Page 33

My room carries a chill that comes with the late evening spring nights. Not cold enough to waste energy building a fire, not warm enough to be comfortable.

Wrapping myself in a blanket, I wander to the window Liam helped me climb through earlier and undo the clasp holding the shutters closed. The wooden slats swing open like a door—so primitive compared to the flawless glass windowpanes in Kingsland.

Everything’s primitive here.

Even me.

Which was exactly Father’s plan.

I can’t help but think how much further along I would be in every facet of my life if I had grown up in Kingsland. If I hadn’t been held back from getting a broader education. From reading widely. From being and doing anything I wanted—with whoever I wanted to.

I realize now that it was intentional to keep me like a plant housed in a small pot, starved of sunshine and water so I wouldn’t bloom. I accepted it. Somewhat. But the idea of going back to that now is unbearable. I’ve grown. I don’t fit any longer.

Claustrophobia wraps a tight band around my lungs.

Everything has fallen apart so fast. What do I do?

Free Tristan, that much I know. And I have to believe I can escape as well, and that I can make it back to Kingsland and hopefully clear my name.

But after Father’s confession, there’s a fire of outrage that isn’t burning out. He can’t get away with this. He’s destroying so many lives to maintain his control.

If I did speak up against him, the wedding would be a perfect time—provided Tristan had escaped. All the clan leaders would be present. I could tell the truth, then suggest a vote that Liam become Saraf now.

It’s a bold and extremely dangerous plan, but one that could have maximum impact before I make my escape.

It all hinges on setting Tristan free.

Outside my window, horses whinny and trot close by. Soldiers talk. Their boots shuffle along the paths, snicking through grass as they patrol. They’re on high alert. What do they know?

By now, Tristan’s back in Hanook, locked away. He’s probably not more than a mile from me, but if I went to find him, I’d almost certainly be caught—which I could live with if it wouldn’t be Tristan who would pay the price. Father would make sure to teach me a lesson.

He wouldn’t even have to torture Tristan to destroy me. Father could simply reveal to him that I’m marrying Liam. Tomorrow. Would Tristan know I’d been coerced? Or would he think I’d abandoned him? Betrayed him? I seize a brass candleholder from the table and hurl it across the room. It cracks against the wall, the flame flickering out.

A thundering knock comes from the front door, and I jump, my breaths surging in and out of me. Did a soldier hear the crash? Are they coming to investigate? Or are they scouts here to report? I stride to my door and open it an inch.

“I don’t want to hear it. Go. To the horses!”

Father shouts. “Meet on Solomon Trail.”

Footsteps pound through the house, then disappear. What’s going on? I count to ten before slipping out of my room. “Hello?”

I call out, grabbing a flickering wall candle to illuminate my way.

The house is empty.

This isn’t the first burst of activity tonight as Father attempts to outwit Kingsland’s next move. But this is the first time he’s gone with them. My stomach bottoms out.

Is he being cautious? Paranoid?

Or is Kingsland here?

Whatever the situation, he’s distracted. This is my chance to leave undetected.

Hurrying to the weapons box in the kitchen, I set down the candle and grab two knives. One, a switchblade that I shove into the pocket of my shorts, and the other, a dagger that I keep in my hand—a hand that has grown sweaty with Father’s threats hanging like smoke in the air. If caught, I could say I thought we were under attack, but will he believe me? Or will Tristan be tortured for my disobedience?

Tristan’s probably already been tortured for information. Father only promised to keep him alive.

With renewed resolve, I slip on my shoes and denim jacket, then open the front door. Thanks to the torches glowing in the yard, I can see the space is empty. But a couple of horses remain at the hitching post. Not all the soldiers are gone. I’ll need to be careful.

“Have they broken through our lines?”

asks a voice behind me.

A scream escapes my lips, and I spin, finding my mother.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her gaze slips over my shoulder to sweep our property.

“The soldiers raced off again,”

I say but can’t meet her eyes. “I’m going out there to make sure everything’s okay.”

“No! It could be the Kingsland.”

I hope so. My feet take a step. “We would have heard the attack siren. It’s probably a false alarm, or maybe someone’s hurt.”

I’ve reached the bottom of the porch stairs.

“Isadora!”

I hesitate but then keep going, pretending I didn’t hear her. This may be my only chance.

“Nothing good will come from going to him.”

My eyes close. I wasn’t sure what she knew, but it’s clearly more than I thought. I pivot to glare at her. “You’re right. None of this is good. He’s facing a lifetime of imprisonment while I’m expected to . . .”

I can’t finish.

Her face remains impassive except for her eyes, which have taken on a glassy sheen. “His guards know not to let you speak with him. What you’re trying to do isn’t even possible.”

How would she know what they’ve been instructed? “Do you know where Tristan is?”

Her gaze darts away. “I can’t tell you. Your father—”

“Then don’t tell him.”

I wait, but when she says nothing, I repeat my question, only louder. “Where is Tristan?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, but you’re not listening to me. I know I have to marry Liam . . . that’s the only choice left to me. But can’t you allow me this one act of mercy? To speak to Tristan one last time?”

We must look like statues in the night air as we stare each other down. She’s lived in obedience to Father and his rules since she was in her youth, but surely she can rise above it for me, her daughter.

For once.

“Please,” I beg.

Her head shakes the tiniest amount.

Hurt weaves through the channels of my heart like a ribbon soaked in fire.

“Fine. I’ll find him myself.”

I resume my path, leaving her standing there. She doesn’t call for me again.

I make it past our barn and search for any sign of soldiers. There’s a trail leading to the house behind ours—the Sicarts’ home. This is as good a place as any to begin. The yard is lit, leaving me exposed. I dash into the shadows as their baby’s cries leak through the open windows, a reminder that patrols aren’t the only ones who could report me.

Branches scratch at my bare legs, my cotton shorts useless for any protection or warmth. Most frustrating of all, I’m relying on the connection as a guide. But am I not getting anything because Tristan is too far inside the house? Sleeping? Or truly not here?

A stick cracks to my right, and I freeze but see nothing. Finding the courage to move on is slow and tenuous with my feet crunching into the ground, announcing every step. By the time I complete a loop around the perimeter of the Sicarts’ home, ten minutes have probably gone by.

This is taking too long. I need to be more strategic. Spinning in a circle, I try to think like Father. Who might he use to hide Tristan?

Denver is Father’s most trusted man. There’s also my brother.

I huff. Father wouldn’t keep Tristan at Percy’s home—the possibility of me finding Tristan there is too great.

But maybe that’s the point. Having Tristan close is a reminder for me to toe the line.

I walk through a shallow bush and into Percy’s backyard, not stopping until my body presses against the cold logs that make up his bedroom. Closing my eyes, I open myself up to the connection, allowing my love and heartache for Tristan to amplify it. I call for Tristan. Then wait. A thread of warmth curls around me in response.

He’s here.

Latching onto the gentle heat, I follow it like a rope to the bedroom along the side.

Tristan.

He rouses, and the connection rejoices. There’s a ferocity to it as we come together, reunited, crashing into each other’s heads. A whimper emerges from my throat from the pain. The pleasure. The relief.

Where are you? he sends me.

I’m outside. Are there guards near you? How many?

He shows me a memory of interacting with three guards, though only one is within sight at the moment. Percy’s not one of them, and I’m not sure if that’s good or not. Once again, Tristan is tied up, but this time, he’s on a bed. I recognize where he is and take a few steps to the left to be closer.

Eight inches of wood is all that separates him from freedom. Both his and mine. If Tristan breaks out, then he can’t be used against me. There’ll be nothing stopping me from speaking the truth. I show Tristan that there aren’t any guards outside. I have two knives, one for each of us. If I can get inside, we could use them to set you free.

No.

Tristan, we might not have another chance anytime soon.

I’m tied. Are you confident you can take down three fully armed guards? Kill them? Because that’s what it’s likely going to take. Do you have a horse ready? Supplies? Are you well enough to ride like hellfire for hours?

My nails dig into the logs in frustration. Okay, what if I only distract them? I could scream that Kingsland is attacking. One, maybe even all of them would leave.

I can practically feel him shaking his head. They’ve already discussed it. They know I’m a target, and under no circumstances are they to leave me alone.

My forehead falls against the wall. Then what, Tristan? There has to be something.

At the right time, we’ll get our moment.

He doesn’t understand. I don’t have time.

Give Vador a chance to find me. Give yourself time to heal.

Vador. I huff a humorless laugh. What must he think of me after what he was told happened to Enola?

It knocks the wind out of me. Unless we clear my name, there really is no place where Tristan and I can be together anymore.

What’s wrong?

When I don’t answer, Tristan looks for himself. He’s in every layer except my memories, seeking out my pain, separating physical from emotional, searching for what I won’t say.

My breath stutters out of me. I can’t hide it any longer.

I’m being forced to marry Liam.

My words land like the bombs that massacred the Republic. Wave after wave of fallout sweep over me—his confusion, then betrayal. When?

Tomorrow.

Then run, he says.

I can’t. My father will kill you if I step out of line.

Run away anyway. His anger comes through loud and clear.

I shake my head. He’s being irrational, but the apprehension in him tells me he knows it. Tears leak from my eyes. Run away to where, Tristan? To Kingsland? Thanks to Annette, they think I hurt Enola. I’ll be thrown in jail or worse, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it because you’ll be dead before I even make it there.

His curses ripple over my skin.

I don’t want to marry Liam, but I will if it will keep you alive. If it buys us time to get you out. I can’t risk your life. I won’t.

You’re already married.

My father doesn’t care. You’re Farron Banks’s son.

Tristan’s frustration and anger and jealousy boil over, scalding me.

Keeping Tristan alive—in whatever way I have to—is the fulfillment of my vows. You will get free, Tristan. We have to believe that. But when you escape, I need you to do something for me.

Anything.

My eyes clench tight. I need you to run without coming for me. Go and don’t look back. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.

There’s only one way Father stops controlling me or dragging me back from wherever I run. One way to end the clans’ constant attacks on Kingsland.

I have to stop him.

A pulse of fear goes through me, and already I feel a question forming in Tristan’s mind. But I can’t explain it any further or let him see what I have planned. Undoubtedly, he’d try to change my mind. It means our time is up. I push off from the wall.

Goodbye, Tristan. I love you. I’ll see you soon.

Within a few steps, the connection thins.

Wait. Isadora—

Roots snag my feet as I trip down the dark path back to my house. The connection breaks off with a painful snap.

Father’s horses still aren’t back. Good. I don’t have to be quiet.

Mum springs from the couch as I crash through the door. She watches me cautiously as I struggle to catch my breath.

My eyes close. I will get Tristan out. This won’t end badly.

But what if I can’t do it?

What if I never see him again?

My heart suddenly feels as if it’s being milled into a pile of dust. “I have to—”

I take a step toward my room, needing to be alone, and somehow collide with Mum. Her arms wrap tight in an embrace.

I release a sob. “H-he . . . I can’t—”

“Shhhh, it’s okay. I know. I know.”

Her fingers thread into my hair, and that simple comfort makes me cling to her. Unleashes my tears. Seconds later, she lowers us to the floor.

I’m so tired when I finally stop crying. Thankfully, Mum’s still holding me—an extraordinary act of kindness, since she’s never been good with tears.

Has my disappearance softened her in other ways? Maybe now she’d be willing to hear the truth, even if it sounds like treason. I lift my head, knowing I need to tread carefully. “We were wrong. The people of Kingsland aren’t savages.”

The lines around her eyes immediately deepen.

“They want to be left alone. Or they did until we killed Farron. But Father won’t allow it.”

Her hands release me.

“You know what I’m talking about,”

I say, growing louder. More urgent. “You see it. He’s obsessed with hating them, but have you ever asked yourself why?”

“It doesn’t matter why.”

My jaw unhinges. “He’s throwing me to the wolves, trading me like a piece of property, and you don’t care why?”

“It’s not like that. And it’s not my place.”

“Of course it’s your—”

“Enough!”

Obediently, my mouth closes. But unlike any time before, I refuse to leave it that way. “What if I can’t stay silent anymore?”

“Then you risk death for being a traitor.”

“Well, maybe some things are worth dying for.”

I struggle to my feet. Whatever tender moment we just shared is gone. She hasn’t changed. “You’re exactly what he’s molded you to be. And you’re as much a part of the problem as he is.”

Her eyes cast to the floor as I leave.

I truly am alone.

When I get to my room, I shove back my books on my small table, nearly toppling them in my urgency. With flint, I relight my candle, rip out a page from the nearest text, and draw a map of Hanook. I mark the exact location Tristan can be found.

It’s an undeniable act of treason.

Now, I just need to find a way to get it to Vador.