“Because”—the woman’s hand flutters toward her throat—“it’s forbidden.”
In the distance, the steady boom, boom of the battering ram echoes through the air.
Logan’s voice is gentler than his words. “The Commander isn’t going to punish you for entering the compound. He’s not looking over your shoulder anymore.” He points west, toward the distant ruins of the gate. “He’s out there with guards and the Carrington army trying to find a way inside the Wall. When he does break through, and he will, being caught out in the open is a death sentence.”
“Being caught anywhere is a death sentence,” Ian mutters as he hoists his pack on his shoulder and grabs his armful of Dragonskin.
I glare at him, but Logan nods. “Exactly. Which is why we’ll take shelter in the compound tonight, and I’ll have the tunnel ready for us to leave first thing in the morning.” He scans the crowd and pays close attention to Adam, who is standing near Willow as usual.
“Why not just surface in the Wasteland now?” a young man named Keegan asks as he walks past us carrying a load of canvas. “The tunnel is far enough along to get us into the forest, right?”
“Not far enough that we could safely travel by torchlight, and we can’t travel with wagons in the dark.”
Boom. Boom.
Adam walks by, carrying Willow’s travel bag for her and laughing at something she says. He stops laughing when he catches Logan watching him, but Logan just turns away and starts giving Jodi directions for helping Quinn pack up the weapons.
A few people stand and stare in the direction of the gate, terror rooting them to the ground. I grab their arms and give them a little shake.
“Get your stuff and get into the compound. We can outwit the Commander and his stupid army, but only if we keep our heads. Now go.”
They hurry toward their shelters, and I turn to see who else might need motivating. Logan is already heading up the compound’s steps. Probably to see about bringing the tunnel to the surface. No one else seems to need me to prod them into action. I cast one more glance over my shoulder toward the gate and feel torn. On the one hand, I know we need to be far away from here before the Commander gets into the city. On the other, it would be nice to dip one of my arrows in some sort of slow-acting poison and nail the Commander in the face when he rode up the hill on his horse.
It takes nearly four hours to pack up the camp and get our belongings inside the compound. We move fast, heads down, lips tight, as the constant noise of the battering ram hangs over our heads like a blade. There’s no way to know how much longer the gate can withstand its incessant strikes. The faster we lock ourselves inside, the safer we’ll be.
People stream out of the campsite, following the supply wagons, and head up the steep hill that leads to the compound.
Sylph walks beside Smithson in the middle of the group. Her unruly dark curls bounce against her shoulders with every step, and she smiles at those around her with genuine affection.
I don’t know how she does it. She lost her parents, her grandparents, and her older brother. I know she’s devastated. But instead of closing herself off to mourn her loss, she reaches out to others with an unflinching generosity that both baffles me and makes me envious.
Sylph sees me and leaves Smithson’s side to hook her arm through mine so we can walk up the steep hill together. The air is heavy with the spicy-sweet perfume of apple blossoms and the drowsy buzzing of bees that move slowly through the trees. People walk the packed dirt path in clumps of twos and threes. Most walk in silence.
“I’ve learned a lot in sparring practice,” she says.
“You’re doing well.”
“You hold back with us. I was in the watchtower when the army attacked. I saw you. Saw you fight your way to the gate and then get away from the soldier who grabbed you. You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t. I’m fine.” I hold my hands up as if to offer proof but drop them to my sides when they start to shake.
I’m many things, but fine isn’t one of them. Not when the man responsible for so much pain still breathes freely on the other side of the Wall.
“I never knew you could do that,” Sylph says, her voice subdued. “Ever since seeing you fight the guards on the Claiming stage, I’ve been trying to figure out how I could be your best friend and still not know something so important.”
I can’t think of anything to say, and the silence between us begins to feel awkward.
“You were always different from the rest of the girls. You thought for yourself. I didn’t mind. In fact, I admired you for it. But I think there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
What can I say to that? We may come from the same world, but her parents obeyed the Commander without question. Mine defied him at any cost. I won’t make apologies for the way I was raised or for the intimacy I sacrificed in our friendship by hiding the truth. I had to protect my father from the consequences of breaking the law. She might understand that, but while I can let her see the girl I really was, I can’t bear to let her see the hollow, silent girl I’ve become.
“Yes,” I say, “I’m different from the other Baalboden girls.”
“I want to learn.” There’s a quiet determination in her voice that takes me by surprise.
“What?” I look at her and find her wide green eyes fixed on me.
“I want to learn how to fight like that. I want you to stop holding back with me. This isn’t the same world we grew up in.” She waves her hands at the blackened streets behind us. “There aren’t Protectors lined up ready to save us. We need to learn how to save ourselves.”
I squeeze her arm closer to me. “It’s nice to have my differences be an asset instead of something that makes me the most unfeminine girl in the room.”
Sylph smiles. “You aren’t unfeminine. You just stink at setting a nice table or sewing a decent dress.”
“I can sew a decent dress.”
“You are the worst seamstress Baalboden’s ever seen. And possibly the worst cook as well.”
“I can cook when I have to,” I say, and return her smile.
“Well, you don’t have to. We need someone who knows how to use weapons and win a fight, and you’re the best girl for the job. I’ll never forget the way you launched yourself into that mess on the Claiming stage. I thought you were going to die.”
“So did I.” I should be trembling at the memory of being surrounded by the Brute Squad and held at the Commander’s mercy, but the ashes of my fury lie cold and silent within me.
She shakes her head. “No, you knew exactly what to do. How to stand up for yourself and win. It was terrifying and amazing.”
“Terrifying.”
“And amazing. Who knew a girl could kill a grown man?”
In the back of my mind, Melkin’s dark eyes beg me to save him as his blood flows hot and sticky over my hands. I shake my head and walk faster. Sylph matches my pace.
After a moment, she says, “I felt foolish, Rachel. All those years of friendship, and I had no idea what you were capable of. You could’ve told me.”
“You would’ve told your mother.” I squeeze her closer to me to take away the sting of remembering her mother’s death. “Not on purpose, but you would’ve told her.”
Her voice catches on a rasp of grief. “Maybe. She could always get the truth out of me.”
I think of the way we used to walk behind her father in the market, whispering our secrets. Whispering her secrets. Most of mine were too dangerous to share. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
For still having secrets. For being unable to open up and let her in anymore. For pretending to feel the things I know I should be feeling because inside of me there’s nothing but darkness and the faint voices of those whose blood is on my hands.