Viggo and I exchanged alarmed glances and then focused back on Henrik, listening, aware that whatever he was about to say, it was going to be a story… and likely not a happy one. “When my little girl announced she wanted to get married to a Matrian male, I had my reservations. But if she was happy, I was happy. Her husband Edgar was a kind man. Simple, but he cared for her far better than any Patrian male would have.
“Mathilda wrote me diligently, at least once a week. We scheduled times to call. I had just retired from being a warden when she called me up one day, out of the blue. She was pregnant with my first grandchild.”
He smiled then, his weathered face nostalgic, lost in his own story. I leaned my shoulder against Viggo.
“I put in an extended travel request to go see them, and, after calling in a few favors, it got approved. I showed up at her house with bags in hand.” He paused, and shifted slightly in his chair, his face going pensive. “I got to extend my trip twice while I was there. So I could spend time with my grandson and my daughter. Eventually, I had to go. We kept in touch, and I got to see Connor growing up through the pictures my daughter sent me, and the letters she wrote. But as his eighth birthday got closer, our conversations always centered around the test—would he pass or fail? There was no option to bring him to Patrus. Matrian law would never allow an untested male across the river. We talked the issue to death, all of us clinging to the hope he would pass.
“Then the call came. He’d failed. He was taken right from her arms, in spite of my Mathilda trying to resist. She called me on my handheld, distraught, begging me to come help her, but it wasn’t that easy. Permission takes time and patience. I put in my application, tried to get it rushed through… but before I had even made it through the process, the wardens called me. She and Edgar had committed suicide. Overdose.”
Henrik fell silent, his eyes glistening with tears, and before I could stop myself, I reached out and took his hand. He blinked, tears dripping down his face, and met my gaze. I squeezed his hand, and he exhaled shakily.
“I didn’t get to see them buried, but they left me their rings, at least. You guys know the rest of the story, really, but…” He broke off abruptly and stood up. “It doesn’t matter. Just, please accept the rings. I would consider it a great honor if you decided to use them as your wedding bands, but don’t feel obligated. You’re both like family to me, and because of that… well… I’ve said what I needed to say.”
Viggo broke the silence first, speaking softly. “I’m not speaking for Violet, but I would be deeply honored to use them.”
“I would too,” I said, finding my voice. I met Henrik’s gaze with a smile, and he smiled in return.
“Good,” he said, backing up toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and get some of that sleep stuff all the kids are talking about.”
I chuckled, a smile blooming on my face as I watched him turn and swing the door open. “Of course. Good night, Henrik.”
“Good night, kids,” he said, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Viggo and I sat there for a moment, still stunned by the unexpected gift and Henrik’s tragic tale. After a few minutes, I reached over and picked up the smaller, more slender ring, pinching it between two fingers and examining it closely. It was beautiful—gold, with tiny stylized flowers etched into the side.
“Do you like it?” Viggo asked.
“I do,” I said after a moment.
Viggo reached out and plucked the ring from my fingers. Examining it closely, he nodded in satisfaction. “I would have picked it out at a store for you,” he replied, taking my hand in his and slipping the ring over my ring finger. It hung lightly on my finger, but it was slightly too big, and I felt like it was going to slip off.
“We have to get it resized,” I said, pulling it off and dropping it back in the box.
“We will,” he replied. “In the meantime, do you know what this means?”
I adjusted my bottom, pushing back from the end of the bed, and then flopped back into my pillow. “Not really.”
Viggo stretched out beside me, propping his head up on his hand. “It means we are now officially ready to get married.”
I snorted and turned onto my side, presenting him with my back. He immediately slid up next to me, his arm coming over and around my waist and his legs slipping through mine. “After all this is done,” I reminded him, my eyelids already beginning to grow heavy and cumbersome.
“Of course,” he breathed into my ear.
And then I was out—sleep pulling me down and under.
18
Viggo
“Just remember that we have to convince…” Henrik trailed off, his head swiveling around to regard King Maxen, who was standing on the landing of the stairs to the basement, his eyes bleary from sleep. I couldn’t blame him. My eyes burned, and I felt like my head had been swaddled in coffee—the five hours of sleep we had tried to grab had ultimately turned out closer to three, but in batches. The ordeals Violet and I had faced were beginning to weigh on us both. Her nightmares woke me, and mine woke her. I was beginning to wonder what a good night’s sleep even meant anymore.
Maxen stood at the top of the stairs for a span of time, glowering down at us, and I sighed. I was not particularly eager for another interaction with the king of Patrus. He was a fundamentally selfish man, both entitled and arrogant. In retrospect, I kind of wished I had let Henrik, Amber, and Quinn shoot him instead of kidnapping him.
Maxen broke the silence by clomping loudly down the stairs, each sound making me fight off a wince. He’d gotten a bit thinner, there was gray blending in at the sides of his temples as well as his eyebrows, and he had exchanged his finer clothes for simpler ones, although I suspected that hadn’t been as much of a choice as a necessity. I could tell he was miserable—it was in every deep nook and cranny of his face not obscured by the beard that had fully grown in around his goatee. He was also angry—it was subtle and slow burning, but it was there, glimmering in his blue eyes, and it winked at us every now and then in every interaction.
He sat down at the head of the table and folded his hands atop it. “Good morning,” he said stiffly, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
Ms. Dale, bless her heart, didn’t even bat an eye. “Good morning, King Maxen. Thank you for joining us.”
“It’s not exactly like I had a choice,” the king snapped back, and I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from interjecting. It would only turn this situation from uncomfortable to worse. Maxen was clearly spoiling for a fight. Luckily, Ms. Dale wasn’t going to allow it to escalate.
“That’s entirely correct,” she replied cheerfully. “So sit down, shut up, do what you’re told, and maybe we’ll get around to finally restoring your kingdom. And if you do it quickly, there might actually be some of it left to save!”
“Like it or not,” added Henrik, leaning back into his chair and smiling broadly, “you need us and we need you. So why don’t you stop fighting us at every turn, and start helping?”
The king raised an eyebrow at Henrik. “Aren’t you dead yet?”
Ms. Dale literally growled, standing up so abruptly I was surprised her chair didn’t go anywhere. Violet leaned over.
“So much for not getting into a fight,” she whispered to me, and I nodded, and then stood up.
“Enough,” I bellowed. Whatever Ms. Dale had been gearing up to say stalled out. Maxen looked at me in surprise, but I ignored him. Turning to Ms. Dale, I gave her a stern look. “Ms. Dale, maybe we could all try to be sensitive to the king’s… predicament. I’m sure this situation, for him, hasn’t been without hardships.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw King Maxen give me a considering look, and then a congenial smile. I let him bask in that for a moment, before turning and spearing him with a hard stare. “And you. I know you still cling to this ridiculous idea that we kidnapped you to… I don’t even know what, but let’s be honest: every person here is your ally. We share a common en
emy—one that wanted you dead and would’ve killed you had we not intervened, I might add—and we have kept you safe, fed, and housed. You owe everyone here for that, so you might want to be a little more civil.”
My voice ended in a growl, and the king stiffened, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Never presume to lecture me, Mr. Croft,” he sneered.
I didn’t reply. I just held his gaze for a long moment, trying to convince myself that punching him that one time hadn’t been that satisfying. Eventually, the king’s eyes flicked down and away, and I sat back down in my chair, satisfied that he had gotten the severity of the message. The tension was growing too high for any derision. We had to convince these rebels to join with us if we had any chance of stopping Elena from doing whatever it was she was doing at the water treatment plant. I just had to hope that showing them King Maxen’s face would be enough—if they were expecting much else from him, they were going to be woefully disappointed.
The screen on the table against the wall beeped, and Henrik gave a nod. “Game faces, everyone. It’s time to make these rebels think we got it all figured out.”
I bit back a smile at the truth in his words, and then Ms. Dale connected the channel on our laptop. Instantly, Tiffany’s face filled the screen, her wide eyes searching. “I got ‘em,” she said over her shoulder.
She moved out of view, the camera on her handheld shaking, tilting right and left as she adjusted it. Once it settled, I stared at the three people who were sitting a few feet away from the handheld, seated in what was clearly an apartment’s living room space. I took stock of each of them, finally putting some faces to the names Tiffany had briefed us on.
At the right of the screen sat a brunette woman. She was wearing all black, her hair gathered in a messy bun on top of her head. She was young—young enough that there was still some baby fat clinging stubbornly to her cheeks, but she had a wise look in her bright blue eyes. This was Mags. Of all the three leaders, she was the one we were all the most interested in meeting. Tiffany had practically sung her praises in her reports.
Next to her, in the middle, was a man in his early twenties with a shock of black hair tied in a neat ponytail on the crown of his head. The effect should’ve made him appear more feminine, but there was a masculine edge to the rest of his features, one I was sure women fell head over heels for. His eyes were also blue, but partially obscured by the thin wire glasses perched on his nose. This was probably Logan Vox. When a couple of us had commented about the surname, it had come up that this one was in the public eye—Logan was the youngest son of the owner of the company that produced Deepvox pills, but had eschewed the family business to become a heloship pilot, though he’d had some pretty public scandals even so. Now, of course, he was a rebel. He had cobbled together a pretty formidable force, even if it was the smallest one of the three.
The last man was the oldest of the trio, probably in his late thirties, early forties. He was bald, but sported a thick auburn beard. His eyes were small and his figure rotund, but he was still quite strong, gauging from the set of his shoulders and the bulge of his muscles. He had probably been quite muscular some time ago, but my guess was that after a few years of not maintaining his weight, the muscle had started to give way to fat—slowly. He was the man we knew the least about. Andrew Kattatopolous, Drew for short.
I opened my mouth, prepared to speak first, when Mags spoke up. “So you are the ones responsible for getting that message into all the stadiums?”
Her voice was lilting, curious. She cocked her head at us inquisitively, and I nodded.
“We are. My name is Viggo Croft. This is Violet Bates, Melissa Dale, Henrik Muller, and, of course, you know King Maxen.”
The three people on the couch exchanged looks as Maxen stood up. “Can you have him stand closer to the camera?” asked Logan.
I glanced at King Maxen, who rolled his eyes and then moved over to where the handheld was perched at an angle, leaning on the television. “How’s that?” he asked, stooping over slightly.
“That’s him,” came the deep gravel of Drew’s voice. “His beard’s grown in, but that’s him. They are who they claim to be.”
“Yes, Drew,” drawled Logan, and King Maxen moved back from the screen, revealing that the lanky man was leaning back, his hands clasped behind his head in a youthful sprawl. “We can see that. The question is, what do they want from us?”
Mags reached out and touched Logan on the arm. “We’ll get to that in a minute,” she said. “King Maxen, it is good to see you in one piece. Tell me, are you safe?”
King Maxen was in the process of lowering himself into his chair when she asked, and he paused, half in, before dropping into it. He looked around the room, cleared his throat, and then nodded. “I am, dear, thank you for asking.”
“Excellent. And your health?”
“Never been better.” Maxen’s posture became more relaxed under the questions, his smile growing more genuine as attention was given to him.
“Really? No broken bones, missing limbs?”
The question caught me off guard—Maxen as well—and I glanced at the screen, seeing that Mags had closed the distance between the couch and the handheld.
“Of course not,” he said, his smile flickering and fading. “Why ever would you ask?”
“Oh, just seeing what was so dire that our king had to abandon us.”
Violet snorted, and then hurriedly hid her smile behind a cupped hand. I couldn’t help but appreciate the irony as well, but to be fair, this wasn’t entirely Maxen’s fault. We had kidnapped him, after all.
“That was our fault,” announced Ms. Dale, tugging at her braid. “We… removed the king to keep him safe from danger.”
It was the king’s turn to snort, but he remained quiet, thanks to a stony glance from Henrik. Mags’s eyebrows rose up to her hairline, and then she nodded. “It makes sense. If Elena wanted him dead, they’d be tearing up the countryside for him.”
“Not just him,” added Violet quietly, and I reached over and clasped her hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m sure,” Mags demurred. “Still, it doesn’t change the fact that many of his people view his sudden reappearance with a certain level of… derision.”
“What?” the king sputtered, affronted. “Why?!”
“No offense, King Maxen, but there are many who feel you abandoned your people by running. What makes you think that you showing up with friends to help is going to make them inclined to want your help, let alone you?”
The king fidgeted as her statement came through. We watched as Mags moved back over to the couch and sat down, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “And while we’re on the topic of your help—what do you want and what are you offering?”
Ms. Dale blinked and then smiled. “I knew I would like you,” she announced.
“We need your help, actually,” I said, standing up. “You have people on the inside, we have people on the outside. As individual pockets of resistance, we probably can’t accomplish much. But, perhaps if we could work together, we could—”
“We are desperately low on ammo,” announced Drew, leaning forward slightly. “And even weapons. We scavenged what we could, but—”
“There are lots of things we need,” cut in Mags smoothly. “But even with guns and weapons, without knowing where the other groups are, we can never move across the city without calling attention to ourselves.”
“We can help you with that,” said Violet. “We have a friend who hacked into the camera system in the city years ago. If you can get to the correct location and turn his system back on, you can access it through your handhelds.”
Mags arched an eyebrow. “Years ago?”
“It’s a long story,” cut in Henrik. “For another time. But if you can get the system turned on, then we can begin thinking of how to take back the city.”
“Take back the city?” scoffed Logan. “We’ve got civilians who need to get out of the city!”
“What, exac
tly, do you want to do?” asked Mags, once again ignoring the interruption.
“Tiffany informs us that there’s a group of Matrians holed up at a water treatment plant in the city. We’ve come to believe they have a plan to do something to the water that will help Elena achieve her goal, possibly contaminating it with a drug or a poison. If that’s true, she just has to keep you in there long enough for it to spread.” Henrik paused as Mags, Logan, and Drew exchanged looks. “What is it?”
“We had water in our buildings until a few hours ago,” announced Logan.
“That’s… one of the signs Thomas told us to watch out for.” Ms. Dale’s words were delivered softly, but they were as heavy as lead.
“Except for the fountains,” added Drew. “The big fountains all over the city are working, and they still deliver most of our drinking water.”
“Everyone will flock there,” Violet cut in, horrified. “Those people will not only fight over the water, but if they drink it…”
“So the water is already toxic?” asked Mags, alarm making her rise in her seat.
“No,” Henrik soothed. “Or very unlikely. Calm down, everyone, please. We still have some time—but not long. A little over a day, if Thomas’ models are correct.”
Everyone fell silent at that, and Mags sat back down, but on the edge of her seat. “I need to confer with Drew and Logan. Can you give us a moment?”
We nodded, watching as they slipped from the room. Tiffany moved back into the screen. “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t even know the water had been shut off. I spent most of the day with Logan, getting across the city.”
“That’s all right, Tiffany. So, what do you think? Will they help us?”
She gave a little shrug. “I honestly don’t know, but I hope so.”
We lapsed into silence, waiting for the rebel leaders to return. They didn’t keep us waiting long. Almost five minutes later, they were back, Drew and Logan arranging themselves on the couch. Mags moved closer to the camera, but remained off to one side, so we could still see the two men. “Send us the instructions for how to get the cameras on. If that checks out, we’ll hear your plan to get into the city and free the water treatment plant. If it’s good enough, we’ll join you. But we have a stipulation.”
The Gender Plan Page 16