“We have to go,” I say weakly. “Now. We have to go now.”
He must be hurting, but you couldn’t tell by the look on his face. It’s completely bland, untelling, but his eyes are dark, like a shadow passing over the sun. He unlatches a stall door and disappears within.
The clomping and nervous whinnies from the horses are like screams to my ears. My head jolts towards each noise and soon I’ve spun in a circle, overloaded by my senses.
From outside comes the patter of footsteps, and I duck down, bracing myself to fight once again. Kiran springs back to my side.
Daphne rounds the corner of the hallway into the barn. Her orange hair is a mess of dirt and grass, matted on one side with blood, and her chest is heaving. She’s been crying too; her pale face glimmers like the moon.
She looks from me to Kiran and back to me. Her arms cross over her waist. She’s holding the plastic bottle in one hand—my supplies. I snatch it from her, and it crinkles in my hard grip.
“You’re running?” she asks, like she’s confused. “With a Driver?”
“Get out of here,” I growl. I helped get her free, now she’s on her own. The farther away from me the better.
“If you leave, I’ll be blamed for what you … and that animal did.”
She’s talking about Brax, but she’s staring straight at Kiran as she says this. He glances my way. She’s obviously figured out there’s something different about him, but she doesn’t know the half of it.
“I don’t know why I helped you,” I mutter. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Kiran gives a little snort, which doesn’t help.
“A dead Watcher,” she says, almost to herself. “No one’s going to buy me now. They’ll think I did it, you understand? They’ll look for me. I won’t even be able to hide in the Black Lanes.”
Kiran points to a saddle blanket and I hand it to him.
“Take me with you,” Daphne says.
Now I’m the one who snorts.
“Please,” she says, stepping closer. When Kiran moves, she jerks to the side and breathes in sharply.
“Please,” she begs now. “I can’t stay here. I’ll be hanged.” She grabs my sleeve, but I shake her off. Big tears are rolling down her cheeks.
Kiran is throwing a saddle on the chestnut mare. This one isn’t shiny like the others; the leather is dull and well worn.
“You should have thought of that before you stuck your guard.” I want to throttle her. If she hadn’t started that fight, I never would have gone outside. I never would have stepped in. That Watcher would still be alive and I’d be free right now.
Maybe Daphne had it right letting Straw Hair go to fry like that. Right now I wish I’d just left my half friend to defend her own self.
I toss Kiran the plastic bottle to stuff in his saddle bag and when I turn back, Daphne’s practically crawling all over me.
“They would have marked me,” she whispers, clawing the front of my tattered dress. “I can’t be sold. I won’t pass.”
I shake her off.
“What are you talking about?”
Her hands pull down her face. “Last auction I was almost sold.” She closes her eyes tight. “Almost. He chose Iris instead. After we met.”
She doesn’t need to say anymore. She broke the purity rule. And judging by the tortured look on her face, it wasn’t by choice.
I push past her as Kiran leads the mare out of the stall, and she crumbles into the side of the barn. She’s bawling with full force now, holding her arms before her like a child begging to be picked up.
“Clover, you can’t leave me.”
“Go,” I tell her, one last time. I turn back to Kiran, who’s watching Daphne’s display with his brows knit together.
Then I look lower and see the dripping band of blood from the wire that was hooked around his left side. It looks like oil in the dim light. Thick black oil.
“Your side.” I rush to him, and he looks down, as though noticing it for the first time. When he lifts his arm, his face warps into a cringe. The shirt is stuck to his skin. He peels it away slowly. The wound is so deep I can feel it in my own side, as if I’m the one that’s been hit.
I skirt around him into the storeroom just past the stall. There are three saddle racks, one atop the other on the side wall; five or six large containers filled with grain and pellets of some kind; and a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit directly to my right. There I find bandages for the horses; I grab one and hurriedly unwind a long piece of four-inch-wide felt.
“I’ll bind you up for now, but it won’t hold for long.”
Kiran shrugs away from me as I make for his chest with the wrap. He’s grabbing a Driver jacket off the peg on the wall and preparing to pull it on over one arm.
“You’re going to bleed through,” I tell him.
Kiran slows and then, sighing painfully, lifts his arms so that I can wrap the bandage around his body. When we’re on the outside, I’ll make a poultice to pack the wound, though I know something as deep as this is better suited for city doctors and their stitching kits.
“You’re talking to the Driver,” Daphne says, as if I didn’t know. I ignore her.
“Ignore her,” I tell Kiran. “She’s not coming with us.”
“You haven’t been listening!” she cries. “They’re going to hold me responsible! I have to get out of the city!”
“She’s right.”
My fingers freeze. “Kiran,” I say between clenched teeth.
Daphne stumbles back so hard she hits the wall.
“He can speak!”
“What a surprise,” I say, trying not to pay attention to the fact that it took him weeks to talk to me, but only minutes to speak in front of Daphne. I finish bandaging him a little more tightly than I probably should, and bind it with the tie attached to the end.
Kiran shrugs painfully into his long, dusty coat and stuffs something from the pocket into my hands. When I look down, I see a wadded bunch of fabric. Something pale yellow and lacy.
I swear my whole body goes red.
“It’s a dress,” he says. “I’ve only got one.”
I take it and shake out the outfit. Even though I’m not yet in it, I can tell that it’s going to be snug.
“Did you get it in the Black Lanes?” I frown, thinking of the brothels we passed on the way to the auction stage and not sure I want to know how Kiran got this.
He nods.
“What am I supposed to wear?” Daphne asks.
Before Daphne can steal it from me, I strip off what’s left of the white Promised dress and shove the yellow one over my head. It’s dirty and wearing thin in places, and so short it barely covers my hips. Strips of lace cover my shoulders, which are otherwise bare. There’s no mistaking me for a Garden girl now; I look like one of Mercer’s girls who work in the Black Lanes. Kiran glances at me, then quickly looks down. His fingers fumble as he pulls a flat black square the size of his fist from the saddle bag.
“Costume makeup,” he says.
“Hurry,” I say, remembering the way the city folks dress up like Virulent on auction days.
Daphne’s still going on and on behind us.
“If you leave me, I’ll tell everyone what you did,” she says. “You ran away from the mayor, didn’t you? I’m sure they’ll be looking.”
I’ve had enough of Daphne’s sniveling and scheming. I lunge at her, ready to strike, but before I can bring my arm forward, something catches my hand.
“Easy,” says Kiran, releasing me when I turn to glower at him. “How are we going to get your friend through?”
“We’re not friends,” I tell him.
“We are too,” says Daphne quickly. “Clover, don’t lie.” She’s just saying it so I won’t leave her.
“I really am going to hang tonight,” Kiran mutters dryly. He pulls me close to his face. “Accept it. Plans have changed. Move on.”
I feel my fists bunch at my sides. He’s right. We have to ta
ke Daphne because if I believe nothing else she says, I know she’s truthful about turning us in. I need to keep a close eye on her wagging jaw. I look down at the ground to pull myself together, and groan when I see nearly to my navel through my four-star cleavage.
“Let me wear your dress,” Daphne tries.
“It won’t fit you,” I tell her. She’s bigger than me—taller, and curvier. As it is, I can barely twist without popping the seams.
With a short whine, she runs to the supply room, giving Kiran and the mare a lot of room as she passes. When she comes out, she’s got a horse blanket over her shoulders. I’m not sure what she plans on doing with that.
Kiran twists the makeup box, and it opens with a pop. He pulls a red marker the size of my pinky from it and gives it a squeeze. Thick ooze drips out to the ground. With one hand firmly on my chin, he begins to trace an X shape across my right cheek. The thick clumping of the makeup covers my skin. It’s meant to look like flesh. It certainly feels heavy enough.
I close my eyes and summon every amount of strength I have within me. It comes from the ground, right up through my feet, my legs, my body. I breathe deep and think of my ma. How strong she was to leave this city. How she went right through the gates, and the keepers let her go because she was marked. I was already in her belly then, so really, it’s my second time through.
Kiran finishes the X on my cheek and nods grimly.
“I guess that will have to do,” he says, and I wish for the first time that I had a mirror to see how I look. I hope the gatekeeper doesn’t examine me too closely.
“Me next?” Daphne asks, dropping the blanket.
There’s no way around it, she’s coming with us.
“If they ask, we’ll tell them you’re plagued,” I say. I nod to Kiran. “Quick. Mark her. Just like you did me.”
He moves towards her, but she shies away.
“Clover, you do it,” she whispers.
“Shh,” he hushes gently. As though she’s a spooked horse and not a leech. Slowly, he moves towards her, hands raised. When he’s close enough, he reaches to hold her chin in his hand, and my blood turns fire hot.
“I can do it,” I tell him, reaching for the marker.
He doesn’t give it to me. Daphne’s fallen under a spell—she’s perfectly still. Not even her tears fall. But she doesn’t look at him. She stares at me until he’s finished the job and backed away. Then her hand rises to feel her cheek, just below the makeup, where Kiran touched. She’s probably trying to see if his skin burned her or something.
“All done.” Kiran adjusts the bandage around his waist; the blood has already begun to soak through. I gently press my fingers into the wet fabric and smear a little red below Daphne’s eyes.
“Disgusting,” she whispers.
“Because it’s blood or because it’s mine?” Kiran asks without looking up. I feel myself smirk. Daphne’s cheeks blossom pink.
“Let’s go.” No one has followed yet. No more Watchers. No Pips either. Through the nearest stall I can make out the Watcher, still lying motionless, halfway in the stream, and a shudder rakes through me.
Kiran glances down the breezeway, chewing the corner of his lower lip.
“What is it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Aran will come tomorrow morning to get his horses for the village. He’ll see I’m gone then and tend to the others.” I get the distinct impression from the guilt in his voice that he’s reassuring himself, not me.
“Will you be in much trouble?” I whisper, picturing Ferret Face with his greasy hair.
Kiran places the silver bit of a dark-leather bridle into the mare’s chomping mouth and clicks softly to urge her forward. She begins sniffing my hands and my hair, shoving her giant nose into my chest, and I coo despite myself.
“Yes,” says Kiran.
“We could go for it on our own,” I offer.
“You can’t ride,” he says. “You’ll fall off.”
I remember the story I told him about trying to ride Silent Lorcan’s horse while he was out with my ma. I ended up on my back with a broken arm. It’s strange hearing him mention it as though we hadn’t been having a one-sided conversation at the time.
“I can ride,” says Daphne. “My father rented horses sometimes.”
“That’s all nice,” says Kiran. “But Dell’s my girl, and she’s not going anywhere without me.” He places a flat hand beneath the mare’s forelock, and she dips her large head and nibbles on his shirt.
“Up you two go.” Kiran backs to the side of the horse.
Daphne pushes herself in front of me. She grabs the saddle horn in one hand and bends her knee. Kiran pauses, then with a small snort bends, and lifts her up over the mare’s back with a wince.
“I’m not that heavy,” she says, injured. “My body scores always come in above an eight on Auction Day.”
“He’s hurt, you idiot,” I snap.
I grab the back of the saddle and try to hike my foot high enough to reach into the stirrup, but the dress starts to rip at the seams, and I fall backwards into Kiran. He catches me with another grunt, and I feel a pang of regret for having accidently elbowed him right in the ribs.
I’m just about to reach for a bucket when he grabs me around the waist and hikes me up onto the back of the animal. If it weren’t for the sharp twinge in his eye, I would never know he’s in pain. He’s used to keeping his lips sealed.
The dress slides up my thighs, stretching across my skin. I tug the lace down as far as it will go, which isn’t far.
I hold onto the back of the saddle, remembering how much more secure I felt with my arms wrapped around Kiran’s waist.
He pulls the side rein and leads us out of the barn.
* * *
THE NIGHT IS THICK with smog and cold enough that the breath clouds in front of my face and my bare legs and arms get bumpy. I wish I had a coat or, even better, pants to cover my skin. I hate being so exposed, especially now, when I already feel like everyone’s eyes are on me.
I’m sitting behind the saddle, directly on a thick wool pad separating me from the horse’s rump. I grasp the back lip of the leather until my fingers hurt, but I’m so unaccustomed to the strange cadence of Dell’s gait that I nearly slide off at every step. I make a conscious effort not to squeeze my legs too tightly; Kiran says that can make her go faster, and if we get away from him, it’s just me and Daphne.
I’ve never seen the front of the barn before; it’s out of view from the solitary yard. The face is made of plain, weather-stained white boards, and it has two triangular rooftops. There’s a swinging sign outside, held onto its outstretched arm by rusty chains. It shows a picture of a horse. Nothing showy. No words.
The stone path is narrow enough for only one car or carriage and reaches out into the main bricked street, where an alley cutting between two business offices connects us to the city gates. We’re not far from the high stone wall surrounding the capitol. I can see it looming in the foreground, gray and ominous. The last barrier to my freedom.
“The wall was meant to exile women from Glasscaster,” says Daphne quietly. “Now it separates the men from the beasts.”
“One of those beasts is going to be you, you know,” I say.
She fidgets, her posture perfect. “They built it during the Red Years. After they rounded up all the women and sent them away. They fought back, did you know that? That’s when the Magistrate started making Watchers. No one could stand against the Watchers.”
I didn’t know that. “You sure got a lot to say.”
“I’m nervous,” she says.
“Well keep it down.”
She leans back. “How come that Driver can talk?”
I look down at Kiran. He’s walking stiffly, leading Dell as if she’s always so calm and trusting, not wild like he made her act behind the auction block.
“He’s a man, Daphne. That’s how come.”
“How do you know you can trust him?”
“Be
cause I know.”
Something rustles behind us. The sound sticks out from the thump of the Black Lanes in the distance, Dell’s shod feet on the bricks, and Daphne’s chatter.
Kiran’s heard it too, and he slips his hand into his Driver coat around his back. I catch the glimpse of something metallic. Something he’s added since we left the Garden.
His eyes meet mine for a moment, then he glances over to the saddle.
“What’s wrong?” says Daphne, her voice hitching.
I hush her and slide my hand beneath the back lip of the saddle, where Kiran directed me. It’s a tight press, but there, right between the wool blanket and the leather seat, is a firm, narrow strip of rawhide. I pry it loose, careful not to throw my weight too much and slide to the ground.
My hand emerges with a narrow sheath, and within it, a thin, iron dagger, no longer than my hand. I hide it beneath the bunching yellow lace around my waist.
The noise continues. Rustle, then pause. Rustle, pause.
Acting like I’m straightening my skirt, I glance back, and sure enough there’s something lurking in the shadows—crouched low, following us. My pulse races, and I strain my eyes. The figure steps into the light. And he doesn’t stand, because he can’t.
“Brax!” I cry, louder than I mean to. I push off the back of Dell, and hear another seam pop in the side of my dress.
Brax races towards me, whining high like I’ve never heard him do before. He must know I’m leaving for good this time.
I bury my face in his soft neck, and he paws closer into me, punishing me for leaving, begging me not to go.
“Thank you,” I tell him, an ache in my chest. “I won’t ever forget what you did.”
“Kill it!” I hear Daphne order Kiran. “It’s biting her!”
I stand up sharply. “Shut up!”
Kiran motions me towards the wall, but there’s pity in his eyes. We have to go.
I give my friend one more hug. One last hug.
“Brax, you have to go home,” I say.