Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1)

by Veronica Sommers

  We don't dare stop for sleep, though we're all bone-weary. Rak guides us between two foothills and up a slope, rocky and rough underfoot, gradual at first and then angling sharply upward. By midnight, we've reached the peak of the low mountain. Its crest is a tumble of weather-worn rocks, jutting boulders, gaping crevices, and flat expanses of quartz-flecked stone that glint under the moon. Safi points out a nook in the rocks, big enough for the four of us to sit comfortably, while being mostly hidden from anyone climbing up the slope.

  As soon as we settle in, Safi digs the communicator out of her pack. "Call your father," she says. "Before anything else happens to us."

  I take a deep breath. Enter the wave-code. Wait for the blue light. I forgot to ask Safi how to turn it to private audio—but looking around at their eager eyes, I realize that they have a right to hear this conversation, after all we've been through together.

  "Who is this?" My father's voice.

  "It's Zilara, Dad."

  "You're alive!" He actually sounds pleased. "We heard Ankerja was attacked by Vilor, and we thought you were dead. Your mother has been mourning you."

  Guilt and concern surge in my heart. "Did she eat cream puffs until she made herself sick?"

  He clears his throat. I've broken a family rule. We never discuss my mother's unusual habits or food binges outside our house.

  "Zilara, are you safe right now?"

  "Safety isn't really a thing here," I say. "But I'm with friends."

  "That boy, Rakhi Masdar? He's still with you?"

  Rak raises his eyebrows.

  "He is," I say.

  "I assume he's listening?"

  "Yes."

  "Rakhi, I want you to tell me exactly where you and Zilara are, as precisely as you can. A team will be there to get you within twelve hours. And yes, Zilara, before you ask, they will bring lavish rewards for your allies."

  Rak begins explaining our location, but I've stopped listening.

  Tomorrow, I'll be leaving this place. At last. All this danger and death and fear will be over. I'll be going home, to safety and comfort and wealth and peace.

  And Rak will be left behind, without family or faction, alone on a mountaintop with his finance card. The card he says he doesn't want. I'm going to make him take it, because he needs the money to protect himself, to get away from here and build a better life.

  "Princess!" Alik hisses at me. "Don't forget my safe passage over the border."

  "Oh, yes! Dad, one more thing—I need you to guarantee someone safe passage over the border with me."

  Silence.

  "Who?"

  He probably thinks it's Rak.

  "It's a man named Alik," I explain. "He has a bounty on his head, and he'd like to shake the people who are after him."

  "Sounds like an upstanding citizen," my father says sarcastically. "I assume we can drop him anywhere?"

  "Carrasen would be nice," says Alik.

  "Very well. And that's your last request, Zilara." He pauses. "We're looking forward to welcoming you home. I assume they removed your skull-port? Any strange side effects from that?"

  His tone is easy, unconcerned, but I know what he's asking—if I've discovered my real power.

  "No, nothing weird. No side effects at all," I say.

  "Good, good. I'll have my staff schedule a re-install for you as soon as you return."

  "No need," I say quickly. "I'll take care of it. I am a grown woman after all."

  "I insist," he says. "We can have it done when they perform your medical check."

  "I would really rather handle it on my own."

  Silence again. Then, "We'll discuss it when you're safely home. Goodbye, Zilara." The connection ends.

  27

  Anger boils up inside me. My father still wants to control me. He's going to try to suppress my power again. Why? What does he think I'll do with it?

  I hand the communicator back to Safi and sit with my hands wrapped around my bare arms. The night air is cool, but not as frigid as it was in the desert. That part of my life is over. If I have a choice, I'll never go out into a desert again, as long as I live.

  "So this is it," says Safi. "We get our rewards, and we go our separate ways."

  "Carrasen for me!" Alik leans back, hands behind his head. "I can't wait. I deserve this."

  "Where will you go, Safi?"

  "Ras Almal, maybe. It's the capital of Emsalis, so there should be plenty to see and do. Maybe I'll open a shop. What about you, Rak?"

  "I'm not sure." He tosses a pebble down the mountain, then another. "I'll figure it out."

  Silence falls over our haven in the rocks, and slowly we all relax. Safi lays her head in Alik's lap while he rests against both their packs. Rak sets his bag behind his head and lies down, and I curl against him without asking. His fingertips move up and down my arm, leaving trickles of warmth on my skin. But at last the movement stills as he falls asleep.

  As I lie there, with my back pressed against his body, I realize how insane it is that this feels right to me. I'm sleeping beside one of the men who took me hostage and threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't obey. If they knew about this at home, they'd have me locked in a room at the Institute of Mental Health Studies before I could blink.

  I'm leaving Rak tomorrow. I say it to myself in different ways, trying to grasp the reality of it. He will be forever gone from my life. I will never see him again.

  I'll go home. I'll "recover" while watching vids and eating snacks and taking long, long baths and even longer naps. I'll go back to the university. I'll smile and chat with friends and I'll go out on dates with cute boys whose life goals involve sky-view offices, a couple of private hoverpods, and a big house with a fully immersive home theater.

  Meanwhile Rak, my Rak—he'll be here, in Emsalis, alone. Maybe being tortured or chased or imprisoned or killed. He'll be so far away that I can't help him, that I won't even know if he dies.

  Sharp and clear as glass, the certainty spears my mind.

  I cannot be apart from him.

  I have this feeling that he and I are connected, that we share a common wavelength between us. If we are forced too far apart, I'm afraid that link will be severed, and my soul will scan for it frantically, unceasingly, eternally, until it's re-established.

  It's settled. I can't leave him. So either he's coming with me, or I'm staying here.

  I wake up when a shaft of bright sun hits me squarely in the eyelids. Slowly I sit up, stretching my aching back and muscles. Sleeping on rocks turns my bones and joints into those of an old woman.

  Rak stirs when I get up, opening his eyes and smiling at me. But instantly his smile fades. He thinks today is the day we say goodbye to each other. But I have other plans.

  Safi stirs, and Alik groans, cursing the mountains and the sun and anything else his brain happens to latch onto.

  Jumping up, I reach for Rak's hand. "Let's take a walk."

  "A walk? Now?"

  "Yes, now." I pull him up and lead him over the rocks.

  "Where are we going?" Rak says in a low voice.

  "Somewhere we can talk."

  I half-skid, half-run down the slope, dragging him behind me until we're out of sight and earshot of the others. A short distance down the mountain, a large moss-covered boulder sits in the partial shade of a scruffy tree, so I head for that spot; but I can't sit down. I'm too nervous, so I stand, picking at the bark of the tree.

  "You're acting stranger than usual," says Rak. "What did you want to talk about?"

  "You hate me, right?"

  "What?"

  "You told me once—maybe twice—that you hate me."

  His dark brows pull together. "I know, but—"

  "Do you still hate me?"

  "I think you know the answer to that." That voice, his beautiful rough voice. I can't go every day not hearing it, not for the rest of my life.

  "Rak, will you come with me?"

  He stills, his hands tightening at his sides, eyes fi
xed on mine. "To Ceanna?"

  "Yes."

  "Zilara, I can't. Your country—it's everything I despise. The excess, the way of life, the politics—I wouldn't fit in. I couldn't be part of it."

  "It's not what you think," I say. "Remember, when I came here, I didn't understand your people. I still don't, completely, but I have a better idea of how things work here, and why you love this place and want to fight for it. But Rak—maybe the same is true for you. Maybe you don't really understand my world either, and maybe you could find something to love there." I flush as I say the last words.

  "Maybe I already have," he says, his eyes softening as he steps toward me.

  I can hardly draw breath enough to say, "Then you'll come with me?"

  "Would your father allow it?"

  "He won't have a choice."

  "But my mother, my sister—"

  "You said it yourself—they don't want you here right now. Your sister's with the Fray—she'll be able to protect and support your mother. Maybe they need some time to realize that you were only doing what you thought was right. Maybe a trip with me will give them a chance to think it over, and eventually they'll accept you again."

  "A trip? So I could come back here anytime?"

  "You won't be a prisoner, Rak. You'll be my guest."

  "What about your friends, your family? Have you thought about how this will look to them? How they'll treat me?"

  "I don't know about my family, but my friends will think it's wildly romantic. And if we handle this right, the people of Ceanna will think you're a hero for rescuing me."

  "You did some of the rescuing yourself."

  "Of course I did. But we can play up your role, to get them to like you." I'm smiling bigger than I have in days, because he's considering my invitation. He might actually come with me.

  "You told your father that only Alik was leaving here with you."

  "He'll be upset, but I'll manage him. There are ways."

  "Zilara." He takes my hands. "What if this doesn't work out?"

  I take a deep breath. "You living in Ceanna, or—or us?"

  "Either one."

  "Then I'll make sure you have a transport ticket to anywhere you want to go, and a finance card to help you get started."

  "I've told you, I don't want your money."

  "And I don't want to think about you going without food or shelter, when I could have helped you. Don't let your stupid pride get in the way of that."

  "My pride is all I have. And there's not much of it left." The way he says it goes straight to my heart.

  "I'm sorry." I lay my hand against his cheek. "I'm being selfish again." I stroke his face, tracing his jawline, laying my finger in the cleft of his chin as he stands still, so still. When I touch his mouth with my fingertips, he grips my wrist and draws me closer, his other arm finding my waist and pulling me tight against him. "I'll go with you," he says. "But I won't give up who I am. My religion, my country, my culture. Promise you'll honor that."

  "I promise," I whisper against his mouth.

  He kisses me. Firm pressure, deepening, growing in urgency. There's a ferocity in him, a surging fire I've never felt from anyone—probably because I've been kissing boys, and Rak is a man. Not only a man, but a rebel, a fighter, a survivor. He's intensity and mystery and barely restrained fervor.

  His lips leave mine only to find my neck, my collarbone, and my shoulder, sending exquisite thrills along my skin, through my nerves. A piercing need grows stronger inside me. This is sweet torture, and I never want it to end.

  I reach for his face and pull him back up to me, sealing our lips together again, our tongues exploring, pulses synced, lungs breathing each other.

  "I love your mouth," I whisper, tracing his lips with my finger. "And your hands. And your eyes, and—" I stop short of saying that I love him, because I don't want to say it here. I need to say it after I've had time to be home and recover—time to think, time to be sure.

  I think he knows what I was about to say, because he smiles at me so tenderly, with so much love in his eyes that I can hardly stand it. He just said it to me, without even speaking the words. No fair.

  "Come on," I say. "Let's tell the others about the change of plan."

  Hand in hand, we climb to our hollow at the mountain's peak again. When Rak sits down, I seat myself across his legs.

  "So," I say. "Rak is coming back to Ceanna with me."

  "I gathered as much from your huge idiotic grin," says Alik. "Safi, darling, I suppose that leaves you alone on the mountaintop as the three of us fly away."

  "You could come too," I tell her. "We could take you to Carrasen, if you want—or anywhere else."

  "Yes! Come with me," says Alik, his eyes lighting up.

  Safi looks at her hands, half-curled in her lap. I watch her, trying to read her mood—but she's an expert at hiding her emotions when she wants to.

  At last she says, "I'd consider coming to Ceanna, Zil, if you're asking."

  "I am."

  "As long as I don't have to dress like your little university friends do, or attend boring events. I just want to make things, and enjoy life in a place where there's no tri-faction war going on."

  "Of course," I say, but my smile feels pasted-on. Since I found out about the suppressor tech, and since Rak claimed that my father is looking to build an empire, doubts have been scraping at the back of my mind. Things are not right in Ceanna, and I have the strangest feeling that if I go back and start looking around with my new eyes, I'm going to see all the wrongness that I used to ignore. I'm going to see it, and I'm not going to be able to look away.

  I can't look away from Emsalis, either. I haven't met all the factions or tribes here, but I've seen enough to know that these people are tired, and hurting, and afraid, and losing hope. I'm not sure what I can do about it—but I am the Magnate's daughter. With Rak's advice, maybe I can find a way to help.

  "Wake up, Zil!" Safi snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Where did you go?"

  "Plotting changes at home," I say, forcing a smile. "And maybe here, too."

  Alik yawns. "Such big dreams you have. My only plan is a mermaid massage and a glass of Carrasen's best liquor. It's a resort nation, you know. Everything devoted to pleasure."

  Safi snorts. "A mermaid massage?"

  "Yes. Topless women who are part fish. Heard of them?"

  "And they massage you. Underwater?" I ask.

  "Yes—I'm not sure why you're laughing," says Alik. "The whole massage idea sounds like heaven, and did I mention they're half naked? I've always wanted to see a live mermaid."

  "A live one?" I'm laughing harder than Safi. "Alik, you know they aren't real, right?"

  "Mermaids are real. They live in the ocean, like whales and finjeels. What?"

  Rak slaps him on the shoulder. "Mermaids aren't real, thief. The mermaids at the resort are women with fishtail costumes."

  "I've seen vids of them," Alik protests. "They—oh."

  "Now you're catching on." Rak grins.

  "And now I'm not so keen to go there." Alik's lean face is actually red. "Maybe I'll stick with you all. Plenty to steal in Ceanna, after all."

  "What's another passenger?" I shrug. "Let's hope my father sends a big enough craft."

  For most of the morning, they ask me questions about Ceanna, and I tell them everything I can. About the huge, crowded capital city where I live, layer upon layer of it reaching below the ground levels and up into the sky. I tell them about hawker food courts and shopping complexes and mega-corporations. I describe the lev-trails that crisscross the city in every direction, filling it like the webbing of a very productive spider. Safi gapes as I talk about the lev-trains and the hoverpods, the participative theaters and the holo-arcades.

  Rak tilts me off his lap during my lecture and starts pacing the rim of the hollow, his hands clenching and unclenching. Then he stops and looks out at the vista spread below us—the rolling foothills, the dark green furring of trees cladding their
sides, the grassy flatland that eventually merges into the desert far away, right at the edge of sight, at the lip of the brilliant blue sky.

  "Ceanna isn't all big cities and tech," I say. "Some of it is rural. Mountains and lakes, forests and rivers."

  Rak turns, his eyes alight with gratitude, and I smile at him.

  "And the ocean," says Alik. "You have beaches, right?"

  "Yes, Alik. We'll go to the beach. But there won't be any mermaids."

  Safi giggles, but the sound is interrupted by a howl ricocheting over the mountainside—a howl we all recognize.

  "Deathspawn!" She leaps up.

  The creature bounds up the slope toward her, but swerves away at the last second, and noses around the rocks, as if he's looking for something else entirely. Safi looks up at me.

  "You can't bring him," I say.

  "I know." She sighs. "Do people keep pets in Ceanna?"

  "Of course. Some even meaner than him." Like Reya's pet salchat, with its terrible temper. "We'll get you something vicious. Don't worry about—"

  But Safi's face changes, and she stands up, her body stiffening. Rak tenses at the same time, eyes scanning the sky.

  And then I hear it too. The hum of an aircraft in the distance.

  "There it is." Rak points to a dark blob in the blue sky between two mountains.

  My heart rate ratchets up several notches. Why am I nervous? This is it—salvation, escape. Rescue.

  Moving to stand next to Rak, I watch the shape draw closer. What if it isn't Ceannan? What if it's another enemy? I touch Rak's fingers, and he closes his hand around mine.

  The craft sharpens as it nears, its details clarifying. It's not a transport ship, the kind that shoots high into space and then comes straight back down like an arrow. This is a hoverplane, for short trips. Judging from the size, there should be plenty of space for everyone I want to bring with me.

  The hoverplane descends over the top of our mountain, poised in midair, humming faintly. Deathspawn yelps a couple of times at the high-pitched sound and then bounds away down the mountainside without a backward look at Safi. She watches him go, flicking a drop of moisture from her cheek.

  As the side door of the plane opens, a set of clear, solid steps unfolds toward us, stopping short of the rocks. Four soldiers descend, fanning out over the mountain peak, guns ready. A man in a jewel-green uniform comes down the steps after them and jumps to the ground. His close-cut gray beard is shaven in swoops and points, a recent style for my father's top military personnel. Storm-gray eyes sweep over us.