by A. W. Cross
Future for the Faithful. Beauty said it to herself every morning when she woke, and every night as she closed her eyes. One day, they would all be free.
Kaitlin grinned at the sallowness of Arjun’s expression. She seemed to have a death wish, attacking the more dangerous assignments with a bewildering relish. But why? What did she have to die for? It wasn’t like she’d lost any more than the rest of them.
“And finally, Red and Beauty, you’ll be heading back to the literary quarter. I want you to go over that depository one more time. I can’t help but think we’ve missed something.”
It was all Beauty could do not to clap. She tried to keep her expression neutral as the others turned their eyes toward her.
Kaitlin scoffed. “A book run. Shocking.”
Book runs were notoriously easy. Requests were pretty slim, but every so often, they would get a call for books to give to the soldiers, to ease their suffering and give them an escape. Although the others cared nothing for books, retrieving them was simple—and the other Guilds rarely bothered with them. Get in, get out.
Beauty didn’t care much about that. She loved the books. She never knew what incredible adventure she was going to dig out of the ruins. Father would let her keep some of them, a secret from the others. And Beauty liked to think of those that were shipped out in the hands of the men and women fighting tirelessly for her survival. Often, she scrawled a note in her unpracticed hand—an expression of thanks or support. It was silly, but it helped ease her conscience that she was safe in The Vault, while every day the soldiers woke up to what might be their last sunrise. Her fingers tingled with anticipation. Today felt like a good day.
“Do you have a problem, Kaitlin?” Father glared at her, his expression hard.
“Me? Oh no, Father. Never.”
He looked at her for a moment longer then cleared his throat. “I’ll be taking a shipment to the Beast today.” His voice was steady, but Beauty knew him well enough to sense the current underneath it. He’s scared.
Before today, she wouldn’t have thought it possible. But then, Father had a very good reason to be afraid. Everyone was frightened of the Beast, their sector’s liaison with the outside world. Everyone except Stiles, the mountain of a man who usually delivered their shipments. He never seemed to be afraid of monster they only whispered about.
The Beast was rumored to be more machine than human, a merciless creature literally without a heart. His face was cold steel, the countenance of a demon with curling horns and teeth filed to points. He was thought to live deep in the bowels of the earth, the miles of rock above his head the only thing strong enough to contain his rage. Of those who went to seek him with one complaint or another, none returned. If you were bringing him a shipment, you had a much better chance of survival—but it wasn’t guaranteed. Foreboding grew in Beauty, a wild thing curling around her ribcage.
“What happened to Stiles?” Felix was no longer nonchalant. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Father sighed and shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. It was some kind of accident—”
“Did the Beast kill him?”
“I don’t know, Beauty.” His mouth was grim. “But it’s a possibility.” His tone suggested it was a certainty.
“Are you sure you should be going then? Can’t you get someone else to do it? Even at a higher cost?”
Felix’s wariness was understandable. What if Father went to the Beast and didn’t return? What would happen to the rest of them? How long would they be able to cover Father’s disappearance before the other Guilds moved on their turf? The alliances and territories they held now were shaky at best.
“I’ll be fine.” But his taut face looked anything but.
“You—”
“I said I’ll be fine.” Father’s face darkened and the vein in his neck throbbed as the others stared at him, mouths agape.
He’s not scared, he’s terrified.
And suddenly, so was she. Perhaps they should go with him. Then they could—
“Don’t even think about following me, any of you. If I wanted company, I would’ve asked. The Beast has made it very clear that he’ll see me and me alone.” He shot Kaitlin a warning glance. “I mean it. All you’ll be doing is putting us both in even more danger.”
The silence that followed was as unusual as his fear. It was broken only by the scuff of Felix’s boots on the concrete floor.
“Well, what are you all waiting for? Get going. I’ll see you tonight, I promise.” He pointed toward the door. “Go.”
Beauty turned with the others and made her way out of the warren, Arjun seething at her side. All the joy at searching for lost books was gone. This was no longer a good day. But it would be a day she would always remember.
2
Cillian found himself in the library. Of course, it wasn’t really a library, just a room filled with books, but thinking of it in more civilized terms always helped. He told Cybel that sorting and shelving them was simply a more efficient way to pick and choose them when the time came, but whenever he was troubled, he found himself here, running his fingers over the spines. Paper books had been a rarity even before the war, and now… His gut clenched. So much had been lost.
Fine thoughts for a soldier.
But he wasn’t a soldier anymore. Now he was a monster. He couldn’t even really feel the spines beneath his left hand, only the odd sensation of a texture different than the smooth metal of his own fingers. That would change one day, of course, when his duty was done. But for now, he would have to be content with nostalgia.
He glanced at the tomes his hand hovered over then snatched it back with a bitter laugh. Romance novels. Ridiculous things. Why he bothered keeping them, he had no idea. They were almost offensive, the perfect-bodied men and women with no concern in life but whether the other person shared what seemed to him a dangerous infatuation. Had people ever really lived like that? He certainly hadn’t. Not before the war, not during, and certainly not after. How could someone be so wrapped up in another person that they would die for them? He shook his head. Such sentiments didn’t exist now.
And I’m glad for that.
No, you’re not. You’re just bitter because no one will ever love you that way.
He bit the inside of his cheek. That kind of thinking did nothing to improve his temper. Where the hell was Raphael Quinn? The man should’ve delivered his shipment hours ago. It was bad enough that Stiles was dead…but Quinn? Cillian didn’t know enough about the man. If he thought Cillian could be kept waiting…well, that was why they called him the Beast.
The Beast.
He’d been called by the nickname for so long, even he’d begun to think of himself like that.
Who are you trying to kid? It’s because you are a beast. A monster. They’d call you much worse if they knew the truth.
Enough. He stalked from the library, his mind made up. If Quinn wasn’t going to come to Cillian, Cillian would have to go to him.
This requisition, though frivolous, came from someone very important. The Beast stopped by the control room one last time as he slipped leather gloves over his hands. He should’ve kept them uncovered, all the better to maintain his reputation, but if these people found out what he really was… The stories they told helped keep his fearsome reputation, but only because nobody truly believed them.
Just as he turned away from his surveillance screens, movement on one of them caught his eye.
A man staggered down the corridor, cradling one arm in the other. His face was bloodied on one side, and dark footprints trailed after him.
Cillian swore. It was Quinn. But he didn’t seem to be carrying a damn thing with him.
A few minutes later, Quinn tumbled to his knees on the threshold. Cillian hauled him the rest of the way through by the collar of his jacket then stepped out into the passage and listened intently. Nothing. He closed the door and slid the locks shut, one after t
he other. When he turned around, Quin was sprawled out on the floor, facedown.
Irritation bit at Cillian. What the hell had happened? Quinn reeked of Demon’s Breath, the liquid that passed for alcohol in The Vault. But surely the man wasn’t foolish enough to get drunk while carrying out orders? Well, Cillian would get to the bottom of it, and god help the man if he didn’t have a damn good excuse. The people Cillian worked for were not patient, nor were they merciful, and it would be his neck on the line if they didn’t get what they’d asked for.
He dragged Quinn to a ratty old sofa in a back room and hoisted him up onto it, the drunk man’s head tilting over the back. A bucket of cold, dirty water was next.
I really should just slap him out of it.
But breaking his face wasn’t going to get Cillian what he needed. Experience had taught him that.
As soon as the first splash of water touched Quinn’s face, his eyes and mouth shot open and he choked on the filthy liquid. Gagging, he raised his hands over his head until the bucket had finished its onslaught.
“Hey, a—” But as the water cleared from his eyes, he seemed to realize where he was and who he was talking to. The color drained from his face and he gagged again, though his mouth was now dry.
He’d better not throw up. Or worse.
He wouldn’t be the first one, but Cillian was in no mood to clean up after incontinent scavengers. Not today. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back. “Raphael Quinn.”
Quinn peered up at him from under his soaked forelock, water dripping from his chin. His chest rose and fell swiftly.
“Where is the requisition?”
“I don’t have it, but I—”
Cillian leaned toward him. “Why not?”
Quinn shrank back. “I was attacked.” He brushed his fingers over a large graze on his forehead.
“And?”
“And they took it.”
Cillian stared at Quinn, waiting.
The other man held out for only a few seconds. “It wasn’t my fault. I—”
“It wasn’t your fault? You stink of liquor.”
“I know, but—”
“But what? Your country asks you to acquire something extremely valuable, and rather than bring it straight here as you were commissioned to do, you decide to go drinking instead?”
“No! Yes. I—” He clamped his jaw shut under Cillian’s glare.
Cillian swore inwardly. Quinn wasn’t the first man to need liquid courage to make a delivery. His reputation was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it made it much easier to keep up the charade of The Vault, but on the other, it caused normally brave and honorable men to degrade themselves in fear. The initial thrill of his power had long since gone.
If only they knew how little power I actually have.
Quinn was still jabbering away. “But I can make it up to you.”
“You have more First jewelry?”
“No. But I can get you something else, something double the value. My team—”
“I need First jewelry.”
“Well, you’re going to get it. Just not from me.”
Cillian sighed. “How?”
“I’m pretty sure I know who rolled me. I’d bet the shirt off my back she’ll be knocking on your door before tomorrow with an item you just might be interested in—for double our price, of course.” His voice was bitter.
He was right. That was usually how it worked. As the city was picked over and many resources became scarcer, the Guilds had begun to use more than their deductive talents to find the most valuable merchandise. It wasn’t just the compensation they received—a pittance. Rather, it was the prestige, allotted in points, that the Guilds chased. The promise that when the war was over, those points would be tallied and parlayed into the Guild’s standing and circumstance in the new world. A beautiful lie.
“That may be so, but that doesn’t absolve you.”
“I know, but as I said, I’ll make it up to you. My Guild is one of the best there is, B— Sir.”
Beast. There it was. Anger rose before he swiftly tamped it down. It was his own doing that they saw him this way. It had been a necessity. But that didn’t make it any less infuriating.
“One of the best? That’s a pretty bold claim considering you’re sitting here empty-handed and covered in sewer water.”
“We are! Do you remember that rose prism you received a few months back? Well, that was us. Our Beauty found it. She has an uncanny ability to locate the rarest items. She reads a lot, you see, including maps and—”
Cillian did remember the prism. It had been a tricky find, no doubt. But other than bragging, what did that have to do with anything? “I don’t—
“She found the prism? That is impressive.” The voice came from behind Cillian, and he winced. The last thing he needed right now was Cybel getting involved. The little bot was too social for its own good, a defect in its programming.
He turned and spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes. It is. But it doesn’t have anything to—”
“We could use some more help around here.” She ignored the tone of his voice, like always. The small humanoid robot was a source of both great affection and great annoyance. “Weren’t you saying that just the other day? And if she’s as good as he claims…”
While it was true that he and Cybel could use more help, there was no way in hell he was going to take on some brainwashed Guild member, or anyone else from The Vault, for that matter. And Cybel bloody well knew it. It was too risky. Besides, why would he want to deal with people any more than he already did? He kept his interactions to a minimum—it was better for everyone that way.
Out of the question, no matter how good she might be.
The color leached from Quinn’s face. “No! I wasn’t suggesting— No. Absolutely not.”
His refusal rankled. I’m too used to getting what I want. But more than that, the Guilds had sworn unyielding loyalty to The Vault’s cause, to give whatever, whenever they could to continue the war effort. Some, like the Nightforge, took it to extremes, their members little more than skin and bones as they donated everything beyond what they needed for bare survival. Glory Through Sacrifice. Quinn had no right to refuse, and Cillian couldn’t let him. If word somehow got out that someone had refused his order… The smallest of rebellions could lead to larger ones, ones he couldn’t control.
There were rules the Guilds were expected to abide by: keep to their assigned sectors, do not interfere with other Guilds, locate whatever items were required, give any items found to the cause, and never question orders. The Guilds, of course, flaunted some of these rules and Cillian knew it—the proof sat on the couch in front of him. Minor infractions he didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with. But unquestioning loyalty? That was non-negotiable.
Besides, taking her would also serve as a warning to Quinn on a personal level. This Beauty, whoever she was, obviously meant a great deal to him, that he would refuse the Beast. A perverse spitefulness came over Cillian. He would teach Quinn a lesson, if only for a brief time. He would keep the girl for a week or two then send her back.
Cillian flexed his hands inside his gloves, making sure Quinn got the hint.
The horrified look on the man’s face suggested he did.
“You would refuse me? And The Vault?”
Quinn faltered. “No. I— I just…I can’t grant you that. Anything else. I have other Guild members who are even better than Beauty. You can have your pick of them. Plus, I’ll get you goods of greater value—”
“No. I want her. This Beauty.”
“But—” Quinn’s chest hitched, as though he was going to vomit. Did she really mean that much to him?
“Unless you want to come in her place? It was your…mistake, after all.”
Quinn stared at him as though it were a battle of wills. Yet only seconds later he broke, nodding like a senti doll. “Of course, of course. She’ll be here. Sorry for the reluctance on my part—she’s very
capable and that’s not always easy to come by.”
“No, it’s not.” Cillian looked at him pointedly.
Quinn quailed. He gripped the fabric of the couch, his knuckles pale.
“Why are you still sitting here, Quinn? Go.”
“But I— What about Beauty?”
“Make sure she’s here tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp.”
“So you mean it?”
He’s trying to call my bluff. “I do.”
“I see.” Quinn rose from the couch, avoiding Cillian’s gaze. “Well, if there’s nothing else—”
“There isn’t.” He nodded toward the door.
For a moment, it seemed like Quinn would say more. Please don’t let him beg.
But he didn’t. He followed Cillian to the exit then walked slowly away, his head bowed like a man on his way to death. What was it about this Beauty? Was there something going on there? For a moment, his conscience pricked at him.
At the end of the hallway, Quinn turned. “That jewelry— Would it have helped end the war?”
Clearly, the man was a glutton for punishment. But it just wasn’t in Cillian to show mercy today. Besides, he could never tell Quinn the truth. “We’ll never know, will we?”
3
It had not been a good day. Despite searching for hours, Beauty and Red had come up empty.
“I just don’t understand it. Do you think someone’s been violating the decrees and trespassing on our sector?” Like other Guilds, the Hallow Hands marked each street under their jurisdiction, but the white hand that was their symbol didn’t mean anything to some of the wilier scavengers. Red stared at the detailed notes in her hand. “According to our calculations, we should’ve found at least something by now.”
Beauty held her by the elbow and guided her around a large crack in the rubble-strewn street, stepping over the tough grass clawing its way through as it sought water. Good luck. Though Heartcrown was lush with thick, concealing forest, the shield of The Vault prevented any sort of rain, and irrigation was erratic at best. But if rationing water meant the soldiers had more, it was the least they could do. And to tell the truth, the tiny signs of new life gave Beauty hope.. Every time she saw the green tendrils stubbornly growing from blackened remains, the air felt just a little less stale.