Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1)

by Veronica Sommers

  Suddenly the bathroom doors unfold, and Rak says irritably, "Alik, you used both towels—"

  I only get a quick glimpse before he darts behind the doors, pushing them shut again—but my brain captures the image and stores it away forever. The image of a golden-skinned, dark-haired god, water beading on his body—curves of muscled arms, chiseled torso, and much more, that I'm sure he didn't want me to see.

  He's cursing behind the doors, Alik is guffawing, and Safi sits with her mouth open and an appreciative glint in her eyes.

  "Here's a towel, Rak," Alik says, sidling over to the door and holding it out.

  The door opens a crack and a hand slips through, snatching the towel. "You're a scourgeling's ass, Alik."

  "I know, brother, I know."

  "We've seen it all before, Rak," Safi calls. "And you certainly have nothing to be embarrassed about." She looks at me and raises her eyebrows significantly. "What did I tell you about the muscles?" she says in a low tone.

  Rak slams out of the bathroom a few minutes later. I've seen men naked, and it's nothing embarrassing for me, usually; but for some reason I can't wipe the idiotic smile off my face—so I head for the door, keeping my back to him.

  "Let's get some food," I say. "Or I might have to eat one of you."

  Alik snorts back a laugh. I ignore him, open the door, and walk out into the evening.

  The temperature drop isn't as drastic as it was in the bare desert, but the air feels significantly cooler. I walk close to Rak all the way to the eatery, and as we enter I don't stray from his side, remembering the bounty hunter in Ankerja. It's not that I can't defend myself; but when Rak is beside me, solid and muscled and watchful, I feel safer.

  When we're settled in a dim corner of the eatery, full plates steaming before us, Alik crashes into a conversation with his usual tact. "So, Rak—how long did your team work on the plan for kidnapping the Magnate's daughter?"

  I stare, and Safi kicks him under the table.

  "Ow! It's professional interest," Alik insists. "I'm curious. I'll go first—it took me three weeks' observation and two weeks' execution to steal from—you know who." He glances around the room, as if Akej Orunei himself might be listening.

  "We found out she was coming two months ago," says Rak. "We have sources among the Peace-Keepers, and a few overseas in Ceanna. Commander Therin pulled together a team. We didn't know what we were doing at first—they told us it was a chance to get back at Ceanna for the occupation."

  "Commander Therin," I say. "Your boss, the leader, back at the base?"

  "Yes."

  "He's the only one of the Fray that really scared me," I say. "He could be so nice and friendly one minute, and then terrifying and cruel the next."

  "Those are the worst men," says Safi. "The ones who can do unspeakable things while acting normal."

  "He's not like that," says Rak. "He's a decent man, but he has been fighting this war a long time."

  "Decent man?" I raise my eyebrows. "He put a nano-patch over my mouth. He had one of your buddies shoot Vern, my head of security. And he would have killed me. He ordered you to kill me, Rak."

  "And I didn't like any of it, but he's a military man. He focuses on the big picture, the end goal. Whatever it takes to get there, he does it." Rak slaps his palm on the table.

  "And what does he think of you absconding with his hostage?" Alik asks. "I hope, for your sake, that he's as forgiving to his men as he is ruthless to his enemies."

  "He'll think I'm a traitor," Rak says, stabbing the food on his plate with a fork. "I'll be shot, or imprisoned."

  Hearing him say it aloud takes my breath away. The danger he has put himself in, for me.

  "He'd kill you, or lock you up, for freeing an innocent person?" I say.

  "He's a man who prizes loyalty and duty," Rak says. "I respect that."

  I should leave it alone—but my memory regurgitates Vern's bloody blond hair, the defeated slump of his shoulders, the hole through his head—I give Rak a challenging stare. "How do you respect a murderer?"

  Rak lays down the fork. "Zilara, when the Ceannans invaded, Unity welcomed them. Opened their arms and said, 'As long as we get to keep some power, you can do anything you like.' And what the Peace-Keepers liked best was killing Fray and Vilor faction members. To them, we're all part of the same rebel group. They don't differentiate between us. They don't recognize that the Vilor stand for anarchy and murder, while the Fray want change and real peace. No. To your Peace-Keepers and their Unity puppets, anyone who dissents deserves the same sweeping judgment."

  His eyes are searching mine, but I avoid them and focus on my plate instead.

  "When the Peace-Keepers came, Fray leaders like Therin tried to reason with them, but they wouldn't sit down for talks," Rak says. "They wanted immediate surrender. And when the Fray refused, the Peace-Keepers started attacking us—our towns, our supplies, our troops, our gathering points. Therin's brothers and sister were killed in a Peace-Keeper raid."

  "That's why he hates my people so much."

  Rak nods. "That's part of the reason. He has also seen our country fracture even more, thanks to the rule of your father's generals. We're poorer than ever, weaker than ever. Our families, our economy—they're in this state of constant stress, and it's tearing everything apart. Another decade, and there won't be anything left of us. So if Therin is radical, it's because of everything he's witnessed in his lifetime. He's intent on stopping all of this. Resetting everything."

  "He wants the Peace-Keepers out, so the Fray can battle Unity for power." I frown. "Won't that weaken both factions? What if the Vilor take over while Unity and Fray are fighting?"

  "She's right," Safi says. "Doesn't sound much better than what we have right now."

  "But it's the natural way of things," says Rak. "We have to be allowed to resolve this ourselves, within our borders."

  "As long as it stays within Emsalis's borders," I say. "But, Rak—we've had this discussion before. We're rehashing the same issues again. Can't we agree that both sides have some valid points, and leave it at that? It's not like we're going to solve the problem right here, over plates of noodles and—what is this kind of meat, anyway?"

  "I'm not sure." Alik pokes a strip of it. "Probably sahramul."

  "It's—interesting."

  Safi curls noodles around her fork. "What kind of food do you eat in Ceanna?"

  "Everything. We don't really have our own cuisine—it's mostly food we've adopted from other cultures and tweaked somehow." I scrape my fork through the gravy, tracing swirls. "Seems like we do that with our fashion and music too. I guess we're not a very original people."

  "Therin calls Ceannans parasites," says Rak.

  My head snaps up. "We're not parasites. Just—collectors. Adopters of the best things."

  "I didn't mean—I was only repeating—"

  "What you've heard about us," I finish for him. "Not everything you hear about Ceanna is true. Just like not everything I heard about Emsalis was true. It's like I said—truth on both sides. Also lies on both sides."

  He looks down at his plate. "I'm sure you're eager to go home."

  Alik and Safi, the food, the faint hum of voices in the eatery—it all fades into the background.

  "Not as eager as I thought I would be," I say.

  He looks up, dark hair framing his face.

  The pull between us is like gravity, irresistible, magnetic—too much for me to handle calmly. My breathing quickens, and my heart lopes like a jacanal, a swift, fluid rhythm.

  I break eye contact first. It doesn't matter what I feel—I'm leaving. "We have another day or so until my father can send someone for me," I say. "We need to find a safe place, and I don't think this is it. Too close to the edge of the desert. Too easy for the Vilor to find us again, if they decide to get some revenge for what we did."

  Rak opens his mouth as if to speak, and then shuts it again.

  "What?" I ask. "Do you have an idea?"

  "I—m
y family—my home town is near here. Less than a day's drive."

  "You want to check on your mother and sister." I nod, understanding.

  "We could stay at my house, and then you could arrange to meet your father's men outside of town," he says.

  "Anyone have a problem with that?" I raise my eyebrows, looking from Alik to Safi.

  "Not at all." Alik shovels another bite into his mouth.

  "You think your family will harbor us?" asks Safi. "Aren't they Fray faction?"

  "Yes, but they'll respect my choice, and our family's blood bond." He says it too emphatically, as if he's trying to convince himself.

  Safi's eyes meet mine, and there's a warning in them. But I don't know this land. I don't have any better ideas, and I want Rak to see his mother and sister, to know that they're safe. Surely they'll understand why he helped me. Even if they don't want us to stay, he can at least speak to them; and then, after I'm gone, he'll be nearby to protect them from whatever comes next.

  "It's settled then," I say. "We'll go to Rak's hometown tomorrow. Safi, how much charge do we have left on the communicator?"

  Safi pulls the communicator out of her pack and unseals its protective bag. Of course she has her pack with her; it's never out of her sight. Alik brought his, too—its bulk crowds the leg space under our table.

  "No charge left, but I can juice it up at the inn tonight, as long as they have the right sockets."

  "So we'll go to Rak's hometown tomorrow and find a safe place. Then I'll call my father. Agreed?"

  Alik lifts an eyebrow. "Do we have a choice?"

  "Not really."

  "Then I agree." He turns his attention to Safi, who's sitting across from him. "What about you, Sky-born? Coming along?"

  "Do I have my money yet?" she retorts. "Of course I'm coming."

  "Are you sure?" says Alik. "It's a Maraj town, and we've all heard how much you love their rules."

  She rolls her eyes. "I don't belong with that tribe anymore, and I don't have to live by their rules. So no, it won't bother me."

  "Good. Then enough heavy talk for one night!" Alik raises his cup. "Let's have a round or two, and celebrate leaving behind that blood-blasted desert!"

  The rest of us murmur faintly, and he groans. "You are the worst company! No fun at all. Come on, the first round is on me. Let's try some victal, shall we?"

  Rak's eyes narrow. "Rough stuff, Alik. Are you sure you can handle it?"

  "Of course, Maraj boy. Can you?"

  Rak looks uncertain. "That was my father's favorite drink." He glances at me, and I understand. He doesn't want to follow his father's dark path.

  "One time is all right," I tell him. "But it's your choice. You don't have to."

  He nods, relaxing. "One time."

  "How about you, Princess? Are you ready for this?" Alik's sea-blue eyes sparkle at me.

  "Is it stronger than the stuff in your flask?"

  "Oh, darling, you've no idea." He grins wickedly.

  In Ceanna, legal drinking age is twenty years old, and the Peace-Keepers have probably laid down the same laws here—not that anyone pays attention. Why shouldn't I indulge in a drink or two? It's one of my last nights in Emsalis, and I deserve a little fun.

  "I'm in," I tell Alik. "You, Safi?"

  She shakes her head, pressing a hand lightly over her stomach. "Still feeling messed up," she says. "I don't think I should drink."

  A glance at her plate tells me she hasn't eaten much, either. "Do you want to go back to the room?" I ask.

  "You three have your drink, then we'll go," she says. "We should rest for the trip tomorrow."

  "Hear that, Maraj boy?" Alik says. "We're drinking!"

  Rak's eyes glint. "Call me boy one more time."

  "I would," says Alik. "But then you'll hit me or crush me, and my ribcage doesn't feel like enduring any more pain."

  Rak leans back with a satisfied smile as Alik orders the drinks. When they arrive, carried by a sallow girl younger than me, I take mine in a single gulp like Rak and Alik do.

  The liquor is a monster, ripping fiery claws along my throat and thrashing white-hot in my stomach. I choke and wheeze, eyes streaming. "I'm going to kill you!" I gasp to Alik, who's laughing so hard he has to hold his wounded chest with both hands.

  "Your face," he says. "Best reaction I've seen in a long time!"

  The burning fades slowly, but I say no to the second round. Alik and Rak drink, and drink again.

  "That's enough," says Safi, rising. "Otherwise the two of you will transform from barely passable human beings into hideous humping monsters."

  "I take offense," says Alik, rising and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I may be a monster, and I may do some occasional humping, but I'm never hideous."

  Rak laughs louder and longer than usual, and they both swagger out of the eatery with their arms across each other's shoulders. I follow with Safi, feeling strangely warm and light-headed. The night air cocoons me like a blanket. I'm buried in its dark folds, floating on its gentle warmth—which is odd, because my head tells me that the night should be chilly.

  "Zilara," says Safi. "You're using your power."

  "I'm not."

  "You are," she says. "You're using it, and it's getting too warm."

  I try to focus, to reel back in whatever energy I'm releasing. "Is that better?"

  "Yes." Her shoulders release their tension, but she drifts a few steps away from me. "You should be careful with drinking, if it makes you lose control of your ability."

  The men enter their room, singing loudly in Emsali, with barely a backward glance at us, and minutes later Safi and I are sinking onto the beds in our room. Her sigh of relief echoes my own.

  "If there is a blessed afterlife," she says. "I believe it would feel like this." And within seconds, her breathing turns slow and rhythmic.

  Engulfed in sheets and blankets and pillows, lying on a real mattress, I should be able to sleep. I twist, and I flip from one side to the other, and I rearrange the pillows. My body won't relax. My brain won't stop running, running, running.

  When I close my eyes I see the desert, wide and shadowy under cold stars. I see tattooed, sneering faces and streams of boltfire; and once, as I'm finally drifting into sleep, a wet tongue slides along my cheek. I sit upright, heart pounding, frantically feeling for the light button. When the lamp comes on, there's nothing, no one in the room except a sleeping Safi on the next bed.

  I lie down again, but this time when my eyes close, I see bloody, mangled hands, finger bones dangling from tendons, smearing gore across my chest. A whimper escapes my throat and I leap out of the bed, trembling. Pulling on my shorts and shirt, shoving my feet into my boots, I'm out the door of our room, closing it softly behind me.

  Here is the night air I've grown used to, cool and fresh and wild. I fill my lungs with it. In that room, in that bed, something is missing, something I need. I can't relax, can't let myself feel safe without it.

  Without him.

  My eyes find the door of the next room, then my gaze skips along the building to the window of the front office. A dim light shines from it, but I can't make out any distinct shapes through the faraway glass. I don't think the woman at the desk can see me—unless she has security vid feeds. Of course if she does see me going into Rak's room, she could kick us all out of her inn.

  It's worth the risk.

  I move toward Rak's door, hand raised to knock.

  24

  What am I doing?

  I whirl away from Rak's door and slam my hand into the concrete wall of the building. Again and again I strike, until my palm stings.

  I'm becoming like the swoony heroines in romance vids. I hate those girls. Vissa and Reya and I laugh at them, mock them mercilessly for their dependence on men and their worship of the male ideal.

  It's only a small comfort that Rak is less than the male ideal. He's tall, strong, good-looking, and smart, but he's also rough, dirty, strange, weirdly religious, scarred, morally
conflicted, and toting a past heavier than a transport truck.

  Why can't I sleep without him? What is wrong with me?

  I have to go back inside and try to rest. Stepping back to the door of my room, I lift my fingers to enter the unlock code.

  And then the door of Rak and Alik's room opens, hinges squeaking faintly. I don't have to turn around to know who it is.

  "Zilara."

  A violent, ecstatic thrill through my bones.

  "Zilara, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine, Rak. Go back to bed."

  "What are you doing out here?" His voice is slower than usual, the words softer around the corners.

  "You're drunk. Go to bed," I say without turning around, fingers poised over the lock keypad.

  "I'm not drunk. I'm just—warmed," he says, with a chuckle.

  "Is that what you call it here?"

  A faint scrape of bare feet on pavement as he comes closer. He's right behind me—I can feel his breath moving my hair.

  "You smell like flowers," he whispers.

  My skin is prickling, tingling all over. I force myself to take shallow breaths at regular intervals.

  "Turn around," he says.

  "Why?" I breathe the word.

  "I want to look at you, and there's not much time left."

  The simple honesty of his answer undoes me, and I turn to face him.

  He's wearing only the shorts he bought today. The expanse of his chest, his beautifully muscled stomach, so close, so temptingly touchable. His tanned skin bears bruises and shallow red cuts from our fight with the Vilor, and across his abdomen is a boltfire sear that I didn't even know he'd gotten. He hasn't bandaged it, the idiot.

  He lifts his right hand and tips up my face, looking at me as though he wants to memorize every feature. He even tilts my head to the side, inspecting the birthmark tattoo along my temple and cheekbone.

  "Why are you out here?" he says.

  "I couldn't sleep." I drop my eyes from his face.

  "Bad dreams?"

  "Yes."

  He nods. "I have them. Less often than I used to, but still." His breath carries the acrid smell of the victal, and I wince. "What?" he asks.

  "Your breath smells like that horrible drink. Too bad."