Ingenious #1

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Q uiggs reeked of sour milk, musky goat, sweat. Dirt streaked his unshaven face, and his toes stuck out of the holes in his grimy socks. An insect bite swelled his left eye half-closed. What had he been thinking revealing he had feelings for Max? He should have waited until he was clean and dressed in one of Stefan’s soft seductive garments.

Now his feelings included embarrassed.

After his foolish admission, an uncomfortable hour of silence passed before the sun came out. Max acted as if he hadn’t heard the words, but he skirted Quiggs’s heart-on-the-line gaze as he ripped away at the vines. His tight-lipped concentration told Quiggs he’d heard all right, and the feelings were as welcome as a sore tooth.

Max’s clenched jaw was bristly. Sap stained his hands purple. Sweat soaked his tee and ran down his neck and arms. He was as grimy, hungry, and thirsty as Quiggs, yet he moved with an effortless grace. He was the commander worshiped by his soldiers, the undefeated Athletic Champion revered by cadets. He was courageous and generous and so magnificent that Quiggs’s gut knotted with the yearning to live with him forever .

Max stopped ripping about a stone’s throw away from where they’d rested. His hands fell to his sides, and he turned around, grinning sheepishly. “You were right.”

Ahead of them was a herder’s station with Milepost Three painted on the red shingled roof. Vines had invaded the enclosure, already reaching knee-high around the hut. Max cleared the vines off a water barrel behind the hut. The spigot was too slow, so he removed the heavy lid, and they scooped up handfuls, drinking until their bellies cramped.

No one manned the watchtower across the canal. Today marked the fourth day of Max’s ban on grazing the canal. The herds were starving now, and all archers in the watchtowers followed protocol by moving to the cities to guard herders and soldiers cutting wagonloads of vines and carrying them over the drawbridge to the barns.

Inside the hut was an undrained community washtub. It was scummy and smelled like goat and farts. Max and Quiggs preferred the stench they wore.

The food cabinet offered a stiff wedge of fruit cake. Quiggs shared half with Max. While Max raised a flag on the bank for the next boat to pick them up, Quiggs inspected himself in a shaving mirror. The swelling in his left eye had receded. The fuzz on his scalp was definitely curlier. He’d look like a mop in another month. The baby fat had melted away, leaving interesting hollows in his cheeks. He patted the firm flesh beneath his chin with the back of his hand, pleased at his manly profile.

“My baby cadet is gone.” Max had returned and placed his hands on Quiggs’s bony shoulders. “I will miss him.”

“Feed me a tray of honey custards if you want him back.”

Max kneaded his shoulders. “It’s the expression in your eyes. Harder. You’ll never look the same.”

Their gazes locked in the mirror. “My looks might change, my feelings for you—never.”

Max pulled away. “Three years of familiarity will change your feelings. You’ll want reciprocation from a husband, and you’ll have proposals pouring in from good men who will promise what I refuse.”

“It’s you I want,” Quiggs insisted.

“Only because you don’t know what you’re missing. Lose your virginity in a pleasure house with my consent. I’ll ask Stefan to arrange a whole night.”

“After what we’ve shared… y-you’d actually send me to a pleasure house?”

Max gave a mirthless laugh. “Spare me the details when you thank me later.”

Quiggs spun around and stabbed a finger at Max’s chest. “Maybe it’s you who can’t wait to be free. You’re accustomed to variety. Maybe the real problem is your baby cadet is gone. You can’t fuck the new me unless the room is dark.”

His face livid, Max jerked a thumb at the door. “Outside. I will fuck you raw in broad daylight until you apologize.”

Quiggs blushed. “Now?”

“Now. Filthy sex in broad daylight. Hands and knees on the ground. Bring lube.” Max unfastened his belt and dropped his pants as he pushed through the door. Quiggs hadn’t budged an inch before Max backpedaled inside, clutching his pants up, his face redder than Quiggs’s. “The rescue flag’s been spotted. My barge is poling toward the bank.”

Quiggs hugged his stomach, laughing.

Max muttered under his breath. “And the baby cadet is back.”

With their throats parched and their focus on navigating the vines, they hadn’t discussed how to handle the announcement of Quiggs’s discovery. The news would create chaos if not handled properly. “Where do we begin, Max? Everyone who hears how to kill the vines will grab a milking pail and chase down a doe to see if it’s true. Imagine how many bucks your soldiers will try to milk when they get drunk on shore leave tonight?”

Max snorted.

Quiggs elbowed him. “You know they will. ”

“Say nothing until we meet with the officers of the Herders Guild. They’ll want you to design an efficient spraying method to kill the vines. Once the killing is confirmed, the Ruling Mothers will award you the bounty and a seat in the Assembly. The Ruling Mothers dislike men with power. They’ll involve you in petty political committees and find endless reasons to separate us and dilute our influence. We’ll spend little time alone together.” Max adjusted himself. “I see a future where the only skin I’ll fuck raw is my palm.”

“Uh-uh. I go where you go. The law states a concubine’s priority is to obey his owner.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “We both know I get as much obedience out of you as a drunkard gets milk from a buck.”

The crew recognized the imposing height of their Commander. As he strode the short distance from the hut to the canal, they leaned over the rail waving their hats and cheering. The gangplank lowered, and Max led the way up, dwarfing Quiggs. The soldiers snapped into rank and file on deck, holding a fist over their heart.

Quiggs was unrecognizable in his baggy uniform, backpack, and hat as he followed Max. The crew saw a scruffy herder rescued from the ferals. They never expected to see the commander’s concubine again.

His men at attention, Max announced, “The ferals are dead. The grazing ban is lifted. All couriers report to my cabin. I want a summary of events during my absence before sending dispatches.”

The commander’s six couriers stepped front and center with their slates. Sergeant Miller, rumpled and sweat-stained, glanced at Quiggs without recognition before quietly asking Max, “Private Beau, sir?”

Max shook his head no.

The soldiers bowed their heads for a moment of silence for one of their fallen .

Cutty hustled on deck. His brown suit was fastidious as ever, except for the line of his left sleeve crumpled by a black mourning band. His steps slowed as he approached Max. Struggling to compose his leathery face, he shook his commander’s hand, gripping a long minute before speaking. “Welcome back, sir. How many skulls am I adding to your cuffs?”

“Over a hundred. Right, Quiggs?” Max nudged him forward.

Quiggs gave the startled manservant a tired smile. “Hello, Cutty.”

Cutty’s brows lifted to his hairline. “You can’t be alive.”

The couriers squirmed, their markers shaking over their slates. Soldiers dropped their saluting fists to their sides. Their gazes fixed on Quiggs with what seemed like contempt. Well, yes, he knew he smelled as bad as he looked. But why contempt?

“What the fuck is wrong with you men?” Max barked.

Sergeant Miller’s blue eyes held pity. The rest lowered their gazes, their lips tightening.

Quiggs had faced a den of ferals with friendlier faces. Cutty cleared his throat and spoke for the men. “About Quiggs, sir. The thing is… the thing is… yesterday, the Assembly signed a death warrant on his head for raping Rosamunde. He’s to be drowned in the canal if ever… whenever… he returns.”

Which was now. With the canal steps away.

Raping a virginal deb was a horrific crime. Quiggs had fantasized returning a hero with citizens hoisting him on their shoulders, not being bound and thrown into the canal by an angry mob. The law obligated Max to carry out the execution straightaway without mercy shown. Actually, any man confirming Quiggs’s identity could toss him overboard and collect an executioner’s fee.

Quiggs swayed. This was not happening. It was a delusion. He’d gone vine daft. He was wandering the outland, imagining he was aboard the barge.

Max closed a hand around Quiggs’s nape. The padded fingertips twitched on his skin. His voice soft, he asked, “Did you ever lose control with Rosamunde? ”

The question wounded Quiggs. He shoved away Max’s hand. “If Rosamunde stripped naked, got down on her knees, and wrapped her lips around my cock, I’d have to close my eyes and pretend she was a man to get off.”

“I’ll speak to the Assembly tomorrow and request a reversal of this idiotic charge.”

Quiggs’s voice trembled. “You believe me?”

“Always. Duty compelled me to ask.” Max hugged Quiggs into his side, claws displayed, tawny hairs stiff as needles daring any soldier to carry out the execution. “Rosamunde lied. She’s angry because Quiggs refused to give her the design to his combustion engine. She believes he gave it to me for safekeeping. With Quiggs and me dead, she accused him of rape. The warrant gives her the right to search my headquarters and apartments for the design as recompense.”

The slap of waves against the bow emphasized the men’s ugly silence.

Max’s patience snapped. “She can’t prove Quiggs touched her.”

Miller answered for the edgy soldiers. “Her proof is she’s pregnant. Quiggs is the father.”

Quiggs’s ingenious mind slipped its moorings. The rest passed in a blur as he pitched face-forward.

When the lines of the moorings tightened, Quiggs found himself sitting at the table inside the commander’s cabin with a cold wet cloth wrapped around his neck. Cutty’s wiry arm held him upright in a chair, waving a bottle of herbal spirits under his nose. He turned his head, his eyes watering from the sting.

The cabin was under repair after the spinner strike. A canvas roof flapped from the wind. The bed was missing, the footlocker cracked. Had Quiggs lingered in bed that morning, the watchtower would have crashed atop him, killing him instantly .

How could Rosamunde accuse him of fathering her child? They had never spent an intimate minute with each other or any member of the opposite sex. Because of the marriage contract, her family and his professors strictly chaperoned them whether together or apart. Once the marriage contract was dissolved, however, she could discretely take a lover. After two years of enforced virginity, she was certainly ripe for sex. But why not marry her lover and pretend the baby had arrived early? Why accuse Quiggs? Unless… she didn’t know who the father was.

Oh, fuck. Had an unknown man assaulted her after Quiggs’s graduation? Did she accuse Quiggs of rape in order to give a name to her baby’s father? The same extremists stalking Quiggs could have plotted to disgrace Rosamunde and force her into seclusion the rest of her life for bearing an illegitimate child. If true, Rosamunde acted out of desperation, not greed, when she learned the ferals had abducted him. Her plight certainly earned his sympathy. But no way was he accepting paternity. He’d plead for the Assembly to forgive her lie at a retrial.

Max sat across the table, his sensory hairs frizzed from distress as his couriers updated him on events. His cold gaze roamed over Quiggs’s pale face and fuzzy head. Did he still believe Quiggs innocent?

Max listened without asking questions. The last report given, his couriers waited with slates and markers ready. Max flexed his fingers as he deliberated over his words. When he spoke, his tone was cool, decisive. His expression unreadable, he summarized a vague account of his abduction and escape, often repeating himself when his couriers fumbled their markers. He promised a full account of his abduction when he spoke to the Assembly tomorrow. For now, it must suffice the Triangle was safe from invasion, and grazing could resume. With the help of Private Beau and Concubine Quiggs, he had destroyed the advanced species of ferals inside their breeding den. Beau escaped through an opening in what Quiggs believed was a metal wall guarding the subterranean shelter of the ancestors. Private Beau’s fate was unknown .

Max stopped dictating for a minute. His gaze fixed on Quiggs with apology when he resumed. This was it. He was tossing his concubine into the canal.

Quiggs bit back a whimper.

Max reached out and stroked his cheek, whispering. “I have to do this.” A ruthless edge entered his voice. “Inform the heralds and the Assembly that it grieves me to announce Concubine Quiggs disappeared without a trace last night after showing signs of going vine daft. For his heroism in destroying the ferals, he deserves the death warrant be amended to exile. I will address this issue before the Assembly tomorrow. That is all I will report for now.”

Quiggs closed his eyes at hearing he wasn’t being executed. Then the words sunk in, and he exploded. “Fuck exile! I never touched Rosamunde. Tell the heralds I’m alive and demand a retrial to clear my name.”

“It’s Rosamunde’s word against yours. Since you’ve already been charged with a sex crime leading to the dissolution of your marriage, the Assembly will re-convict you of rape. You would face immediate execution. If the commander interfered, it would incite a rebellion.”

“They won’t dare execute me after they hear the full story of our escape.”

“A heinous crime is punished by death. There is no reprieve… except for how the death sentence is carried out. Exile in the vines is presently considered a slow death.”

“Rosamunde can’t prove where and when I attacked her. Cutty, hand me a slate. She’ll piss her skirt when she learns I’m alive.”

Cutty served him a bowl of stew and handed him a spoon instead. “Won’t do you no good. I sat at the trial with Sergeant Miller. According to Rosamunde, it happened a month before graduation. Before she caught you with Beau. She swore had she known she was pregnant, she’d have stayed married to you for the sake of the baby.”

Max and Quiggs locked eyes across the table a long moment. Before ? They had assumed after .

A relieved grin spread over Max’s face .

Quiggs threw back his head back, laughing. “Rosamunde cheated first! Our marriage was officially dissolved before Beau visited my apartment. I could have lost my braid with him. I should have lost my braid weeks before in the sex clinic! A retrial will clear my name, and the Assembly will force her to return everything she stole. Heralds and chaperones followed me everywhere outside the academy. Witters and Meeks can vouch they never left me alone at work. I’ve won, right?” Breathless, he waited for the couriers to offer apologies for doubting him. They clamped their teeth shut and evaded his eyes.

Cutty shook his head. “Rosamunde showed the Assembly a letter from you asking her to deliver fuel paste to your work tower on the specific day she was attacked. Witters and Meeks verified under oath she was alone with you at the time she swore the attack occurred.”

Oh… fuck. He remembered a visit when Witters and Meeks offered the couple a short time for privacy while Rosamunde shouted about the expenditures of his hot air balloon. She had forged the letter to coincide with the date. His alibi flew out the window on four wings and flaming tail feathers.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This was bad.

Max lost his grin. “Sergeant Miller, is there any chance a retrial could twist her words from rape into a consensual act?”

Miller answered woodenly, “Rosamunde was explicit. She swore Quiggs lost control and raped her in the basket of his hot air balloon.”

“I… what ?” Quiggs screeched.

“She swore you wrapped a safety rope on the side of the basket around both her wrists. She was helpless while you had your way with her. Said she hid the rope burns.”

Quiggs flushed from his soles to the tips of his ears. He gripped the spoon as if he squeezed Rosamunde’s neck.

Max massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Quiggs. A retrial won’t overturn the verdict. The Ruling Mothers are as unbendable as old vines. Exile in the outland is considered a slow but certain death. Accept it before the Assembly realizes it’s not anymore.”

“But she’s lying— ”

Max smacked his palms on the table. “You. Can’t. Prove. It.”

Quiggs hated the angry tears spilling down his cheeks.

“My men will hide you until the Assembly revises the death sentence to exile. On that day, you will miraculously emerge from the vines, unable to recall what happened after you wandered away from me.”

“Everyone will know you were lying to protect me.”

Max flashed a wicked grin. “The Ruling Mothers will most certainly realize I duped them, but if they want to get their hands on the new farmland, they won’t ask questions. I rule the outland, and exile paves the way for a lucrative partnership with us. Just be patient and let my men hide you until you are formally exiled.”

Thoroughly confused, the couriers twirled their markers and stared uneasily at each other.

Miller swallowed hard. “Sir, ordering your soldiers to hide Quiggs before he’s sentenced to exile puts them under the original death warrant. Speaking for myself, I believe the sex was consensual. But the others don’t know Quiggs like I do. Someone will leak word where he’s hidden, thinking it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’ll ask for volunteers to hide him and three days of silence from the rest,” Max said.

Miller fisted his hand over his heart. “Count on me, sir.”

The other couriers stepped back, arms stiff at their sides. They would leak word when they delivered their dispatches. Quiggs wouldn’t last a day.

Max shook his head in disappointment, then opened the backpack on the floor by his chair. “Quiggs and I had planned to avoid chaos by demonstrating his discovery to the guild’s officers first.” He handed Miller a canteen. “It contains milk. Sprinkle it on the ground around the vines. Watch what happens. Anyone volunteering to hide Quiggs and pledge silence may report to my cabin afterward.”

Miller stood there biting his lip, unsure if he had heard right.

Quiggs had dreamed of this historic announcement all his life. His voice trembled with excitement. “I figured out how to kill the vines. Goat milk rots them straight down to the mother roots.” The news landed like a hollow sputternut. No hiss, no spark, just a spongy bounce before it wobbled to a stop at the rooted feet of the men.

Max’s lips thinned with irritation at the reaction. “Dammit. Show Quiggs some respect. He just told you milk kills the vines.”

“Plain goat milk… uh… sprinkled on the ground.” Miller looked at Cutty for guidance, obviously concerned both the commander and Quiggs were vine daft.

Cutty’s eyes flicked from Max to Quiggs. “Open the canteen. As strong as the commander is, as smart as Quiggs is—two days in the vines aren’t near enough to confuse their minds.”

Miller unscrewed the cap and sniffed. “Smells like tainted goat milk.”

“Comes from Sweetheart grazing the oldest vines,” Max drawled.

“Sweetheart, sir?”

“The doe we found.”

The couriers fingered the handcuffs on their belts used to secure satchels. They froze when Max’s claws displayed and clicked the table, a warning that he viewed cuffing him a direct challenge to his authority.

Quiggs placed his hands over Max’s. The claws sheathed at his touch. “Obviously, no one believes us. Very well. I shall explain in detail.” He clasped his hands over his swelling chest with an air of self-importance. “The composition of goat milk has evolved over centuries of grazing.” Quiggs slipped effortlessly into a fog. This was his first opportunity to examine the facets of his discovery without vine vermin taking advantage of his distracted attention. “When absorbed by the vines, the milk stimulates the formation of clots that blocks the flow of sap and ultimately rots the vines from root to leaf. The decomposition results in what appears to be fertile soil. It’s fascinating how our ancestors’ bioengineering feats interconnect with each other.”

Quiggs sank deeper into his foggy zone. By the time he blinked awake, he was immersed in a cooling hipbath, expounding to the flapping canvas ceiling. His wrinkled fingers suggested a long soak, his dry throat a long-winded elaboration. He looked around to find his audience had scattered. “Where is everybody?”

Max stopped reading through a stack of slates on the table. His damp hair was slicked back, touching his nape. The tawny hairs lifted as if picking up Quiggs’s voice. He wore a knotted towel around his waist, and the puffy scratches on his back glistened from salve. One corner of his mouth tipped up at Quiggs’s miffed tone. “You convinced them at clotted sap you were your ingenious self, and they ran from the room with the canteen of milk, leaving you to ramble for two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“Nonstop. You missed the men crying like babies when the roots burst through the ground and crumbled. They raided the galley for milk. The milk gone, they tried cheese, which only attracted gulls. Then every soldier signed an oath of fealty to lay down their life for you. Miller proposed wedlock when your service ends. Actually, every soldier volunteered his ass when you’re ready to lose your virginity. Called it their patriotic duty.”

“You let them in while I babbled naked!”

One eyebrow shot up. “I locked the door and sent Cutty outside to collect the oaths. The reservoir and tub were undamaged. I drew your bath after taking mine and soaped all your crevices. Did you know you aren’t ticklish during your fog?”

“Heh.” Quiggs stepped out of the tub and dried off. If he’d babbled on, it meant his body accepted Max’s handling as contentedly as the sensory hairs accepted Quiggs.

Quiggs knotted a towel around his flatter belly, aware of Max’s eyes raking over his damp skin. He parked himself across from Max and covered his chest with his folded arms. When Max stretched a foot beneath the table and inched up his concubine’s calf, Quiggs nipped the predatory interest by clamping his thighs. Before Quiggs’s dick took notice, they needed to discuss clearing his name. “Now that your men know I’m not guilty, when’s my retrial? ”

Max’s foot fell to the floor with a thump as heavy as his sigh. “My men still believe you fathered Rosamunde’s baby. However, Miller persuaded them she was ripe and willing, and they view the sex consensual. I’m sorry to tell you the only way to prove you’re innocent is figuring out who the father is and establishing a credible meeting place. Any ideas where to begin?”

Quiggs’s stomach clenched. “Rosamunde’s chaperones monitored her every step. They inspected bedrooms, closets, bathrooms. They weren’t giving me a chance to dissolve our marriage, especially after Beau transitioned. They knew I wanted out.”

“Perhaps she met a lover at one of her farmhouses for a furtive coupling in a shed or between the rows of beanstalks.”

Quiggs gutted that idea. “One of her fathers always chaperoned her on the farms. Usually Palmer while William and Cyrus assisted the governor.”

“Must have been awkward for Palmer to chaperone the deb he’d planned to marry.” A thoughtful frown clouded Max’s face. “I remember when the governor married him a month after her Third Husband drowned. Quite a scandal with Rosamunde banished to her mother’s farm until she stopped ranting and accepted him as her third father.”

Quiggs remembered Stefan describing how Palmer had wept and threatened suicide before the marriage. Yet when Quiggs spent time with the First Family, Palmer behaved like an attentive, protective father around Rosamunde. On the other hand, Rosamunde treated him with polite loathing. Quiggs would never have suspected there was a romantic history between them. Her family certainly trusted them together.

Quiggs sat in stupefied silence, then blurted, “Palmer’s the father.” He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. He had just accused the Third Father of incest. The act was an unspeakable violation of trust in a marriage. It cracked the foundation enabling peaceful polygamous unions after the Rebellion.

Max’s expression pinched off at the sickening accusation. He opened his mouth to protest; then his jaw hung loose. His eyes stared off at nothing. To Quiggs’s relief, he slowly nodded. “Explains why she didn’t marry her lover weeks ago and pretend their baby arrived prematurely. Oh, fuck. This changes everything.”

Quiggs dropped his hand from his mouth. His relief was short-lived as another ugly truth wedged its way in. Quiggs felt the color leave his face. “I was thrown over the rampart about the time Rosamunde realized she was pregnant.” His voice rose to a squeak. “Rosamunde and Palmer hired professionals to kill me. Exile won’t save me. They’ll come after me as soon as they learn I’m alive.” He sagged in his chair. “Between a death warrant and a contract on my life, I’m pretty much fucked.”

“You, a helpless victim?” Max snorted at the image. “You’ve survived scorpions, breeding ferals, a spinner strike, a toss over the ramparts, and going vine daft. And there’s the time you landed your crazy balloon in the canal.”

Quiggs chuckled. “The worst? I survived wearing a red corset at the claiming ceremony.”

Max’s gray eyes widened, horrified. “The lottery was illegal. I don’t own your service. If anyone’s a rapist, it’s me on our claiming night when I forced you to—”

Quiggs scuttled over the table to straddle Max’s lap, the towel falling away. His hands framed Max’s jaw. The tawny hairs reached out to pet his fingers. “Uh-uh. You’re stuck with me for three years. I’ll never challenge the lottery. Never!” Quiggs licked his lips and ground his hips before Max got all honorable and put duty before desire.

For a moment, Max wavered. His eyes heated at the invitation, and his cock hardened from the friction. Honor won. “No. Using you is wrong.” He tried to lift Quiggs off his lap.

Quiggs wrapped his legs around Max’s trim waist, refusing to let go. “It’s not wrong if I’m fine with submitting,” he wailed.

Max pried him off and onto the table. He gave Quiggs’s soft cock a tweak before covering him with the fallen towel. “It’s not fine to submit when you don’t want sex.” His back to Quiggs, Max stepped into a pair of boxers retrieved from his cracked footlocker and hitched them over his perfect ass.

Quiggs leaned back on his elbows, admiring the view. His contrary cock tented the towel. Dumb cock.

“Change of plans. Get dressed.” Max tossed him a military tee and pants.

Quiggs unfolded the tee expecting to see Bucket Patrol . He saw Border Patrol and squealed like a baby cadet. A helmet and a heavy weapons belt dropped on the table. He hefted the belt equipped with poison-dipped stakes, knives, foldable spear, cutting shears, lines, and baton.

“You’ll need them all if Rosamunde refuses to negotiate.”

Quiggs fondled the ribbed hilt of a stake. He’d faced a den of hungry, horny ferals. He was the badass hunter, not the prey. “Why do we need to negotiate when we know Palmer’s the father? I’ll send statements to the heralds, the Assembly, the Herders Guild. I’ll write to the governor.”

Max wrestled a navy tee over his shoulders. “The sleaziest herald won’t touch the filthy truth. No one will want to believe Rosamunde committed incest with her third father. You’ll merely confirm a diagnosis of going vine daft and recovering with severe memory gaps.”

“But I’m a hero who—”

“If you accuse her of an incestuous affair with Palmer, the entire Triangle will condemn you. The Assembly won’t stomach an explanation. They’d rather execute an insane hero.”

“Use the military to make them listen. Your soldiers signed a vow to protect me.”

“Only the soldiers on my barge. The rest will side with the Assembly. Incest is unacceptable. Protecting you will start a bloody rebellion. Many innocent people will die.”

“But I never touched her. I discovered how to kill the vine.”

“The vine adapts. The governor will be the first to argue the vine will develop an immunity. Like secreting a substance to poison the goats.”

Yeah, he’d considered this too. Quiggs clenched his eyes in frustration. “Then I might as well walk into the vines and disappear for real because Rosamunde can’t afford to let me live. She’ll send her assassins after me, and anyone guarding me will die.”

Including Max.

Max’s tone brooked no argument. “After you’re granted an official exile and before you reveal you’re alive, I’ll pay a visit to Rosamunde to persuade her to alter her story from rape to consensual sex. In return, you will accept paternity and pay her part of the bounty awarded you for killing the vine. If that’s not enough, give her the design to your combustion engine.”

“You can’t trust Rosamunde to adhere to the agreement.”

“I’ll warn her should harm befall you, a full disclosure will go to the heralds, the Herders Guild, the Assembly, her mother.”

Quiggs spoke through his teeth. “Which is exactly what I want to do now!”

“My way is a peaceful resolution. Exile won’t save you from Rosamunde’s assassins. You’re a threat as long as you’re alive unless you accept paternity. Give her your written acceptance. Offer her part of the bounty and the combustion engine.”

“The fuck I will!”

“A disclosure now gets you killed in a rebellion at a time when the Triangle hovers between extinction or greatness. By accepting paternity, you’ll live to sit in the Assembly. You’ll be the first man who can argue for changes without being arrested for treason.” Max paused. “Go ahead. You decide. Accuse Rosamunde of incest and start a bloody rebellion? Or accept paternity and live. Don’t you want to live and return to the bunker for Beau? To learn what’s behind the wall?”

Manipulative bastard. As if Quiggs had a choice. “Tell Rosamunde I’ll accept paternity. Offer her part of the bounty. If I’m still alive in a year, I’ll share the combustion engine.”