فصل بیست و هشتم

TWENTY-EIGHT

Tuck seems smaller than I remember, with the three hundred from Corros as well as the Colonel’s own reinforcements clustering all over the island. He leads me past them all, setting a pace I must struggle to match. Many of the new soldiers are Lakelanders, smuggled from the far north like the guns and food streaming in from the docks, but there are a good number of Nortans as well. Farmers, servants, deserters, even some tattooed techies drill in the open space between barracks. Many have come over the last few months. They are the first of many outrunning the Measures, and more will certainly follow. I would smile at the thought, but smiling comes too hard these days. It hurts my scars and my head. Back on the runway, a familiar jet roars, and the Blackrun climbs into the sky. Headed for the Notch, I’ll bet, with Cal at the controls. All the better. I don’t need him skulking around, watching and judging my every move.

Barracks 1. Last time I entered in secret. Now I enter in broad daylight, with the Colonel at my side. We walk through the narrow passages of the underwater bunker, and his Lakelanders step aside to let me pass every juncture. I’m acutely aware of this place—once I was its prisoner—but I no longer fear anything down here. We follow the piping in the ceiling, toward the pulsing heart of the barracks and the entire island. The control room is small, but crowded, filled with screens, radio equipment, and maps on every flat surface. I expect to see Farley barking orders, but she’s nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a healthy mix of Lakelander blue and Guard red. Two men are different, wearing thick, faded green uniforms with black detailing. I have no idea what country or kingdom they stand for.

“Clear the room,” the Colonel murmurs. He has no reason to shout; they obey him quickly.

Except for the pair in green. I get the feeling they’ve been waiting for this. They move in strange unison, turning toward us in perfect sync. Both wear badges on their uniforms, a white circle with a dark green triangle inside. The same marks I saw on smuggled crates the last time I was here.

The men are twins, the unsettling kind. Identical, but somehow more than that. Both have curly black hair, tight like a cap, mud-colored eyes, brown skin, and immaculate beards. A scar is the only difference between them—one has a jagged line on the right cheek, the other the left. To distinguish them. With a cold shudder, I realize they even blink at the same time.

“Miss Barrow, a pleasure to meet you at last.” Right Scar extends his hand, but I’m loath to take it. He doesn’t seem to mind, and presses on. “My name is Rash, and my brother—” “Tahir, at your service,” the other cuts in. They bow their heads gracefully, again in startling unison. “We have traveled far to find you and yours. And waited—” “—for what feels like even longer,” Rash finishes for him. He eyes the Colonel, and I catch a flicker of distaste deep in his eyes. “We bring you a message, and an offer.” “From whom?” I feel breathless, almost dizzy. Surely these men are newbloods—their bond is not a natural one—and they are neither Nortan nor Lakelander. Traveled far, they said. From where?

They speak in melodic chorus. “The Free Republic of Montfort.”

Suddenly I wish Julian were at my side, to help me remember his lessons, and the maps he kept so close. Montfort, a mountain nation, so far away it could be the other side of the world. But Julian told me it was like Piedmont to the south, ruled by a collection of princes, all of them Silver. “I don’t understand.” “Neither did Colonel Farley—” says Tahir.

Rash cuts in. “—for the Republic is well guarded, hidden by mountains—”

“—snows—”

“—walls—”

“—and by design.”

This is very annoying.

“My apologies,” Rash adds, noting my discomfort. “Our mutation links our brains. It can be quite—” “Unsettling,” I finish for him, drawing a smile from them both. But the Colonel continues to scowl, his red eye gleaming. “So you’re newbloods too? Like me?” A double nod. “In Montfort, we are called the Ardents, but it differs from nation to nation. No one can agree on what to call the Red-and-Silver ones,” Tahir says. “There are many of us, all over this world. Some in the open, as in the Republic, or hidden, as it is in your country.” He turns his gaze on the Colonel, speaking with two meanings. “But our bonds run deeper than the borders of nations. We protect our own, for no one else will. Montfort has been hiding for twenty years, building our republic from the ashes of brutal oppression. I believe you understand that.” I do indeed. I don’t even care that I’m grinning, despite the pain it causes. “But we are not hiding now. We have an army and a fleet of our own, and they will not be idle any longer. Not while kingdoms like Norta, the Lakelands, and all the rest still stand. Not while Reds die, and Ardents face even worse fates.” Ah. So the Colonel accepts us not out of goodness or even necessity, but fear. Another player has joined the game, one he does not understand. They share an enemy at least, that much is clear. Silvers. People like Maven. We share an enemy too. But a chill goes through me, one I cannot ignore. Cal is Silver, Julian is Silver. What do they think of them? Like the Colonel, I must sit back and see what these people truly want.

“Premier Davidson, the leader of the Republic, sent us as ambassadors, to extend a hand of friendship to the Scarlet Guard,” Rash says, his own hand twitching on his thigh. “Colonel Farley willingly accepted this alliance two weeks ago, as have his superiors, the Red Generals of Command.” Command. Farley’s cryptic words seem so close now. She never explained what she meant, but now I begin to see a little more of the Guard. I have never heard of the Red Generals, but I keep my face still. They don’t know how much—or how little—I am told. Judging by the way the twins are talking, they think me a leader too, with control over the Scarlet Guard. I barely have control over myself.

“We’ve allied with similar groups and subsects in nations across the continent, forming a complex network like spokes of a wheel. The Republic is the hub.” Rash’s eyes bore into mine. “We offer safe passage, to any of the Ardents here, to a country that will not only protect you but offer you freedom. They need not fight; they need only live, and live free. That is our offer.” My heart beats wildly. You need only live. How many times have I wished for such a thing? Too many to count. Even back in the Stilts, when I thought I was painfully normal, when I was nothing. I only wanted to live. The Stilts taught me the value, and the rarity, of an ordinary life. But it also taught me something else, a more valuable lesson. Everything has its price.

“And what do you ask in return?” I murmur, not wanting to hear his answer.

Rash and Tahir exchange loaded glances, their eyes narrowing in silent communication. I don’t doubt the brothers can speak to each other without words, whispering like Elara once did. “Premier Davidson requests that you escort them,” they say together.

A “request.” There is no such thing.

“You are a firebrand in your own right, and will be of great help to the coming war.” They need not fight. I should’ve known that wouldn’t apply to me. “You will have your own unit, your own handpicked Ardents at your side—” A newblood king will sit the throne you built him.

Cameron said that to me a few days ago, when I forced her to join us. Now I know exactly how she felt, and how horribly true her words could be.

“But only Ardents?” I reply, moving steadily to my feet. “Only newbloods? Tell me, what is it truly like in your Republic? Have you simply traded Silver masters for new ones?” The brothers stay seated, watching me with keen eyes. “You misunderstand,” says Tahir. He taps the scar below his left eye. “We are like you, Mare Barrow. We have suffered for what we are, and simply wish for no one else to meet this fate. We offer sanctuary for our kind. You especially.” Liars, both of them. They offer nothing but another stage for me to stand on and perform.

“I’m fine where I am.” I look to the Colonel, focusing on his good eye. He’s not scowling anymore. “I won’t run away, not now. There are things that must be handled here. Red problems that you need not bother with. You may take any newblood who wants to go with you, but not me. And if you try to make me do anything against my will, I’ll fry you both. I don’t care what color your blood is or how free you claim to be. Tell your leader I can’t be bought with promises.” “And what of action?” Rash offers, raising one manicured eyebrow. “Would that sway you to the leader’s side?” I’ve walked this road before. I’ve had my fill of kings, no matter what they’re called. But spitting on the twins will get me nowhere, so I shrug instead. “Show me action and we’ll see.” Chuckling, I turn to go. “Bring me Maven Calore’s head and your leader can use me as a footstool.” Tahir’s response chills my blood. “You killed the she-wolf. It should be nothing at all to kill the pup.” I exit the control room at a brisk march.

“Strange, Miss Barrow.”

“What?” I growl, snarling to face the Colonel. He can’t even let me walk out of this barracks in peace. His open expression takes me aback, displaying something like understanding. He is the last person I expect to understand.

“You came here with so many more followers, but you lost the ones you left with.” He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the cold, damp wall of the passage. “The village boy, your prince, and my daughter all seem to be avoiding you. And of course, your brother—” One quick step forward stops him short, frightening him into silence. “My condolences,” he murmurs after a long moment. “It’s never easy to lose a family member.” I remember the photograph in his quarters. He had another daughter, and a wife, two people who aren’t here now. “We all need some time,” I tell him, hoping that’s enough.

“Don’t give them too much. It’s not good to let them dwell on your sins.”

I can’t find the heart to argue, because he’s right. I lashed out at the people closest to me, and showed them the monster beneath my skin.

“And what about this Red problem you mentioned?” he continues. “Anything I should know about?” Back on the jet, I told Cal I was going north. Half of me said it out of anger, to prove something to him. The other half said it because it is the right thing to do. Because I’ve ignored things for far too long.

“A few days ago we intercepted a march order. The first of the child legions is being sent to the Choke.” My breath hitches, remembering what Ada said. “They’re going to be massacred, ordered to march out past the trenches, right into the kill zone. Five thousand of them, slaughtered.” “Newbloods?” the Colonel prods.

I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”

He settles a hand on his pistol, draws up his spine, and spits at the floor. “Well, Command did order me to help you. I think it’s time we did something useful together.” The infirmary is quiet, a good place to wait. Sara was allowed to leave the barracks designated for Silver use, and she made quick work of anyone injured. Now the beds are empty but for one. I lie on my side, staring at the long window in front of me. The deceivingly blue sky has faded into steel gray. Another storm maybe, or perhaps my eyes have darkened. I simply cannot see any more sunlight today. The sheets are soft, worn by too many washings, and I fight the urge to pull them up and over my head. As if that could stop the memories from coming, each one breaking hard as an iron wave. Shade’s last moment, his eyes wide, one hand reaching for me, before the blood burst from his chest. He was coming back to save me, and it got him killed. I feel like I did so many months ago, when I hid in the woods, unable to face Gisa and her broken hand. Now I can’t stand the thought of returning to my family and seeing the hole Shade left behind. They are certainly wondering where I am, the girl who cost them a son. But it is not a Barrow that finds me here.

“Shall I come back later, or have you finished feeling sorry for yourself?”

I sit up sharply, only to see Julian standing at the foot of my bed. His color has returned, as have his missing teeth, courtesy of Sara. But for the mismatched clothes, leftovers from the Tuck stores, he looks like his old self again. I expect a smile, maybe even a thank-you, but not a scolding. Not from him.

“Can a girl get a moment’s peace around here?” I huff, falling back against the thin pillow.

“By my reckoning, you’ve been hiding for the better part of an hour. I think that’s more than a moment, Mare.” The old teacher is trying his best to be kind. It isn’t working.

“If you must know, I’m waiting on the Colonel. We have an operation to plan, and he’s rounding up volunteers as we speak.” So there. But Julian isn’t that easily deterred.

“And you decided taking a nap was a better use of your time than, say, addressing the other newbloods, maybe calming down a bunch of very jumpy Silvers, getting some medical attention, or even speaking with your own grieving family?” “I have not missed your lectures, Julian.”

“You lie well, Mare,” he says, smiling.

He closes the distance between us almost too quickly, coming to sit beside me. He smells clean, fresh from a shower. This close, I can see how thin he’s become, and the hollow emptiness of his eyes. Even Sara cannot heal minds. “And a lecture needs a listener. You are certainly not listening to me anymore.” He lowers his voice and tips my face, making me look at him. I’m tired enough to let him. “Or anyone, for that matter. Not even Cal.” “Are you going to yell at me too?”

He smiles sadly. “Have I ever?”

“No,” I whisper, wishing I didn’t have to. “No, you haven’t.”

“And I’m not about to start now. I have only come to tell you what you need to hear. I will not make you listen, I will not make you obey. I leave you the choice. As it should be.” “Okay.”

“I told you once that anyone can betray anyone. I know you remember.” Oh, do I remember. “And I say it again. Anyone, anything, can betray anyone. Even your own heart.” “Julian—”

“No one is born evil, just like no one is born alone. They become that way, through choice and circumstance. The latter you cannot control, but the former . . . Mare, I am very afraid for you. Things have been done to you, things no person should suffer. You’ve seen horrible things, done horrible things, and they will change you. I’m so afraid for what you could be, if given the wrong chance.” So am I.

I let my hand close around his. The connection is calming enough, but weak. Our bond is strained at best, and I don’t know how to fix it. “I will try, Julian,” I murmur. “I will try.” In the back of my mind, I wonder. Will Julian tell tales of me one day? When I have become something wretched, someone like Elara, with nothing and no one to love her? Will I simply be the girl who tried? No. I cannot think that way. I will not. I am Mare Barrow. I am strong enough. I’ve done things, terrible things, and I don’t deserve forgiveness for them. But I see it in Julian’s eyes all the same. And it fills me with such hope. I will not become a monster, no matter what I must do in the days ahead. I will not lose who I am, even if it kills me.

“Now, do you need me to walk you to your family’s bunk, or can you find the way?”

I can’t help but snort. “Do you even know the way?”

“It’s not polite to question your elders, lightning girl.”

“I had a teacher once who told me to question everything.”

His eyes twinkle and he puffs out his weak chest proudly. “Your teacher was a smart man.” I notice his eyes lingering, and the light in them goes out. He stares at my exposed collarbone, at the brand there. I debate covering it up, but decide not to move. I won’t hide the M burned into me, not from him.

“Sara can fix that,” he murmurs. “Shall I get her?”

On shaky legs, I stand. There are many scars I want her to heal, but not this one. “No.” Let it be a reminder to us all.

Arm in arm, we leave the empty infirmary. It echoes with our footsteps, a white room steadily fading to gray. Outside, a shade has been drawn across the world. Winter waits on our doorstep—it will knock soon. But I like the cold air. It wakes me up.

As we cross the central yard, heading for Barracks 3, I take note of the compound. A few familiar faces mix in with the various groups, some training, others transporting goods or simply milling around. I spot Ada sliding beneath a broken transport, an instruction manual in hand. Lory kneels next to her, sifting through a pile of tools. A few yards away, Darmian falls in with a troop of Guardsmen, joining them on a jog. They’re the only ones from the Notch I see, and it turns my stomach. Cameron, Nix, Nanny, Gareth, Ketha, where are they? I feel quite sick, but swallow the sensation. I only have the strength to mourn the person I know for sure is dead.

Julian is not permitted to enter Barracks 3. He informs me of this with a tight-lipped smile, his words dripping disdain. There’s no way to enforce the order, but he obeys it all the same. “I’m just trying to be a ‘good’ Silver,” he says dryly. “The Colonel’s already been kind enough to let us out of our barracks. I would hate to betray his trust.” “I’ll come find you after.” I squeeze his shoulder. “It must be getting pretty bad in there.” Julian only shrugs. “Sara is taking her time healing—we don’t want too many overpowered, underfed, and angry Silvers in an enclosed space. And they know what you did for them. They have no reason to make a fuss—yet.” Yet. A simple but effective warning. The Colonel doesn’t know how to handle so many Silver refugees, and will certainly misstep soon.

“I’ll do my best,” I sigh, and add quelling a possible riot to my growing to-do list. Don’t cry in front of Mom, apologize to Farley, figure out how to save five thousand children, nanny a bunch of Silvers, put my head through a wall. Seems doable.

The barracks is as I remember, full of labyrinthine twists and turns. I get lost once or twice, but finally I find the door with the purple scarf tied to the doorknob. It’s firmly shut, and I have to knock.

Bree opens the door. His face is red from crying, and that almost does me in right then and there. “Took you long enough,” he growls, stepping back so I can enter. I flinch at his harsh tone, but don’t retaliate. Instead, I put a hand on his arm. He cringes, but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. And then, louder, to the rest of the room, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Gisa and Tramy sit on mismatched chairs. Mom curls up on one of the beds, with Dad and his chair firmly planted next to her. While she turns away, hiding her face in a pillow, he looks straight at me.

“You had things to do,” Dad says. Gruff as always, but more insulting than he’s ever been. I deserve it. “We understand.” “I should’ve been here.” I move farther into the room. How can I feel lost in such a small space? “I brought his body back.” “We’ve seen it,” Bree snaps, taking a seat on the bunk opposite Mom. It sags under his enormous weight. “One little blast of a needle, and he’s gone.” “I remember,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

Gisa twitches in her chair, her thin legs drawn up beneath herself. She flexes her bad hand, distracting herself. “Do you know who killed him?” “Ptolemus Samos. A magnetron.” Back in the arena, Cal could’ve killed the wretched man. But he was merciful. And his mercy killed my brother.

“I know that name,” Tramy says, just to have something to fill the tense air. “He was one of your executioners. Couldn’t get you, but he got Shade.” It sounds like an accusation. I have to look down, examining my shoes instead of the hurt in his eyes.

“Did you get him back at least?” Bree gets to his feet again, unable to keep still. He towers over me, trying to look intimidating. He forgets that I’m not scared of brute force anymore. “Did you?” “I killed a lot of people.” My voice breaks, but I soldier on. “I don’t even know how many, I just know the queen was one of them.” On the bed, Mom pulls up, finally deciding to look at me. Her eyes swim with tears. “The queen?” she whispers, breathless.

“We have her body as well,” I say, almost too eager. Talking about her corpse is easier than grieving for my brother. So I tell them about the broadcast, what we hope to do.

The horrible thing should go out tonight, during the evening news bulletins. They’re mandatory now, an addition to the Measures, forcing every person in the kingdom to eat lies and propaganda with their dinner. A youthful, eager king, another victory in the trenches, and the like, but not tomorrow. Instead, Norta will see their dead queen. And the world will hear our call to arms. Bree paces, grinning madly at the thought of civil war, and Tramy follows, as he always does. They jabber between each other, already dreaming of marching into Archeon together, and planting our red flag on the ruins of Whitefire Palace. Gisa is less enthusiastic.

“I guess you won’t be here for long,” she says, forlorn. “They’ll need you back on the mainland, recruiting again.” “No, I won’t be recruiting, at least not for a while.”

I can’t stand the hope that sparks in them, especially Mom. I almost don’t tell them at all, but last time I left so suddenly. I won’t do that to them again. “I’m going to the Choke, and soon.” Dad roars so loudly I expect him to fall out of his wheelchair. “You will not! Not while I still draw breath!” He wheezes to emphasize his point. “No child of mine will ever return to that place. Ever. And don’t you dare tell me I can’t stop you, because believe me, I can and I will.” Once, the Choke took Dad’s leg and a lung. He gave so much to that place. And now, I guess he thinks he’s going to lose me to it too. “I’m sure you would, Dad.” I try to humor him. That usually works.

But this time he waves me off, wheeling up to me so fast his leg bumps my shin. He glares like a demon, one quivering finger pointed at my face. “Give me your word, Mare Barrow.” “You know I can’t do that.” And I tell him why. Five thousand children, five thousand sons and daughters. Cameron was right all along. The divisions of blood are still very real, and they can’t be tolerated any longer.

“Let someone else go,” he growls, trying his best not to fall apart. I never wished to see my father cry, and now I wish I could forget the sight. “The Colonel, that prince, someone else can do it.” He clutches my arm like a man at sea.

“Daniel.” Mom’s voice is soft, soothing, a single white cloud in an empty sky. “Let her go.” When I pry his hand from my wrist, I realize I’m crying too.

“We’ll go with her.”

Bree barely gets the words out before I can tell him no. Dad’s face purples, his sadness giving way to anger. “Do you want me to die of a heart attack?” he snarls, spinning to face my oldest brother.

“She’s never been to the Choke, she doesn’t know what it’s like up there,” Tramy pipes in. “We do. Spent almost a decade between us on the trench lines.” I shake my head, putting out a hand to stop him before Dad really does lose it. “The Colonel’s coming, he’s seen the Choke too, there’s no need—” “Maybe from the Lakelander side.” Bree’s already at his trunk, going through his things. Looking for what to bring. “But the Nortan trenches are a different design. He’ll be turned around in seconds.” It’s probably the smartest thing I’ve ever heard Bree say. He’s not known for his brain, but then again, he survived almost five years on the lines. That’s four years longer than most. It can’t be luck. I realize instead, this is bravery from both of them, more than I can possibly know. Once I thought about how much of my life my older brothers missed—but I’ve done the same. They are not as I remember. They are warriors as much as I am.

My silence is all they need to start packing. I wish I could tell them not to come. They would listen if I truly meant it. But I can’t. I need them, just like I needed Shade.

I only hope I won’t lead another brother into the grave.

After a long moment, I realize I’m shaking. So I climb into bed next to my mother, and I let her hold me for a long while. I do my best not to cry. My best is not enough.