by Jess Corban
But before I can finish, a shrill whistle pierces the silence, followed by a crackling boom. An enormous ball of light explodes overhead, sparking and swirling, showering orange and yellow fire dust into the sea. The signal’s as bright as the sun—there’s no way Phoenix City could miss it.
“No, no, no!” I scream. “We have to go back—we have to go back!”
Torvus’s face goes slack. No one makes a sound.
“What are you waiting for?” I yell at them. “He needs us!”
I see the impossible decision all over his face: go back for his own and risk being overtaken by whatever that signal was meant to set in motion, or leave one behind to save us all.
Dáin says what I suspect they’re all thinking—what I refuse to accept: “That thing wouldn’t have gone off if he could stop it.” His matter-of-fact grimace makes me want to tear off his face and feed it to the fish.
“It’s an honorable death,” Théo mutters.
“He’s not dead. He can’t be dead.”
I slump in my seat, numb.
Jase, reassuring to the end, offers, “You said there was a second boat.”
I want to turn away before he can feed me his false hope, but I’m too weak to refuse it.
At Torvus’s command, Dantès turns the boat west, toward Nedé and whatever we’ll face in Phoenix City. As we sail into the blackness, I lift my gaze toward the night sky. It’s as Rohan said it would be: a million stars twinkling overhead, a dome of celestial stardust cast from horizon to horizon, every constellation bigger and brighter than I thought possible. But he was wrong about one thing: I don’t love it. Without him, the vastness doesn’t inspire; it stretches enormous and aching, like the gaping hole in the universe of my heart.
Every tear that falls dries instantly in the night wind. Apparently I won’t have the luxury of grief tonight. Not ten minutes into our sail west, Jase sounds the alarm.
“Boat!”
Another white sail glows faintly in the darkness, trailing us like a jaguar marking its prey. It’s identical to the Alexia boat we lost—except this sail’s intact, and it’s gaining on us. Having set off the signal and finding our camp deserted, they must have abandoned their post to come after us.
Torvus climbs onto the platform with Dantès and Jem, assessing our options. The rest crouch low in the hulls, anticipating the volley of arrows that will come any moment.
“Turn us around,” Torvus commands. “We won’t run this time.” He meets my gaze and nods once. “You know what to do.”
He says it like I’m one of his men—with the confidence and trust he has in them. I scramble for my bow and quickly buckle the quiver to my thigh. Dantès has successfully tacked southeast, roughly toward the island. The other boat adjusts its sails accordingly, keeping us in its sights.
The wind blows hard against my body as I wedge my foot in the hull and lean against the platform. The distance between the vessels is still too great—I’d be lucky to reach the sail at all, let alone hit it with enough force to pierce the stiff material.
“Closer!” I yell. Jem and Dantès make adjustments. We’re nearly running a straight course for their boat now, rising and falling on the surging water.
I breathe in and out slowly, trying to steady my nerves, hoping the Alexia don’t get a clear shot at me before I can disable their boat. I lift my bow and nock an arrow.
Steady . . . steady . . .
A hundred meters separate us now. Seventy-five.
I draw the arrow back, fingers trembling against my damp cheek, eyes fixed on the white sail. Every second gives me more clarity as the distance between the boats shrinks. Just a little closer . . .
Fifty meters . . .
I release the arrow just as a swell tips me backward. I don’t need to see where that one went to know it was a complete miss. Bats!
We’re only twenty-five meters away now; there’s no way I can miss the broad white sail this time. As I quickly nock a second arrow, I vaguely wonder why they aren’t shooting. No matter—lucky for us. I draw my fingers to the corner of my mouth and take aim.
Two things become clear at once. First, the boat isn’t full of Alexia. In fact, it appears empty except for one figure, manning the sail. Second, that figure is too large to be an Alexia, and it’s waving one arm overhead, like it’s trying to get our attention.
“Don’t shoot!” Jase yells suddenly.
“I’ve got the shot—”
“Rei, no—look!”
Twenty meters . . .
I peer closer at the boat as we approach in the darkness; a muffled shout struggles to break through the wind. It’s near enough now that moonlight illuminates a broad, bare chest, and dark hair blowing wildly in the wind.
“Rohan!” I yell, already dropping my bow into the hull. Without thinking, I dive overboard.
I swim as fast as I can through liquid night, longing to see, to touch him for myself—to make sure he’s real.
He drops the sail as I approach, stalling the boat while I close the ten meters between us. When my hands finally touch wood, he grips my arms and hauls me in. I collapse into him, dripping wet and choking on seawater.
“You’re alive! I thought I’d lost you.”
He cups my face in his hands, smiling. “It’ll take more than a few Alexia to keep me from you.”
Then he presses his lips to mine—salty and sweet and warm, and I lose all sense of time and reason. I’m falling, falling into him, and the places where I end and he begins grow opaque, as if our edges are bleeding into each other.
In this moment, there’s nothing in the whole universe besides us.
Except, of course, the boat drifting up alongside ours.
“Weird,” I hear Bri say.
“What happened?” Jase asks eagerly. “When we saw the signal, we thought . . .”
Rohan draws back, grinning like a cub, and takes my hand. That’s when I notice the trickle of blood running down his left arm, and the reopened gash on his side.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’ll be alright,” he says quietly. Then, answering Jase, he explains, “I decided that since I only had one knife, I had a better chance of outrunning them than fighting. So I snuck in, snagged the signals, and took off running like a scared peccary back into the trees.” The Brutes guffaw heartily at this; my mouth is hanging open with horror, picturing Rohan rushing into a camp of twelve Alexia with a single blade. He could have been killed. He’s going to get a piece of my mind later.
Seemingly oblivious to his mortality, he continues, “As soon as I disappeared, half of them got in a boat and sailed away, probably looking for my boat and anyone else with me. The rest took off after me. I lost them, but I must have dropped one of the signals along the way. When I heard it go off—” he shakes his head like he can’t believe he was so careless—“I had to head back. I drew them into the trees after me. Once we were far enough away from their camp, I circled back and . . .” He sweeps his arms wide, presenting the prize of his trickery.
I lean against the side of the hull, deliberating whether to smack or hug him.
Torvus stands with arms crossed, but his eyes dance as he nods once. “Well done, Rohan.”
Jase makes up for Torvus’s stoicism, hollering, “The rest of us might as well go home—you can take down Nedé yourself!”
His exuberance is met with hearty cheers and congratulations, but the well-meaning sentiment rings strangely to me.
Take down Nedé. I still don’t like the sound of it. It unsettles the part of me that still doesn’t understand what these Brutes plan to do once we remove Teera from the equation.
I find Bri across the water. Her mouth is set in a thin line. When we lock eyes, she raises a brow as if to say, What did I tell you, Rei? They’re just going to take the power for themselves.
Rohan puts an arm around my shoulder. “Want to help me sail it the rest of the way? I can show you how.” I nod, grateful for a reason to stay near him.
But as the boa
ts travel northwest, nearer and nearer Nedé’s shore and whatever awaits us there, I can’t completely shake the unease.
I know Teera has to go. I’m committed to changing Nedé and putting an end to gentling. But what then? Who decides how we move forward? I agreed to come with these Brutes, to lead them to Teera, because I’ve come to trust them—their intentions and their virtues. But is my strength enough to keep theirs from becoming corrupted? To keep them from taking more than they should?
If, without virtue, power inevitably degrades into tyranny, then we need to know which of us—women or Brutes—are more virtuous. I’m still not sure, and I’m running out of time to figure it out.
I curl up next to Rohan in the single hull—his broad body makes an excellent windbreak—as he explains how we can be moving one way when the wind’s blowing another.
How strange life is, I muse. I’m skin to skin with a Brute, and I’m not the least bit afraid. Instead, he has brought meaning to my life I never realized was lacking.
He shifts so he can put one arm on either side of mine, gently guiding my hands to the right ropes as we make adjustments to the sail’s angle.
“Why do I doubt this was how Dantès showed you to sail?” I tease.
He laughs, and his hair tickles my ear. “You get special treatment.”
“I accept.”
The cocooning sense of safety I felt on the beach returns.
When did I decide that Rohan was safe? When did I allow myself to trust that this Brute wouldn’t hurt me?
Maybe the shift occurred when I realized he could be safe, if he wanted to. We all have to choose, he had said, that first night in the great tree.
He has chosen me; I have chosen him. I don’t completely understand what that means, but I do believe we’d do anything for each other—I know it in my bones.
Rohan has made mistakes. He’s been rude, he’s misunderstood me—he attacked my sister’s finca, for Siyah’s sake. But he has also been brave, and sacrificial, and shown me forgiveness I didn’t deserve. And what of my faults? I killed my own best friend, I recklessly led the Alexia to Tree Camp, and I’ve held on to too many grudges. I hope I’ve also shown kindness, and had courage, and done the right thing when it counted.
Maybe we need each other. I need his strength; he needs my loyalty. He calls me on my hypocrisy, and I suspect I bring beauty to his world. Together we are more than the sum of our parts.
A single star breaks loose overhead and shoots across the black canvas of glittering pinpricks. I suddenly know something with absolute certainty, as sure as the stars blink overhead: neither of us—Rohan nor Reina—is inherently more or less virtuous than the other. But together? Together our virtues multiply. Together we may be able to stomp out the embers of tyranny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ROHAN HANDS ME A FULL WATER FLASK, and I take a long drag before handing it to Neechi. Nine of us crouch in a thick cluster of cattails between the sea and Finca del Mar’s border, which, along with the darkness and enough frog croaking to muffle an explosion, provides perfect cover.
“They should be back by now,” Théo whispers, to no one in particular. No one answers, but we’re all thinking the same thing. It’s been nearly thirty minutes since Galion and Jem set off to scout the finca.
We landed half a kilometer south of Phoenix City on a largely uninhabited stretch of coastline and had no trouble hiding the boat or making our way through the swampy sea marsh. We didn’t spot a single Alexia until we reached the finca’s boundary, which was easy to find, what with the zillion electric bulbs illuminating windows and garden paths. The whole place is lit up as bright as the signal that alerted them to our approach.
A rustle makes me jump at the same moment Galion and Jem’s heads pierce through the reeds. Bats—I can see why Torvus chose them to scout.
“What did you see?” the Brute leader asks in a husky whisper.
Galion’s scowl isn’t promising. “The dragon woman is here . . . and four hundred Alexia, at least.”
Jem adds, barely audible, “It’s completely surrounded.”
I admire the inner strength that allows these Brutes to meet the news with such stoicism, especially Torvus.
Bri certainly has no such poker face. “Well, that’s just great. The big explosion in the sky sent every Alexia in Lapé a personal invitation to our execution.”
Dáin meets her bravado with indignation. “If you don’t want to be here, then why did you come?”
Jase shushes them both like a mother reprimanding bickering siblings. “Knock it off.” He looks to Torvus, who meets his gaze. Some unspoken conversation passes between them. Then he says, “I’ll be the woodsow.”
I don’t like the boldness in Jase’s eyes—it looks too much like sacrifice. I rock up on my toes. “What’s the woodsow?”
They both ignore me, Torvus considering. “It could work.”
Rohan leans forward. “He’s not going alone.”
Jase grips his unbandaged shoulder with a grateful nod.
“Is someone going to tell me what the bats you’re talking about?” I hiss.
Dáin says blandly, “Woodsow. Wooden curassow? Carved look-alikes, positioned to draw in your real prey.”
I whip round to Jase so fast I smack Neechi in the face with my braid. “No way.”
“What choice do we have?” Jase asks.
“Plenty others. Maybe a million. Starting with the two of you not walking into the middle of four hundred Alexia ready to kill any Brute who steps foot in Nedé!”
Jase glances at Rohan, but neither appears the least deterred. “Sometimes people have to—”
“Shut up!” I seethe. “Just shut up. If I hear that phrase one more time . . . Sometimes people are reckless and the right thing doesn’t happen.” They have to listen. I can’t lose either one of them. Not like this. “Please,” I beg.
“I’m going to have to agree with Reina here,” Bri interjects. “Seems like a pretty stupid idea to me.” Her eyes flit quickly to Jase and then away again. The corner of his mouth twitches, and he discreetly places his hand on hers. She doesn’t flinch or pull away. Holy mother of Siyah . . . I bounce my eyes away to keep from staring.
Torvus silences us all when he speaks, even his hushed tone commanding our attention. “We’ve run out of time.”
“Why?” I challenge. “They saw the signal—they’re expecting us tonight. What if we surprise them by not attacking straightaway?”
Torvus’s jaw ticks, and I take his hesitance as an opportunity to press my point. “Eleven of us against hundreds of them? Even with Jase as a woodacow—or whatever—we won’t make it past the first floor of the villa. You think Teera’s just going to be sitting in her suite, all alone, waiting for us to kill her? I promised I’d lead you to the Matriarch, but what good is that if you’re intent on dying before you reach her?”
“We knew the mission would be dangerous,” Jase counters.
“Dangerous?” I gawk. “This is suicide!”
Rohan doesn’t meet my eyes, but Torvus stares at me, silently, for a long moment. Finally he asks, “Do you have a better idea?”
All eyes are on me now, waiting for me to share my grand alternative. The one I don’t have.
I chew the corner of my lip and squeeze my eyes tight.
“Let’s just think about this rationally,” I say, more confidently than I feel. Breathe in. Breathe out. Think, Reina. “If we can’t get to the Mother of Nedé, where else could we strike? What else could we cripple?”
The question hangs in the air for a long moment, and I can practically see any sway I was gaining seeping into the marsh beneath us.
I don’t miss the apologetic despair lacing Neechi’s words when he weighs in. “Maybe the Brutes are right. What else is there, Dom Reina? She’s the heart of Nedé.”
Fantastic. Even my timid, gentled friend thinks we should fight. I try not to take his betrayal personally.
But his words worm their way into
the spinning wheels of my desperation. Nedé’s heart . . . the heart of Nedé. Where have I heard that before? Ciela, I recall suddenly. I squeeze my temples, mentally rehearsing our conversation. We were talking about the vaccines, and how Grandmother had sent . . .
“No,” I gasp. “Teera’s not the heart of Nedé. The Health Center is.”
“Not to be difficult,” Bri interjects, “but how are we supposed to cripple Nedé by striking a bunch of doctors and dying Gentles?”
She has a point. “There must be something valuable there,” I reason, tapping my lip. “Ciela said Teera doubled the Alexia guard when trouble started.”
Bri clears her throat. “The Center does more than care for sick patients,” she says, intoning a perfect Dom Russo imitation. “It’s a vital part of the Materno destiny, without which—”
“There would be no Nedé,” I say with her.
“They create life using the life serum . . .” Pieces are falling into place, and my volume shows it. “It has to be tied to the bank Tristan Pierce wrote about in her log. She said it was all they needed to start over.” But where would it be kept? The Materno area would be logical. I retrace the steps of our eighth floor tour: delivery, exam rooms, records, the nursery, the life serum clinic . . . I screech to a mental halt when I remember the glass-paneled room housing steel-topped tables, microscopes, and the strange large box sweating from “refrigeration.” That has to be it.
“I think I know where the bank is,” I blurt, “and if we destroy it, they won’t be able to create any new life—no babies to gentle, no women to rule them. They’d have to listen to our demands for change.”
I pause, waiting for each and every one of them to stand in applause—to express that they’re as proud of me as I am.
A few frogs’ croaks accentuate the silence.
Not the exuberant response I was hoping for, but a few slow nods are better than nothing. Rohan gives me a small, encouraging smile. I’m grateful for his support, at least.
“I still say we kill Teera,” Dáin mutters.
But Torvus settles back on his haunches, sifting through this new information. He stares toward the bright blaze of the finca, then back again. “Alright. How do we get to the Center?”