“Maybe it’s too hard to concentrate with Voske standing over you.”
Luis shook his head. “I tried with Sophie. She insisted.”
“That was right after you got your power, wasn’t it? Listen, Luis, my own power was hard to control, too. At first it was like it was controlling me. And then I tried to concentrate as hard as I could. But that isn’t how it works. I don’t force my will on those crystal trees.” Ross frowned, trying to put it into words. “I open my mind to them. I let them come to me. Like you’d tame a wild animal.”
“I don’t know how I’d do that.”
The image of Min Soo’s hands dripping blood flashed into Ross’s mind. But Luis was so desperate, and Ross had chosen him. He had to make it right.
Ross slipped off his gauntlet. Then he put his left arm on the table before Luis, scarred side turned down.
“Oh, no,” Luis said. “I’m not going to do that.”
“That arm’s no good anyway. You can’t make it worse.” Ross tried to remember what it had felt like when he’d first successfully spoken with his crystal tree. “Don’t force yourself to do anything. Just imagine yourself touching me and nothing happening. Imagine the last time you touched someone, before you Changed.”
Luis sat still for a long time. Ross waited. Finally he heard the creak of a chair. He heard a slow intake of breath. The vague shape of Luis’s hand hovered over his arm. Then he brought his fingers down.
Five burning coals pressed into his arm. Ross gasped, forcing himself not to cry out in pain. Luis jerked his hand back. Blood welled up and dripped down Ross’s arm.
Ross hastily flexed his fingers. They closed as far as they ever had. The damage was only skin-deep. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Luis yelled.
The door banged open. A guard said, “Are you all right?”
Ross’s voice collided with Luis’s. “We’re fine.”
“We were experimenting,” said Luis.
“The king will not like his guest experimented on.” The guard sounded horrified. To Ross, he said, “Come along, sir.”
“I volunteered.” Ross followed the guard out, then turned back at the door. “Don’t give up.”
Luis was silent.
Chapter Thirty-Four. Las Anclas.
Mia
When Mia and Kerry went into the surgery to check the chalkboard, both stopped as if they’d hit an invisible wall. Mia happily inhaled the delicious aromas.
“What is that?” Kerry whispered.
“That,” Mia intoned reverently, “is Great-Grandma Lee’s white radish kimchi. And broiled mackerel.”
A calico cat glided down from atop a cupboard, its wing-flaps outstretched, and landed at Mia’s feet with a thud. It was quickly followed by the tabby cat who had been perched beside it, and a fluffy white cat that scampered in from another room. All three sat at Mia’s feet and meowed hopefully.
Mia laughed. “Mention fish, summon cats. I smell flower biscuits, too—they’re shaped like flowers, not made of flowers. Thank goodness. It’s all very traditional. Dad is definitely trying to impress you.”
Kerry looked suitably impressed as she bent to tousle cat heads. “That sounds more promising than the turnip-and-goat-cheese pancakes.”
“Those were revolting, but believe me, there have been worse experiments. Much worse.”
Dad poked his head out of the kitchen. “I thought I heard your voices, girls. Lunch is at noon. Don’t be late.”
Mia tapped the chalkboard. “Then we only have time for the south forge generator. That’ll be the twenty-third repair this year on that thing.”
“Why don’t you build a new one?” Kerry asked.
“Grandma Johanssen insists it’s still got plenty of use in it, and Mr. Horst’s north forge gets priority because . . .” Because he’s making the new weapons the Defense Chief wants. Should Mia be talking about that? “. . . Mr. Preston likes him.” That was true enough.
Kerry slung a tool belt over her shoulder. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late for that lunch.”
As they walked down the road, Mia tallied how the people they passed responded. Five dirty looks, eleven ignores, and two hellos, which were both from teenagers.
It was an improvement over the first few days, which had averaged sixty percent dirty looks. But it made Mia nervous. She’d never had to face that many glares before. And they weren’t even directed at her! She couldn’t imagine what Kerry must feel like.
Mia loved numbers, but so much of what she couldn’t help counting recently were things she didn’t want to think about. It had been two days and twenty-one hours since that disaster of a party (which meant two days and twenty hours since Mia had last said ‘hi’ to Jennie), and six days since Jennie had broken down at Ranger training and had been put on temporary medical leave.
Since that night, Mia had exchanged fifty-three words with Jennie, most of which were variations on ‘Hi, how are you?’ and ‘Fine, how are you?’
Jennie was obviously very, very far from fine. At least she was talking to Dad, but that was only because she’d been ordered to. She went in and out of Dad’s house every day, without once approaching Mia’s cottage. Jennie wouldn’t talk in front of Kerry, even if she wanted to. But if she wanted to talk to Mia alone, she could come over at night, when Kerry was in her cell.
Mia couldn’t help wondering if the distance between them was her fault. Dad had told her that some experiences left wounds on the inside that took a very long time to heal. She’d known how much Jennie loved Sera. Why hadn’t Mia tried harder to ask Jennie what was wrong? Did Jennie feel like Mia had abandoned her? Or was Jennie still angry that Mia was guarding Kerry?
The picket fence beside Kerry clattered as she walked, her hand outstretched, and Mia realized that she had created an invisible stick to run along it. Mia couldn’t help laughing.
With a quick grin, Kerry opened her other hand to Mia. “Guess.”
Mia loved this game. She put her hand over Kerry’s palm, feeling something round and fuzzy, a little squishy, with a cleft in one side . . . “A peach!”
“You got it!” Kerry replied.
Mia wondered if Jennie was right that Kerry was cold-bloodedly manipulating her. It didn’t feel like she was, but Mia knew she was no good at figuring out people. But Dad was, and he thought Kerry’s friendliness was genuine. At least part of the time.
I’ve never seen Ian Voske, but I believe I know exactly how he smiles, Dad had said privately to Mia on the second day, before Mia went to fetch Kerry. When Kerry smiles that certain smile before she asks a question, I suspect she’s hiding her real intent.
Yesterday, Dad had commented that he’d seen the Voske smile less often. Mia liked Kerry’s scientific curiosity, the fun she had with her Change power, and her way with animals. The cats loved her. To Mia’s intense fascination, they seemed able to see her invisible objects. She and Mia were still trying to design an experiment to determine if they really could, or if they were extrapolating from the movements of Kerry’s hands.
I wish Jennie could see her like I do, Mia thought as they splashed under the dripping pines to enter Main Street. They have so much in common.
The rapid tattoo of horses’ hooves brought them to a stop. Four Rangers galloped by, kicking up mud. Indra caught Mia’s eye and lifted his hand, his gaze sliding right past Kerry.
“Is he as good as he looks at practice?” Kerry watched the Rangers gallop through the gate and vanish along the east road. “I’d love to spar with him.”
“They’re all good.” Mia grimaced down at the mud. How much did it hurt Jennie to see the Rangers going on missions without her? As much as it hurt Mia that Jennie wouldn’t talk to her?
“Santiago and I used to spar every day that he wasn’t on a scouting mission,” Kerry said wistfully. Then she brightened. “He loves to say that on our first date, I knocked him out cold. He thinks that’s hilarious. He always leaves me to explain that it wasn’t actu
ally during the date, it was at the tournament we were in before the date. And also, it was a complete accident. You see . . .”
Mia memorized the tournament details, in case Mr. Preston thought they were important. But she was more interested in how Kerry talked about Santiago. She didn’t get all swoony, the way some girls (and boys) did—all that stuff about lips and eyes and meaningful glances and fiery passions. She talked about him the way she’d talk about a best friend—how they sparred together, how they rode together, how much they had in common. She never spoke like that about anyone else, making Mia wonder if she even had any other friends.
Mia didn’t mind hearing about Santiago. He sounded nice. The problem was, the way Kerry talked about Santiago was the way Mia thought about Ross. And every time Mia thought about Ross, she felt like a screwdriver had stabbed her right between the ribs. She was desperate to ask Kerry about him, but the one time she had, Kerry had lied. And if there was one thing worse than not knowing anything, it was knowing stuff when she didn’t know if it was even true.
By the time they finished with the generator, Mia decided that there was one thing that she had to know. And it wasn’t about Ross. After the delicious lunch, she told Kerry that her next project was outside the gates, so she had to take Kerry back to jail. Then Mia sped back across the town square, and reached the surgery just as Jennie was leaving.
They spoke simultaneously. “I’m sorry.”
Jennie breathed a laugh. “Mia, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“Yes, I do. I knew how you felt about Sera—”
“Don’t.” Jennie winced, holding up her palm. Then she dropped her hand. “No, I’m sorry. Again. You can mention her. You saw what happened when I didn’t talk to anyone about what I was feeling. About the battle. About Sera. Ross. Everything. I know your dad is right that I can’t keep it all bottled up inside of me. But every time I think about the past few months, I feel worse, not better.”
Before Mia could think of anything to say, Jennie added, “Speaking of the last few months. Where’s the princess?”
“Jail. I told her I had to fix the water line by the mill. I do, eventually. Slimegrass got in it again, like it does every year when the rains start.”
“Let’s make it true. I’ll help.” As they went to get Mia’s tools, Jennie said, “I wish I hadn’t closed you out. I closed Ross out, and . . .” Jennie shook her head. “I should have been there with you at the ruined city.”
“Ross and Yuki were there,” Mia pointed out. “And you know how well they fight! If you’d been there, all that would have been different would have been that it wouldn’t have seemed quite as hopeless. Then Yuki wouldn’t have dragged me away, and then all of us but Ross probably would have been killed.”
“That’s what my parents say, too.” Jennie looked down at her strong hands. “But I can’t believe it.”
Twenty-six days, twelve hours, and forty-two minutes since Ross got taken, Mia thought.
She wished she had a countdown until he arrived safely home.
Chapter Thirty-Five. Las Anclas.
Kerry
“How do you feel about bees?” Mia asked.
“I’m not crazy about them,” Kerry admitted, wondering where that was going. “My brother Sean got stung once and his arm swelled up to twice its size. But I do love honey.”
“There might be honey involved.” Mia had arrived late, which meant, Kerry knew by now, that she’d been up half the night working on something. “The pump at the apiary jammed.”
As they left the jail, Mia pulled two napkin-wrapped objects from her bag and offered one to Kerry. “Chicken tamale? Dad just made them. Still warm.”
Kerry bit in with enthusiasm. As she munched, she glanced up at the sky, hoping Pru was watching her. But she saw no hawks. Was Father disappointed that she hadn’t escaped by now, or was he expecting her to gather intelligence first?
She hadn’t been to the apiary yet, so that might be useful knowledge. If it was near a lightly guarded part of the wall, she could knock Mia out, go over, and file off the manacles once she was well out of town.
When she’d first planned her escape over the wall, she’d meant to kill her guard. But she’d gotten . . . maybe not fond, exactly, but at least tolerant of Mia. Enough that she didn’t want to kill her.
The apiary was in sight of the wall, but there were almost as many sentries as at the gates. Kerry saw a mill wheel looming beyond the wall. Of course a mill would be well guarded. Furry bees buzzed around, most the usual scarlet striped with black, but some a brilliant blue.
“What kind of honey do those blue ones make?” Kerry asked.
Mia glanced up as she unloading her bag beside an ancient well pump. “Same as the red ones. The blue ones are a mutation. The only thing that’s different is that they’re meaner. The beekeepers are trying to breed them out.”
Each hive hummed a different note. Kerry wondered if the bees in Gold Point hummed the same notes. She’d never seen where the honey for her toast came from, or how the beekeepers got it out of the hive. She hoped she’d get to see it now, but the beekeeper was nowhere in sight.
Kerry sat back, content to watch Mia work. She enjoyed how clever and fearless Mia was in dealing with complicated machinery, and it amused Kerry when Mia started absently talking to the machines.
“There’s your problem,” Mia informed the pump.
With a pair of pliers, she tugged at something stuck in the mechanism. With a loud snap, a metal nut flew out in a high arc and slammed into the nearest beehive. The hum rose angrily as a swarm of blue bees arrowed toward them.
“Kerry, look out!” Mia yelled, dropping her pliers and flinging her arms over her head.
Kerry grabbed Mia’s wrist with one hand and held her other out, palm flat, surrounding the two of them with a bowl-shaped shield. Bees ricocheted off the invisible wall.
Mia slowly raised her head, her eyes enormous behind her glasses. “Thanks. I don’t want to think how many times I’d have gotten stung if you hadn’t done that. How long can you keep this up?”
“It’s no strain,” Kerry replied. “But we only have as much air as the shield holds: about ten minutes’ worth. Let’s yell for the beekeeper.”
But he was already there. The man hummed softly, waving his arms in intricate gestures. The bees swarmed around him until he became a silhouette inside a dark, constantly shifting cloud. He moved sedately to the hive, still humming, then whistled a low note. The bees all flew back inside their hive.
Mia was eyeing her pliers, lying near the hive. Kerry darted away and retrieved them for her.
“Thanks.” Mia made a face. “Want to know the truth? I hate bees.”
Kerry replaced the shield over them as Mia finished her job. Just in case.
The beekeeper walked up when she was done. “Here’s a jar of fireweed honey for you and avocado honey for Dr. Lee.”
Kerry released the shield.
“Thanks, Mr. Hassan.” Mia nestled the jars into her bag.
To Kerry’s surprise, Mr. Hassan turned to her. “And for you, a honeycomb.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hassan,” Kerry said. “Honey is the one sweet thing I actually like.”
She began eating the honeycomb as she took a last glance at the wall. It was still heavily patrolled. No go here. On the positive side, she wouldn’t have to get past the bees when she made her escape.
On their way back, they passed the north forge. Kerry’s attention was caught by a shower of sparks. Inside, the huge ironmonger, Mr. Horst, was hammering a glowing piece of metal. As he plunged it into a vat of water, he turned his head to avoid the billowing steam. His eyes met hers. Mr. Horst slammed the object down on a tray, and came storming out of the forge.
“How dare you spy on my forge, monster girl?” Mr. Horst roared.
“She’s helping me, Mr. Horst.” Mia held up her tool bag. “She’s not spying.”
Mr. Horst ignored Mia and advanced on Kerry, snarli
ng, “I’m counting the days until you’re as dead as my brother. They’re going to shoot you anyway. Maybe I should save them the ammunition.”
He pulled a hammer from a loop in his leather apron. Kerry regretfully dropped the last bite of honeycomb and snapped up a shield.
Mia jumped in front of Kerry. “I’m guarding her. She’s my responsibility.”
Kerry couldn’t believe that Mia was standing up to that huge man to protect her. “Mia, I have a shield.”
Mia raised her voice. “Mr. Horst, leave her be. She hasn’t done anything!”
People came out of the pottery and brewery nearby to enjoy the scene.
“Kill the mutant, Horst,” someone yelled.
A woman called out, “There he goes again, King Horst! Gonna put her head on a pike?”
“Sheriff!” a third person bellowed.
The crowd shifted as Preston shoved through, his light blue eyes glaring. Behind him came a patrol of armed people on horseback.
“Break it up,” Preston ordered. “Get back to work.”
“Your work is to get rid of this spying monster,” Mr. Horst shouted at Preston. “Are you afraid of her, or are you afraid of her father?”
Before Preston could reply, a woman shook her broom at him.
“Kidnapping Voske’s get was your stupid idea,” she yelled. “It’s brought nothing but trouble.”
A man holding a lump of clay added, “We voted you in, Preston. We can vote you out.”
“You’ll have your chance at the election,” Preston said calmly. “Mia, get her out of here.”
He stalked away, followed by the patrollers, who walked their horses through the crowd to break it up.
“Come on, Kerry,” Mia said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that shortcut.”
Kerry followed Mia to her cottage, her emotions in a spin. All those people had yelled at Preston, contradicted him, challenged him, insulted him, even, in a way, threatened him. But he’d done nothing. Or was he biding his time?
Hostage Page 25