Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adrian
“There is no higher form of hypocrisy than them executing us for heresy when they are the ones who serve false gods.”
— As Spoken by Wisteria Sallow, Leader of the Origin of Divine Cult
“Sewing,” Zya spoke up suddenly from beside me.
I tore my gaze away from Gryfon, whom I’d been watching as he assisted a group of warriors in tearing down the tents on the other side of the camp, to look back at Zya.
“They put me on sewing,” she repeated, bitterly. “Again. Can you believe it? All of that, escaping the Underground and wandering across the desert with total strangers and they make me a seamstress yet again.”
I snorted.
“You have a skillset,” I told her. “At least you’re useful.”
“Adrian,” she said, frowning. “Are you attempting to claim you aren’t useful? You freed us from the Underground. You took down the barrier.”
“And where did that get us? Stranded in the middle of a dusty wasteland with a group of people we know nothing about and are playing their cards a little too close to the chest for my liking. Haven’t you wondered, Zya, if maybe we traded one form of captivity for another?”
Zya frowned but glanced out at the camp around us.
“You have questions,” she said, lowering her voice so we wouldn't be overheard. “I do too. But you’re the kind of person who isn’t willing to let them go despite having a good thing going here. So ask them.”
“They won’t tell me. You heard their leaders—”
“So don’t ask their leaders. Ask him.”
She nodded in the direction of Gryfon.
“I’ve seen you staring at him,” she told me. “Either that means you’re contemplating how to kill him or how to fuck him. Either way—”
“Zya!” I exclaimed, turning to find her grinning at me.
I rolled my eyes.
“Where are the others?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Roxy is with their metalworkers. They’re showing her how they craft their weapons without a standing forge. Kane is helping the other giant men take down the tents and Hugh is somewhere with a group of people talking about something called aqueducts.”
“And Darius?”
She frowned. I sighed.
“He’s off by himself again, isn’t he?” I asked.
“Not much use for a farmer in the desert,” Zya replied with a shrug.
“He isn’t a farmer. And you aren’t a seamstress,” I snapped, shoving my half-eaten bowl of breakfast porridge into her hands as I strode away from her in search of my moody old friend.
I angled myself away from the camp, knowing Darius had preferred to keep his distance from the others ever since we'd arrived, a fact Roxy had taken harder than anyone else. Kane and Hugh still integrated themselves into the camp, adapting nearly as quickly as Zya to everyone’s surprise.
Roxy might have done the same if it weren’t for Darius and his melancholy moods pulling her away every night to sleep on the fringes of camp beneath the stars, even denying the use of the tents this encampment offered to provide.
Darius was nothing if not stubborn. I remembered that as a quality I’d always admired. Now, I simply found it annoying.
“Did you at least get some breakfast?” I called out as I approached him, ensuring he was aware I was there.
I’d found him in the same place he always was, leaning against a massive orange rock and staring out into the desert as if he believed if he squinted hard enough he might find the way home.
I had no doubt that if he ever did lay eyes on the Underground again, he’d start walking and leave us all behind without a second thought.
I didn’t blame him for that. I imagined I might do the same, though not for the Underground but for the city that rested above it.
“I’m not hungry,” he grunted in reply.
“I know that’s a lie,” I told him, doing my best to keep my tone light, casual.
Things had been awkward between us ever since we’d spent nearly all of my time in the Underground arguing. I’d hoped we could set that aside, now that we were out, but Darius seemed to take as much issue with our escape as he had with my attempting it.
“We’re leaving again, aren’t we?” he asked, ignoring my inquiry about his eating habits altogether.
“They say we’re days away from the city they call Archí,” I told him. “They seem eager to reach it as soon as possible so I imagine it’ll be another long day of walking.”
“Do you think they’ll actually tell us everything once we get there?”
“Everything? Probably not. But more than the Geist ever did. More than Tiberius and the others ever did.”
“More than they knew, Adrian.”
He finally turned to look at me where I leaned against the rock next to him.
“Tiberius wasn’t keeping secrets from you,” he told me and he sounded so certain of it I was tempted to believe him myself. “He didn’t know there was a world outside of Sanctuary and the Underground. None of us did.”
I wasn’t so sure about that but I didn’t argue. Instead, I nodded and we both turned our attention back to the rising sun on the horizon before us.
“I want you to learn how to fight,” I told him, my tone low even out here, alone as we were.
He turned to look at me again.
“You’ve never learned,” I said. “And I doubt Roxy or Kane have either. Zya has some training, I’m sure, being from the Second Ring.
And I don’t know where Hugh came from before all this but I don’t know what we’re walking into, Darius.
And I need to know you’ll be able to defend yourselves if it should come to that. ”
He frowned, obviously displeased by the idea, but he only asked, “And how do you propose we train to potentially defend against a camp of people who are always around us?”
“My tent,” I replied. “Mine and Zya’s. It’s big enough if we push aside the cots. Roxy can get the weapons from the metal workers. They want her to study their make anyway. Just one or two swords. We can take turns and do it late at night so no one hears.”
He watched me for a moment longer, considering, but then nodded once. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, relief washing over me at his easy agreement.
“Not that it'll do any good,” he muttered. “We’re outnumbered ten to one and half the people here are warriors. I don’t know what kind of training you got from House Viper, Adrian, but I imagine it pales in comparison to what they have here.”
“It’s better than nothing,” I said with a shrug even though the truth of his words cut deeper than I cared to admit. I pushed off from the rock at my back and turned to go. “We’re leaving soon. I suggest you find the caravan before it leaves your ass in this sweltering desert.”
He snorted.
“And Darius,” I called over my shoulder as I walked away. “Try to make this easier on Roxy.”
He tensed but I didn’t stop.
“She’d stay by your side no matter what you chose but she wants to be a part of this,” I said. “Let her.”
“A speech on the importance of accepting your lot in life from you, Adrian?” Darius droned, his tone crueler than I'd ever heard it. “Please, rise above the hypocrisy. It’s beneath you.”
Thoroughly scolded, I strode away from him, telling myself the burning sensation in my cheeks was from the heat of the morning sun and not my own mortification.
I returned to camp to find it all packed up and ready to go.
The leaders were mounting their horses, strange animals with coarse fur and long snouts and tails they used to swish the flies away from their flanks as they carried the burden of the men and woman upon them across the endless desert.
The rest of us were falling into place behind them.
Most of the warriors took up positions around the canvas covered wagons which held all of the camp’s supplies.
They would pull it for a time before exchanging the burden with another and on and on until we reached whatever destination those at the lead commanded would do for the night.
Zya found my side moments after I arrived. Kane and Hugh lined up behind us soon after and, behind them, Roxy’s shoulders relaxed with relief when she saw Darius padding across the sand to join as well.
“Did you ever learn to fight?” I whispered to Zya as the caravan began to move and we walked forward along with it.
Her gaze slid to me for only a moment before she turned her attention forward again.
“Not with a weapon,” she told me. “But my father’s preferred method of exercise involved using our fists to beat the shit out of each other. Strength-training, he called it.”
“Were you any good?”
“Never lost a match,” she said, raising her chin proudly.
“I figured as much,” I replied with a smile.
“Why do you ask?”
“They need to learn how to defend themselves,” I said, jerking my head back in the direction of the others who were chatting happily amongst themselves behind us. “In case Archí doesn’t turn out to be as welcoming as we hope.”
She nodded slowly, understanding.
“They have weapons,” she pointed out, nodding ahead of us to two warriors who were strapped with all manner of swords and knives and crossbows. “Even if we become proficient with our fists—”
“Roxy will get us steel. I’ll teach us how to use it,” I said. “I can’t promise it'll make a difference but I need to know they have the chance to defend themselves. I brought us here. If this whole thing is a trap—”
“I understand.”
I nodded and silence fell between us. Zya claimed she understood and, somehow, I knew she did.
We were similar, Zya and I. We weren’t the same naive girls we'd been in Sanctuary or, perhaps, Zya had never been naive.
Regardless, we both shared a wariness of the world around us that leant itself to a sort of unspoken agreement between us.
That if we couldn't rely on that which we knew, we could at least rely on each other.
That camaraderie meant more to me than she could possibly know and, I imagined, made the world far less lonely for both of us.
***