Chapter 3
I married at twenty-three.
My husband, Chad, was in his forties. Established in the Capitol as an administrator, he was respectable, ambitious, and decidedly unclever.
At first our marriage was practical and manageable and only unpleasant when he wanted sex, which was fortunately only a few times a month.
But as he was promoted higher up the Central Cities administrative hierarchy, he became more grasping and controlling.
He refused to let me visit my sister, Teresa, in the village where we were born or even have her visit me.
He dragged me to endless social events to show off his young and attractive wife.
He lectured me constantly about holding my tongue and acting in “wifely” ways.
He got angry every time I glanced at another man or laughed with a friendly woman.
He hired Ben under the guise of “protection” since he was becoming such an important man in the city, but I always knew the truth. Ben’s presence was primarily to have an employee follow me everywhere and report on my doings.
There would have been innumerable women in the Capitol who would have mowed down armies to marry a man of Chad’s stature, even under those conditions, but the longer I was his wife, the more I hated him—and hated myself.
I had wanted to get away from my cruel stepmother, my selfish and petty stepsister, and a stiflingly limited village life, but the cost was far too high.
As I was brooding over how to get out of the marriage, Ben announced one day that he was leaving to return to the wilderness region where he was born and raised. He asked, quite unexpectedly, if I wanted to tag along.
I said yes.
So my marriage ended after barely over a year with the scrawled note I left for Chad and the paperwork he would have filed with the government afterward.
Other than seeing Teresa less often than I would want because she still lives with her husband and family in our home village, my life has been far better ever since.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about Chad an hour later as I follow the radio chatter from my people. They’re taking positions around the perimeter of the outpost and planting explosives and booby traps in strategically planned locations.
I was barely past childhood when I married.
Desperate and resourceless. Gambling on a husband seemed like my best chance to gain some degree of security and freedom.
It didn’t turn out that way for me, but it does for some women.
Teresa married for similar reasons, and she got lucky or made a better choice in her man. She’s happy today.
Hers might not be a life I’d ever wish for, but it’s the one she wants, and that’s all that matters.
My marriage was a mistake, but it was an understandable one given my circumstances. I should have sympathy and not judgment for the scared, trapped, very young woman I used to be. The whole thing was objectifying and demeaning, but it was such a long time ago.
And I never would have met Ben if I hadn’t made the mistake of my marriage.
Speaking of, he’s still over there guarding the door to the command station so that we don’t get surprised again. He’s scowling to himself.
He must notice me watching because his eyes cut toward mine without warning. His eyebrows go up in a silent question.
I give my head a brief shake before looking away. He’ll know what it means.
He needs to shake off his annoyance with me and get over his bad mood.
I don’t like when he’s this way, and it might distract me.
None of the outpost guards had the chance to call into the Capitol with a report or request help. That has to be done from the command station, and Ben and I have been here the whole time. That means no one will know there’s trouble until it’s time to radio in the morning briefing.
Even then, they’ll likely send a scout to see what’s going on before they bring any sizable force.
We have plenty of time to prepare ourselves to hold this outpost.
Whether we can successfully do so for any length of time is an open question.
It takes about two hours of work before I’d consider us ready. The traps and explosives are strategically placed, and we’ve set up lookouts and guard posts in every direction.
I call the four team leaders back into the command station so I can get updates, and we go over our plans for various military responses.
If they send out a large enough force, we’ll be overrun for sure, but I doubt they’ll send more than a single unit.
Maybe two. President Vincent has always done everything he can to keep news of protest or rebellion from becoming widely known.
He pretends no one ever acts out against him, and he’s been successful in giving that impression to the populace of the Central Cities at large.
A lot of people are born and raised here believing that no one would dream of acting against the government, that no one would even want to.
A large contingent of guards would get attention from passersby and the inhabitants of the nearby villages. They would know something is wrong, someone is rebelling, and the word would spread quickly.
Vincent won’t risk that.
I’m convinced he won’t even if it means letting go of this outpost completely.
If we’re going to take the Arsenal, we need to hold on here for at least a month.
When the team leaders arrive, Ben motions them into the room one by one. Then he gestures for Georgie to take his place at the door so he can join the conversation.
As I hear the reports, I get the first aid kit out from under the desk so I can clean and wrap Vella’s arm better, reassuring myself it is indeed only a superficial graze.
Vella is a large, competent woman in her forties, and she’s been with me for almost six years, longer than anyone else but Ben. I don’t want anything to happen to her.
I don’t want anything to happen to any of my people, and sometimes I can’t sleep at night, imagining I get all of them killed.
The reports are all good. The guards were taken by surprise, and not a single one got away. There were no accidents with weapons or explosives, and the mood in the ranks is optimistic.
“Okay,” I say when I’ve heard all the details. “Good job with your teams. Start the rotations and bring everyone not on duty back here to rest.”
When they’ve left the command station, I’m thinking about doing a circuit of the building to reassure myself all is in order, but Ben comes to stand in front of me.
“What?” Damn, the man is big. I wish my physical form was intimidating in the same way.
He nods toward a chair and takes a roll of stretch wrap out of the first aid kit.
With a sigh, I sit down. Not because he told me to but because he’s right. My ankle does hurt, and it will only get worse if it’s not wrapped.
It’s easy for him to reach my ankle because I’m still wearing the silly little dress. He kneels down and extends my foot, gently sliding my sock down to the ball of my foot.
We’ve helped each other with injuries for years, so I don’t know why his big fingers on my skin bother me so much right now. They do though. The light feel of them makes something shake and shudder deep inside me.
It would help if Ben would act in his normal, laid-back manner, but he seems kind of stiff too. He’s not meeting my eyes. Probably because he’s mad at me.
“It’s barely twisted,” I say at last, a restless energy inside me finally pushing me into speech. “It’s not even sprained.”
He’s binding my ankle with the stretchy wrap, and he doesn’t respond until he’s tied it tight. With both hands holding on to my foot, he finally looks up at my face, tense and sober.
“It’s fine, Ben. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I haven’t said a word.”
“You don’t need to say a word. I could feel you bristling at me from a mile away. And what the hell else was I supposed to do? He was about to shoot you.”
“You were supposed to not put yourself in danger.”
“You were in danger. That mattered more to me right then.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Ben, you can’t expect—” We’ve been talking softly so no one else can hear us, but frustration raises my voice.
“I can expect you not to get yourself killed out of some half-baked instinct to rush to my rescue.” His tone is gruff now, and his eyes are cold. He’s still angry.
Really angry.
I’m not used to it, and I don’t like it.
“You would have done the same th—”
Again, he doesn’t let me finish. “Because that’s my job. That’s what I’m here for. To keep you safe.” When I start to object again, he talks over me. “Just stop. You know I’m right. Your job isn’t to keep me safe, and our entire mission will fall apart if you throw yourself away for no reason.”
I’m angry now too. So much so I’m almost shaking from it. I wrap my fingers together so my trembling won’t be visible. “Maybe I thought there was a reason.”
“Then it was a foolish reason. I’m not the important one here. You are.” He raises himself up on his knees so he’s closer to my eyeline. “Annabelle, you are. Take the emotion out of it and tell me the truth. Which of us two is more important in this fight?”
I swallow over a hard, painful lump in my throat. His words and the truth behind them silence me. I still don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can say.
Because he’s right.
I’m in charge. It’s my vision, my leadership, and my plans. I’m not a particularly dictatorial leader, but no one has ever had as much success in acting against the Central Cities government as we have, and that’s because of me.
If I die, all we’ve gained in the past years is likely to fall apart.
The same won’t be true if Ben dies.
And right now it can’t matter that I’ll fall apart if I lose him.
“It was instinct,” I say at last, a thickness in my voice I don’t like.
I’ve never been a particularly emotional person, and I shouldn’t start now.
“I know. I get it. But you’ve got to restrain that instinct. You can’t put yourself in danger for me. Promise me you won’t.” He’s holding my gaze. Won’t let it go.
“I… I don’t know if I can make that promise, but I understand what you’re saying. I really do. This is too important, and I’m not going to throw myself away.”
He nods. He believes me.
He’s still got my foot in both his warm hands, so I carefully pull it back toward me. “Okay. Now please drop it because all your angsty brooding is distracting me.”
He gives me a leisurely smile, still on his knees at my feet. “Yes, ma’am.”