Page 18

Sneaking out of the house is too easy with Tristan locked in Farron’s office, working, but my boots seem to drag as I round the corner to the back of his horse barn. It doesn’t feel right to leave without saying something to him. Or Enola. And yet, I couldn’t find a way.

Annette glances over her shoulder at me as she pulls a strap on her saddlebag tight. A second horse grazes on the grass a few feet away. “You’re late,”

she says. “Let’s go.”

I hug myself, trying to conceal the stolen papers that are hidden in various places under my clothes. They feel thick and visible. If only I were also returning with more knowledge of how they utilize old-world medicine and what sources they use to get it from, but I’ve run out of time to tour their hospital.

We ride hard through a meadow, a different one from the one I tried to escape through the other night, and quickly come upon a gate in the tall metal fence. It’s not dark yet, and, aware of how exposed we are, I search behind us for witnesses. “Where’s the border guard?”

She silences me with a finger, then pulls something from her back pocket and brings it to her mouth.

Quack. Quack. Quaaaaaack.

The artificial duck sound is returned from somewhere within the trees. The buzzing coming from the fence disappears. With a pop, the enormous gate swings open on its own.

I shift in my saddle, uneasy as she waits for me to ride through. “Where are the guards?”

I whisper.

She gives me an annoyed look. “They heard a sound and went to investigate.”

She clears her throat. “Now, just so we’re clear, by leaving, you’re forsaking Tristan and Kingsland.”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what leaving means,”

she says, cutting me off.

We stare each other down until a cavern opens up in my heart. By leaving, I’m choosing a side.

As if I could choose anything other than this. I jerk on the reins of my horse and ride through the gate.

Someone jumps down from a tree in front of me. My horse rears up, and I fight to regain control. Another man lands to my left. They’re soldiers and both have arrows pointed at my heart.

What’s going on? I look back at Annette behind me.

A smug look overtakes her face. “Just because we want you gone doesn’t mean we’d release you.”

Dread crawls over me.

“Isadora Banks,”

says the soldier to my left. “You’ve committed treason against the town of Kingsland. You will be transported to our prison until—”

I choke on a scream as I jerk upright in bed.

What?

How?

I swat at the hair strewn over my face, desperate to see where I am. I find white walls. White curtains. I’m in Tristan’s old room.

My head drops. It was a dream.

A nightmare.

I fall back, my heart thundering in my ears. It wasn’t real.

But what’s to stop it from coming true when I leave tonight?

The sun isn’t setting, it’s rising, and now that I’m awake, the soft thuds of the kitchen cupboards opening and closing downstairs reach my ears. Tristan’s awake.

Sincere relief, then excitement flits through me that I get to see him again—which is the opposite of what I should be feeling. With a growl, I throw my arm over my eyes. Calm down.

This is exactly why I’ve hidden in my room since our conversation in the kitchen. The memory he sent me gave me a lot to think about last night, and I needed time alone without his everything clouding my head. Except time alone hasn’t given me any answers. Only more questions. Thanks to morning academy, I can list every major attack Kingsland has made on us. I know the names of lost soldiers and the exact dates they were killed. I can recount with excruciating detail the wounds of the tortured men I’ve had to treat. But other than us killing Farron, I don’t know what we’ve done to Kingsland. Have we really killed innocent people like Tristan showed me?

Or was the memory a distortion of the truth? A fox—the kind I’ve painstakingly been warned about, the kind I was certain Farron was—would manipulate me with lies over our history. It’d be a necessary evil for me to fall for his plan.

But is Tristan a fox? Is he playing me?

I’m not going to find out by hiding any longer in this room.

Climbing out of bed is a chore. My joints and muscles ache with a stiffness that’s always heavier in the morning, but at least the debilitating exhaustion has waned. The tea continues to work. I have the strength to leave tonight with Annette. Although, after that nightmare, I’m more uneasy about those plans than ever.

I pull on a gray sweater of Tristan’s. The sleeves hang down past my hands, so I push them up to my elbows. I match it with a pair of fitted pants from a pile of clothes Enola brought for me. Sweeping my hair over my shoulder, I wash my face and clean my teeth. I’m pleased to note the dark circles under my eyes are fading.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob and close my eyes. Be strong. He has no hold over you.

Despite my encouraging self-talk, my nerves prickle with excitement, especially after seeing Tristan’s open bedroom door. He’s usually neat and makes his bed. Astoundingly, I suspect he washes and folds his own clothes. Except his sheets are rumpled now—why? Did he leave in a hurry? Or struggle to sleep for the same reason I did?

Did he think about me in this bed?

I grit my teeth. Skies, this connection is ruining me.

The sounds coming from the kitchen grow louder as I descend the stairs, and my heart turns into a galloping horse.

“Oh, good, you’re up,”

Enola says, spinning around after closing the cold storage door. “Sorry, was I being too loud?”

My gaze sweeps the room. She’s alone. “No,”

I say, doing my best not to sound disappointed. “It’s fine.”

“I tried to be quiet.”

She smiles up at me. “So, I have exciting news.”

I stiffen.

“Tristan got Dr. Henshaw to change his mind about letting you observe him at the hospital. We can go whenever you’re ready.”

Her eyebrows pull together. “Or are you not feeling well enough today? That’s okay—”

“No,”

I cut her off with a relieved laugh. “I’d love to.”

“Good.”

Enola takes a stack of pies and shuffles them into a fabric bag on the counter. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to deliver some of this extra food to a few families on our way. Tristan packed away as much as he could and made everyone take food home last night, but your kitchen is still drowning in it.”

Amusement sprouts in my chest at the thought of Tristan doing more women’s work. But when I really think about it, I realize I’m also impressed.

Enola claps her hands after finishing her task and smiles so brightly it’s painful to look at.

I think I’m going to miss her.

Her and Tristan. “And where is my husband?”

Her smile falters a little. “Work. Now that he’s recovered somewhat and the funeral is over, he’s taking on more in his role as acting mayor. He asked me to be available for you today for whatever you need. I don’t imagine you’ll want to do more than an hour or two with Dr. Henshaw, considering your condition. But you can decide. The hospital is where I spend most of my time anyway, so it’s no trouble.”

“Are you a nurse?”

Enola grins. “No, I’m in charge of the entire hospital. I manage the staff and secure the equipment we need from traders. Keep people like Henshaw in line.”

She’s in charge of the male doctor? A woman?

“My background before the bombs was in applied mechanization.”

She waves off my confusion. “It’s a job that . . . well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It no longer exists here.”

She laughs. “Anyway, I’m much better at this job.”

I set about preparing a cup of fesber tea. As much as I want to absorb every bit of information I can at the hospital before I go, I do need to be cautious with my energy. After I leave with Annette tonight, I’ll have a long ride home. “Maybe we could head over after lunch?”

“Perfect,”

Enola says with a beautiful smile.

And it hits me: What if I was wrong, and Enola has only ever had good intentions toward me? What evidence have I seen that she’s not a bumblebee?

Her head tips to the side as she props a hand on her hip. “You okay, dear?”

I blink, pulling myself from my thoughts. “I was just thinking about how you’ve been really welcoming . . . and helpful. Between all the food, fesber tea, and even helping me with a bath, you’re probably the main reason I’ve gained back my health. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

She lowers a stack of dishes into the sink. “Oh, you don’t need to say that. I’m just happy to see Tristan happy. For the first time in a long time, he’s excited and hopeful about his future, despite all the bad that’s happened to him. That’s because of you.”

My chest hollows out.

“Shall we say twelve thirty for the hospital?”

I agree absentmindedly, then lift my head. “Enola, why wasn’t I put in the hospital when I was at my sickest?”

“Oh, two reasons, really. One, Tristan is a descendant from one of the sixteen founding families, so you were fortunate enough to have the connection to speed your healing. And two, well, Tristan thought it best that you not be left alone with strangers. That’s why he brought in nurses.”

I pause. “Annette is a nurse?”

“She’s in training, yes. Caro is her instructor. You might see them this afternoon.”

I let out a single hard laugh. “Fantastic.”

Enola gives me a knowing look. “You know, Caro is Valerie’s sister.”

The woman who spat on me because her son was killed by a clansman? Oh.

“There’s a lot of pain interfering with the way they treat you. It’s not personal. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you alone with them until they figure that out.”

“Promise?”

After loading up a plate of food and making an extra-large tea, I return to my room to rest in a hot, soothing bath. With a flick of my wrist, water fills the tub. Steam gently mists from the flow. I sigh and slip into the water, only to find the joy of it grow limp like a rotten leaf. This will be my last bath with water I didn’t have to boil and carry myself.

Thanks to Kingsland.

Or vagabonds, as Tristan likes to blame.

I roll my eyes. I don’t believe that Kingsland has only raided our traders of weapons and not supplies. But whatever the reason we’re living with so much less than they are, I think we could learn from Kingsland how to be better at trading and being more resourceful. Even if all we secure is a source of power and an electric fence. Our children deserve a life where they don’t have to live in constant fear.

I’ll have to speak to Father about this when I get home.

I adjust my position in the tub, suddenly too hot. Uncomfortable. I know I have to leave. That’s always been the plan. But now that it’s so close, I wonder what Tristan will do when he hears that I’m gone. Will he come after me and try to change my mind? Or will he stay and curse the day we met? I’m not a fan of either of those options. Especially since Tristan coming after me risks him being caught, tortured, and killed by Father, and there’d be nothing I could do to save him.

But selfishly, I don’t like the alternative either. I don’t want him to hate me for returning home to wed another man.

Another man I haven’t thought about in a while.

A man I can’t imagine begging to touch me the way I nearly did with Tristan last night.

With a groan, I dunk my head under the water until the burn in my lungs is all-consuming, stealing every thought.

Once out of the tub and dressed, I take my time collecting each precious tablet of pain reliever hidden around the room. I swallow one, then carefully select my lightweight layers of clothes to wear on the ride home.

My last task is to write a letter—the only suitable goodbye since I don’t dare say it in person. After retrieving Tristan’s notebook from under the drawer of his bedside table, I open it and the middle section falls open with use. More of Tristan’s drawings span the page. Some are shapes and numbers; others appear to be outlines of buildings with measurements. I pause on one that’s a detailed picture of a tram that runs on a track. That’s the second time I’ve come across him drawing this old-world machine. The sketches are sure and come from a skilled hand. It’s better than anything I could draw.

What are these for?

Infuriatingly, there’s nothing to explain them. I keep turning the pages until I get to the second to last page. There’s a sketch of a girl picking flowers. I bring the book closer to study the drawing. The girl is thin and appears young. Her lips and hair are out of proportion, like Tristan drew this before he developed his eye for drawing.

Is that Annette?

The thought burrows painfully through my chest, even though it has no right to.

I flip back to a blank page and steel my heart. The only thing Tristan needs to read is whatever it will take for him to move on and keep his distance from the clans.

Tristan,

By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. Don’t come after me because there’s nothing you could say to bring me back. My future is with my betrothed. But I want to make you a promise: I will spend the rest of my days trying to bring lasting change between us and Kingsland. I want peace. When we spoke in your kitchen about how this conflict comes to an end, you said there is no end without justice. But I think you’re wrong. The end comes when we decide enough is enough and simply choose to stop fighting. So I’m writing to ask one thing of you: If you ever cared for me, please don’t take any hasty action against my father or the clans. I know the price of what I ask, and I ask it anyway. Time, not more death, will heal our wounds. We can be the change our fathers couldn’t bring.

Isadora

I tear the paper from Tristan’s notebook and stuff it between the pages of the novel I won’t be able to finish. A deep sadness slips over me at the thought of leaving. Yes, there is a part of me that wants to stay to study their old-world medicine and read all their books. But if I’m honest, too much of my heartache has to do with Tristan. I think I’m afraid. I fear that even years with Liam wouldn’t develop into a fraction of the passion Tristan and I had in his kitchen. Will time ease the burn in my chest for him? The ache? Or will it haunt me with the ghost of what could have been?

That’s not a gift you walk away from. What if Enola’s right?

What if I didn’t leave?

Indulgently, I allow a moment to consider what a life here with Tristan would be like. For us to cave in to our attraction. For us to try to make it work, and to truly fall in love. Only it wouldn’t be love, would it? Not fully. I may trust Tristan not to eradicate the clans, but I will always be the enemy’s daughter.

I could never trust him fully with my heart.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away. The choices in my life have always been made for me, and this one feels no different. I take the book with the note in it and lay it on the pillow.