Chapter 18 #2
Malcolm takes a steadying breath as I thread the needle and bend it into a crescent shape, but nods. He turns his face to the side, away from me, when I rip open an alcohol pad and sterilize the needle.
Just as it pierces his skin, he whispers through a groan, “I got your letter.”
My hand pauses briefly, but I stay quiet as I resume.
“Not long before, every screen in the city came alive with static, and the loudspeakers squealed. The feedback so intense people were covering their ears. But then it went quiet, and those statues flashed across the screen. Everything I’ve ever taught my students, a lie.
” His voice cracks. “People’s loved ones frozen in time.
Others’ lying in those beds about to kiss death.
It kept replaying over and over on a loop. That is, until you came into view.”
Malcolm flinches when my needle pokes a little too deep. “Sorry,” I breathe, steadying my hand. “Just a few more.”
He clenches the bedsheets and mutters under his breath, “You’re right. That hurts.”
“Might I suggest a nice ‘fuck?’ Saying bad words works wonders.”
He chuckles through his tense jaw. “That’s when the feed cut off, you know. We all watched you taunt the Third Guardian, heard him reveal the truth about everything and threaten to kill you. And there you were, defiant as usual, telling him to go fuck himself.”
His eyes glaze over, as if remembering every detail, before he continues.
“I thought you were dead, and then I found your last letter in my dinner tray, explaining everything. So, Walter and I, we started the rumblings of defiance, whispered in people’s ears, inciting riots until enough people started to fight back.
We took to the streets, tearing down cameras and statues.
We burned essential buildings, tried to storm the palace. ”
My eyes go wide, a tear threatening to spill. Pride and heartache claw at my chest.
“Why?” I whisper. “What really made you decide to do something?”
Malcolm frowns, chewing on his lip, before resolve tightens his skin I’m still stitching, and he winces again.
“Because you were right, Saskia.” With a great breath, his gaze latches back onto mine.
“I… I love him. Walter. In a different way than I love you. And I don’t think the Guardians should take away anything from us, but least of all love. ”
I beam, tying a square knot to finish the suture. He’s right—and I’m so proud of him for acknowledging and fighting for it.
But Malcolm turns to look at me with concern still stamped all over his face. “How, Saskia? How are you alive? How did you get out of there? I saw you jump.”
For a moment, I have an urge to lie down next to him and spill every single detail over the past several months, including everything the so-called Monster has ever said to me. But I’m not even supposed to be here right now, and time is bleeding away.
“I’m sorry, Malcolm. It’s a long story and one I don’t have the time to tell at the moment. But I’m bringing in help. It’s the only way to defeat the Guardians. Humans are no match for them alone.”
“I know,” he says. “Our riots were quickly contained. The sentries took in hordes of people to throw over the Wall, and they beat the rest of us.” He gestures at his face, now freshly stitched.
“Thankfully, they didn’t know I started it, but I keep thinking it should be me they fed to the Monster.
All those people dead because I actually thought thousands of us could stand a chance against twelve Guardians if we united. ”
I lay a hand on his elbow and squeeze. “It’s not your fault for trying. All we can do is try,” I add, thinking of Lucan’s earlier words. “And they might not even be dead.”
I know for a fact that the rioters weren’t thrown over the Wall, so where are they now? The same place as Diggory? Or did the Guardians simply lock them in with the other Chosen Ones, drinking their blood until they became complacent and lethargic?
Another round of howling, this time from the east, makes both Malcolm and me jump.
“It’s weird,” he says, “we never knew there was more than one Monster.”
“We never knew a lot of things,” I reply, arching a brow. “And there’s still so far for us to go.”
From the belt around my waist, I pull out two daggers and place them next to the candle on the nightstand. He needs them more than I do, and I have plenty more.
Malcolm does a double take, his bottom lip dropping open. But he doesn’t ask where the weapons came from or how I was able to acquire them. He just closes his mouth and looks back at me with resolve.
“Now, keep your wound clean, and lay low for a little while.” I kiss his good cheek before pressing my forehead to his.
He smiles. “Thank you, Saskia.”
“I’ll be back, Malcolm. I promise. And next time, I won’t be alone.”
Back in the minty night air—this time wrapped in one of my old cloaks I plucked from my closet in order to camouflage myself a little better—I find the sentries scurrying around like ants, shouting useless orders as the pack continues to howl and howl and howl.
As I approach the end of the alleyway and stick my neck out to look up and down the main street, I can’t help but smirk again, watching them panic.
Though, it makes things harder for me to get across, where the entrance to the Healing Center sits thirty yards in front of me.
I debate how much of my speed to use, and whether or not I’ll need to use it.
Lucan, can you move the pack back to the north, behind the Blood Moon Palace? Make the sentries think something’s happening there?
Done, he replies instantly, and the pack’s howling ceases abruptly.
The sentries freeze and look between each other wildly.
One minute of silence passes. Two.
Just as the sentries start returning to their patrolling rhythm with a spooked look in their eyes, the howling bursts back into life, right behind the Wall where I first jumped into Lucan’s arms.
The sound electrifies me.
All of the sentries turn toward it, half of them starting to sprint in the Blood Moon Palace’s direction.
Pulling my hood over my head, I step out into the open at a quickened pace. I’ll have to pass right behind a sentry, frozen in his tracks by the roaring of Monsters.
But as long as they keep howling…
Twenty yards. Ten.
That’s when I lift my eyes and my heart cripples with intense shock.
“No!” I gasp. Cry. Wail, really. Forgetting where I am, the urgency of the situation, my knees buckle as I take in what I so desperately wish wasn’t real.
A body stretches out above the Healing Center doorway, wrists and ankles tied with rope that strains against the cinched knots.
Each limb is pulled out tight, the head lolling unnaturally.
Still, I recognize the face—the thick eyebrows and dark hair—and my entire body goes rigid as pain rips through me at the realization.
Claudia.