22. We Will Get Through This
WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS
GAbrIEL
The guards hurry us out of the room as Skyler quickly explains that an alarm has been tripped.
Wren gasps and clutches my good arm. “Are we in danger?”
The gruff male guard looks over his shoulder and sends me a scalding look, narrowing his eyes. “Everyone’s in danger,” he snarls, and it’s clear he thinks we brought this upon them.
“We’re going to a safe place,” Skyler says. “But we need to hurry.”
“No more questions,” barks her male companion, herding us down the corridor and around a corner.
Our hallway was empty, but soon, streams of people join us.
Everyone is headed in the same direction.
The crowd is largely comprised of women and children, although there are some elders present.
I take Wren’s hand. Our palms press together, and despite everything, a feeling of sureness unspools within me.
More people join the fray, and as we follow Skyler, I can’t help but look around with a mixture of shock and wonderment at all the people.
Whenever my father would talk about the insurgents plaguing his so-called idyllic kingdom, he made it sound as though they were few in number.
To hear him speak, they were exceedingly disorganized, nothing more than hungry peasants pushing back against his rule.
He’d squash their uprisings, punish them for acting up, and return to ruling with a crimson fist. Even when I’d brought Wren here, I’d assumed there would be a few dozen people at best.
But the reality is nothing like what I expected.
Rather than a disorganized group, I inadvertently brought Wren to an entire community living underground.
The People of the Wilting Roses are organized, and even though babies are wailing and children are shrieking, the adults move with a calm composure that tells me this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.
A pair of teenagers races past, weaving through the crowd, and Wren sucks in a breath, staring at the boys with wide eyes. I don’t think their speed is what caught her attention, but the Marks they both bear.
They’re not the only ones stamped with the gods’ blessings. The more people we pass, the more Marks I notice. The ones on the young children and teenagers don’t glow, but a few of the women and elderly have Marks as bright as Wren’s. They’re shining stars, illuminating the dimly lit tunnel.
The presence of so many Marks, especially on those who have obviously passed the age of being Given, sends shivers racing down my spine. They are reminders that nothing in this kingdom is as it seems, that my father has been lying to everyone.
Unsettled, I reach for my connection with Mist only to remember it’s muted and barely there. Dulled by the shadestone manacles. I hate them, and I want them off. I have no magic, no power—that’s why my father hates me, why I bear the scars of his displeasure on my back.
Anger pulses through me, but I force it away. I can’t think about him right now. Not when Wren is here and she could be in danger. Magic or not, I will defend her from whatever comes our way. I force myself to focus on the situation, cataloging all the people who hurry past us.
There are so many of them, but what really stands out is that there isn’t a single priest or priestess. No one is wearing religious garments, and there are no visible tokens representing Esyn. The air is filled with babies crying, not prayers begging the Mother for mercy.
If Rosebridge was under attack, religious acolytes would be flooding the cobblestone streets, praying at the top of their lungs, begging the gods to save them.
There would be gods-blessed in green robes, making sacrifices to the Mother, priests preaching on street corners, and mandatory offerings required from all the king’s citizens—to shield them from harm, of course.
A traditional tithe, demanded by the gods and collected by the Protectors.
Wren shudders, her fingers squeezing mine. “The rubies are screaming, Gabe.” She looks up at me, her Mark flaring. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” I pull my hand from hers, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and holding her close. “It’ll be okay, Birdie. We will get through this.”
“Do you really think so?” she looks up at me, and the way she’s looking at me without a trace of hatred has warmth flooding through me.
“I do.” I squeeze her shoulder. “I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep you out of harm’s way.”
The vow sinks into me, settling right next to the Hunter’s oath I took years ago. I may not have magic, but I can feel the words weaving themselves into the very core of my being, settling as if they've always belonged there.
Even though I don’t know what’s going on, even though I’m sure the king is searching for us and we won’t be able to avoid him forever, I do know this: I will do anything for Wren Nightingale.
Eventually, the tunnels open into a large common area.
The space, roughly three times larger than the council chambers we’d been in previously, is brightly lit.
There are no windows, but dozens of glowing green, yellow, blue, and pink crystals descend from the ceiling and walls, illuminating the space.
They don’t provide much in the way of heat, but the space is plenty warm from the bodies and the four large fires burning in sunken pits.
Each is surrounded by a ring of stones, a barrier to keep children away from the flames.
“Wait here,” the male soldier says before stalking off, leaving us with Skyler.
He weaves through the room, passing several cast-iron cooking vessels suspended over the fires.
They’re being tended to by older women, who seem to be engaging in equal parts cooking, gossiping, and yelling at the young children darting around the long tables and benches filling the rest of the space.
More people stream in from the hallway, and it’s loud, the noise verging on being too much. It reminds me of the Stalls, the central marketplace in Rosebridge, which is always busy no matter the time of year. It’s nearly impossible to hear one’s own thoughts, let alone someone else.
The only people who aren’t speaking are the ones lining the walls. Soldiers, by the looks of them. Their faces are grim, and they stand straight, shoulders back and heads facing forward. None of them are Marked, that I can see, but they’re all armed.
The soldiers are all surveying Wren and me, their intense expressions making it clear we aren’t trusted. I pull Wren closer against my side as a pale man a few inches shorter than me peels off the wall. He exchanges a few words with the gruff soldier who led us here, then his eyes narrow.
His hair is a light blue, like the sky on a clear day, and the way he grasps the hilt of his weapon tells me he’s a practiced swordsman. He stalks over to us, eyes flashing with fury.
“What the fuck, Skyler?” he growls. The way this man carries himself tells me he is important—or at least he thinks he is. “Why are they here?”
Wren stiffens, and I glare at the man. Anger ripples off him in waves, and he’s making no effort to hide his displeasure. A growl rises in my throat as he draws near, and I shift so I’m standing in front of Wren. Before he can get too close, Skyler steps in between us.
“You know the rules, Bellamy.” Her voice is calm. “When an alarm is tripped, everyone who isn’t heading above needs to come here.”
“The rules don’t apply to them.” Bellamy glares at us with so much hostility, I’m surprised it isn’t dripping off him. “They’re spies.”
This again? Gods fucking above, dealing with the same question over and over again is suns-damned exhausting.
Skyler sighs as if she’s as tired by this line of questioning as I am. “You heard Evelyn. That’s not true. She confirmed it.”
“It could be a trick. They could be distorting her visions,” he argues.
“While wearing shadestone?” She shakes her head.
He growls, “Spies have their ways—”
“We aren’t spies!” Wren interrupts.
I’ll never get over hearing her use the word “we” when she’s referring to the two of us. Warmth sparks inside me, and despite everything happening around us, a small smile tugs on my lips.
It quickly falls off when Bellamy glares at my gods-blessed.
“Your word means nothing to me,” Bellamy snarls, and gods, I’ve never wanted to kill a man more.
Before I can move, he spins around and glares at Skyler.
“For all we know, this is their fault. Don’t you think it’s suspicious that two suns-kissed people show up, and less than a month later, we’re under attack? ”
Skyler nibbles on her lip. “I mean, it’s not great.”
“That’s my point. We can’t trust them!” Bellamy shouts.
Several people glance our way, and a group of mothers standing nearby herd their children away.
“That’s enough.” Skyler straightens, glaring at Bellamy. “Think of the children. You’re scaring them with your baseless accusations.”
“I’m scaring them? Me? They’re already frightened out of their minds. There are strangers in their midst.” He points at Wren and me, his finger trembling with barely contained anger. “My job is to safeguard those who are unable to fight and run the medic station. How can I do that with these two—”
“Help!” A breathless cry of alarm interrupts Bellamy’s ranting, and we all turn towards the sound. “Help, we need help.”
Two rebels rush into the room. They’re covered in blood and dirt and supporting a bleeding man between them. A gash on the side of his head gushes crimson with every step, his clothes are torn and muddy, and if he had a weapon, it’s nowhere in sight.
A makeshift stretcher being carried by four people comes through the doorway next. Bloody fingers hang over the side, twitching.
“Burning suns,” Wren whispers.
I echo her sentiments, my stomach twisting. Even though I am no stranger to blood and death, it never gets any easier.
Bellamy steps towards the newcomers, shooting us a warning glare filled with threats of violence. “Stay back,” he warns. “Do not speak to anyone. Do not touch anything. Do not even fucking move.”
I understand where Bellamy is coming from.
After all, he’s a soldier amid a taxing situation, and he has a lot going on.
Wren and I are unknown factors, complications that he may not have planned for.
If he were only addressing me, I would let his behavior slide, but he’s involved Wren, and I cannot let that stand.
“Don’t speak to her like that,” I snarl. “Wren hasn’t done anything wrong.”
He turns his anger-filled eyes towards me. “She shouldn’t be here. Neither of you should be. Your very presence is endangering us all.”
Skyler steps forward, placing her hand on his arm. “Bellamy—”
“Enough,” he growls, shaking off her touch as another stretcher is carried into the space. “Keep them away from me so I can do my gods-damned job.”
Bellamy stomps past us, shouting orders as he approaches the wounded. People are already moving, pulling rolls of bandages and jars out of baskets as they set up a makeshift nursing station.
More people arrive from above. Those who are capable of walking do, but many are carried in. Reports start filtering in from the surface. Dozens of soldiers are attacking the mountain. Some say thirty, others report twice as many.
No matter the numerical discrepancies, everyone agrees on one thing: The soldiers are here for blood.
Wren’s face is pale, and her Mark is pulsing as she watches the injured file in. “This is the king’s doing, isn’t it?”
Skyler looks over, chewing on her lip for a moment before nodding. “It appears that way.”
“And it’s our fault,” Wren says. “Right?”
Skyler pauses, and I don’t need to be looking at her to know the answer. Of course this is our doing. Even though I thought I was careful and covered our tracks, I must’ve missed something and led my father’s soldiers here. There’s no way this is a coincidence.
“I mean . . .” the rebel starts, then trails off.
Wren turns to me. “Tell me the truth, Gabe. I’ve been lied to too many times in my life. Are these people hurt because of me?” Someone screams across the room, and Wren shudders.
I wish I could say this wasn’t our fault. I wish I could tell her this probably happens all the time.
But I can’t.
“It’s probable that we caused this,” I tell her slowly, hating every word coming out of my mouth. Her Mark flares, and I reach for her, but she shakes her head and steps away from me. Gods, that fucking hurts. “But I’m the one who brought us here. The fault rests solely on my shoulders.”
Several beats pass, each feeling longer than the last, before Wren’s face hardens. Across the room, a baby wails at the top of their lungs. A cry comes from the right. Low moans.
The air is subdued, and even the children seem to recognize the weight of the situation because they’re quieter.
Wren turns to Skyler. “I want to help.”
She winces. “I don’t think Bellamy would be okay with that. He’s in charge of the injured, and he’s made his position clear—”
“Not here.” Wren looks at Skyler pleadingly. “I want to help defend this place. Please, take off the cuffs and let me use my magic.”