The boy was a fool. He would rather die than confess the names of his friends? He would sacrifice himself to protect those who stood against his queen? A fool and a collaborator.
At last, when she was sure he’d learned his lesson, she closed her eyes and dropped her hand, releasing him. She settled back against her throne as she struggled to hide her exhaustion.
The boy’s loud gasp filled the room, followed by a second and a third. Fresh blood seeped from the nail marks he’d left along the length of his own throat when he’d fought to break free from her invisible grip.
“Take him away,” she finally commanded, turning her head as if unable to look upon him any longer. “Tell them to get the information I require. At any cost.”
MAX
Max didn’t blink, but it took every ounce of resolve to remain still as he watched. He understood the need to maintain order, but he could never approve of the way in which his grandmother—his queen—went about her business. How could she justify this kind of torture?
Beside him, Claude and Zafir stood just as motionless. It would do none of them any good to interfere.
However, it wasn’t the boy who held Max’s attention as the queen took her throne once more, releasing the boy from her spell. It was she who he studied from beneath his lowered gaze.
She was still powerful; she’d just proven that, still as potent as ever. But a display like that used up valuable energy, and observing her, Max wasn’t sure it was energy she had to spare.
She was far too old for such shows of strength. Even if no one else noticed, he could see that she was fading right before their eyes.
Guards lifted the boy from his place on the ground, a man taking position on either side of him, and Max inwardly cringed as he caught the barest glimpse of the boy’s ravaged face. Not for the first time in his life, he w
as grateful that he’d been born a male and that the duties of ruling Ludania would never fall on his shoulders.
As he was being dragged away, the boy raised his head, only slightly, but it was enough. He saw Max. And Max recognized him almost immediately, making his pulse hammer in warning. He knew how badly this could end.
If only they’d been alone, Max would have cautioned the boy, would have warned him to remain quiet, to keep his words to himself.
But they weren’t.
And the queen—along with everyone else in the room—heard the boy’s accusations as he realized where he’d seen Max before.
“Where’s Charlie?!” Aron screamed as he struggled against his guards, straining to break J th a frll as#8212 free from his captors, never even realizing that he’d just given the queen what she wanted: a name. “Is she here, you son of a bitch? What have you done with Charlie?”
XIII
“You can’t win,” I explained, even though I had no idea if what I spoke was the truth. But it made sense; he was talking about defeating an army.
“We can, and we will,” Xander insisted, his metallic eyes flashing. “Sabara has spent too much of her energy fighting us in inconsequential conflicts; she never even realized we were enlisting help from outside the borders. Now it’s too late. There are many queens who’d like to see Sabara’s rule end. We’re strong, Charlie, much stronger than she knows.”
I still didn’t understand, there was so much to process, and my mind was elsewhere, consumed by worries and fears. “How could you harm your own people? How could you attack the city like that?”
Xander’s face crumpled, and I felt his guard slip. I had no idea why he was so quick to reveal his secrets to me. “We were as careful as we could be, but violence can’t always be avoided. The places we bombed, the buildings we set on fire, were strategic for the most part. They were military installations and checkpoints. We stayed as far as we could from the shelters and didn’t start striking the neighborhoods until well after the sirens should have cleared everyone out.”
“And if they didn’t? If there were still people in their homes?” I tried not to imagine my parents as I asked the questions.
His finger absently drifted over his whiskered cheek, following the pale line of his scar. “I hope that there weren’t.” It wasn’t an adequate answer, and we both knew it.
“I need to go back. I need to make sure that my family is safe. And my friend . . . I couldn’t find her at the park. . . .” I had no idea if Brooklynn had made it to a shelter, and my skin crawled with regret.
Xander didn’t respond in the way I’d expected. His defenses went back up, his guarded expression slipped back into place. “Are you talking about Brooklynn?” he asked, stealing my breath and making it hard for me to swallow.
He knew her name.
I nodded, blinking once, twice, and then again. I remembered meeting Xander, that night in the club. He’d known my name then; I shouldn’t be surprised that he knew Brook’s as well.
Xander lifted his hand, gesturing to Eden, who stood just outside the circle of our voices, watching us with her polished black eyes. I never actually saw her move, but I was certain she had somehow given a signal of her own.
From out of the shadows, a group of Xander’s soldiers marched toward us in unison, dressed in mismatched uniforms and carrying unpolished weapons. They were the antimilitary, but clearly just as formidable. They approached in measured steps, giving their disorganized-looking group a sense of order.
Then one girl stepped to the front of the militia, leading the way, a combat rifle slung over her shoulder.
It was Brooklynn.
I knocked my chair over in my rush to reach her. I gripped her shoulders, momentarily forgetting to be alarmed by her sudden appearance as I pulled her against me, whispering against her dirt-smudged cheek. “You’re okay. Thank heaven, you’re okay.”
But somehow, she felt different in my arms, like a different Brook from the one I’d known all my life. She certainly looked different.
She pulled away, and I surveyed her face. It was harder than I remembered it, tougher. Stronger.
“I was never in danger, Charlie.” Even her voice sounded unusual to my ears. That was something I knew I hadn’t imagined.
I wasn’t sure how to respond; my head ached and my heart squeezed. So much had changed in just one short day.
Xander came to stand beside me, and that was when I saw it, a flicker of the old Brooklynn—my familiar friend—behind the cool exterior she now wore. Her eyes seemed to brim with adoration as she glanced at him.
“Send your team to the surface,” Xander told Brooklynn. His voice was no-nonsense, a leader giving a command. “Tell them to check on Charlie’s parents, and to let them know that Charlie and Angelina are safe, that they’re under our protection now.” He squeezed my shoulder. His hand was strong, his words comforting. But like that, with that single gesture, the light faded from Brook’s gaze.
Xander. Brooklynn had a thing for Xander.
THE QUEEN
Queen Sabara waited until the room had been cleared, until it was just she and Max and his two guards, before she spoke again. It gave her the time she needed to compose herself.
But her voice, when it found its way to her lips, was like unyielding steel. “Who is she, Maxmillian? Who is the girl that vendor boy spoke of?”
Her grandson stepped forward, his expression earnest. But his voice rang false, giving her pause. “She’s no one, just a girl I met in one of the clubs.” His loyalty was now in question.
She studied him, holding his gaze and clutching her armrests until her knuckles ached. She would need to choose her questions carefully. “Which club? Perhaps it was the one in which the resistance was last headquartered? Was it that club?”
His eyebrow lifted, likely unintentionally, and she had her answer even before his measured words hit the air. “I don’t recall exactly. It’s possible that was the club.”
“And the girl, was she keeping company with anyone you recognized? Members of the resistance, perhaps?”
He bent at the waist, droppin
g into a gentlemanly bow, and she knew immediately that this was not a gesture of respect—it was meant to hide the deceit on his face. “No, Your Majesty, she was not.”
One of the guards cleared his throat, and the queen’s brows snapped together. She lifted her chin, forcing her words to resonate. “I remind you all that committing perjury to your queen is punishable by Jm" qit. @eful death. If you’ve anything to add, now is the time to do so.”
The only answer she received was that of Baxter’s untimely entrance into the throne room, interrupting her warning. She locked gazes with her grandson, a boy she’d scarcely noticed before this moment, a boy whom she now suspected of withholding information, pertinent or not. Subversion could come in many forms.
“I caution you, Maxmillian, should this girl turn out to be a member of the resistance, I shall not hesitate to send you to the gallows right alongside her.” The blood left her lips as she pressed them tightly together. She meant what she said.
“Of course.” His response was so casual, his voice no more serious than if they’d been discussing a feast spread before them, or a painting, or the weather . . . anything other than the threat of his execution. He bowed again bef
ore exiting the room.
Only when he and his guards were gone did Sabara lean back in her throne, feeling suddenly breathless, her skin prickling with cold sweat. It took several moments before she acknowledged her adviser.
“I don’t care what it takes, Baxter, I want you to find this Charlie before sunup. If she has information about the resistance, I insist on knowing what it is.”
Baxter straightened, clearing his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll send some men out to retrieve her immediately. If she knows anything, we’ll find out.”
The queen glared, unable to purge the image of her grandson’s insolence from her mind. She shook her head and skewered Baxter with a fierce glare, glad to see someone squirm in fear. “No! Bring her to me. If she knows anything, I mean to discover it myself.” Then her lips parted in a cruel smirk. “Besides, I find myself curious about the girl my grandson is willing to risk his life to protect.”
MAX
Max strode into his chambers and waited to hear the sound of the door closing behind him. Even without looking back, he knew he wasn’t alone.
“You would damn us all for a girl?” It was Claude who made the accusation.
Max kept his back to his guards, not caring that they were angry with him. He didn’t have time to concern himself over their feelings. He’d always been loyal to his country and his crown, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Charlie . . .
. . . and what his grandmother—his queen—would do should she find her first.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he answered flatly. And then, because he knew he wasn’t being fair, he turned on his heel, his eyes narrowing. “Besides, when did you become such a child? You were never in any danger. I didn’t lie. I don’t know where she is.”
“But you know as well as I do that she’s acquainted with Xander; we all saw them together at the club. And
whether she’s a part of the resistance or not, keeping company with their leader is dangerous business. The queen would want to know as much.”
“No!” Max snapped. & Jm" qit. DW#8220;It’s irrelevant. She’s no more involved with the resistance than I am.” He turned his back again, ending the conversation.
Claude was right, of course. He’d wondered about that night, about seeing Charlie with Xander. But he knew something that even Claude didn’t.
His thumb slid over the smooth gold chain hidden within his pocket.
A truth he couldn’t risk his grandmother discovering.
“We need to get out of here.” Max strode toward the door once more, knowing full well that Claude and Zafir would follow. “We need to find her before the queen does.”
He needed to keep Charlie safe.
He’d made a pledge.
XIV
There was nothing more I could do but wait on word of my parents. And the waiting was excruciating. Up until now, protecting Angelina had been my most immediate concern, and for the moment, she was out of harm’s way. Xander had made certain of that.
I squeezed in close to her on the pallet we were sharing as I pressed my chin against the top of her head. It was the same way we’d slept so many times before. Sydney was restless in her own bed, and I did my best to ignore the thrashing sounds that came from her side of the room. She was accustomed to more luxurious accommodations: soft mattresses, finely woven linens, heat.
Harder to ignore were the noises that came from beyond our chamber. There was no door, just an opening carved through the very earth itself. Only a blanket pegged into the chiseled wall separated us from the activity outside. There seemed to be no differentiation between day and night down here, no curfew to abide by.
It was cooler below the city, and Angelina shivered. I pulled the musty wool throw over her shoulder, tightening my embrace around her.
Unlike Angelina and Sydney, there was no hope that I’d sleep, not without news of my parents. Not until Brooklynn returned.
Brooklynn. Odd how the name seemed to no longer fit the girl.
Brooklynn—my Brooklynn—was carefree and self-centered.
This Brooklynn, the one I’d met today, was someone else entirely. She was a soldier.
How had I not known that this other Brook existed? How long had she been here? And which one was the true Brooklynn?
Laughter trilled loudly somewhere beyond our walls. A sound that joyous seemed oddly out of place within the chilly underground caverns of a city under siege. In a country at war with itself.
But these people, these Outcasts who spoke only one shared language, seemed happier than those of us who lived above ground. Those of us who were segregated by words and ruled by fear.
I closed my eyes, and not for the first time I pictured Max, and I wished—once more—that he would cease to occupy my thoughts. I had no business worrying over his deceptions while I awaited information about my parents.
Yet he was he KYet H
A prince. Born to a life of nobility, yet trying to pass him
self off as something . . . less. No wonder his family objected to his post in the military. No wonder he was shadowed, wherever he went, by Claude and Zafir. They weren’t his comrades or his friends. They were his guards, sworn to defend him with their lives. Every Royal had them, even a merchant girl knew as much.
So why me? Why the interest in a common vendor’s daughter?
He’d said I intrigued him.
Intrigue wasn’t cause for impractical entanglements, not of the romantic kind. Intrigue was too close to curiosity, to oddity.
Yet still, the skin of my lips burned.
I brushed them against the top of Angelina’s head, hoping to erase his touch.
It was unfair. He could have chosen any girl, anyone other than me, and she would have gladly fallen under his charms, even knowing that it could only be a temporary pairing.
But I had been the one who’d intrigued him.
XANDER
Xander paced the dark, untraveled corridors where he could be alone with his thoughts.
He worried that he’d revealed too much to Charlie about who he was, about who they all were. If only it could end there.
Soon he would have to tell her the rest, and he worried about losing her trust.
She would resist, he was almost certain of it. How could she not? She was reasonable, and no reasonable person would simply accept what he knew.
“X, the team’s back.” His thoughts were interrupted by Eden, and when he turned to face her, he saw that she was joined by the dark-haired beauty he’d put in charge of the mission.
Brooklynn had been a valuable asset to the resistance; she’d been a competent spy, understanding that her looks gave her the unique talent of loosening a man’s tongue. Members of the military were not immune to a beautiful girl’s attention. And mos
t people underrated her intellect.
Xander knew better than to underestimate her. She was both ambitious and cunning, a deadly combination. One that could be advantageous when navigated with care.
“And?” Xander asked, when neither of the armed women spoke. “What of Charlie’s parents?”
Brooklynn stepped forward, her full lips set in a hard line. She didn’t speak immediately, drawing out the anticipation, and he wondered if the pause was calculated—like so many things she did—for effect.
But Eden, ever impatient, wasn’t one for premeditated suspense. “They were too late,” she told Xander, her shoulders squared, her jaw tight. “The girl’s parents were already gone.”
XV
Breakfast was interesting. The dining hall was run less lik K ru PȊe my parents’ well-organized restaurant and more like a frenzied free-for-all. The “kitchen” was set up at the end of a blocked passageway and was surrounded by rows and rows of mismatched tables, chairs, crates, and boxes, all used as places to eat. Several people ate standing up, scooping their food from the bowls directly to their mouths, hardly bothering with things like utensils or manners. Others squatted on the ground, staying on the fringes of the crowded space, finding a spot wherever they could in corners and against walls, seeming to favor the solitude over being crushed between the bodies that packed the tables.
Eight huge vats were lined up along one entire wall, every one of them filled with steaming breakfast grains that had been cooked to a pasty mush. The men and women who worked kitchen duty were supervising the distribution of the hot cereal, and made sure that no one took more than their allotted single bowl.