Rayce startles at the interruption, his left hand flying for a sharp knife resting next to him. At seeing Oren, he lets it go, leaving the handle covered in white.
“You scared me,” he says, laughing at himself. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not too long,” Oren says. “Do you think you can manage to find some supper for Rose, here?”
Rayce’s gaze slides to me, and he wipes his brow with the back of his hand, leaving behind a smear of flour on his forehead. I remember how close I was to his face last night, how his lips hovered near mine, and heat rises up my neck to touch my cheeks.
“I think I can figure something out,” he says.
“Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.” Oren scoops up the scrolls in my arms.
He gives me a pointed look and motions that I should head farther into the kitchen before he disappears back into the dining hall. All of that searching and I still didn’t get the answers I need from him.
Silence stretches out as I turn back to Rayce, and Arlo’s words from earlier flood my head. It’s clear Rayce puts his people before everything, including what he wants. I can’t let myself be tricked by his kindness, no matter how good it feels to stand next to him.
Rayce stares at me with curiosity coating his eyes.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much left over from dinner tonight,” he says. “There are a few whole apples, and we always have a good supply of jerky, but if you want to wait for a bit, I can pop these in the oven and you can have some honey crisps. I can’t say they’ll be the most nutritious meal, but they’ll hold you over until breakfast.”
“Okay,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me.
Three long countertops separate us, and I feel every inch of distance in the large space. The low lighting casts shadows in all the corners, except for a lantern flickering warm light across his workstation.
His attention returns to the dough, and he clears his throat.
“Would you like me to teach you how to make them?” he asks. “I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but this is a pretty big deal. This recipe is a family secret, so I can’t let just anyone know how to do it.”
Despite the nerves somersaulting in my stomach, a smile finds its way to my face. “I guess I can’t say no, then.”
He tips his head toward the place next to him, and I move forward, my feet feeling strangely heavy. Moving around the countertop, I stop a few inches from him. He pushes back a cluster of his hair.
“Go ahead and dip your hands in the bowl to wash them.”
I plunge my hands into the large bowl full of water, sending ripples through the clear surface. The water still has a bit of heat to it as I rub my palms together.
“I heard from Arlo that your stunner training went well,” Rayce says, giving me a white cloth from his shoulder.
“Liar,” I say, patting my hands dry then placing the rag on the counter.
His mouth quirks up in a smile. “You still have a few days to get it down.”
“How are plans going for the mission?” I ask.
“Well, I’m in here,” he says. “Which generally isn’t a good sign.” He sighs, nodding at a sack of flour. “Now coat your hands in flour so the dough doesn’t stick to them.”
The flour rests on the other side of him, and I have to reach across to grab it. He doesn’t bother moving, seeming comfortable with our nearness while my heart threatens to burst out of my chest.
“I’m sorry it isn’t going well,” I say.
“It’s just the stress of trying to figure out so many different operations at once,” he says. “Our strategy meeting ended just a few minutes ago, which is why I was so surprised to see Oren again.”
I pull away from the flour.
“You’re going to need more.” His hands cover mine as he guides them back to the flour and gently sticks them into the powder until they’re coated almost up to my wrists. “There.”
He smiles at our joined hands but doesn’t show any signs of letting go. Then he stands behind me, his hard edges pressing into my back. I can feel every ripple on his chest, and my breath catches. His warmth radiates through me, sending tiny sparks down to my toes.
“You have to knead with just the right amount of force,” he says, his voice tickling my ear. “It’s a bit tricky at first.”
Cupping my hands in his, he places them on the dough, and the slightly squishy texture seeps between my fingers as he shows me how to knead it properly. The sticky-sweet scent of honey mixed with yeast permeates the air every time we apply pressure. His scratchy chin brushes my cheek as he leans in to watch our progress, and I fight against the tremble threatening to take hold of my body.
“Do you do this often?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the warmth of his touch.
“I wish I could,” he says. “There have been a great number of things preoccupying my mind. I don’t expect it to get any easier as this war progresses.”
“Every time I try to rest, all I can think about are my sisters in the Garden, so I can only imagine what it’s like for you, with so many more people counting on you.”
He moves his hand up the length of my arm and turns my face toward him so we’re staring at each other. The edge of the countertop presses into my hips, pinning us together. I’m helpless against the intensity in his eyes.
“Sometimes I wonder how you understand me so well.” The throatiness of his voice vibrates against my spine, rippling outward from there to every nerve. “I guess it’s because we both feel responsible for the people around us.”
He reaches up with a flour-coated finger and pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear, dragging his finger down my cheek. My lips pulse next to his, our energy electric.
Rayce blinks, shaking his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. He straightens, releasing me, and steps to the side.
“It’s funny, though,” he says, his tone suddenly clipped. “I find myself not having time for distractions anymore, whether it’s doing the things I love or spending time with the people I care about. I have to stay focused.”
Arlo’s voice echoes in my head like alarm bells: he will always choose his people over what he wants for himself.
“It’s getting late, so I’ll just finish this quickly.”
His face drawn tight, he takes the dough away from me and pounds down on it with quick, practiced movement. His hard gaze remains trained on his task. All of the heat I felt a moment ago dissipates, and I’m left with nothing but his pursed lips and emptiness in the pit of my stomach. His sudden indifference burns me far deeper than I imagined it would, and I wrap my arms around my middle.
“I just realized that it isn’t good to eat this close to bedtime anyway,” I say. “I’ll wait for breakfast.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Rayce answers, not bothering to look up from his work.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Uh-huh.”
Did I do something wrong? His entire demeanor flipped faster than the bolt of a stunner. My breath sticks to my rib cage, but I will my feet to stay measured most of the way across the room. As I near the exit, I dare a glance over my shoulder. Rayce runs his flour-streaked hands through his hair and then slams them both down, the dough he was carefully kneading probably ruined with such a fierce beating.
The moment I slip out of the dining hall, I press against the wall, trying to catch my breath. The cold stone seeps into my back, erasing the feeling of Rayce pressed up against me, but no matter how many times I lick my lips, they won’t stop burning.
And neither will my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next few days are crammed with stunner training. I see Rayce when he walks through the training room during a morning session, but his eyes slip over me like I’m invisible. My entire life, I wanted to be out of the spotlight, so why does it feel like my stomach falls to the floor when he passes me over without a second thought?
Marin informs me that we’ll be departing for the dual mission at first light, which means nothing in the constant darkness of underground, but I nod in agreement.
On the day of the mission, she gently shakes me awake, and I sit up, bleary-eyed, smoothing down the stray hairs on top of my head. The large pack of provisions we grabbed the night before sits neatly at the foot of my bed, sending a wave of panic through me as I remember this complex rescue we’re about to attempt. Marin leans over her bed, rolling up her quilt with a large pack at her feet.
“How’re you feeling today?” I ask.
She looks at me and smiles, the thick white bandage wrapped around her neck where the Gardener cut her peeking out over the collar of her uniform.
“Better now,” she says. “Luckily, the wound wasn’t too deep. It’s just sore.”
She touches her throat, and we both look away, picturing how the injury happened.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
Her eyes are different. They understand what it means to be under the Gardener’s rule, even if just for a minute, and my heart aches for her. Now Marin is more than a friend. She’s one of my sisters.
“How did you do it?” she says. “How did you live in the Garden? How did you survive, because I can’t imagine—”
“I just did,” I interrupt. “Every day, I just survived.”
She shakes her head, her curly hair bouncing with the movement, and stuffs her blue quilt into her open bag. A single drop of darker blue catches my eye. She must have looked down so I wouldn’t see her cry.
“Do you want to know something funny?” I slide out of bed.
“What?” she asks the wall.
“You know that stupid accent the Gardener uses? It isn’t even real.”
“What?” she repeats, swinging around. “I wondered what dialect it was.”
“He invented it. He thinks it makes him sound more exotic.”
“That’s so stupid,” Marin says, the happy lilt back in her voice. She lifts up her pack.
“I know.” I slip Oren’s book into my pack, wondering if I’ll ever have the time or presence of mind to read it, throw on my uniform, and pull the strap over my shoulder.
We both leave the room and walk through the tunnels, heading for the chorus of voices, until we enter a large room near the top of the base. A crowd of guards and their families are spread throughout the room in little pockets.
Marin points me toward my assigned group, gives me a quick hug, and heads to her appointed area. She’s part of the team that will be the distraction, though she was placed in the perimeter ring, away from the highest risk.
I push through the crowd, trying to find my area. Everywhere I look feels like I’m eavesdropping on private moments, and it twists something deep in my gut that I thought didn’t exist anymore. What would it be like to have a brother embracing me tightly or a mother handing me a loaf of lovingly baked bread while she kisses me good-bye? I reach into my pack and grab the book Oren lent me just to have some piece of my own family close to me.
The air around me feels cold without a body to keep it warm.
“You’re looking awfully pensive,” comes a deep voice from behind me.
I swing around and almost crash into Rayce, who leaned down to whisper in my ear. I jump back an inch, putting space between us. I expect to meet the hard expression he’s given me since the night in the kitchen, but instead I’m swept away in that same mischief glinting from his eyes as the first time I met him. His tunic has been freshly pressed and his face shaven clean. While I’ve driven myself crazy wondering what I did wrong, he acts as if nothing transpired between us. Like he didn’t practically throw me out of the kitchen a few nights ago and ignore me the past few days. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him.
He cocks an eyebrow.
My back tingles where he touched me that night. “Are we talking again now?” I ask, the tremor in my voice betraying me.
The air heats up with his nearness, and I hope it doesn’t show on my face.
“We were always talking, Rose. I just got busy the past few days.”
“It felt like you were avoiding me.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders, bending down to look me squarely in the eyes.
“Are you angry with me?” he asks, his tone surprisingly light. “Because it seems like you’re mad, and then I’d have to assume that’s because you enjoy talking to me.” A teasing smile plays on his lips. “Did you miss me?”
“That’s not—it isn’t like that!” I shake away from his grip. “Why would I miss you? You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you’re blushing.”
Before I can respond, Arlo and Oren walk up to us, saving me from continuing the awkward conversation. Clearly, adrenaline or something has put Rayce in a severely good mood and he’s taking it out on me. I’ll take his joking over him ignoring me. Even though I won’t tell him, I had missed his company. But only a little.
“Piper’s been updated on your orders, and we’re ready to leave,” Arlo says. “Here, Rose, I got you these.”
He holds out a stunner and a leather cord with a vial of Zarenite that matches everyone else’s here. I grab the stunner with my free hand and press the book Oren gave me behind my back before he can notice that I’m keeping it on me. If he found out it was here, he would just ask me again if I’ve read it yet, and I haven’t come up with a good excuse why I haven’t.
Before I can grab the leather cord, Rayce does. Using both hands he slips it over my neck, his fingers brushing my cheek as he lifts my braid to accommodate the makeshift necklace.
Oren clears his throat. “I’ve got to brief the small party you selected for the more delicate mission.”
“He means breaking out your friends,” Rayce clarifies.
“We’ll do what we can,” Oren says, smiling. “You leave that to me. All three of you, be safe out there.”
He nods at the two men and places a hand on top of my head like I’m a child.
“Especially you,” he says. “This is your first mission out in Imperial City, after all.”
“I will,” I say.
He ruffles the top of my hair with his bear-size hand.
“Very well then,” he says, nodding. “I’ll be off.”
The small part of me that wished I had some sort of family here to see me off smiles, but I refuse to let it reach my lips.
“Watch where he goes,” Rayce says.
“Why?”
He just motions for me to watch Oren as he walks over to a group of about twenty soldiers at the far end of the room.
“You asked me to show you the ones that’ll be focusing their efforts on the Garden, so consider my end of the bargain fulfilled.”
“Now we’ve just got to successfully complete ours,” Arlo says.
There’s an edge to his voice, barely distinguishable over the noise of the crowd. I nod, feeling my own gut swell up with nerves. If everything goes accordingly, I might be reunited with my sisters in two days.
Calla, Lily, everyone. Please just hold on until then.
Rayce walks to the nearest wall and places his palm on the stone. A secret door slides back, revealing another cave, which I now know will lead us out into the world above. He doesn’t look back as the people nearest him file out. But I do. Just once. Because if my sisters really will be freed, I don’t think I’ll ever return to this little base underground again.
…
I’d hoped for sunshine, but instead, a chilly wind howls through the Shulin Forests. Leaves are ripped off branches, and dark gray clouds hang low in the sky. Even though the group moves forward, it’s like there’s a string trying to tug them back toward Zareen and their loved ones.
Fat raindrops splatter through the trees, coloring everyt
hing cold. Even the cloak Marin packed me can’t keep the tricky little devils from lacing my hair, face, and arms. My boots squish out a depressing melody through the mud as we push onward, water soaking through the leather and attacking my toes.
We move in silence, huddled together to combat the drop in temperature. The mixture of exhaustion and my waterlogged bones magnifies my anxiety. Rain was never a good omen in the Garden, and the superstition stuck with me.
Rayce heads the front, pushing the group at a grueling pace. Arlo explained that a smaller portion of guards went ahead the night before to set up camp, and that even in this storm, we should reach it by tonight.
The only way I can tell we’re moving forward is the reappearance of the thin trees that skirt Delmar. Their white trunks resemble ghosts peeking out of the downpour.
“How far are we going?” I yell over the pounding rain.
Arlo turns my way, his hair plastered to his forehead. “The camp’s about twenty miles from the city. We’re getting close.”
The thunderstorm doesn’t let up all day. Half the time I’m not sure if I’m actually walking or if my shivering makes me move.
Then the camp appears out of nowhere. One second I’m looking at a sheet of rain so thick I could swim through it, and the next I stumble over the rope of a brown tent sinking into the mud. Squinting into the rain, I catch the shadows of more tents springing out from the downpour like tombstones.
A guard runs over to us, a black hood sagging over his eyes as water streams off it. He gives a quick salute, flinging water in Arlo’s face.
“I’m sorry, sir!” he shouts, shoving his guilty hand behind his back.
“Don’t worry about it,” Arlo says. “I’m already soaked.”
“Please, let me show you to your tent so you can get out of the rain.”
Arlo nods. “And make sure this lot gets some help putting up their tents, too.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” The guard salutes again.
Arlo blinks back the fresh water in his eyes and holds up his hand before the guard can stammer out another apology.
He turns to me. “Come on, Rose, you’re with us tonight.”
We follow the guard through the campsite, but I can’t see much besides the back of the man’s cloak. He stops near a tall tent and peels open the flap, stepping out of the way so that we can enter. Arlo motions for me to go first.
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