Page 32

The guard secures the door behind us with the drop of a board. There’s something so final about it. With every step, the connection with Tristan lessens until it falls away. I rub the spot over my heart, needing relief from the misery it brings.

How am I going to get Tristan free?

I notice Liam’s pace is brisker than mine, giving him a lead. “Thank you,” I say.

He exhales harshly, then whirls on me. “For what, exactly?”

“For . . . helping me.”

“Helping,”

he repeats under his breath. “Isadora, the way you looked at him . . . Tell me I haven’t lost you.”

The ache in his voice pricks my chest. I don’t know what to say. What will he do when he finds out the truth?

“Do you know what I’ve done to—”

He breaks off, looking distraught. “I became leader of Cohdor so we could have a chance to be together. I came for you in Kingsland because I thought you felt the same.”

My throat squeezes painfully tight. “Liam, I—”

“Don’t.”

He roughly digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, then stops, leaving them shiny and rimmed in red. “I’m being selfish.”

I’m not following.

“You’ve been through so much. And helping people—even someone who took you captive—that’s what makes you you. You take care of people.”

He nods as if convincing himself. “You’re injured, and you must be exhausted. Come on, we need to get you home. Everything will be made right tomorrow.”

He resumes walking, and I follow, my legs hollow twigs that threaten to snap underneath me. We don’t speak another word until we ride into my yard. There are armed clansmen surrounding the perimeter. More than ever before.

Liam dismounts his horse, then offers to help lower me down from mine. I try to do it on my own, but my body is stiff with pain, and I nearly fall.

He catches me with ease, letting out a small laugh. “Should I carry you inside as well?”

There’s a hopeful grin on his face.

I can’t return it. The lies are eating me alive. I stretch my feet toward the ground. “I can do it.”

He takes his time setting me down as if he doesn’t want to let me go.

My heart feels like a skinned knee.

The front door opens before we reach it, and Father appears under the log frame. He’s frowning, which is understandable—I did sneak out. But this is the first time he’s seen me since I was kidnapped.

I wait for a hug. For a sign of relief. Something. It doesn’t come.

Didn’t you miss me at all?

The sad part is that I know he missed me, just not for the reason I want. I suspect he missed me in the way misplacing a shoe ruins your plans for a stroll. How inconvenient it must have been to lose the prize he’s been using to manipulate a psychopath.

“Father,”

I say in greeting. Agitation bubbles under my skin.

His steely glare shifts from me to Liam. “We’re on high alert for an attack, and you two go out for a ride? I’d think her time is better spent resting so she can be ready for tomorrow, wouldn’t you agree?”

My muscles go rigid. Liam mentioned tomorrow too. What’s happening?

Liam nods, quick to accept blame. “You’re right, Saraf. I wasn’t thinking. Good night.”

He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

A chill sweeps down my spine as I watch Liam’s retreating form.

A squirrel chitters loudly. It sounds like a warning. My gaze snaps to the trees surrounding our home. To the cliff where Tristan often hid while he spied on us. The torches are lit, chasing away some of the shadows in our yard, but not all of them. Could Kingsland’s army be lying in the darkness about to strike?

Maybe I could find the elite guard and tell them where Tristan is being kept. Would that be enough to stop a massive attack? Perhaps if I dressed like a clan soldier and hid my hair, I could ride out tonight, even check other hiding spots Tristan’s shown me—perhaps Vador or Ryland is already here.

“Isadora. We need to talk,”

Father says.

“Then talk,”

I say, speeding past him, even though it hurts my neck.

And when you’re done, it’s my turn to speak.

In my room, I sit down on my bed, cross my arms, and wait.

He follows but stops in the doorframe. I look him over. His skin is like leather, tanned and worn. Ruined in spots from the sun. It’s especially visible in the deep crow’s feet around his blue eyes. His jawline is covered with a wiry white-and-blond beard that extends into the neck of his shirt. A few whiskers sprout overtop his bulbous nose and large ears. Add that to his intimidating size, and no one would ever accuse him of being handsome—not that I ever cared. He was my father. My Saraf. But now I also see him for who he is: a hardened soldier who’s weathered many battles.

Battles I’m almost certain he caused because all along he’s been retaliating against the wrong people.

“You’re fine?” he asks.

I struggle to hold back a laugh. Was that a question or a command? “Yes, I am the very picture of fine.”

His head tilts. He’s never heard sarcasm from me, and I sense that he doesn’t know what to do with it. “The cut on your neck was very serious. Who did that to you?”

My arms uncross and fall into my lap as fear replaces my newfound snark. I can’t very well say Liam. I suppose in a twisted way, I did it to myself—though I can’t say that either. “Didn’t Liam tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“I . . . thought he would have reported to you since you sent him to recover me—for another contest.”

Bitterness drips over that last word.

A deep crease forms on his forehead. “You don’t seem very grateful to be home.”

He has me there. My hand squeezes the back of my neck as my uneasiness grows. I’ve never spoken my mind to him. I’ve always tried to be obedient. But I can’t do that any longer. “Maybe I’m sick of being the prize in all your games.”

A flame of something dangerous lights in his eyes. A warning. “These games have made a way for you to marry a clan leader, which is a great honor. Your mother said you would have been content if Liam won.”

He ambles into my room, making it feel impossibly small. “Or do you not want him anymore after being in Kingsland?”

I should be terrified by how close he is to the truth, but instead my mind catches on something. He didn’t say the Kingsland. He referred to it the way Tristan does. I swallow hard, and the pain in my throat shoots nearly to my stomach.

“How about we get to the point?”

he says. “I know what you saw while you were there. How they try to duplicate the lifestyle and ways of the old world.”

He does?

“And I also know what has to happen for a cut on Tristan’s neck to appear on yours.”

Adrenaline surges into my blood.

“You’ve turned against us. Your clan. Your Saraf.”

His eyes grow cold. Deadly.

The dam breaks on my carefully constructed calm, and alarm floods in. He’s going to kill me. “No,”

I say, quick to deny it. It’s my only option. But how does he know about the connection?

Father’s head swings back and forth in disappointment.

“Okay, yes,”

I blurt. “I married Tristan. But only out of necessity. I was dying from a poisoned arrow, and he saved my life.”

Tears choke my voice. “But out of horrific circumstances came something truly beautiful. I love him, Father. Think how a union like this could bring peace between our people.”

“I don’t want peace!”

he roars. He moves closer and drops his voice. “You’re not going to tell anyone you’re married to that Kingsland swine. It means nothing. We’ll go ahead with your wedding to Liam tomorrow.”

My relief that he’s not going to punish me right now is quickly replaced by distress.

I’ve made my choice, and it’s not Liam. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t.”

He studies me before speaking. “The clans need closure. A succession they can get behind. We are on the verge of a clan war without it. Is that what you want?”

“What I want is to not be used as your pawn so you can get your way. Liam earned his position as the next Saraf. Twice. Honor that. Make him Saraf now if you have to.”

Outrage flashes in his eyes at my disrespect. I sink lower into the bed and force myself to speak calmly. “I don’t want to bring unity to the clans if it’s going to be used to attack Kingsland.”

His eyes seem to darken. “You would if you knew the truth.”

“Then tell me the truth,”

I plead. “What have they done? What are their crimes? Because they have no recollection of the first slaughter, and they insist they’ve never killed us on our land. To them we are the aggressors. I’ve seen the proof in Tristan’s mem—”

I cut myself off. I’ve revealed too much.

His lips press together into a thin line. “He’s shown you his memories.”

Fury flashes on his face. “I see.”

Silence lingers.

“What have they done?”

I ask again, pleading.

“They embraced the old world,”

he says with a growl. He seems to fight something inside himself, then his eyes go distant. “We were given a chance to start over. To reset all the ways we had gone wrong from the natural order of things. This was a gift; I told Farron that, and they threw it all away.”

My head lifts, unsure I’m hearing him correctly. He spoke to Farron? When?

“Oh, you didn’t know I was one of them?”

“What?”

I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised Farron hid his most shameful secret from his son? Then you’ll get the whole truth. From me. Before the bombs hit, the old world’s corruption went far beyond what I’ve taught you. It was so evil, I refused to let even a seed of it be planted here.”

He bows his head, takes a slow breath, and then scowls as he raises his chin. “The old world made no space for men like me. Strong men. Men who were born to lead the weak, and the weaker sex—women. They preferred incompetence. And it didn’t matter what job I took or what woman I pursued, the system, the people—all of it—was rigged against me, and I was rejected over and over. My strengths meant nothing. They didn’t care what made me special. In fact, it was worse than that—their women were so manipulative, they’d make a game of tempting me, only to turn me down. They thrived on insulting me, saying I was too ugly. Too aggressive. Always, too aggressive.”

He stabs his finger at me. “But I wouldn’t have had to turn hostile if they’d only listened to me.”

He turns to look out my window.

“When the world fell, it was the first time I was truly respected. My tormentors lost their advantage because their money was useless. Their motor vehicles and high-rise buildings were ashes. In order to live, you had to fight, and I . . . was very good at that.

“I welcomed this new way even though it was hard and . . . at times lonely. By the time I came upon Kingsland, I hadn’t seen intact buildings in years. Or people who were civil—which the people there were, at first. It was refreshing. But their security was a problem, so I helped them build their electric fence.”

This can’t be happening.

“There I met a woman.”

He pauses to swallow. “She had arrived in the first wave. A founding family member. She was very tall but meek. Appropriately submissive, or so I thought. I convinced her to marry me seven days later, thinking that I’d finally found a suitable wife.”

His face tightens, as if he’s in pain. “Like I said . . . I know exactly what it takes for a cut on Tristan’s neck to appear on yours.”

I stop breathing.

“But the old-world ways came back to haunt me. Farron Banks spent his time stealing what was mine so it could be shared with the weak and lazy. Animals, food, tools, even my labor—nothing belonged to me. I couldn’t pick where I lived, and when I did anyway, I was punished. The rejection returned, especially when it came to any positions of leadership. Yet when my wife decided she wanted to become a soldier, they let her.”

He gives a cruel laugh. “I could heal her with the connection, they reasoned. She would be safe. She disobeyed me, ignoring my decision to not allow it, and was slaughtered by a vagrant outside the fence.”

He pauses to breathe heavily through his nose. “Everything went wrong because they refused to listen to me.”

The shock of his confession feels like an earthquake. The foundation of everything I thought I knew is crumbling. I’ve been lied to my whole life.

“So I lit their hospital on fire and walked out of there as the leader of the rebellion against the old world.”

Breathless, I remember Enola’s face when she told me the original hospital had burned down. She wouldn’t even look at me. This was why.

Did she think I wouldn’t believe her if she told me? That I was in too deep to hear the truth? Perhaps that’s why she only focused on what we could agree on—peace. Stopping a war.

“My people would be different,”

he continues. “Better. A community where strength determined who was in charge and appropriate roles were given to the right people. My way allowed for fair trade and wealth and power to any man who wanted it—if he was willing to fight for it. The five strongest of those would each oversee a clan, with me not only the leader of the original clan, Hanook, but also the head over all of them, so no one could counter my plans and how I was going to make Farron pay.

“So all of this—all of it—was about revenge?”

I whisper in disbelief.

“It was about saving a generation. And exacting punishment for what they allowed this corruption to do.”

Then his tight posture cracks as he shrugs. “The best part has been using their own theology against them. Their policies make them feeble and powerless. For decades, we’ve been able to strike like hornets, causing pain while they refuse to lift a blade first or burn their traitors. They’ll only consider violence if we enter their land. It’s pathetic, and their own choices are what will destroy them. Slowly. Painfully. Just like the old world.”

He exhales. “Fates, it feels good to finally speak the whole story out loud after all these years.”

I watch his satisfaction settle over his face with mounting horror. So nobody knows. Although, Tristan was right: Kingsland has shown unsustainable restraint in never attacking us on our land.

But then who is responsible?

The bone dangling around Gerald’s neck flashes in my mind. A finger bone. I gasp as my world tilts further.

Liam’s words about Gerald come back to me. He’s been your father’s henchman of sorts, doing all the dirty work.

All the killing. All the torture. My breaths speed up as I stare at my father—the only person who needed the clans to hate Kingsland. The only person who gained power and authority from his people living in fear. It wasn’t vagrants attacking us. “All this time it was you?”

I think of how terrified of Kingsland we were after finding our animals beheaded. But curiously, the bodies were left behind, allowing us to still use them for food. I recall the testimonies from soldiers who survived being attacked—they were always alone when they were ambushed and blinded. How difficult would it be for Gerald to convince them he was Kingsland if they couldn’t see him? I cover my mouth, aghast. Harper, one of the clan soldiers who was mutilated, was known for being outspoken.

So was Andrus. And Teag.

A new and horrifying thought sweeps over me. If Father’s willing to maim and kill to snuff out any opposition, what else has he done to maintain control? Is that the real reason we’ve been taught to fear the old world, their books, and any independent thinking? Religion? Skies, is this why we hardly have any older people in the clans who remember the old-world ways?

I bet it doesn’t stop there. If he considered books a gateway into the old world, he probably felt the same about plumbing and electricity. Just another first step onto a slippery slope, right? My hand slides to my throat; I feel like I’m choking. All those supposed raids on our traders, the fear he instilled in us of booby-trapped supplies—he intentionally suppressed our advancements to keep us in the dark ages. It was necessary for him to maintain control.

A shake enters my body. “But you killed Farron. When will revenge be enough?”

“And even from the grave, Farron gets one final win, doesn’t he?” he says.

My gaze jerks back to his face.

“I will not have my daughter married to his son, having his grandchildren, and carrying on his name. This is my legacy. He will not infiltrate my family too.”

He slams his open palm against the log wall. “You will marry Liam tomorrow afternoon.”

My face flushes with anger. “Are you sure you want to marry me off so quickly? What if you need to throw me to Gerald a few more times? You know, dangle me like a carrot in front of that vile piece of filth so you can have everything you want.”

A flash of something that looks like disgust passes over his eyes. “I never would have left you with him. Not for long. If I didn’t need him to battle Kingsland, I would have gotten rid of him decades ago. Now that he’s murdered two of my men, I want him gone. I’ll prove that he’s the murderer, and he won’t live past the week.”

How ironic that in an attempt to create a society that’s fairer and more equitable than Kingsland, he has to use murder to stay on top.

And manipulate his daughter.

My head starts to shake, slow at first, then picking up speed. “No. I won’t go along with this. I won’t marry Liam just so you can get one last stab at Farron Banks. And I will not be used to facilitate this unjust war.”

“Isadora.”

His voice carries a deadly calm. “You will do this. You will fulfill your duty to your people.”

I jump to my feet. “How could you even ask this of me? I’m connected to Tristan. You of all people should understand.”

Is this not the very injustice that has spawned decades of his revenge?

His face remains etched in stone, leaving me with so much anger I may combust. Nothing, not even begging, is going to change his mind.

So don’t beg.

“I will sabotage you,”

I promise. Speaking to him this way is risking my life. But for a man who only respects power, I fear it’s my only move. “Release Tristan and end the betrothal to Liam; do what it takes to make peace with Kingsland, or I will tell everyone the truth. Once people see they’ve been dying needlessly, their sons and fathers dead all because of you, there’ll be no coming back. Doubt will spread like wildfire. You’ll lose more than the support of a couple clan leaders. You’ll lose everything.”

I brace myself for an explosion of violence. I’ve seen his rage before, just never used against me. But instead, his lips curl into a grin. “It is a privilege that I’ve let you into my secret world; don’t make me regret it. But let me teach you something about blackmail, daughter: you must always hold the greater stakes.”

What does that mean?

“As we speak, the prisoners are being moved to Hanook. Tristan will be kept alive as long as you keep your mouth shut and don’t step out of line.”

Before he exits my room, he looks back over his shoulder. “Consider it your wedding gift.”