Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1)

by Veronica Sommers

  "What you say may be true," he says. "But this has gone beyond politics, my dear. It's personal. I can't let you get away and go back home safely. That's not who I am."

  At first I think he's going to kill me right then—but he moves away. "Now, I believe Rakhi's mother and sister have a personal ritual to take care of. Excising the traitor in their family, and proving their loyalty to the Fray."

  Rak's mother steps forward, holding a pair of shears.

  Excising. The cutting of the ayila, the thing they were going to do to Rak's father. I don't fully understand the significance of it, but it must be weighty if Rak's father killed himself rather than face that humiliation.

  When I look at Rak, I almost cry out at the pain on his face. He is broken open, his heart on display for all these men and women to see, and I want to cover it, to hide his hurt from them. They don't have the right to witness it. Tears fill his eyes, and he pleads with his mother in their language.

  But she only feels her own pain, and she is deaf to his.

  The rebels hold him, but it's more to keep him upright than to restrain him. Without their grip, he might collapse.

  His sister separates the beaded lock of his hair from the others. She counts the beads, enumerating each one and what it stands for—the names of his grandparents, and his parents. Her own name. And then, touching each respective bead—"Honor, you have betrayed. Love, you have spurned. Family, you—" Her voice breaks, her lower lip wobbling.

  Rak's mother takes over the enumeration. "Family, you have failed. Light, you have shadowed. Peace, you have rejected. Courage, you have lacked."

  I want to scream at them, to tell them how stupid they are, how inane is this ritual of theirs. I want to shout that Rak is all of those beautiful brave things and more, and that they are too selfish to see it. But my words would mean nothing, except to confirm me as the maniacal bitch daughter of the Magnate that they all think I am. This moment, agonizing though it is, is part of Rak's culture, and I have no place in it.

  My brain surges with fire, and I want to release it—but with the guns pointed at me, I don't dare risk using my ability. As Rak's mother finishes enumerating his failures, I turn my head slightly, and I see that Safi and Alik are sitting side by side on the poufs, with Alik's pack between them. There are guns trained on them as well, but they're being watched less closely than Rak and I. Maybe they can still escape with their lives. I wish I could tell them I'm sorry for getting them involved in all this.

  "For all these sins of darkness," says Rak's mother. "I excise you, Rakhi Masdar, from the Maraj." The shears snap, and the beaded lock of Rak's hair falls away. His sister catches it. "You have no tribe, no family, no religion. We leave you to your path. May you one day return to the light."

  The rebels release Rak's arms and he falls, head bowed, his hands gripping his knees.

  What have I cost him?

  "Rak," I whisper. I will not cry in front of these people. I will not let them see my weakness.

  When Rak's sister turns, holding the ayila in her hands, her gaze meets mine, before I have a chance to hide the pain in my eyes. She stares, shocked, as if she's seeing something she didn't expect. But the next instant she ducks her head and moves past me, away from me.

  In fact, everyone is backing away from me, except Alik and Safi. And Therin is stepping forward.

  He twirls the knife expertly. "Your turn to be cut, my dear." He sets the blade against my neck.

  I swallow and close my eyes.

  "No!" A fierce bellow from Rak, and a scuffle, and a shout of "Hold him!"

  He tried. He tried to save me. He can't.

  The world narrows to the razor edge of the knife, and the soft flesh of my throat.

  A chill runs over my skin, raising every hair on my body. I know what's about to happen. The cleaving, the pain, the blood.

  I see my death before it happens.

  And then something explodes in my brain with a pop and a hiss, and I'm gone.

  26

  I am here.

  I blink.

  A strange ceiling above me—white plaster, dark beams.

  Moans, movement. Someone's body collapsed over mine. I glance down at a head of sandy, thinning hair. A jolt of panic as I realize who it is—Commander Therin. Violently I shove him away, worming out from under him. He's beginning to move, to come back to life. I snatch the knife from his hand and stand on trembling legs.

  All around the room are bodies, mostly unconscious, some of them stirring. The rebels, Rak's mother and sister, and Rak himself, crumpled on the floor.

  Safi and Alik are gone.

  And then I remember. Back at the inn in Ankerja, the grenade Alik threatened us with—the one that could render everyone unconscious except him. He must have slipped it out of his bag and used it, and then he left. He could only drag one person with him, so he took Safi. I'm surprised he didn't escape alone. He must like her more than he lets on.

  Why did I wake sooner than the others? Maybe because I was closer to Alik, among the first to feel the effects?

  I don't have time to consider it—I take Therin's gun from its holster and set it against the back of his head.

  I should shoot him.

  I've seen plenty of action vids where the hero has a chance to kill the villain. The hero hesitates, and then the villain returns to wreak more havoc. I've yelled at the holo-screen more times than I can count, angry at the shortsightedness that would show that kind of mercy.

  I'm no hero. And maybe Therin isn't a villain, but a twisted-up product of this war. Either way, he's a danger to me and to Rak. He ordered Vern's death.

  Black and white, good and bad—they aren't as clear as they used to be.

  I set the gun to kill, and I pull the trigger.

  The bolt makes almost no sound at this range, just a kind of whining thump—and Therin's body jerks once, and he's dead.

  When I lift my eyes, Rak is staring at me.

  Like he can't believe what he just saw.

  He pushes himself up off the floor and grabs the guns from the two rebels who are struggling to their feet on either side of him.

  I pull the gun away from Therin's head, my eyes darting to the steaming black circle in his skull, red crackles of boltfire flickering and dying at the edges of the hole.

  "Come on," says Rak to me, but his eyes travel to the limp forms of his mother and sister.

  "You can stay with them," I say.

  He shakes his head. "They don't want me."

  No time to talk about it. We run from the room, stepping over arms and legs, into the hall, out the front door. We run, and we don't stop until we reach the forest thicket where we left our supplies.

  Alik and Safi are already there. Safi's tall, lithe form pins Alik against a tree—are they fighting? No, she's kissing him as his hands rove over her back.

  Rak clears his throat as we approach. Safi finishes with a long kiss before stepping back. "He saved me," she says, running a finger over her lips.

  "I did," says Alik, his face flushed, holding his chest and breathing raggedly. "Almost killed myself doing it, too. But if I'd known I would get that reaction, I would have saved her from peril a lot sooner. I see the two of you made it out of there—no thanks to your crazy family, Rakhi."

  Rak's lips tighten, and the muscles along his jaw flex. "I disappointed them," he says. "I failed them. It's not the first time."

  "What do we do now?" says Safi. "That boss of yours, the Fray leader—he'll be after you. We should go."

  "He won't be a problem. Zilara took care of that." His tone is flat. "But yes, we should get further away from here."

  We gather our packs and start walking into the forest, in no particular direction as far as I can tell. Rak strides ahead, while Safi and Alik hang back. For a while I walk alone in the middle, my boots crunching twigs and scattering leaves in the dark. I scoop a handful of twigs and with my energy I set their tips on fire, one by one, and then I blow them out. A stupid e
xercise, to keep my mind off what I've done.

  But with every flash of heat, I see a dark hole in a skull, the edges glimmering with red sparks of boltfire.

  Finally I can't stand it anymore. I take a few running steps to catch up with Rak. He strides in silence, ignoring me.

  "Rak, I'm sorry for what your family did to you. It's their loss."

  "I don't want to talk about it," he says. "You don't understand it."

  "I know that it hurt you. But Rak, all those beads, those good qualities—you have them all. You're brave, honorable. Loving. They can't see it because of their own pain."

  "My mother has never seen those things in me. She always told me I was weak like my father. Again and again she told me, until the day I joined the Fray. That was the first time she ever said she was proud of me."

  "I understand more than you know," I say. "My father has never once said he's proud of me."

  "But he trusts you, with diplomatic missions."

  "Tours that need a pretty face and a vid crew. Nothing important. I'm a puppet, that's all. I think over these last two weeks I've become more my own woman than I ever was before."

  "And who pulled the trigger on Therin?" His words fall like stones between us. "The woman, or the puppet?"

  "You don't think I should have killed him."

  He stares straight ahead. "I understand why you did. But no, I don't think you should have shot him. Not like that. He was a soldier, a warrior for his country—he deserved a more honorable death."

  "He would have killed me. If Alik hadn't used his grenade, I'd be dead."

  "Yes."

  "And you would be fine with that, right? Because then you could go back to your normal life." The words are unfair. I bite my lip, angry at myself.

  "Zilara, I have never had a normal life! When I was a child, before my father's drinking got out of control, things were better; but for years it's been nothing but pain and blood and war and hunger. You talk about your home, your university, your friends—you may as well live on another planet. I didn't go to any university—I was lucky to finish upper levels before I joined the Fray. My friends are soldiers, like me, rebels who will curse my name, because I helped you. You don't know me, Zilara, and you don't understand me. Don't pretend that you do."

  "I do understand you," I say. "Your family has never fully accepted you. You blame yourself for what happened to your mother and sister. And I think your mother blames you, a little."

  "I know she does." The words edge between his clenched teeth. "It was my job to protect them. I failed. And I failed them again when I chose myself over my faction. You told me to shoot you when we were hiding in that closet—I should have done it."

  His words slice through my heart, deeper than any cut Therin's blade could have made.

  I should have done it.

  I turn and I run from him as fast as I can, through the open grass and bushes, heading for a thicker part of the forest where the trees grow closer together. My heart pounds and my feet are flying, flying, and then I'm under the low boughs where the shadows weave thick, hiding me in darkness.

  Voices call after me, and heavy footsteps follow—but I drop my pack and I run, faster than I've ever run in my life. They're weighed down with their own packs. They'll never catch me. I change directions a couple of times, until I'm sure I've lost them, and myself.

  It's so black here, under the trees. I set my back to a scaly trunk and sink down to the ground, drawing ragged breaths, and I let my tears come.

  I should have done it, he said.

  Rak wishes he had killed me. He wishes he'd chosen his faction and his family over me. He wishes I were dead. His life would be better with me gone.

  And no wonder he hates me. I killed a man. Killed him without thinking about it, with barely even a pause. I shot him in the head, like the rebels did to Vern. It looked like justice to me; it felt necessary for my protection and Rak's. But isn't that the sort of thinking I criticized in Therin himself? The narrow-minded, selfish cruelty that leaves no room for mercy or human kindness?

  What have I become?

  "Zilara!"

  Rak's call is closer than I expected. He's moving fast, and he sounds angry. I clap my hand over my mouth and swallow my sobs. If I sit here silent in the dark, he'll never find me.

  Footsteps in the dry grass. Twigs crunching, not far away. I'm motionless, a part of the tree at my back.

  "Zilara!" His voice, loud and close, an edge of desperation in the cry this time.

  He should have killed me.

  Why doesn't he just go away? Why is he even looking for me?

  A twig under me suddenly gives way with a snap. I curse in my head and stay perfectly still.

  "Zilara?"

  I won't answer him. I won't. I fight back a fresh wave of tears.

  A rustling beside me, and his boots appear, less than an arm's length away. I look up, and he's looking down at me, but it's too dark to see his expression.

  "Why would you do that? Run off and make everyone chase you? Safi and Alik think you're insane."

  "Who said you had to chase me? Just leave me out here. Maybe I'll die of exposure and then you'll be happy." My words sound petulant and childish, even to me. Maybe that's all I am, a stupid spoiled child who needs to be suppressed and contained lest she cause infinite damage to everyone else's lives.

  "Stop it." Rak's voice shakes with anger. "You know I don't want you to die."

  "Then why would you say that to me? You wish you'd shot me in the closet, Rak? Really? What am I supposed to do with that? Don't you think I know how much trouble and grief I've caused since I came here?" My nose is streaming, so I turn my head away from him and wipe it on the hem of my shirt. Disgusting. I used to carry a fancy bag with soft tissues in it for such occasions. This is what I've been reduced to—smearing my own snot on my clothes.

  Rak sits cross-legged in front of me. "It's not your fault. If anything, it's mine."

  "Because you didn't kill me."

  "No. I should never have been on the hostage team to begin with. I thought it would help me climb the ranks faster." He scoffs and tosses a twig into the bushes. "That didn't work out as I planned."

  "Because your conscience wouldn't let you go along with their sick plot."

  "Because you started talking to me. And I started caring what happened to you."

  "Why the stars would you care? You don't even like me. You've said it yourself, I'm impulsive and snarky and frustrating."

  "You're also funny and tough, and sympathetic and sweet, and—and beautiful."

  He's lying for sure. I'm attractive, yes—maybe beautiful on a good hair day at home, with the right outfit and some makeup. Surely I'm not beautiful now, in my dirt-stained shorts and shirt, with my scratched-up legs and tear-streaked face.

  "You're flattering me, hoping I'll forget what you said." I stand up, brushing myself off. "It's not going to work. But we do need to go back; we can't leave the others standing out in the open, not with pissed-off Fray rebels so close by."

  I start walking.

  "Zilara."

  "What?"

  "You're going the wrong way."

  I swear and turn around. "So, lead the way then!"

  He moves through the trees in another direction, and I march beside him, an arm's length away.

  "I'm sorry," I say. "For making this about me, after what you went through tonight."

  "It's all right," he says. "You went through it too. You were a few seconds from death, and if Alik hadn't set off the grenade when he did—" He shakes his head. "I thought I was going to see you die, right in front of me."

  His voice cracks as he says it. Suddenly he stops walking and reaches for me, pulling me through the bushes and clutching me to his chest with both arms, holding me tightly, his heart clamoring in my ear.

  "I'm alive, and so are you," I say. "We survived. But we have to keep moving."

  His arms tighten briefly, but then he releases me and walks away
into the dark so fast that I have to jog to catch up.

  We collect our dropped packs on the way back to Safi and Alik. When we reach them, Alik is lounging by a big rock while Safi kneels, palms to the earth, eyes closed.

  "You two are aware that you have a very unhealthy relationship, right?" drawls Alik.

  "Our relationship is fine. It's the world that's unhealthy," I snap at him. Rak chuckles.

  "We need to move," says Safi. "I can't be sure, but I think someone's following us. A lot of someones."

  Alik launches to his feet. "Let's go! What's the plan, Rak?"

  "We'll head the way Zilara was running," he says. "More cover. I think we should get up on one of the lower mountains and call her father from there, and then wait."

  We trek across the grass and back into the forest that Rak and I just came from. As we enter the shadow of the branches again, I groan. "You know what I won't miss when I get home? All the walking."

  "I never thought I would say this, but I want a regular schedule again," says Safi. "You know—eating, working, and sleeping at specific times. Knowing what to expect from the day."

  "I haven't stolen anything important in such a long time," sighs Alik. "I miss it."

  Safi and I burst out laughing at his wistful tone.

  "What?" he says. "I'm serious." But even in the dark I can tell that he's smiling.

  Hours later, Safi checks the earth again, and there's nothing. No reverberations except the footfalls of small night animals. The band of rebels must have gone the wrong way, or decided to wait for orders before pursuing us any further.

  "Maybe Deathspawn took care of them for us," says Safi.

  "He's not nearly as loyal, or helpful, or intelligent as you think," says Alik. "His brain works like this—'There's Tall Girl! Tall Girl gives food and water. I follow Tall Girl. This space where I am is now mine, and I will eat anything that comes inside it, except Tall Girl, because if I hurt her she can't give me food and water.' "

  Rak stares at Alik, eyebrows raised. "You understand the jacanal's mind too well."

  "It's sweet, really," says Safi. "The two of you will be friends yet!"