“Okay,” I agreed tiredly. “We also need to find out when Solomon last ate, and figure out a system for getting him food and water. Owen—did Desmond ever tell you anything about when he would recover, or even… if he would recover?”
Owen’s face fell at my question, his mouth turning downward in dismay. “I never asked after my first report—she assured me she would have the scientists work on a solution, but then things got crazy and… I didn’t follow up.”
I felt a pang of regret for also not bothering Desmond about finding a cure for Solomon. I should have been keeping up—it was my fault he was in the condition he was in, after all.
I was also a little afraid of the answer. I didn’t want to think that Solomon would be stuck like this forever.
“We’ll… We’ll figure it out,” I said, patting Owen on the shoulder. He met my gaze solemnly, and nodded. I turned to Viggo. “Let’s handle this gate thing and get some sleep.”
He gazed in the direction of the gate and sighed heavily. “Yeah.”
His voice was tinged with resignation.
I followed his gaze, unsettled by his mood. We were only reacting at this point. We had yet to come up with anything remotely resembling a plan, and that was going to break us long before this battle with Elena and Desmond was over. We couldn’t wait for problems to fix themselves—and in the process, allow more problems to creep up on us unawares. We needed to create some problems for our enemies to fix. The thought sent a rush of energy through me.
“Hang on, guys,” I said, the sudden commanding tone in my voice surprising even me. “Change of plan.” Viggo turned back to me, his brows furrowed. I met his and Owen’s gazes evenly. “Let’s get that truck in front of the gate, and then the three of us, and Maxen and Ashabee, are going to have a little meeting about what our next steps are.”
I didn’t wait for them to respond. I just marched forward. My mind was beginning to wake up, spinning out ideas and scenarios faster than I could record them all. I thought back to my ideas in the truck this afternoon—well, yesterday afternoon, now—and realized I finally had a place where we could start.
20
Viggo
It had taken us an hour to rig a fix for the gate, but somehow, Violet, Owen, and I had managed it. In the end, rather than rigging some brilliant feat of engineering, we’d just leaned the broken side of the iron gate back up and used the truck to support it. I was less than pleased by the final result. It might keep people from coming in, but it certainly didn’t open.
I was trying to remain optimistic while waiting for the meeting to begin, but it was hard when I was so sleep-deprived. We’d probably only been sleeping for a few hours before Thomas had interrupted. My ability to focus was waning, not because I wasn’t interested in planning our next move, but because my brain kept trying to shut off, leaving me staring blankly at a bookcase until my head would drop suddenly and I would jerk back awake.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up, scrubbing my eyes. Owen looked up from where he was lounging on the couch, looking pretty exhausted himself. I admired his brave attempt to lie down—if I were him, I would have been asleep long ago.
We were in one of the numerous top-floor studies that seemed to be around every corner—between all the bedrooms—in the Ashabee mansion. This one was outfitted with an array of antique-looking furniture and trinkets centered on a giant desk, all in shades of yellow and gold. It was not making me feel any more awake or cheerful.
I paced the room as we waited for Violet, my footsteps practically silent on the mustard-colored carpet. Owen watched me, and then shook his head. He sat up with a groan and rolled his neck. “How long is she going to take?” he asked.
I shrugged. She had volunteered to go fetch Maxen and Ashabee, and I didn’t imagine either of them taking kindly to a wake-up call in the wee hours of the morning.
That thought alone gave me a small, twisted thrill of pleasure. I was being spiteful, but those two weren’t going to lift a finger to make our jobs easier. Or to defend this place. So the fact that they were at least getting to share in our rude awakening made me feel better. At least it allowed me to stop resenting their good night’s sleep.
Yes, I was exhausted to the point of behaving like an ill-tempered toddler.
An amused smile grew on my face as I heard the familiar indignant squawk of Ashabee, followed by a visceral growl from Maxen, coming from the dining room. Within seconds, they staggered in, forcibly pushed by Violet.
I quickly downgraded the smile to one of tight-lipped politeness and inclined my head to them. “Good evening, gentlemen. Or morning. Not really clear at the moment.”
Ashabee’s cheeks were red as he jerked his elbow out of Violet’s grasp. “Do you have any idea what it was like to be roused from our beds by this… this… harlot?” he spluttered, looking at me for sympathy.
I cocked my head at both of them and frowned. “Do you have any idea what it was like to be roused from my very comfortable bed lying next to that so-called harlot in order to keep your enemies from killing you, only to be treated with whining and rudeness?”
Ashabee recoiled, as if he had been bitten by a snake, and fell into silence. Maxen, however, was a tougher nut to crack. “I believe that is the job you volunteered for, Mr. Croft. So forgive me if I lack any sympathy for your plight.”
I growled, about to open my mouth to tell him exactly what I would do with my plight, and offer a few graphic expletives about what he could do to himself. But Violet cut in, her gray eyes blazing.
“Enough,” she said. “Maxen, Ashabee—sit down. I think we would all like to find our beds again, so this whole process will go a lot faster if you sit down, shut up, and help us figure out a way to get ahead of this game.”
Maxen gaped, and I couldn’t contain my proud smile as Violet went around the large desk in the center of the room and sat down in the chair. She arched an imperious brow at the king, and his jaw clamped shut. But he gracefully sat in one of the chairs, and Ashabee, taking his cue from the king, found his own seat to perch on, one that allowed him to lift his injured leg off the ground.
I leaned against the bookcase and crossed my arms, looking at Violet, waiting to see what it was she had discovered that made her call an emergency meeting in the middle of the night. Knowing her, it was something game changing.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she said after a moment, bringing her hands together in front of her. “We’re only reacting to problems as they are presented—and we’ve been doing a rather bad job of that. We need to get ahead of them. Start a few of our own fires, and hopefully slow down Elena’s plan.”
I nodded in agreement, because it was true. Our situation was beginning to feel hopeless, stagnant, with no clear path on how to proceed. Even Henrik and Ms. Dale, when I’d gotten a chance to talk to them earlier, couldn’t seem to agree on any plan of attack. What was worse—they didn’t seem to have a clue where to start.
Neither did I. So if Violet had ideas, I was all ears.
Maxen gave Violet a look, the lines on his face smoothing out into an expression of passivity. “What do you propose?” he asked.
I could only stare at him. Whenever he took the time to quit acting like he was above all of us, Maxen seemed like a completely different person.
Violet seemed to take it in stride. “Well, for starters, Your Majesty, I think we need you and Ashabee to help identify every secret cache of weapons you two have hidden from the public—and the terrorists,” she announced. She settled back into her chair and rested her hands over her stomach.
The king revealed nothing, and neither did Ashabee, but the two did exchange a long look. “What makes you think either of us has anything like that, Ms. Bates?” Ashabee asked.
I smirked. Violet had ceased to be a harlot at that moment, and had suddenly turned into someone who deserved their respect. Or, at least, as much respect as these Patrians could muster—I wasn’t expecting too much from them.
Vi
olet sighed, and the energy that she had carried into the room with her changed tone. “Now this,” she said, “is a discussion that is going to waste everyone’s precious sleeping time. So, let’s imagine, in the interest of time, we skip the part where we argue back and forth, and go right to the end, where you two admit you do know where they are. We may not be high class or royalty, but none of us are idiots. There’s been a semi-cold war between Matrus and Patrus the last few years. You’ve got to have some secrets.”
My respect for Violet doubled in that moment—something I hadn’t even known was possible. When had she developed this knack for down-and-dirty negotiating, for cutting through the rhetoric? A part of me worried she had gotten it from Desmond, until the rational side of my brain reminded me that… might not be so terrible. Violet wouldn’t become the type of person to cause collateral damage in the name of anything.
Maxen turned his gaze back to Ashabee, his mouth pursed. “No,” he growled. “I will not be sharing those details with a female Matrian upstart. You have no right to come here and tell me what I will and will not be doing. I am the king!”
Violet gave him a look, one of deep challenge. “That is your right, of course. But if you refuse to work with us to help you win this war, then you might as well just surrender. We might as well just hand you over to Elena bound, gagged, and topped with a big bow. And when she executes you and takes over both countries, I will be over here saying ‘I told you so.’”
I kept my face perfectly blank, but it was hard biting back the laugh that was struggling to get free. Especially seeing Maxen’s eyes bulge in anger, followed by the slow, probably worse, realization that Violet was not joking.
“Fine,” he said warily. “What’s your plan, then?”
“You’re going to have to use your stockpiles to arm and shelter your people,” Violet said simply. “Did you see the news? There are parts of the city that have been completely destroyed. Thousands of people have lost their homes and jobs. Those people will be heading this way out of the city—and those are the people you’re going to recruit. Men, women, anyone sixteen and up. They’re angry and scared and they’ll want to follow your lead once they realize you’re alive. Ms. Dale will help you, and I’m sure Henrik will want to be a part of it as well. Once you get them organized, you’re going to work in as much secrecy as possible. This will not be an upfront fight, but one from the shadows.”
“But that’s a cowardly form of warfare,” the king protested.
Violet grimaced. “No offense, Your Majesty, but it’s not cowardly. It’s smart. Right now the Matrians have the upper hand. You have limited resources and limited manpower, and those problems will likely always be an issue. When we strike, it can’t be about how many soldiers it will cost them, but rather, the resources they will lose fighting this war. Supply trains, weapons depots… and, most importantly, food.”
“It’s still cowardly,” the king grumbled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Violet’s expression was glacial as she regarded him. “Call it what you want, but I would think that doing everything in your power to keep your people as safe as possible isn’t cowardly—it’s noble.” She didn’t wait for him to respond to that dig, but turned toward me. “We are going to be working on something a little different,” she said, and I knew ‘we’ meant her and me. I wasn’t sure why she was including Maxen and Ashabee in this part of the meeting, but I trusted her judgment.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked, standing up a bit straighter.
She smiled eagerly, leaning forward. “We’re going to find out where Desmond is manufacturing and storing the Benuxupane, in both Matrus and Patrus… and destroy it.”
I let her words roll over me for a moment, my mind suddenly becoming very aware and very excited. It seemed stupid that I hadn’t considered that before. It would help remove an important element from the game board: the boys.
In truth, I had avoided thinking about them. My heart was shredded by the knowledge that they were yet again being used by individuals who saw them only as tools, as a means to an end—and that all I had done with them had only helped prepare them for this role. I despised the thought of having to fight any one of them for real, because I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I encountered them on the battlefield, I would not be able to pull the trigger.
I met Violet’s gaze. “That sounds perfect,” I replied, and her face lit up with new determination.
“It’s not going to be easy,” she cautioned me. “We might have to ask Owen, Quinn, and Amber to help us.”
“That, uh, might be a bit of a problem,” Owen said from the couch, his face troubled. Violet turned in her seat, staring at him, and he coughed nervously. “Amber and Quinn… they told me they want to head back into The Green. Back to our home base. Tomorrow.”
Violet bit her lip, and I could tell from her face that she was deeply disappointed.
“Why?” I inquired, hoping to find a way to ease the tension.
Owen met my gaze and gave a heaving sigh. “They don’t feel like they should get involved,” he said softly. “They… They want to consult with the other Liberators, and see what they can do to help them.”
“Really?” Violet said. “They’re not going to stay and help? Even Quinn? Don’t they see how important this is?!”
Owen looked up at her sharply. “Don’t judge them so harshly, Violet. They did stand down and help get you here, even if it means they might get kicked out of the one group where they feel like they’re at home. Just because they don’t agree with you on what they should do during this war, doesn’t mean that they’re wrong. Cut them some slack.”
Violet’s jaw tensed, but then she sighed. “I’m sorry… you’re right. I think I need to get some more sleep—I’m feeling short-tempered…” At Owen’s nod, she looked down. “I really do appreciate how much they’ve helped us. And how much you’ve done, too. Will… Will you and Thomas be going with them?”
Owen shook his head. “No,” he said with a small smile. “I’m with Team Violet and Viggo. I don’t really agree with Amber and Quinn on this point either. And I’m sick of being Desmond’s errand-boy.”
Violet nodded and began outlining her plans in more detail, giving out job assignments and lining up tasks for the next day. When she began to find the group’s questions more difficult to answer, I stepped in to help.
We finished hours after we had started. But at least there was still some time before dawn to rest before we truly began to implement our new plans. Violet and I went upstairs together, practically leaning on each other, and I knew we were in the same state of mind: deliriously tired, but still feverishly thinking. The gears wouldn’t stop turning. I had tried to shut them off, but our plan was taking shape inside my head, and it was a hell of a lot better than nothing.
When we reached the door to our bedroom I stopped, looking down into her eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, taking her hand in mine.
She smiled, but her eyes glistened with curiosity. “For what?” she asked.
“For… giving us something to look forward to,” I replied.
She leaned up and pressed her lips against mine softly. “Anytime,” she breathed, before we entered the room and collapsed into bed.
21
Violet
I woke up, surprised to see the sun shining brightly through the window, as cheerfully as if we weren’t at war at all. Rolling over, I saw that Viggo wasn’t in bed. I looked blearily at the clock. It was nine in the morning. I frowned, remembering that I was supposed to have been on guard duty two hours ago.
I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and ran my hand over my face. I felt filthy. I hadn’t showered since we left the Liberators’ facility, and that felt like over a week ago. For all I knew, it had been.
Standing up, I walked to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I went. Inside the bathroom, I made a beeline to the shower. It was damp and slick—evidenc
e that Viggo had already used it—so I trod carefully as I cranked up the dial.
The blast of cold water hit me in the face, making me gasp, but within seconds the water warmed. I stood under it for several minutes, watching blood and dirt swirling around the drain. The white bandage still around my hand, slowly soaking up water, caught my attention, and, after taking a deep breath, I gingerly pulled it off. Now that I wasn’t exhausted, I wanted to see it.
Even so, I felt disgusted. The wound was puckered and swollen around the stitches Quinn had put in, the skin bruised and discolored, and my fingers still felt like sausages—but they all twitched when I moved them. My hand was definitely not split in half. Holding it under the water, I rinsed it off, wincing as the water struck. But the pain was light and bearable. It’s going to be okay. Quinn had done an admirable job.
My heart dropped when I realized that he and Amber were probably going to leave today. I didn’t want them to go, but it was clear that they didn’t want any part of what we were doing. At least, Amber didn’t. I wasn’t so sure about Quinn, but seeing as he was practically inseparable from her, I couldn’t see him changing his mind and staying.
I exhaled, pushing the imminent parting out of my mind. There was a lot going on today, and I needed to focus on that. I washed up as quickly as I could and ended my shower, then padded to the closet, curious about whether there were any spare clothes inside.
In fact, a folded pile of fresh clothes was tucked inside, perched on top of my bag and topped by a folded piece of paper. Picking up the slip of paper, I recognized Viggo’s block-style handwriting.
Violet, we let you sleep in. You needed it, so don’t be mad. Found some clean clothes in your size—thought you might want them. Here’s your bag—Tim brought it out of the truck, and he wanted it back with you for safekeeping.
The Gender Game 4: The Gender War Page 17