Deliverance

by C. J. Redwine

  “I hope you made him pay for that.” Her voice is fierce.

  “Willow slit his throat.”

  She pulls me to her and kisses me. Her kisses are just as fierce as her voice. When she pulls away, I grin.

  “I’d love to keep kissing you, but maybe we’d be more comfortable on the ground?” I ask. “Besides, our friends want to see you.”

  She grins, but makes no move to leave the tree.

  “Rachel, can we climb down now?”

  She firms her lips and slowly reaches toward the branch closest to her, but before she can grasp it, her face pales, and she hisses in pain.

  “Is it your arm?” I look at her burned forearm, but it’s bandaged, so I can’t see how bad the injury is.

  “No, it’s . . . there’s one other thing I need to tell you about my stay in Rowansmark.” She tries to adjust herself and winces. “James Rowan decided I was guilty of a rebellious attitude and of taking things that didn’t belong to me, so he sentenced me to fifteen lashes.”

  “Fifteen . . . with a whip?” Anger is sharp and lethal inside of me as she leans forward, and I gently peel her tunic away from her back. The skin is a mass of partially healed strips. A few of the scabs have pulled away from the skin and are bleeding. “You’re—that’s—how did you climb this—I’m going to kill him, Rachel. I’m going to kill James Rowan for doing this to you.”

  “Actually, we’re going to kill him because he does this to everybody, and because he thought he could just take over the world, and everyone would have to go along with his plan.” She reaches for me, and I wrap my arms around her, careful to avoid pressing against her wounds.

  She brushes a kiss along my jaw. “So . . . how am I going to get down?”

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “Down a tree?” She sounds alarmed.

  “It can’t be that hard.”

  “It sounds impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible.” I grin at her with as much confidence as I can muster, and then I wrap her arms around my neck, hoist her onto my back, and very carefully make my way down the tree. All the while my joy at finding Rachel wars with the fury I feel at the man who ordered her whipping, and I vow that summoners or no summoners, I’m going inside Rowansmark.

  Best Case Scenario: I enter the city undetected, and James Rowan learns what I do to those who abuse the girl I love.

  I don’t even bother planning for a worst case scenario, because nothing is going to stop me from making James Rowan pay for hurting Rachel. Nothing.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  RACHEL

  I hang on to Logan as tightly as I can without choking him while he slowly climbs down the tree. Being connected to him again is like finding the piece of me that was missing and putting it back into place. Willow meets us halfway and keeps a hand on me as we descend. I’m not sure she could catch me if I slipped, but I appreciate the sentiment. I just hope she continues to feel favorable toward me once I tell her about Quinn.

  When we reach the ground, Frankie takes me off Logan’s back so that Logan can drop down off the last branch. My cloak slips from my shoulders and falls to my feet. I lean against Frankie’s big chest for a moment, then Nola steps forward and gently lifts the back of my bloodstained tunic, and Frankie swears viciously.

  “Who did this? Ian? I’ll tear him apart limb from limb.”

  “Not Ian.” I cringe as Nola’s fingers skim over my healing wounds. “James Rowan. This was my pain atonement for not taking the device back to them when I first found it. And I think he added extra lashes because I wasn’t properly respectful to him and insisted on calling him a murderer.”

  “That’s my girl,” Logan murmurs, but there’s a distance in his voice that wasn’t there before he saw my back. A coldness that makes me shrivel a little bit inside. I knew my back would be horribly scarred, but I’d convinced myself Logan wouldn’t care.

  Now I’m not so sure. There’s a darkness in his eyes when he looks at me, and when I catch his gaze, he looks away.

  “This needs cleaning. I’m going to look for plants to use,” Nola says.

  “I’ll help.” Smithson gives me a tiny smile and then follows Nola into the woods.

  “Where’s Quinn?” The words burst from Willow as if she’d been trying hard to hold them back for as long as possible. I realize that her restraint—her choice to help me down the tree and to hold her tongue until Nola had checked out my wounds—isn’t like the Willow I first met.

  “He’s inside Rowansmark.” I realize my mistake as Adam wraps a protective arm around Willow while her face blanches. “Not in the dungeon! He wasn’t caught or whipped or anything. He’s fine. In fact, he’s become quite the revolutionary.” Quickly I tell them about how Quinn confronted Ian and pretended to die so that he could give me a knife, how he followed me onto the boat, and then how he’s waged a campaign of fire against Rowansmark’s important military buildings.

  Willow’s brows rise. “My brother is burning down buildings?”

  “Apparently.”

  She blinks and then shakes her head. “Wonders never cease. Well, we have to go back into the city and get him. How did you escape?”

  “I climbed out through the sewer system.”

  “Perfect. We’ll go back through tomorrow.” Willow nods as if it’s settled, and I cut my eyes toward Logan, but he’s staring at the distant smudge of golden brown on the horizon that marks Rowansmark’s wall.

  Frankie looks between me and Logan, and then says, “Willow, you and Adam go find us something to eat. I’ll set up camp somewhere down there.” He gestures toward the south and starts walking.

  Willow frowns at Logan, who is still staring at Rowansmark as if he’s forgotten we’re with him, and opens her mouth as if to say something, but Adam hooks his arm through hers and pulls her away before she can speak.

  I wait for a moment, hoping Logan will look at me. Speak to me. But he stands motionless, shoulders stiff, watching the city.

  “We might as well just say it so that it isn’t awkward.” My voice sounds calm, but hurt throbs beneath my breastbone as he slowly turns to look at me.

  “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” His voice is quiet, and he won’t hold my gaze.

  A spark of anger flames to life inside of me, and I move toward him, wincing as my back protests. “Well, it isn’t going to go away, so I don’t see how ignoring it does any good.”

  A muscle in his jaw clenches, and he lifts his gaze to mine. Misery is etched in his eyes, and he looks away again. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. It hurts, but I manage. “You could just come right out and say, ‘Wow, Rachel, between your back and your arm, you’re really scarred, and I don’t find you pretty anymore.’”

  His gaze whips up to mine and stays here. “Excuse me?”

  I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “I saw the difference in you. You were so happy to see me until you saw my scars, and then you got all distant, and I get it. It looks bad. But you know what? I earned those. Every one of them. I’m not the same girl you fell in love with back in Baalboden. I’ve got scars inside and out, and a lot of it isn’t pretty. If you can’t handle that without suddenly being unable to look me in the eye—”

  He takes two strides forward, grips my upper arms, and pulls me against him. Hard. A dangerous light gleams in his eyes as he bends his neck and kisses me. Something in me relaxes.

  When he pulls back, he says, “Do you really think your scars make you less beautiful to me?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “When I see those scars, I see courage. The kind of courage most people only dream of having. I see proof that the girl I love is fierce and strong and unshakable when it really matters. Your scars are beautiful because they’re par
t of you, Rachel.”

  Before he can kiss me again, I ask, “So then what happened?”

  His expression becomes distant again, and I smack his shoulder lightly. “Stop doing that. Stop going inside your head and shutting me out. Just tell me.”

  He takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. “Ever since I learned who Ian was—who I was—I feel like who I am and where I come from contributed to the awful things that have happened.” He lets go of me. “Like your scars. If Ian hadn’t wanted to hurt me, you wouldn’t have been burned or whipped. I’m not saying I’m responsible. I’m saying I know that who I am is wrapped up in everything you’ve lost. Your dad, Oliver, our city, Sylph . . . I don’t know if you can look at me without being reminded of that. And if you can’t, then—”

  “What are you talking about?” I glare at him.

  “Everyone who’s ever said they loved me can’t be trusted anymore. Except you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My mother—” His voice chokes off, and he clears his throat. “She wasn’t my mother. She lied to me. All that time, all those reassurances that I was her whole world, and I was nothing more than someone else’s child thrust into her care.”

  “Logan—”

  “And Oliver.” The words pour out as if he can’t bear to hold them back any longer. “He said he loved me, too. But look at the facts. I was nothing more than the Commander’s long-term investment. Do you really think the Commander would make me an outcast and not have an insurance policy in place to keep me alive until his investment paid off? No wonder Oliver was feeding me. Someone had to make sure I was still alive.”

  He looks at his feet. “And then there’s Jared.” His voice is so full of pain, it makes me ache too. “He carried regular reports of my well-being to my father. How could he not tell me who I was? I thought I’d earned his love and respect, but he was simply keeping an eye on me because that was part of his job.”

  He presses his fingers to his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I don’t want to tarnish the memory of the family you’ve lost. You’d been through so much. Most of it because of who I am. I’m so afraid that you won’t be able to love me anymore, either.”

  His breath catches in his throat, and he falls silent. My heart thrums against my rib cage as slivers of the dreams I once had for us slide softly back into place. I understand being afraid that the wreckage in his life makes him unlovable now. And I can see the flaw in his reasoning. I step to his side.

  “Logan?”

  He nods, his fingers still pressed to his eyes, his shoulders bowed.

  “For someone so smart, you sure are thickheaded about relationships.”

  He slowly raises his head. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “It’s the truth. And I’m learning that truth is the only thing that makes us better.” I reach up, ignoring the twinge of pain in my back, and cup his face in my palms, holding him so he has to look me in the eye. “Some families are built through blood. Some are built through choice. It doesn’t change what you mean to each other.”

  He doesn’t reply, but he’s listening.

  “Your mother—”

  He makes a strangled noise and lifts a hand as if to protest, and I glare at him.

  “Your mother loved you. Does it matter where you came from? Or does it matter that once she had you, she did everything in her power to take care of you, even when it meant risking her life?” I lean closer. “People don’t give their lives for others unless love is involved.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, and I shake my head. “I’m not done.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Oliver wasn’t capable of deception, and you know it. When he said he loved you, he meant it. I don’t know if he was being paid to watch out for you or if he chose to do that on his own, but how you two became connected doesn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that he grew to see you as the son he never had. Can you honestly tell me you think Oliver would lie to you about that?”

  “No, Oliver wasn’t a liar.” His voice is quiet.

  “And as for Dad, well . . .” I pause to gather the right words, and Logan’s jaw tenses beneath my hands. “I can’t say he didn’t keep secrets from you. He might have known all along what was going on. Or he might have simply delivered unopened messages and been none the wiser. But he loved and respected you, and I can prove it.”

  “How?”

  I press close to him until I can feel the heat of his skin on mine. Until nothing stands between us but a few slivers of air. “Because when he knew he wasn’t returning to Baalboden, he wrote a will. And in that will, he asked you to take care of one thing. Just one thing. What was it?”

  “You,” he breathes, and then his arms are around me, and my fingers are in his hair, and his mouth is on mine. His kiss is fierce, rough lips and desperate hands, and my skin hums as something bright and glorious rushes through my veins.

  When he raises his head, there’s a wild light in his eyes that I know burns for me alone. “I love you,” he says.

  I reach up and hold the necklace he gave me when he promised he would always find me, and I smile. “I love you, too. Always.”

  And then he kisses me like I’m the air he desperately needs to breathe, and I let go of his necklace and hold on to him instead.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  LOGAN

  As darkness falls, I lead Rachel away from where the others have made camp for the night. Nola smiles as we leave. Frankie wiggles his brows and laughs as I roll my eyes. And Willow tells us not to get so distracted that we forget to be on our guard.

  I find a spot on the crest of a hill about two hundred yards from the others. Close enough to hear them if they run into trouble, but far enough away that Rachel and I can talk without being overheard. I have so much to say, and suddenly I don’t think I can find the words for any of it.

  As I spread my bedroll out, trying to make it big enough for two since Rachel doesn’t have one of her own, I examine my options. I want to tell her that I missed her, but that doesn’t begin to describe the way I ached for her while we were apart. I could tell her that I thought of her often, but that’s a lie. It would be better to say that I never stopped thinking of her. That every breath I took was filled with how much she means to me.

  Behind us, the trees creak and rustle. Above us, the stars are a cold, glittering light that bathes us in silver. And beside me, Rachel is slowly lowering herself to the bedroll, her movements stiff and unsteady. I wrap my hands around her upper arms and support her as she sinks to her knees. She hisses in a breath as she leans forward, stretching the wounds on her back while she crawls toward the top of the bedroll.

  “Can I help? Let me help. I want to help,” I say, though what I’m really saying is, “I wish I could’ve protected you when you needed it.”

  She laughs as she eases onto her stomach and then rolls to her side. “It’s fine. It’s good for me to move around. Helps it heal faster.”

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there. Or you shouldn’t have been there. None of that should’ve happened. I promised I’d protect you, but I didn’t, and—”

  “Logan, it’s fine.”

  I crawl onto the bedroll and stretch out beside her on my back, my face to the sky as anger boils through me. “It’s not fine. There is nothing fine about a man abusing his power by whipping a girl. He should be whipped.” I’m talking too loudly, but I can’t seem to stop. “He should beg for mercy, just like my mother. . . .”

  She reaches for me and lightly draws her fingers down my cheek as my words linger in the air between us.

  “Are we talking about James Rowan? Or the Commander?” she asks, her thumb rubbing light circles across my cheek.

  “Both, I guess.” I sigh as her fingers find the tensio
n in the side of my jaw and massage it away. “I can’t keep failing those I love.”

  Her fingers still. Her voice is a snap of impatience. “That’s ridiculous.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but she beats me to it.

  “You didn’t fail me. I chose to go into Rowansmark.”

  “You were kidnapped and badly injured.”

  “Please. You know me well enough by now to know that I wasn’t cowering in a wagon waiting around for rescue. I spent my time assessing my opponents, gathering information, and looking for my opportunity to escape.”

  She shifts closer to me, cradling her head on her arm. A breeze sifts through her hair, lifting the strands to dance in the starlight. The warmth that gathers in my chest has nothing to do with the anger I feel toward those who’ve hurt her and everything to do with the way the silver light glows against her skin.

  “And I had opportunities, Logan. Twice.”

  “And you didn’t take them?” I stop admiring the curve of her cheekbones and glare at her. “You could’ve been killed. Ian is sick. You know that. He could’ve tortured you. He could’ve killed you. He—”

  “He tried.”

  “Rachel.” I reach for her, careful not to touch the wounds on her back, and pull her close until her head fits against my shoulder. Then I bury my hand in her hair to hide the way my fingers tremble.

  “You’re only upset with me because you were worried about me.” She nuzzles closer to me, and I swear I can feel her heart beating strong and sure against my chest. “But I promise I was planning to escape. I was thinking about exit strategies. I just changed my strategy because I learned something important. You didn’t fail me. I went to Rowansmark because I chose to, even though I knew the risks.”

  I hold her against me in silence for a moment while I struggle to find the balance between fear for her safety and pride that she is a fierce, smart, formidable girl who chooses courage every time. Finally, I say, “Okay, three things. One, I’m proud of you. You scare me because I know you’ll choose to face danger instead of running away, but that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of who you are.