ashen city (Black Tiger Series Book 2)

by Sara Baysinger

  “Don’t go out there,” he says, standing. “Please. There’s still fire.”

  I pull my hand from his grip and begin marching through the vapor rising from the charred grass and dirt, careful not to step on the patches of fire that are still burning. I walk past the house, toward the orchard. The place where lush apple trees used to grow is marred by burned stumps with wiry black branches. Embers still glow in the burnt wood. What is this place? It is not my home. It is a deserted field unrecognizable to me. The beauty of nature has been stripped from this place. All that remains are black stumps rising from the ground. Whoever burned the field down had a ton fuel to make living trees shrivel so fast.

  The barn stands in the distance, the only part of the orchard that isn’t burning. Hope seizes me, and I race through the snow. I shove the door open. Maggie, our cart horse, gives a little snort and perks her ears up. She’s still alive. Does that mean—

  “Dad?” I shout. My eyes dart around the barn, and I search the stall, but there’s no one. No note. Nothing.

  I step back outside and break into a run. It’s snowing heavier now. Big fat clumps of snowflakes blizzarding through the air and melting on the hot ground. I race through a row of wiry trees, calling out their names. I race the full length of the orchard. They have to be alive. They have to be out here somewhere. By the time I reach the end of the mile-long field, my face is numb, my lungs burn from the lingering smoke, and my legs beg for mercy.

  And my heart shatters into one, two, three million pieces. Because there’s no sign of them anywhere. I trot to a stop, hunch over, and drag icy air into my lungs. Then I straighten and scan the fields through my tears, hoping against hope to find them there.

  Nothing. Just a fresh blanket of snow that’s finally begun to collect on the ground. And Forest walking in the field toward me, his form tall and muscular and his expensive clothes completely out of place in the Community Garden.

  But no Dad.

  No Elijah.

  And I’m falling apart all over again. My legs give out. I fall to my knees, grab a fistful of snow and squeeze until the snow melts away and all that’s left in my palms is the gritty ash. Tears flood my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

  Uncontainable.

  Uncontrollable.

  And I cover my head with ash-stained hands and give in to my grief.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here. Flurries whip all around me. The air is cold and unforgiving. Forest came at some point, wanting to comfort me, but I told him to shod off. So he laid his coat over me and left. My hands and feet are numb. My cheeks are freezing. My body aches from the convulsions of sobbing, even though I’m clinging to the hope that Dad and Elijah are still alive. But if they were alive, wouldn’t they have returned by now?

  When the gray clouds turn dark and the pitch black of night wraps around me, I lie curled up in the ash with no more tears to cry, my energy spent, my mouth dry as soot, my spirit depleted.

  I don’t ever want to get up.

  I try to think logically. Any other day, I would have considered this a possible accident. Except that the neighboring fields are left untouched straight up to the field lines. And I knew, I knew, Titus wasn’t finished with me. I guess I just didn’t realize his return would be this dramatic.

  I didn’t think he’d come knocking on my door while Forest was still here.

  “Ember.” The soothing voice is accompanied by warm, strong hands that gently grip my shoulder. I open my eyes to find Forest hunched on the ground in front of me. It’s dark now, but the sky has cleared, and I can just make out Forest’s eyes in the light of the moon.

  My throat is raw from crying or smoke, I’m not sure which. “What are you still doing here?” I ask.

  He pulls me to my feet and crushes me to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Ember.” He keeps whispering consolations in my ear, though they do little to comfort me. But I slip my arms around his waist and lay my head against chest, listen to his strong heartbeat, and that—that—comforts me. I close my eyes, empty my mind of all thoughts, listen to the steady rhythm while he combs his fingers into my hair.

  “It’s freezing out here,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of the fields.”

  I’m too tired, too numb, too cold to resist him, so I let him guide me out of the orchard.

  “I turned on the car and left it running to keep it warm,” he says.

  “I want to go inside my house.”

  I’m glad he doesn’t say anything to try to change my mind. Because anything he says would be useless.

  The flames are gone now, but I know I still shouldn’t go inside. The ceiling is probably weak, and the entire house could still cave in on me, but I need to know that Dad and Elijah didn’t burn with the house. I just have to know.

  So I approach the doorway and step inside. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. What little possessions we owned must have been consumed in the fire. The pictures on the walls, every picture I ever painted during my youth and after my return from Frankfort. Gone.

  But, after searching the whole house, there are no signs of bodies.

  “Thank you” I whisper to the Unseen. Because somehow I know He’s watching over Dad and Elijah, wherever they are. Which could be anywhere. In hiding. Taken captive by Titus.

  Or maybe their skeletons were consumed in the flames.

  No. I won’t think about that.

  I step back into the kitchen. The table is charred. Ashes cover the floor. The house only burned hours ago, but it looks like it’s been burned down for days. The fire erupted in a matter of seconds and took less than a day to strip away everything I love.

  I return to the living room, the place our family gathered at the end of each day. A place signifying warmth and laughter and family, and I can almost hear a haunting melody from Elijah’s harmonica echoing off the walls. But the room is old ruins now. There are no chairs. They were burned to a crisp. So I sink to the floor, lean my head back against the charred wall, close my eyes.

  And inhale.

  But the stink of smoke and burnt wood invades my nostrils, making me almost choke, and reality crashes back around me.

  Freezing air sweeps in from the doorway. Forest enters a moment later with a few blankets. He covers me with two of them and pins the other on the doorway to block the cold wind. I wonder why he has so many blankets stored up in his vehicle. And why does he stay here? Why not go back to the warmth of his hotel or the security of Frankfort?

  “What am I going to do now?” I ask, more to myself than to Forest. “I have no idea where Dad and Elijah are, or if—if they’re even…alive.” I look at him through my tears. “I have no one, Forest.”

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. The warmth of his body seeps through his wet clothes. I nestle against him and breathe in deeply. He smells earthy and wet, but the scent of cinnamon still lingers on his skin. He sweeps cold, wet hair off of my forehead, then kisses my temple, but says nothing. I’m glad. So incredibly grateful for his quiet presence.

  My eyes are swollen from crying, and I lay my head on his shoulder and let my eyelids slide shut while listening to the sound of his heartbeat and his heavy breathing. My body spent from weeping, I drift into a dreamless sleep with a faint prayer that my family is still alive.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I remember one time at The Tap, Old John was telling one of his tall tales about zombies––dead people who can walk and eat the living. One bite killed and infected. No gunshot could take the zombies down. You couldn’t reason with them. They were dead.

  But living.

  That’s how I feel. Numb. Dead. You could stab me with a dagger, and I doubt I would feel it. So why am I still breathing?

  I’m alone in the charred living room, curled in the flannel blanket. Forest must have gone home, because he wasn’t here when I woke up. A fire has been built in the brick fireplace with fresh wood brought in from who knows where. Su
nlight slants through the cracks of the blanket Forest hung over the doorway, but it does little to keep the freezing bite of winter away. Through the slit between the blanket and the doorway, I can see Mrs. Everleen’s harvested field across the road. Flat and dead, it still looks nothing like the charcoaled remains of my apple orchard.

  I sit up, the memories of yesterday hitting me with triple force. I try to think logically. The field is burned down. Dad and Elijah…I have no idea if they’re dead or alive, but I’m guessing that if they’re still alive, they’ve been captured because they’d have come for me by now if they weren’t. And if Titus took them, what would he do? Panic rises in my throat, tight and constricting, when I hear footsteps on the porch. Forest appears in the doorway with a satchel.

  “I thought you left,” I say. Relief washes over me at the sight of him. I didn’t realize how much I needed him until now.

  “I got us some food.” He pulls out a loaf of bread and hands it to me.

  I stare at it. Bread this fresh is, well, nonexistent around here. And Titus hasn’t exactly delivered all the things I requested yet, like fresh food. Just another reason to hate him.

  “Where did you get that?” I ask.

  “Rain,” he says. “Brought it.”

  “Rain?” A strange hope that I don’t quite understand rises in my chest at the thought of seeing Rain, but I squash it. It’s because of Rain that I almost died on the Rebels Circle. “Rain is…here?”

  “He was,” Forest says. “I asked him to bring food and blankets. So he met me at the Community Garden border.”

  “Oh.” So he’s gone. He came and left and didn’t even pop in to say hello, or I’m sorry for almost getting you killed. He came at the request of Forest. And left. Why am I surprised, though? This is Rain, the heartless, insipid son of a jackal, I’m thinking about.

  “Here,” Forest says. “Take the bread.”

  “I’m not hungry.” My stomach’s growl betrays me.

  His golden brows furrow. “You have to eat to live.”

  “Live?” A hollow laugh escapes me. “For what? There is no life when your family and friends are all dead.”

  “You have friends still. All those people you introduced me to at The Tap are still living. You don’t know your Dad and brother are dead. Besides”—his voice softens—“you still have…me.”

  I look at him, my tears threatening to resurface, but I bite them back.

  “I won’t let you give up.” He hunches down in front of me and hands me the bread. “I’m going to stay here and pester you until you eat.”

  How can he be so insensitive? I take the bread and stuff a clump in my mouth, more to end his persistence than to satisfy my hunger. But the bread turns to ash on my tongue and slides down my throat like sand. He pulls out an electronic canteen and pours some cream-colored liquid into a cup.

  “Drink,” he says, handing it to me.

  I take a small sip. The warm liquid pools in my stomach, tasting of coffee laced with milk and…peppermint. Of course. Of course Rain would spike it with peppermint. My stomach tightens. He came. He left. He didn’t even say sorry.

  “I can’t drink this,” I say.

  “Fine. But you must eat the bread.”

  I nibble at the edges of the loaf, but it doesn’t take the aching emptiness away.

  Forest opens a bag. “He also brought dry clothes,” he says, pulling out a pair of cotton pants, a T-shirt, and a coat. Perfect clothes for this weather. “Why don’t you go change in the car,” he says. “I turned it on awhile ago to warm it up. Then we can talk about the next step.”

  The next step? What next step? There are no more steps left to take. I have no family, no home. What career can possibly be left on a nonexistent apple orchard? There is no future for me here.

  “My next steps are to wait on Dad and Elijah to come get me,” I think aloud.

  Forest jerks his head back. “For how long, Ember? It’s been over twelve hours, and they haven’t come for you yet.”

  “Are you—are you telling me you think they’re…dead?”

  He looks away. “I don’t know.”

  “What the shoddy rot happened, anyway?” I ask, as if Forest has the answers.

  “I don’t know,” he says again, his voice huskier than before. “An accident maybe.”

  “An accident? You think this was an accident?”

  He blinks.

  “This fire just…blew up!” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “And the neighboring fields aren’t burned. Someone threw some sort of fuel all over the orchard—and my house—and struck a match to it.”

  “We don’t know that,” he murmurs.

  I swallow down my tears. I can’t handle any more crying right now, please.

  “Weren’t you supposed to leave today?” I ask.

  “Seriously? I’m not leaving you alone in this freezing weather after what just happened.”

  “Don’t you have to be in the parade?”

  He stares at me. “Your wellbeing is slightly more important to me than a parade.”

  How romantic. But for some reason, I don’t melt at that little proclamation. I grab the dry clothes, march out of my house, and get into the car. The expensive smell of leather fills the air, and warmth greets me. I should have taken Forest’s offer last night and slept in this warm car instead of the freezing house. Instead, he stayed in the cold shell of a house with me.

  I change into the dry clothes, which fit perfectly, and braid my hair down my back, combing the loose strands with my fingers. When I return, Forest is poking at the fire. He hands me a thick, expensive-looking blanket that’s somehow already super warm by some Frankfort technology, and I wrap it around my body.

  “So,” I say. “Rain brought food. And blankets. And dry clothes. How long are you planning on staying out here, again?”

  “However long you need me.”

  At this point, I don’t really think I need anything or anyone. Having Forest linger around when I know he’s itching to get home is almost more painful than him leaving me. “I think I can look out for myself from here on out.”

  “Clearly not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If I hadn’t stayed, you would have slept out in the snow. You’d probably still be out there. Frost-bitten. Frozen.”

  “I would have moved eventually.”

  “Yes, and gotten pneumonia. Or died of hypothermia. And where would you get your food? Your rations have been burned with the house. And I doubt the neighbors would want to share what little they have with someone who just returned from Frankfort.”

  Wow. He’s really put a lot of thought into this.

  “You would have been stranded,” Forest continues. “With no food, no shelter, and no way to get back to Frankfort.”

  Why would I want to return to Frankfort? I want to ask, but I am too tired to debate.

  “So what do you think happened?” I ask.

  “Well, the field is burned down. Your family is missing…”

  Missing. Now he thinks they’re missing.

  Renewed grief hits me like a winter vortex. Missing. My grief evolves into rage, and that rage bubbles up like overly boiled soup.

  “They’re not missing,” I snap.

  “No? Did you find their…” He swallows. “B-bodies?”

  “Titus took them. He tried to make it look like an accident, just like you said he would. But I know better.”

  “Ember, we don’t know that.”

  “Don’t we?”

  “Look, we can’t start blindly accusing people without evidence.”

  I narrow my eyes. How can he defend Titus now, after…after everything? Titus made Leaf kill himself. Then sent me to my execution on the Rebels Circle. Then, by some…magic, he lets Forest bring me home and tells me everything is forgiven. And Forest stays a whole two weeks with me and—oh.

  Oh no.

  Realization slowly sinks in, the bullet of betrayal lodging deep into my chest.
>
  “This was all planned, wasn’t it?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Forest’s eyes widen a fraction. “What?”

  I stare at him, all the pieces slowly falling into place. “Titus—he sent you home with me so I would trust you, didn’t he? You’ve been talking on your phoneband to him all this time, reporting my whereabouts, spying on me, haven’t you?” Everything makes sense now. Forest’s discomfort when he drove me out here must have been because he was betraying me. I mean, why the shoddy inferno would a Patrician want to live among Proletariats for two weeks? I stand and drop the blanket from my shoulders, disgusted at myself for almost falling for the lie, while Judah’s warnings have been going off in the back of my mind this whole time. Judah, who told me never to trust a politician. Judah, who died saving me from the black tigers.

  “You already knew this place would be burned down,” I whisper hoarsely. “And you took me out to town yesterday just so Titus could go through with his plan and not harm me in the process.”

  “Ember, you’re not thinking clearly. I had no idea.”

  “And I suppose Titus didn’t tell you to bring me here, either?” I wipe a tear off my cheek with the heel of my hand and head for the door, but Forest catches my arm and whirls me around.

  “If the chief wanted your family dead,” he says, “he would have killed only them. He would have only burned down the house, not the entire field. Don’t you understand? He doesn’t have to create a fake accident. He could have just arrested them and had them killed, no problem. There are no other apple orchards in Ky. There is no reason for him to burn down the entire orchard.” He releases my arm. “Besides, he needs the orchard to feed his people.”

  I snort. “Like he gives a jackal’s nuts about his people. It’s because he burnt the entire field that I know it’s him. How else would those flames appear so quickly? Aren’t you the one who said he makes incidents like this look like accidents?”