But the truth is I don’t know if everything will be okay.
Arlo takes the lead, moving before Rayce’s final words, his clipped commands ringing out clear and fast over the hill as assigned parties race toward the city, following his instructions.
“Rose, you’re with me.” Rayce nods toward the burned remains of the town, twisting my insides. “We’re taking the middle of the city.”
Relief spreads through my tense body, knowing that at least he’ll be near me as we comb through what used to be the large square in the middle of Dongsu. Scanning the area, I can’t even see it anymore. It’s all just gray and ash. Marin tells me she’ll watch after the Flowers, and I nod, mustering up enough strength to give her an encouraging smile. At least, it’s supposed to be encouraging. It’s hard to tell with so much else pulling my attention away.
I move quickly for Rayce, feeling my heart slam against my rib cage as we head for the middle of town. Rayce walks unusually close to me, the back of our hands brushing with every step. Normally I would find comfort in that small contact, but right now there’s nothing either of our hands can do to reverse the devastation before us.
“Arlo mentioned that the last patrol here saw an army,” I whisper. “What did you ever find out about it?”
“Not much more than you overheard.” Weariness coats his voice and I long to soothe him, but how can we even begin to think about comfort among the ashes of what used to be an entire town? “Only that they didn’t recognize the uniforms. I sent a small unit out to observe after that, but we received no response. If they were captured…” He motions to the nearest building that caved in on itself. “This would explain why we didn’t hear any reports.”
The smoky scent of burning wood hangs heavy in the air the nearer we draw to the city. It fills my nostrils, threatening to choke me, and though most of the fire has been reduced to smoldering embers, the heat wraps around me, causing sweat to bead on my forehead.
We walk past many groups already starting to dig through the debris for any signs of life or clues as to who is responsible, though in my heart I already know. Even though the last report said that the army here weren’t Sun soldiers, who else could it be?
The emperor is the only person I know even more callous and cruel than the Gardener. And he will pay dearly for what we are witnessing today. Just as soon as I have proof.
Chapter Twelve
The sun beats high overhead and still we continue our search, picking through the remains of what used to be entire lives. Rayce stays silent beside me, his focus on the ground as we pull up charred planks of wood and pick our way through crumbling stone. The broken bits of the everyday strewn across the ground hurt my eyes. The bodies…the bodies I ignore altogether.
I won’t be able to bypass the blackened corpses forever, the fingers and toes that used to move, the faces so destroyed by flames that they are nearly unrecognizable, but for the sake of figuring out who did this to them and bringing them justice, I move past them like they are just another piece of the burned buildings. Pretend I’m not breaking inside.
War is supposed to be messy. Ugly. But at least every man and woman that enters the battlefield knows what they’ve signed up for. These people had no idea that death was coming until it was upon them, burning, destroying, devouring everything.
“Rose, how are you doing over there?” Rayce asks from several feet away, knee deep in his own pile of ash.
When he speaks, it’s only to check on me. I’d be flattered if I wasn’t so busy trying to keep the bile from rising in my throat.
“I haven’t found anything yet.”
But I’m going to. I refuse to believe that there could be this much carnage without a trace of evidence somewhere.
Using my sword, I sort through the next pile of ash. The charred remains of a large piece of gray-and-white wood crumbles as I poke at it with the tip of my blade. The splintered bits fall away, revealing something golden underneath. Plunging my silver blade into the ash, I begin to dig it out, confusion growing deeper the more of the domed, tarnished object I reveal.
Satisfied it’s nothing dangerous, I sheath my sword and squat down. Heat flares through my hand as I grab the object, still warm from the fire that destroyed the town, and pull it from what would have been its final resting place. The coppery metal reflects my tightened face back at me, the dark red flaps dirty and singed. My stomach drops.
A Varshan helmet.
We found a crate of these on the wall. There was no doubt in my mind then and there is certainly none now. But my people couldn’t be responsible for such a sickening display of hatred…could they?
“Rayce,” I whisper. His name barely leaves my dry throat.
Footsteps behind me signal that he heard. He leans down next to me, soot smudged all over his face and hands.
“What is it?” he asks.
Without a word, I hand over the helmet. Even when he takes it, I can still feel the bite of the warm metal stinging my reddened palm and fingers. He narrows his eyes, holding the blasted thing closer to his face.
“This…looks familiar,” he says, his words tasting of uncertainty.
He must not remember it the way I do. They dismissed the crate as if it was nothing, barely giving it another thought, but it was the first real thing I’ve seen from my home in nearly eight years.
“That’s because it is. It’s the same helmet we saw on the Blue Wall.” I wait for recognition to widen his eyes before I keep going. “That helmet…it’s Varshan.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, the helmet bridging the gap between us. Never before have his race and mine been so contrasted. And never before have I felt like it’s meant more. His slanted eyes and pale skin, sun-kissed as he is, he doesn’t even come close to my coloring, the dark hair that always falls into his face, his lean frame. Delmarion, through and through. He’s always felt like he was made to fit me, but right now, surrounded by ash and death, our differences spark and flare.
All of the horrific acts I’ve witnessed have been committed by Delmarions. The torture and beating and cruelty may have happened in front of me, but it wasn’t a part of me. That helmet likely means that Varshans started this fire. My stomach rolls.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says, as if he can already sense that I’m retreating. “Just because you found a helmet here doesn’t mean that Varshan—”
“What other explanation is there?”
I search his tight face, desperate for an alternative. He has to say something to shake my world back to color, because right now all I see is gray.
“A Varshan army hasn’t set foot in Delmar for over three hundred years, Rose.” The helmet dips as he drops his hand. “There’s no reason for that to change. Why would Varsha march on Delmar now? Besides, you said it yourself, we saw those helmets on the Blue Wall. This could just be a tactic put in place by the emperor to throw us off and draw the rebellion out.”
“How would doing this”—I motion to the destruction around me, spitting out my words as much as I try to spit the ashes out of my mouth—“draw the rebellion out?”
“Because of how upset you are,” he says. “My uncle could easily have believed that I would see through the armor found here and attack him directly in response or…” His grasp tightens on the helmet. “The Varshans really could be marching onto the city and my uncle could have planted this armor to ensure we don’t approach them for a treaty.”
The copper helmet reflects the sun high overhead, mocking me.
“Or if your uncle got word to the Varshan king about my miraculous recovery from the dead, then they might be on their way to Imperial City for a treaty with him.” A shuddering sigh rattles my entire body.
He shakes his head, his shoulder slumping forward. “I don’t know, Rose. There are a lot of things to consider. I hope the others can find more answers.”
He stands, offering me his free hand. Offering me a way up from the dust and ash below. Something w
e could not do for the innocent people of Dongsu. My gaze falls to his callused hand, smudged black from soot. I follow the deep creases of his palm that swirl around like the Zarenite tattooed into his arm. No matter how much good he tries to put in the world, he will never be able to catch everyone. I just hope that when the times comes, I’ll be equipped enough to catch myself.
…
The sun set hours ago, and still smoke clings to my uniform, coats the inside of my nostrils, infuses the long strands of my hair so that every time I move my head, I can smell it all over again. Between digging through the remains of Dongsu and the small fires built around our makeshift campsite tonight, I’m never going to get that smell off of me.
After checking in with Marin and the others, I headed back to Rayce’s tent, my mind swirling with their sad eyes, with the ash that still sticks to my boots, with the blackened remains of lives cut short.
The only comfort I can find to dull the voices in my head is the book on my lap, in the soft crinkling sound of the page every time I turn it. It’s like Oren whispering to me in the darkness. I grip the edge of the leatherbound book a little tighter, trying to find a shred to keep me going after the wreckage of today, but so far, the different types of poisons have been just as silent in my head as the town we picked through. All I can do is sit here and wait for Rayce to come in so we can try to work through some of the things keeping us apart. After today, that is all I want. Peace, even if it is temporary.
Sleep calls me, my eyelids heavy with it, but every time I let them close, I see the corpses I spent all of today ignoring. Rubbing the weariness from my face, I focus on the page in front of me.
What would you do right now, Oren?
The truth is there’s nothing we can do except avenge them.
“Nothing else was found?” Rayce’s tense voice floats in from just behind the tent flap, causing me to look up from my useless pursuit.
Two dark shadows stain the tan tent wall; one belongs to Rayce, and judging by the nearly matching height and build, I’d stake my next three meals that the other belongs to Arlo. Rayce’s hand grips the slit in the fabric, separating the curtain a few inches, but neither shadow moves to enter.
“Not besides the curved blade and another one of those helmets,” Arlo says, confirming my suspicions.
“That’s not a lot to go on.”
“It’s all we could find,” Arlo says. “And now we’re half a day’s travel behind on our current mission.”
Rayce exhales loudly, the weight of what we saw today revealed in that single action. He walks into the tent, Arlo following behind him. When they notice me there, they don’t appear bothered by the fact that I overheard them. I expect to see the same tightness around Rayce’s eyes, but it lessens when he looks at me, giving me a tiny seed of hope.
“Our mission just became top priority.” Rayce walks over to his pack and picks up the helmet we found earlier today, perhaps wondering if night will reveal anything we missed from before.
I shut the book on my lap and slide off the cot. “I understand the rebellion’s need for more people,” I say, looking between Rayce and Arlo. “But what does that have to do with what we found today?”
Arlo scratches the back of his neck. “If we consider that the armor we found was Varshan and the reports we got of a strange army near Dongsu a few days ago were true, then the most likely conclusion is that Varsha marches on Imperial City.”
My grasp on the book tightens and I stare at Arlo with wide eyes before finally turning to Rayce. “What happened to this being a trap set up by the emperor to throw the rebellion off?”
“When I thought more about it, I couldn’t think of a reason why he would orchestrate something like this.” Rayce frowns. “What purpose would it serve to make us think Varsha is in Delmar? And why now?”
His questions shatter the last shred of hope I was clinging onto. Maybe if it wasn’t Varsha, I wouldn’t have to worry about my position once again putting the entire rebellion in jeopardy. If it weren’t my own people, I could continue to believe that perhaps the home I once had across the sands is a better place than the prison I found myself in.
Though I want to respond, I have no answers. The book in my hand grows too heavy to hold up any longer, the neatly scrawled words unrecognizable to my uncomprehending gaze.
“I don’t know,” I choke out. “I wish that I did.”
I turn away from both of them, determined not to let them see the disappointment in my eyes. In the Garden, I never had hope. Only stories. Only a stream of whispered words to get me by. This is no different.
At least, that’s what I try to convince myself.
The lack of noise behind me is grating. Why aren’t they still talking? Just because I don’t have answers doesn’t mean they can’t come up with a few. Slipping off the cot, I crouch down in front of my bag to put up my book.
“Is there something wrong, Rose?” Rayce asks. “I just realized I didn’t ask you why you were in here.”
“I thought maybe we could talk.”
A warm hand on my back pulls me from my task and I turn to the side as Rayce kneels down next to me.
The drawstring fights me, so I yank it back hard. My pack topples over onto the floor, spilling out. Perfect. Another thing to add to this horrible day. Throwing my book down, I reach to pick it back up, but Rayce grabs it first.
“Let me.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
Despite the cloak of death hanging over me, a soft smile pulls on my lips, watching him lift up my bag and carefully repack my clothes that spilled out. His hand wraps around something on the ground and he turns toward me very slowly.
“What’s this?” he asks.
His fingers pull back, revealing a tiny vial of pale blue liquid. The floor drops out from underneath me.
Heat burns my cheeks and I go to reach for it quickly, but he pulls his hand away. “It’s nothing,” I say.
“Really? Because it looks like Borenite, which I believe is also poison.”
He stands to his full height, mouth drawn in a hard line. Every bit the shogun as his gaze bores into me, gripping the secret Arlo and I share in his hand. My heart beats against my chest, pumping chilly panic through my veins. This is my fault. I’d completely forgotten I’d even put the poison in there.
“It’s one and the same,” Arlo says. His voice pulls Rayce’s sole attention off me.
The two men stare at each other, communicating in their secret language that requires no words. Whatever they’re saying doesn’t look friendly.
“The physician who looked over the Gardener earlier said he was suffering from effects that looked like poison, and you said that you didn’t know of any poison missing.” His eyes turn to me, rooting me to my spot. “So how did a vial of poison wind up in your bag, Rose?”
I wait for my own rage, wait for it to protect me against the disapproval radiating from Rayce in waves that threaten to drown me, but it doesn’t come, leaving me only with a coldness as bitter as the desert rose.
“I want the truth.” Rayce’s voice is a rumble of thunder. “And I want it now.”
Chapter Thirteen
My knees weaken as I stand up under the weight of Rayce’s accusations. Every ounce of my mind screams to run out of the tent and hide until his usually gentle hands loosen their death lock on the vial.
Arlo takes a step between us, his arm brushing mine as he moves closer. I’m afraid to even look at his face after the warning he gave me. He risked his neck so that I could help the rebellion and get my revenge, and I’ve repaid his kindness by ruining everything.
“Because I gave it to her.” The simplicity of Arlo’s declaration slices the air as sharp as the sword still attached to Rayce’s hip.
Rayce grinds his teeth. “When?”
“The day after I showed it to you,” Arlo says. “I gave it to her that night I found the two of you in the kitchen.”
Silence pervades the air as Rayce digests Arlo’s an
swer. Watching Rayce connect the timeline would almost be interesting except for the flash of betrayal that passes through his eyes as his mind catches up with our actions over the past few days. His gaze darts to the book I was reading next to my bag.
He turns to me, his eyes those of a stranger.
“You’ve been researching poisons.” His hand holding the vial droops like it’s suddenly too heavy to keep upright. “And right after Arlo gave you this, you agreed to the Gardener’s deal. You’ve had access to him, and have been feeding him ever since without complaint.” His voice goes quiet. “Did you plan this? Did both of you deliberately go behind my back?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the only thing that rises from my throat is a bubbling wave of panic. He jerks back a few steps like he was struck, shaking his head.
My gaze never faltering, I take a deep breath. “Yes. I’ve been poisoning him because his life wasn’t yours to pardon. I should’ve killed him that day in the Garden and been done with it.”
“No,” he says. “No, I felt gratitude when you selflessly volunteered to take the deal.” The way he says the word “selflessly” sounds like a disease. “I even told you that you didn’t have to. I confided in you and this is how you repay me?”
“I did what you asked, just not how you asked me to do it.”
He runs his hand down his face, his eyes wide. Mouth slightly parted. “I thought you were sacrificing for the greater good.”
Arlo takes a step forward. “She did. She still made a sacrifice for us.”
“No, she pretended to make a sacrifice.” He moves to meet Arlo, pace for pace. “She went against a direct order, nearly killed a hostage with invaluable information, and you…” He jabs his finger into Arlo’s chest. “You helped. You might not have given her the idea, but you’re the only one who had access to this poison and you definitely provided her the tools.”
War of the Wilted Page 12