Chapter Eleven
“You’re sure it’s Owen?” Jack whispers, squinting at the bloody message in the guttering lantern light.
“It’s just like the clues he left for me at Bludgrave,” I whisper back, clutching my knees tighter to my chest. “And it would make sense that the lion showed up just after I saw the raven. He could have easily transformed into both.”
We sit shoulder to shoulder, our backs against a crate on the far side of the railcar.
To his right, Margaret snores softly, her cheek pressed to his arm, and to my left, Will lies flat, his head propped on a cloth sack, face twisted in restless sleep.
At his feet, Henry slumps against a barrel, his fingers still stretched in the direction of the single lantern, as if ready to wake and extinguish the light at a moment’s notice.
Across from us, Gabriel guards the door, his eyes narrowed on Will’s unconscious form.
He argued that Will should remain beside him in case he wakes in a frenzy, but I insisted he stay close to me.
“I can talk him out of it,” I told him. “At the very least, he’ll attack me first, and the rest of you can defend yourselves.
” Gabriel didn’t like that, but he nodded, dragging him to my side of the railcar.
Still, he reaches for the hilt of a dagger strapped to his chest every time Will twitches or moans in his sleep, and he rests his other hand inside his worn leather jacket, ready to retrieve the cuffs made of Elysian Iron.
Even though he knows—better than most—that if Will wanted to, he could snap every bone in Gabriel’s body before he could grab hold of the binds.
Jack’s forehead creases, the thrash of the flames casting shadows on his dirty face. “What does it mean?”
Liar. I can’t help but think about Owen’s warning to me that day on the train. William Castor is lying to you. A chill runs down my spine. Will had kept secrets from me—about his curse, about the things he was doing for the Order. But I know the truth now. There are no more secrets between us.
“I don’t know,” I say, but when Jack peers at me out of the corner of his eye, I realize he must suspect there’s something I’m not telling him.
“How’re you feeling?” Jack asks, nudging me with his elbow.
I blow out a tight breath, run my hands over my face. “I’ve been better.”
“Really? I would have thought you did this sort of thing for fun.” He shoots me a teasing grin, but it falters when Will shudders beside me, his chest rattling with another labored breath.
“It’s strange, you know.” His expression turns serious, his eyes misty with memory.
“I can’t stop thinking about my parents on a train just like this one, wondering what it would be like once they reached the border. Wondering how they would die.”
When I first met Jack, I learned his parents were conscripted into the League of Seven when he was only six. But I’ve never heard him talk about it. “What happened to them?”
Jack’s brows knit as he stares at the card in his hands, turning it over.
“Gore attack, ten weeks and two days after they were conscripted,” he says quietly.
“Killian broke the news.” He shakes his head.
“When they first left, I remember thinking that they loved each other so much, surely nothing bad could ever happen to them.”
My heart sinks. If the Shifter has replaced someone close to me… it can’t be Jack. I’m certain of it.
He passes the card back to me, and with his hands free, he stretches his arm around Margaret’s shoulder. She nestles into his side, and he smiles softly at the small chuffing noises she makes in her sleep.
After we discovered the knave of clubs, Margaret retreated to the corner of the railcar, slid down the wall, and hugged her knees to her chest. Jack followed her, speaking to her in a hushed, calm voice as Margaret stared straight ahead, her gaze unfocused.
Henry stared, fist clenched at his side. He offered to take the first watch, but Jack insisted. After a little while, Henry and Margaret drifted off, but Gabriel, Jack, and I sat wide awake, rocked by the jostling train, the steady rumble like a familiar lullaby.
“If your brother knows you’re here,” Jack says finally, drawing me out of my thoughts, “does that mean Morana knows, too? I thought the whole point was to attack when she least expects it—where she least expects it.”
I scowl at the knave of clubs—at the message. “This is what she wants,” I say. “A willing sacrifice.” I flick the card. “I’m playing right into her hand.”
Jack nods slowly. “Should we turn back? Regroup with the Order and—”
“We can’t,” I say, my throat tight. “Will can’t wait much longer.” I lower my voice to a barely audible whisper. “The only reason Morana’s general hasn’t taken me is because I’m making it too easy for them both. If I were to leave now…”
“They’d slaughter the rest of us,” Jack says, his fist clenched in his lap. “So you’re just going to walk right into Havok and politely ask for a cure for Will in exchange for your life?”
I wondered what might happen if we were discovered before we reached Havok—feared it—but now that I’m certain Morana knows I’m coming, I realize it was always going to happen this way. Morana knew I would come to the Burning Lands. She’s counting on it.
But what neither Morana nor the Underling general know is that in underestimating me, they’ve given me an advantage.
I smile, slipping Owen’s playing card into my pocket. “Something like that.”
Soft pink light filters in through the cracked door of the railcar when Will’s knuckles brush my cheek, stirring me from a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, his warm, deep voice crackling like the dying embers of a fire.
I sit up, capturing his hand in both of mine.
“You’re awake!” I search his face for any sign of an attack, but find only pallid skin, sweat, and the faint traces of dark, pulsing lesions squirming beneath his freckles like shadowy worms. My pulse calms as I take in the rest of my surroundings to find Margaret, Jack, Henry, and Gabriel are all awake and unharmed.
Will grins, revealing his dimples, but his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, his expression turning serious. “Henry told me about the card.”
A pit forms in my stomach. “It’s nothing to worry about,” I whisper. “I have a plan.”
There—that familiar intelligent gleam in his eyes, that glittering amusement. “Why am I not surprised?”
The metal door groans as Gabriel opens it halfway. “Nearly there,” he says, his voice gruff as he flicks a glance at Will. “If we wait much longer, we’ll be too close to base camp.”
Will dips his head, moving as if to stand, but his legs tremble beneath him, a cord in his neck bulging as he attempts to get to his feet. I grit my teeth and lift him as I rise, positioning myself under his arm for support.
“Would it kill you to ask for help?” I say, teasing him with words he said to me when I first arrived at Bludgrave all those months ago.
He half-coughs, half-chuckles as he plants a chaste kiss on my forehead and whispers, “Thank you.”
Gabriel clears his throat.
Will’s lips twitch as he gestures at the dry, barren landscape whizzing past the open door. “After you.”
I don’t have time to think about whether I like the idea of jumping from a moving train or not.
One by one we leap, first Jack, then Margaret, Henry, me, Will, and finally, Gabriel.
I land hard on my right side, and a sharp pain shoots up my elbow.
Will rolls expertly, but he stirs up a cloud of red dust as he attempts to scramble upright, and when Jack and Henry quickly haul him to his feet, even Gabriel winces, as if he were contemplating offering his assistance as well.
The six of us regroup under the cover of a large cluster of rocks where the tracks curve, concealing us from view.
Will, still wheezing for breath, notices me rubbing my elbow and inclines his head, his hand outstretched. “May I?”
I hesitate, but his crestfallen expression breaks my resolve. “Sure,” I say with a small smile.
Slowly, gently, he places his hand on my right forearm, and not only does the pain in my elbow relent, but the tension in my shoulders, neck, and back fades at his touch.
Warmth flows through my veins, settling the constant churn of my stomach and easing the throbbing sensation at my temples.
At the brush of his fingertips, I feel strong.
Healthy. As if I had never been bruised, or broken, or ill. As if I had never been cursed.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he withdraws his hand.
His eyelashes flutter, casting dark shadows on his pale cheeks. “Of course.”
Meanwhile, Margaret checks Jack for any signs of injury while he brushes the dirt from her shoulders.
Henry favors his recently healed leg as he leans against a boulder looking sullen, and Gabriel takes a swig out of his canteen, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s scrutinizing Will’s and my every movement.
I take the compass from my pocket, the scorching white sun reflecting off the polished gold face.
“No need.” Will cups his hand over his eyes to survey his surroundings. “I know this place. If I remember correctly, there’s a cave nearby, just over this ridge,” he says. “It’s a bit of a trek, but it will be good shelter for the night.”
Gabriel looks at me, brows raised, as if waiting for me to give an order contrary to what Will’s just said.
But how can I argue with Will? He knows the Burning Lands better than anyone—he’s spent ample time along Hellion’s border.
Gabriel’s knowledge of the abandoned manor and the train schedule were the result of information he picked up spying as a Bloodknight.
Will’s knowledge comes from lived experience.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek even as I lift my chin, attempting to inject some of Mother’s authority into my voice. “Why not head for the Burning Lands now?”