Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
margaret
Night had fallen hours ago, but I was nowhere near tired. How could I be? The sight of those bodies ignited all kinds of emotions that would not rest.
I couldn’t sit, let alone close my eyes knowing the Ministry had treated people that way. It was beyond my darkest nightmares.
Men. Women. Children.
They’d been discarded like their lives meant nothing.
Gideon must have seen horrors like that dozens of times. But his face remained emotionless.
The fire crackling in the distance became my distraction. I focused on the colors as they danced around each other, the wood cracking and changing as the flames grew hotter. Katherine and Benedict sat up talking for a while, but they’d drifted to sleep not long ago. Most of the guards, too.
I lay on my blanket simmering with a newfound rage for the Ministry.
“You should try to sleep,” Gideon whispered. He was stretched out on his own blanket a few feet away, though his breathing had been steady for a while, so I thought he was asleep.
I guess I was wrong.
“How can anyone possibly sleep after what we saw today?” I asked. “All I can think about is how evil those people are. Have you ever seen something so horrible?” The moment I asked, I regretted it. “Don’t answer that.”
“I’ve seen horrible things,” he answered anyway, “but that doesn’t make the sight of a mass grave of innocent people any less disturbing.
” He exhaled in the darkness beside me, then shifted on his blanket.
“I shouldn’t have brought you along. You don’t need to see these things. I was in over my head when—”
“Don’t say that,” I snapped. “And don’t try to protect me from the truth just because it’s ugly.”
“I’m sorry, Margaret.” His tone was soft and genuine. “You’re not the type of person I need to hide this type of thing from, but that doesn’t mean I like having to expose you to it.”
“What did you mean earlier?” I asked. “When you told your guard I’d seen worse things?”
He rolled to face me, his features barely visible in the light of the fire. I rolled his way, too, propping myself up on my elbow.
“You really don’t remember me, do you?”
“What?” Breath catching, I scanned his face. His dark hair, his gruff yet sharp features. His addictive eyes. “Remember you from where?”
He broke into a soft smile, and his attention flicked down to my mouth for a split second.
The small movement made my heart flutter. Had he really just done that?
“You were probably thirteen or fourteen. You and your brother were living in that trailer. I stumbled across your little town by accident.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “Though, now, I’m thinking it was fate.”
My chest tightened.
I tried not to remember what life was like back then.
Everything bad that ever happened to me was as a result of that place.
I’d tried my best to shove it all from my memory—handsome strangers included, apparently.
His eyes softened. “I don’t mean to take you back to that place,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Forget I said anything.”
“No,” I said. “Tell me. If we knew each other, I want to remember it.”
He clenched his jaw. The shadow the fire cast over him made him look so much older.
“We never met, but I could never forget you.” His eyebrows relaxed, his mouth flickering into a tiny smile.
“You were always smiling. Every morning, you’d walk around that tiny-ass town with a smile on your face like it was the best day of your life. ”
I smiled at the memory. “That sounds like me, I guess.”
“But that smile vanished when he’d show up. He’d be gone for days at a time. Weeks, even. I always knew when he’d returned.”
I cleared my throat to subdue the sudden stinging. He didn’t have to elaborate. He was talking about my father. “He had that effect on people.”
“I wanted to say something,” he pushed. “I wanted to fight for you.”
I angled forward and spread my hand out on the blanket in front of me. “I told you before, Gideon. I don’t need protecting.”
“He’s always protecting you anyway, though, isn’t he?” he asked, sounding appreciative. “Your brother?”
A wave of joy crashed over me, followed by one of pain. “Of course he is,” I replied. “Sometimes, I think that’s his sole purpose in life. To protect me.” I twirled the stray strings of the blanket, averting my gaze.
“Your father deserved what happened to him.”
My hand stopped moving and my heart took off at a dangerous speed.
“You know about that?” My chest ached and my mouth went dry, like it was filled with cotton.
No, I didn’t want to remember. Not this.
“I was there, Margaret. I saw the whole thing.”
I bolted upright and covered my ears. “No,” I sighed. “No, no, that didn’t happen.”
“Margaret, it’s okay.”
He kept his voice down, but there was no controlling my volume. Though we were far enough from the others that no one seemed disturbed.
It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen. It wasn’t real.
Flashes of memory came back to me—scenes I didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to accept.
Elijah covered in blood. Half of our raggedy, barely-there town standing around watching like we were nothing more than a source of entertainment.
My breath coming in ragged pants.
And my father.
Lifeless.
I blinked the image away. No, Gideon couldn’t know. He couldn’t—
Somewhere in that storm of half-forgotten memories, those dark eyes appeared. A man standing near the back of the crowd.
His skin was dirty. His hair, too. It didn’t have that slick black shine. Everything in our poor little town was covered in a thin layer of dust and dirt from the desert, including Gideon.
I didn’t want to remember those eyes, because while everyone else was staring at my brother in horror, those eyes had been locked on me.
They knew.
“It’s okay.” He crawled to my side and pulled my hands away from my ears.
I shook my head, pushing away those memories. “It’s not okay,” I whispered. “It’s not okay.”
“Look at me.” He cupped my face and held me tightly.
I let his warmth seep into my bones. And after a few seconds, I opened my eyes.
“Nobody knows,” I whispered. “Nobody can know the truth.”
Gideon was already shaking his head. “I haven’t told anyone, Margaret. I’d never tell a soul.”
He knew.
He knew.
He knew.
Panic clawed up my throat. Nobody was ever supposed to know—
“Is that why you brought me with you?” I’d never hyperventilated before, but I guessed there was a first time for everything. “Because I’m not that person anymore. My brother— He— I didn’t— I don’t—”
He smoothed his thumbs over my cheekbones. “Shh. Listen to me. I brought you along because we’re going to get your brother back,” he said. “And also because I enjoy your company.”
One thumb drifted to my bottom lip, ghosting over it almost imperceptibly.
I sucked in a breath.
“You aren’t afraid?" I asked.
Anyone who knew the truth, anyone who’d understood what happened that day, would be afraid.
And they certainly wouldn’t be looking at me the way Gideon was.
“Of course I’m not afraid. You’re a strong woman, Margaret. Stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
Memories I’d kept locked away for years threatened to resurface.
I wasn’t her. I would never be her again.
Gideon might’ve known the truth—he might’ve accepted that old version of me—but that was in the past.
And I would never be that girl ever, ever again.
Morning came too quickly. I barely slept, last night’s conversation with Gideon destroying the sliver of a chance I had at a peaceful night of rest.
Elijah had killed our father. That was the story we’d ironed into our brains until it became the truth. That was the story I’d told myself over and over again until I, too, believed it.
God. Elijah really was my protector.
It had been his idea to take the blame. He’d made it his entire identity. He’d changed his name to make sure nobody ever looked at me twice.
He was the scary one. The monster. The evil, powerful shadow wielder.
Not me.
I’d held on to that truth until last night—until Gideon admitted to knowing it as well.
Trusting him was risky. But Gideon saw me. He saw that hidden part I’d buried years ago.
Even I was afraid of that girl at times. But Gideon wasn’t.
Eventually I gave up on sleep and made my way to the horses. “Good morning, my lovelies,” I whispered. “Did everyone sleep okay?”
Some of the horses ignored me, but my beautiful white beast of an animal nuzzled into my hand as I approached her. She could understand me, I was sure of it. We’d only spent a handful of time together, but there was a fierce connection there.
“You’re up early.”
“God almighty,” I yelped, slapping a hand over my chest. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on a woman?”
Benedict smiled gently as he shuffled closer. “Sorry. I thought we were past that.”
“I’m never past getting scared to death, Benedict.”
“Right.” He paused next to me, running his hand down the side of his own horse’s face. Our horses were friends. They always ended up beside each other, and I could see it in their eyes.
They had a connection.
Not that it mattered. We were here to handle problems. Not horse friendships.
“How are you holding up?” he asked. “You’ve been through a lot.”
I shrugged, still focusing on the furry beauty before me. “I’m doing okay.”
“While I haven’t known you long, I can tell you’re struggling, Margaret.”
My eyes snapped to his face. No, he didn’t know me at all. Most people didn’t. But the words were still unexpected.
And kind.
My chest swelled. I couldn’t allow myself to get closer to any of these people. Because every person who cared about me was a person who might get hurt.
“I’m not sure what normal person wouldn’t be struggling after what we saw yesterday.”
Head lowered, he kicked at the ground. It had damaged him, too. He’d been against the Ministry for a long time, but to see the type of damage they could do? To see what they were out here doing to the innocents?
His horse pushed against his chest. “I know, I know,” he whispered to him. “I will.”
I studied him. “You talk to the horses, too?”
“Only the ones that talk back.”
I laughed. It felt good—but also unfair. So I cut myself off. I shouldn’t be laughing, shouldn’t be smiling when people were out there being killed just for existing.
“Hey,” Benedict said. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut yourself down.”
“I just can’t believe we’ve been separated from them for so long. I’ve never gone this long without him before.”
He nodded, turning back to his horse.
The two of us stayed there, focused on the gentle animals. They were innocent in all this, too. Simply along for the ride, at our mercy.
Eventually, they could fight back, couldn’t they? They could say they were tired of working for us. They could resist and run free.
Eventually, they would chase their freedom.
These fuzzy, good-hearted beasts deserved that.
“We’re close,” Benedict said. “It’s almost over.”