Chapter 13
‘Get your hands up,’ I yell.
Little John lifts his arms out to the side, his face turned away, eyes scrunched closed.
‘No. Put your hands up in front of you. And open your eyes, buddy.’ I toss our makeshift ball, which is a potato-sized rock, in the air and catch it. ‘You have to look.’
He peeks over with one eye. ‘Do I have to do this?’ he lisps.
I exhale. He is only seven.
No, he’s seven and prefers to catch things with his face. ‘Yes, you do,’ I say. ‘This is a life skill.’ Well, that, and … I need him.
After hours of reconnaissance, I’m turning to a new source for information – a boy with no filter. Besides, everyone else has a job, and I have time before my dinner date tonight.
‘Ready?’ I toss the rock to him.
It smacks his chest. ‘Ow,’ he yells, crumpling to the ground.
I jog over, but he grabs the rock, jumps up, and hurls it at me. I only have time to twist away before he cracks me on the hip. He throws so hard he falls over.
‘Oooow,’ I say through my teeth. ‘Also … good throw.’ I reach down, and he’s concerningly light as I pull him to his feet.
A big grin settles on his dirty face.
Twenty minutes later, one of us is questioning what constitutes a life skill and one of us still can’t catch. So now we’re throwing rocks at a tree.
‘My mama says in the old world they had people spray.’ He chucks a stone. Misses the tree. ‘You put it on, and it kept the bugs away. She read about it in an old-world book.’
I fling my rock. ‘Yeah, I think they called it bug spray, though. Back home we make it with plants.’
His face twists. ‘Bug spray? But bugs don’t wear it. It’s for people. People spray.’
‘Good point.’ I scoop up another rock. ‘So … it’s just you and your mum?’
He bites his bottom lip. ‘Yeah.’
‘It was just my mum and me, too – until I grew up. Became a man.’
He pauses mid-throw. ‘Mama says I’m already a man.’
Something sharp pings in my chest, triggering a memory.
I know you’re curious, Ryland, but your questions are painful. Your father is gone – you’re the man of the house now.
I kick the dirt, unearthing more pebbles. ‘Speaking of men, there’s a guy named Rufus that Brother Thomas said was a trader. He’s missing a hand. You know anything about him?’
‘Yeah – to stay away from him. Mama says he’ll sell anything, even my words to the Commander.’
I still. That’s a thing? ‘Is he the only one who sells people’s words to the Commander?’
His nose scrunches. ‘Maybe Mrs Bates. She hates everyone. Don’t let her grab you; it’s a trap.’
I nod. ‘I won’t. But not Brother Thomas? He’s a good guy, right?’
‘Yeah. He always helps people. Marries and buries people too.’
Interesting. ‘Do you know if he’s friends with Marian, the Commander’s daughter?’ He doesn’t throw his next rock as hard. He also doesn’t answer.
‘She seems nice,’ I prompt. Nice and dangerous. Not to mention, allergic to me – emotionally. Which is new territory for me, come to think of it.
‘Why you asking?’ His little hand tightens on the rock.
Because I need answers. With Marian’s privilege, she could have anything she wants. Yet, she chooses to be a thief. Why? Who’s she selling it to?
And if Kingsland is to be allies with the Notting Militia, how can I let her steal from and sabotage the mine and its operations?
He’s still waiting for my answer, so I shrug.
He shrugs back. ‘You got any food? I’m hungry.’
I arrive at the compound a couple of hours later for my dinner, and a new guard takes me to the holding room.
This guy’s tall, one of the few who are clean shaven, and likes decorations embossed on the hilt of his sword.
He also reminds me of an alpaca, with his hair all curling up in the front.
As if on cue, his fingers slide over it, checking that it’s all in place.
I place my quiver and bow in a pile on the table, just like every time I’ve met with the Commander.
‘Drop your weapons on the table,’ he barks.
I raise a brow but don’t point out the obvious. ‘Haven’t seen you before.’
He ignores me and stands guard by the door.
‘I’m Ryland,’ I continue, removing the knife strapped to my left thigh. As usual, I leave the weapons hidden under my clothes. Those they’ll have to come and get.
His eyes turn laughing in a feel-free-to-piss-off kind of way. ‘I know.’
What a horse chip. No, not a horse – he’s the chip of a hairy alpaca.
Another guard appears at the door. ‘Hey, Soren. The Commander’s ready.’
‘Soren,’ I repeat, as I walk past him, memorising the name. I hope we don’t have the pleasure of meeting again. ‘Thanks for the chat.’
People stare as I make my way through the compound to the Commander’s High Command.
It’s mostly one big barn-like room that’s divided into sections.
Now that it’s approaching suppertime, the dining area is filled with people who’ve grabbed food from the outdoor kitchen. But it’s eerie; everyone is so quiet.
Beyond the tables is some sort of training area with a fighting ring made of hay. But the back wall is filled with doors of rooms, three floors of them – who lives there?
The guard is all business when he opens the door to the High Command and shouts my arrival. Even salutes as I walk in.
‘Ryland,’ the Commander calls, his mouth full of food when I appear out of the hallway. He waves me over to the candlelit table behind his oversized chair.
I glance around, disappointed that he’s alone aside from a man standing in the corner, pulling an alarming amount of ribbon from his mouth. The entertainment, I assume? He waves. I nod back. But was this not a dinner party? Where are his daughters?
I take in the scratched and carved-up armrests of the chairs as I pass; they look like a teething dog was unleashed on them. A single plate of roasted meat and potatoes sits in front of him, and most of it is gone already. Nice.
‘Sit,’ he says. ‘Enjoy Silas, my magician. Sadly, he’s not a good one.
Not a real one. Just an ill-usss-sion …’ He struggles with the word, then gives up.
‘But – bleeding skies – how I love magic! You know, I saw it once. As a boy. Seven years old.’ He sways, and I realise he’s drunk.
‘A man appeared to me after I ran away from my father. Read my mind. Told me everything about my life and that I could have immense power, if I’d only look for magic and learn to harness it.
’ He lifts his hand, staring at it as if he’s stuck in the memory.
Or maybe he forgot he was talking. ‘Anyway, I’ve become a collector of magical things ever since.
Like this ring’ – he holds up his pinky, but the ring is on his index finger – ‘It’s supposed to reveal people’s true motivations. ’
Yeah, I’m sure. I take the seat diagonally across from him.
‘Guard!’ he yells at the far door. ‘We need another plate!’
The door bursts open and a woman with a red nose and an inability to pretend she wants to be here, drops a plate in front of me. Something tells me Notting dinner parties aren’t common. The Commander stabs a chunk of meat with his fork and devours it.
‘Go on. Eat,’ he urges me with a full mouth. ‘Guard!’ he yells again. ‘We need more wine. And get my daughters. Tell them I’ll starve them for a week if they don’t hurry up.’
My body tenses.
No – relax, he’s just drunk.
The woman returns with the wine, and the Commander gestures for me to pour it. Building bridges, I remind myself as I tip it to his cup.
‘Entering now, Captain Marian and Agatha.’
There’s a thump in my chest as I look up the moment Marian appears out of the hallway.
Her dark hair is down in a mix of curls and waves that trails behind her as she strides in.
Her bow and a quiver of arrows are draped over a jaw-dropping red dress – a dress that has a slit up the side, flashing her leg with every step.
It takes me too long to notice the wine is overflowing on to my hand. I jerk the bottle upright. Stand in greeting. Try to remember how to work my tongue.
‘Marian,’ the Commander yells, slurring. ‘Give me a kiss.’
Her steps slow, shoulders stiffening. Her face is always so carefully controlled, but in her big brown eyes, I see her reluctance. Maybe even revulsion. She leans in and quickly pecks him on the forehead before stepping out of range.
The Commander smiles dreamily. ‘Isn’t she stunning?’
Since I’m struggling to pull my gaze from her, I can’t disagree. But there’s something about how he’s treating her that’s rubbing me the wrong way.
‘She’s wearing my mistress’s dress,’ he brags. ‘I had her do Marian’s hair, too. It’s silly that my daughter won’t go anywhere without her weapons, but …’ His head tilts. ‘Doesn’t she look like a beautiful huntress … here to slay your heart?’
For the first time, Marian boldly meets my gaze, and an electric current shoots down my spine to every nerve ending. There’s a challenge in her eyes. Go on. Speak your mind. She wants to see how I’ll play his game.
Is she here to slay my heart? No. I’d venture she doesn’t even want to be here.
It hits me then, how much he’s controlling her.
Well, not completely.
But to answer his question, is Marian an absolute vision tonight? ‘Yes,’ I confess, ‘you look beautiful.’
Her mask cracks at my sincerity, as if she expected mockery. She swallows and glances away.
‘More food!’ the Commander yells abruptly.
‘And I’m Agatha.’
My attention jerks to the other woman who walked in with Marian. ‘Oh! I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling guilty. I should have acknowledged her sooner. This must be his other daughter. I step off the dais. ‘And I’m Ryland.’ I wipe my wine-covered hand on my trousers before holding it out to her.
She offers a smile and shakes it. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Yes, that is my other daughter,’ the Commander says, slurring a little. ‘The one who thinks she doesn’t need to learn to fight or work, and who wastes my wealth on all her experiments.’
Agatha’s face falters, and an awkward silence follows.
‘There’s been a lot of wine going around,’ I say, shooting her an apologetic look. ‘Shall we take our seats?’ I pull out a chair beside me.
Agatha beams at me as she sits.