The Gender War

by Bella Forrest

  “His name is not Jeffries,” I spat. “It’s Jeff. Jeff Vane. He’s been working for you for almost ten years, and you still don’t know his name! If he were a worse man, he would’ve killed you by now. I’m frankly surprised he hasn’t. But I can, and I will.” I suddenly realized how tiring posturing was, and decided to opt for an escape. “To hell with this—Jeff, when Quinn is done, escort Ashabee to the room nearest the king’s. I don’t want them to be together, but it will help ease guard duty. Mr. Ashabee, I better wake up to an explanation on how the security system works, preferably written down, so I can spend as little time with you as possible. Understand?”

  Ashabee gasped, eyes bulging as Quinn dug into his leg. But he managed to nod at me, his face pale and sweating.

  “Excellent. Good night.” I whirled on my heel and made for the door.

  “Viggo!” Quinn cried after me. “I’m almost done! Can’t you wait to let me look at that wound on your back?”

  “It’s nothing!” I said to him, the desire to sleep fueling all my decisions at the moment, and marched out. I could hear the young man muttering something about us all being stubborn as I went down the corridor.

  Unfortunately for my sleep-addled brain, I had one more task to handle before I could call it a night.

  I made my way up to the second dining room, which was a long room filled with an almost, but not quite as long, table. I hooked a left, coming through the doorway to the main hall. It was flanked on either side by a set of stairs that connected briefly in the middle, led up a few more steps, and then broke apart again in opposite directions—both leading to the second floor, of course. I made my way up the staircase.

  First, I checked on Violet. I found the correct room on the second try. Violet was passed out in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers, still completely clothed, her newly bandaged hand splayed out. Her clothes were filthy—they were the same ones she’d been wearing in The Green, just like mine—and her long, dark hair spread across from the covers, tangled and knotted, coming out of the ponytail she often sported. I watched her breathing for a long time. The grime that covered her body did not make her any less beautiful.

  I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep right then—no, to go to sleep beside her, her warmth against me and her breathing lulling me into slumber. But I put my exhaustion and desire aside, pulling the door closed behind me. There was another thing I just had to check before I went to bed.

  I headed to Amber’s room, relying solely on the abbreviated tour Jeff had given us earlier that day. I remembered we had gone left from the stairs and her room had double doors, unlike the rest of the rooms on the left.

  I took three wrong turns before I found it—but I had located the servants’ stairs during the process, so that was something. When I finally did find her room, I rapped loudly on the door and waited.

  “Who is it?” came Amber’s voice from the other side of the door.

  “It’s Viggo—can I come in?”

  There was a long pause, followed by, “Yes, you may.”

  I opened the door and stepped inside, pushing it closed behind me. It was easy not to react to her room in my current state, but if I had been any less tired, I might have been inclined to laugh. Various shades of pink and purple seemed to have exploded everywhere—covering the walls, the bed, the carpet, and the curtains. The room looked like it had been designed by every anti-Matrian person who ever lived, redolent with frills and lace, stuffed animals, and a three-story dollhouse.

  “Um, wow… This… is… a room,” I said, looking at Amber. She was sitting with her legs crossed in the middle of her bed, a giant teddy bear held against her chest, her chin resting on top of it.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, her face and tone expressing nothing.

  “For you? No—decidedly not.”

  She looked at the walls, her eyes tracing over the lines of painted-on flowers. “Yeah—not exactly my thing.” She turned back to me, her eyes guarded. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Two things. The first is… why did you shoot your father?”

  She arched a red eyebrow. “Because I was angry,” she replied tartly.

  “No—I mean… I don’t get it. Your father wasn’t lying—your mother died in an accident. So why did that prompt you to shoot him?”

  “Because I couldn’t shoot her,” she replied, addressing me as if I were a complete moron for not understanding.

  To be honest, I felt like a moron—I still had no idea what Amber’s issue was. “Can you elaborate?” I asked.

  A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Why do you need to know?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

  “Well, I was going to ask if you’d be willing to sit in the security room for a few hours and let me get some sleep. But that was predicated on knowing two things. One—will you contact Desmond? And two—will you try to murder your father while we’re sleeping?”

  She glared at me but then sighed, looking away. “Do you like my prison?” she asked. “Do you know that the doors lock from the outside? I can’t open the windows in this room because they’ve been nailed shut. And—oh yeah—if you open that closet right there, you’ll see the wedding gown my mother picked out for my marriage to a man I had never met before. All because my father lost a lot of money, and instead of selling any one of the millions of things he doesn’t need, he decided to marry me off in exchange for forgiveness of his gambling debt.”

  I took a step back, stunned by the visceral hatred in her voice. Amber tossed the teddy bear aside and got off the bed. “Do you get it?” she breathed. “Do you get why I have a hard time believing you about Desmond? She saved me from this… this… nightmare. She gave me hope, and let me talk about what I liked, or didn’t like, what I wanted or didn’t want. And she listened. She wants… She told us we could change things here. Make it so other girls didn’t ever have to deal with this broken system. Human beings shouldn’t be somebody’s property, Viggo. And she gave me a chance to do something about it.”

  She paused to draw breath, then continued, “My parents treated me like a thing—a disposable thing. Desmond treated me like a person. And because of you and Violet… I betrayed her.”

  I stared at her, at a loss for what to say or how I could even begin to make things right. Amber stared at me for a few seconds and then sadly shook her head. “Forget it,” she said, rubbing her nose. “I’ll watch the security feed for you. I won’t kill my dad, and I will let you know if Desmond, or anyone else, shows up. Owen… and Violet, they’re my friends. I don’t want any of them dead.”

  “Amber, I—” I stopped mid-sentence as she gave me a vicious glare. Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, then headed out the door to do what I asked, leaving the large teddy bear on the bed.

  I found my way back to the room where Violet was sleeping, and, with a little gentle maneuvering, managed to get her moved around enough so that I could lie down next to her. The sound of her breathing made me feel a bit better.

  I sank into the mattress, ready to fall asleep—only to find myself lying awake, thinking about what Amber had said. She’d acted dramatic and childish, and it was hard to understand, but it was a big sacrifice she had made to bring us here, and I was grateful to her. How could she think that a war between the two nations would fix the kinds of things that had broken her childhood so terribly? But Violet and I were still mostly doing damage control. Did we really have any better ideas?

  I hated seeing what Amber had been through. But I couldn’t believe in war, either. There had to be some way to do the right thing that didn’t involve thousands of people suffering.

  My thoughts tangling up with each other, I curled myself around Violet, reassuring myself with my love’s presence, and tried to let it all go.

  19

  Violet

  There was something dragging me out of sleep, and I tried to resist it with all of my might. But it was persistent in its rh
ythmic, high-pitched intensity, burning deep down through my subconscious mind, forcing me awake.

  I peeled back my eyelids and stared at the ceiling, surprised to find that the beeping continued, soft but insistent. I groaned as I sat up, feeling every part of my body protesting my decision—particularly my right hand. Looking around, it took me a second to remember where I was.

  I had no idea what time it was. Beside me, Viggo slept on—I didn’t even remember him getting into bed with me. I could only admire his ability to sleep through the aggravating sound piping through a tiny speaker installed on the headboard. Dropping a brief kiss on his cheek, I pushed his shoulder hard.

  “Wha—?” He snorted in alarm, jerking upright. He looked dazedly around the room, his eyes bloodshot, deep bags forming shadows under them. “What’s that?” he asked, rubbing his eyes with his fingers to clear away the sleep.

  I was already pushing up off the bed. “Alarm,” I mumbled as I stretched my limbs out, trying to force them into a wakefulness I didn’t feel.

  He groaned and rolled out of bed onto his feet. “Let’s go.”

  I pulled open the bedroom door and headed downstairs. None of the other rooms were opening up in recognition of the alarm. That was weird.

  “There you are!” called Amber from the bottom of the stairs. “Owen’s waiting in the foyer—we’ve got problems.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, instantly alert, thanks to the tension in Amber’s voice.

  “A truck just smashed through the gate,” she continued sharply. “A big hauler. It’s approaching now. Here.”

  I reached out as I came toward her down the stairs, accepting the gun she held out to me with my left hand.

  “Why are we the only ones up?” I asked as I popped out the clip, checking to make sure it was loaded.

  Amber handed another pistol to Viggo and gave me a surprised, wide-eyed look. “Because I piped the alarm to your and Viggo’s room exclusively. Well… yours and Owen’s. Everyone else is still on duty.” I hadn’t even known the security system was able to perform such a complicated function—but apparently, Amber was used to it.

  I nodded, pushing the clip back into the gun and pulling on the slide to put a round into the chamber. It took me a moment to realize that I was having far less trouble than I had been, using my right wrist to push the clip into place. My hand was still swollen and sore, but the combination of Quinn’s cleaning and the painkillers Owen had made me take seemed to be helping.

  I felt a sudden desire to rip away the bandage and actually look at the stitches, but now wasn’t the time. Amber was already halfway down the hall by the time I finished processing my realization, Viggo at her heels. I moved quickly to keep up, keeping my gun pointed at the floor.

  Owen was already outside on the porch, his gun trained on the cab of the truck as it growled and rattled toward us, its huge headlights blinding, making the rest of the night seem impossibly dark. I blinked in surprise when I saw how big it was—it was easily thirty feet in length, and stood over fifteen feet off the ground.

  A thin stream of smoke or steam was hissing out from the front of the truck. Not a lot to be concerned about at the moment, but enough that it could quickly become a big deal, especially with how close the vehicle was pulling up to the front of the house. Luckily, our escape truck from the day before was still parked smack in the middle of the driveway and served as a barrier, blocking the vehicle from getting closer.

  I jogged down the porch stairs as the truck continued its approach, its engine loud and sinister-sounding in my ears. I reached our truck just as the unknown one pulled to a stop, the air filled with the high-pitched whine of brakes, followed by a shuddering hiss. I braced my shoulder against the front of our truck and peeked out.

  I couldn’t see the driver through the truck’s windshield. Looking back, I nodded to Viggo and then stepped out, switching off my gun’s safety and brandishing it confidently in my left hand. Even if I couldn’t aim, I could still do some damage. Viggo followed me, flanking right, and I saw Amber and Owen cutting a wide path to the left of us, sprinting across the grass so they could come back around the truck from behind.

  I stopped twenty feet away, hoping the windows were open. “Shut off the truck!” I yelled, keeping my pistol level with where I sensed the driver would be.

  The roar of the engine immediately died, and the sounds of night rushed back in, redolent with the chirping of crickets and frogs. I looked at Viggo, and this time he nodded at me.

  “Throw out any weapons you have,” he commanded the driver, his tone inviting no negotiation.

  After a moment, a single pistol and a knife clattered to the ground outside the driver’s side window. I wasn’t at a good angle to see through the windshield—Viggo was better placed than I was to get a view of the driver.

  “I can only see one male,” he said at my questioning gaze, low enough that I had to strain to hear him. I saw Owen’s head flash out from behind the back of the truck, giving me a ready symbol.

  “Get out of the truck slowly,” I ordered loudly. “You’re surrounded. Any sudden moves and I’ll open fire.”

  My breath hitched as the door swung slowly open, a heavy creaking noise punctuating the stillness. I watched as worn sneakers appeared on the slender step just under the door, followed by pants and a paunchy stomach covered by a badly buttoned shirt.

  I exhaled sharply as a familiar, partially bald head appeared, and lowered my gun. “It’s all right,” I shouted loud enough for Amber and Owen to hear. “It’s just Thomas.”

  “‘Just’ Thomas,” the man himself mimicked sulkily. “Yes, ‘just’ Thomas, who nearly died three times trying to get to you—the plan I worked out with Amber didn’t end up working as it should’ve. But thanks for the security interrogation.”

  I let my gun point toward the ground and asked the first question that popped into my mind, desperate to know. “Is Solomon with you?”

  Thomas scowled, and then turned to face the giant, self-contained compartment in the back. “He chased me,” he growled indignantly. “I almost died. But yes, he’s in there, as per your demands.”

  “Good,” I said, reengaging the safety on my gun before sliding the weapon into the waist of my pants. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  “Y-y-you’re welcome,” he sputtered, his eyes widening in surprise as he considered me. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, Viggo eyeing the two of us warily, as if he expected us to break out into a fight.

  Of course I had told Viggo about my problems with the shorter man—mostly that I was a tiny bit afraid of anyone who had calculated how much demolition it would take to kill a majority of the Patrian population. I had also told Viggo that I felt bad for Thomas, because I did. It hadn’t taken long for me to recognize that he was a Beta—I didn’t know Thomas’ full story, but it was clear that he had been bullied a lot in his life, probably in ways that I didn’t even want to imagine. It didn’t make working with him less difficult, though.

  The Liberators from behind the truck came out toward us, distracting him from the awkward moment. “Owen!” Thomas yipped excitedly, shifting back and forth on his feet, an eager smile on his face.

  “Hey, Thomas,” Owen said warmly, pulling him in for a hug. “I’m glad you made it. You and Solomon both. Thank you for agreeing to grab him.”

  Thomas flushed and nodded, reminding me of Samuel’s canine look of happiness when he was being praised. “It was… well… it was harrowing. But, yes. I—uh—made it.”

  “Tom-Tom!” Amber squealed from behind him, and I shook my head in shock as she draped her arms over his shoulders. What went on in her head must really be an interesting dichotomy—how she could range from fiery and efficient to genuinely excited, all in a matter of minutes.

  Thomas ducked out from under her, his cheeks still rosy. “Hello, Amber,” he said, not making eye contact, but instead staring right past her to some fixed position beyond.

  “Did you miss me?” she half-c
rooned, half-teased.

  Thomas sucked in a large breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. “No,” he stated, his tone all seriousness. “But it is good to see you.”

  Amber grinned at him, her teeth flashing.

  “I think we’re forgetting something, people,” Viggo said, and we all turned toward where he was still standing on the grass. “The gate? Thomas broke it.”

  “Uh, well… I was given coordinates, but no code, and when I tried contacting Owen’s handheld he wasn’t picking up. So, between the option of waiting outside while I attempted to hack into what is clearly a very advanced security system—potentially damaging it—or making a move that required simple mechanical repairs, I chose the most simple solution.” He looked around at us all as though daring us to doubt him. “I didn’t want to leave the truck out front… especially not with… Solomon in the back.”

  I sighed at his logic, placing my hands on my hips. He had shadows under his eyes, and his attire was rumpled and stained; even his precise decision-making process must be kind of impaired at this time in the morning.

  “It’s done,” I said to him. “We’ll figure out how to repair it. You must be exhausted.”

  Thomas nodded, the fat under his chin jiggling from the rapidity of the nod. “I am. I am.”

  “Come on, Tom-Tom! I’ll show you where you can sleep.” Amber placed a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him to the stairs. I watched her go, and then turned back to Viggo and Owen.

  “All right… I feel like there isn’t much we can do about the gate tonight,” I said.

  Viggo nodded. “Let’s move the small truck in front of it—use it to fortify the gap until we can get a better look at the damage tomorrow. At the very least, in case of an incursion onto the grounds, it’ll make a bottleneck.”