came now, they might not be able to coerce her into making the transfer. They’d planned to use Xander as a bargaining chip if she balked.
And after all the time he’d spent convincing Elena how simple it was, that all she had to do was say the words, and she could take Sabara—Layla—from Charlie.
But Charlie had to be willing to release the Essence, and there was no guarantee she would be.
There were still so many things that none of them knew about this process, since no girl had ever survived alongside Layla before. And now Layla and Charlie were so intertwined, so enmeshed in each other’s psyches, he wondered if they even knew where one of them ended and the other began. Niko wasn’t convinced Charlie would live when Layla was removed from her. Surely Charlie had considered this as well.
Not that it mattered, really. He had no intention of letting Charlie escape Astonia alive.
If only Charlie hadn’t been so difficult, so headstrong. If only she’d been more willing to share that part of her that was still Layla with him, then he wouldn’t have been here now. Plotting her demise.
“It’ll be okay,” Niko promised, joining Elena, running his hands over the cool skin of her arms in an effort to soothe her. He needed her cooperation. Losing her now would put an end to all of his carefully laid plans. He could feel her quiver beneath his fingertips, and he hoped that meant he hadn’t lost her support. “Xander wasn’t our only option. You know that as well as I. There are other ways to take down a queen. Ways that can be even more beneficial to your people. The peaceful way is less messy, but brute force can be more . . . persuasive. And just imagine it, my love; you’ll be more powerful with two countries under your rule than one. You’ll have more land, more resources. And when at last we capture Charlaina, you’ll be immortal, too.” He pulled her around so they stood face-to-face, and he cupped her chin in his palm. He knew the effect his golden eyes had on her, the same effect they had on most women, and he watched as she succumbed to his molten stare. He settled his mouth over hers, claiming her in no uncertain terms. This body would be Layla’s next host, he told himself, allowing himself to get lost in the taste of Elena.
And when he was sure he’d convinced her, both with his words and with his kisses, he pulled back.
She shuddered, collapsing forward against his chest, and he smiled, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted her. “So, it’s time then,” she affirmed—not a question, just a declaration of fact.
Niko nodded, and expertly untangled her fingers from his—like a master puppeteer. He raised them to his lips in a calculated kiss, reassuring her she was doing the right thing. “What choice do we have? It’s time to stop playing around. Sometimes war is the only answer.”
viii
Even with all of us working together on separate tasks, Eden was right, it took us the rest of the day to get the bus prepared for our departure.
Eden stayed with Caspar and a group of kids he called “the mechanics” to work on getting the vehicle “shipshape,” whatever that meant. There were a few minor repairs and one major one—something he called a transmission—that would require several parts to be salvaged from other vehicles they had lying around. Eden assured me it was a simple task, and that she’d have it completed by day’s end.
Brook and I had been split up to gather food, much of which still had to be scavenged, or caught and prepared. Brook had gone to collect canned goods and to inventory supplies, while I’d asked to be assigned to a hunting party.
At first I’d thought the idea of hunting sounded like another new challenge—like fighting or riding. But I quickly learned that the animals we were up against, forest creatures that were agile and adept in their own environments, were evasive, and trying to capture them was like trying to capture smoke with your bare fingers.
It was an exhaustive game, and one I soon realized I failed at miserably.
The others, however—children much younger and smaller than me—seemed to understand things that I didn’t, and watching them was as fascinating as watching an intricate dance with complicated steps I had yet to master. It was as if they’d been born with spears in their hands.
One of the girls who called herself Havana warned me to remain silent by pressing a dirt-caked finger to her mouth. She left me then, in the branches of one of the ancient trees that we’d climbed, as she whooped and hollered, creating a ruckus of her own. She threw herself downward, crashing loudly through the leaves and whipping them into a frenzy.
In the process she sent a family of ground rats scurrying across the forest floor and then set after them on bare feet that seemed to skim across the top of the ground without actually touching it.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen such grace as she captured one after another, first with a snare she’d pulled from her ropelike belt, then another with a hand-carved spear, and yet another with a knife she chucked from at least twenty paces away.
She felled each one with the precision of a seasoned soldier.
I’d never realized hunting could be so exhilarating.
That is, until she signaled me to come down from my perch in the tree and taught me how to kill and skin the tiny beasts. That was when my breakfast of soft cheese and crusty bread started to come back up.
It wasn’t the blood. Somehow she knew how to minimize the bloodshed. It was the smell as she peeled the pelt away from the stringy layers of muscle and fatty tissue beneath. I had to cover my mouth and nose to keep from retching.
I caught her giggling in my direction more than once. It was humiliating but enlightening. And at least I now knew how to hunt and kill, even if I might never be capable of putting that particular skill into practice.
By the time we’d had a chance to bundle our catch and clean up, Brook was just loading the last of the supplies onto the VAN.
Eden gave her brother one last reproachful glare. “You can still change your mind,” she told him in what I could only assume was her idea of an invitation to join us.
Caspar didn’t answer her. Instead he wiped the grease from his hands on the front of his pants and then threw his arms around his older sister. “Take care,” he said in a voice that sounded like it might crack at any second. “And just so you know, I fully expect you to bring that beast back here in one piece.”
Eden hugged him back, and grinned when she responded, “I assume you mean the VAN and not Brooklynn.” And then she used the back of his shirt to wipe her own hands.
“Aw,” he complained, shoving Eden—and her greasy hands—away from him. Then he considered her words and winked in Brook’s direction. “Now that you mention it, I’ll take either.”
With that, we climbed inside and started the engine, filling the entire building with fat clouds of black smoke.
aron
Aron threw the last of his belongings into his satchel and zipped it shut. He’d be glad to leave this place. Not that it didn’t have its charms, what with its lack of running hot water and the shortage of privacy and all. But despite the lack of creature comforts, he’d been prepared to do his job and stay for the duration of the install, until the last of the communication equipment was up and running.
As it was, he’d be leaving with the job incomplete. All because of the message he’d received from Max.
Brook, Charlie, and Eden were missing.
No, not missing. They’d taken it upon themselves to go to Astonia to try to stop the war.
<
br /> Brooklynn. How many nights had Aron lain awake thinking about her? How many times had he imagined going home to her?
Sure, she was rude and unpredictable, but damn the girl could kiss. And he’d never known anyone nearly as passionate. She loved and hated with equal intensity.
He just hoped he fell on the right side of that line.
The last thing he’d ever expected was that he’d have to abandon his duties to go in search of her. Not Brook. She was too tough and independent to need his help. Yet here he was, packing his bags and preparing to run after her.
The message that had come in over the communication device had been specific. He was to meet Max just outside the Left Harbor no later than nightfall tomorrow.
That didn’t give him much time, especially in light of the fact that there were no trains running along the coast, and that he’d be traveling alone—another explicit message from Max. He was to tell no one of their plans, or what Charlie and the others had done.
They couldn’t risk letting anyone know that the queen of Ludania had gone AWOL.
“Aron.” He spun around to see one of the communication engineers he’d been assigned to share quarters with. His roommate wasn’t much older than he was but had attended university with the other former counsel kids, and he had a way of making Aron feel inadequate because of his education and his upbringing. No one ever said so out loud, but Aron got the feeling they considered him the queen’s lapdog.
“Yeah,” Aron answered absently, tugging his satchel up and adjusting the straps.
“We got another message. Just a few moments ago.”
Aron stopped what he was doing and raised his head. His roommate was watching him, and the graveness of his expression made Aron set his bag back down on his bed. “For me?”
“For everyone.” That somberness permeated his voice. “It’s bad. You should come to the communication depot.”
Aron shook his head, his stomach plummeting. “Just tell me.”
The Offering Page 10
