I’ve been cooped up in Oliver’s tent for hours helping him sell his baked goods when he finally says, “Why don’t we take a walk?”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I grab both our cloaks and hold the front tent flap open for him. He eases through and tosses his cloak across his shoulders to ward off the brisk afternoon breeze.
Sliding my arm through his, I drag in a deep breath of air layered with the scents of the Market—candle wax, leather cloaks, mutton, sun-warmed produce, dirt.
“Ready?” I tug his arm, and he laughs as we set off through the Market.
We circle a small cluster of men haggling over a small gray donkey with drooping ears, our steps slow enough to accommodate Oliver’s measured tread.
“I’m glad you’ve made your peace with your Dad’s … absence,” he says.
I flinch and look at my feet. I haven’t made my peace with that, but I don’t want to tell Oliver our plans until just before we leave. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I can’t bear to put the shadow of an imminent good-bye over our day.
He pulls me to a stop in front of a stall selling steaming hot skewers of beef and onions. “Two, please.”
“It’s too expensive,” I whisper to him, even though I know he won’t listen.
He treats me to one of his wide, gentle smiles, his dark eyes shining. “Who else am I going to spend my money on? I already know you won’t let me buy you any of the pretty, frilly things girls your age like to have, and I’m not about to purchase another weapon to add to your collection.”
“Because I don’t like pretty, frilly things. And there’s nothing wrong with having a nice collection of weapons.”
His smile looks sad around the edges. “That may be my fault. Jared didn’t know how to raise a girl, and when he hired me to look after you in his absences, I didn’t do any better.”
I frown as I take my beef skewer, the juices running down the stick to sear my fingertips. “Or maybe that’s just the way I am. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He wraps his arm around me. “I didn’t say there was. You’re a wonderful girl. I just worry I didn’t do enough to make up for you not having your mama alive to raise you.”
I lean my head against his shoulder, and then take a bite of the delicious beef. “You and Dad are all I ever needed.”
“And now Logan.”
Do I need Logan? We’ve fumbled our way into what feels like the beginnings of a solid friendship, but I’m still constantly looking to avoid awkward moments in our conversations. Moments where he remembers I once said I loved him, and he once said I’d get over it. The memory of his palm pressed to mine makes my heart beat a little faster, and I tug Oliver away from the food stand.
Oliver clears his throat loudly. “With your dad gone, and your mama dead, I guess it falls to me to explain the way things, um, work between a man and a woman.”
“What? No.” I shake my head violently. Nothing could be more awkward than Oliver giving me the here’s-where-babies-come-from talk.
“Unless you’d rather have this conversation with Logan.”
I stand corrected. “Stop right now.”
We turn the corner by the alchemist’s and move toward the gate, still choked with citizens coming to trade with the band of highwaymen who’ve set up temporary camp at the edge of Baalboden’s perimeter. The sun hangs in the sky like a ripe orange, though the breeze still carries the last remnants of winter’s chill.
“You’re nearly of Claiming age. Soon, men will look at you in a certain way. Even Logan might look at you differently.”
I remember the intensity in Logan’s eyes as we leaned close to each other in his kitchen. The way his hand felt pressed against my skin. The moment I realized I’d misjudged his intentions and his courage. I don’t know if Logan is looking at me differently now, but I feel like I can see him clearly for the first time in all the years I’ve known him. The new understanding I have of him makes my heart ache just a little for the two years of lost friendship my wounded pride demanded.
“I don’t want you to accept a Claim by just any man who looks half decent and has a roof to offer. You’re worth more than this entire town put together, Rachel-girl. Don’t you forget it.”
“You’re biased.”
He laughs, a warm, rich sound that vibrates through my cheek as I press against him. “Maybe I am. But when the time comes, don’t settle. Make sure the man you choose sees you as you truly are and loves you for it.”
“I will.”
“Sure is going to be a proud day for me when I see you decked out in that finery on the Claiming stage. I just hope I live long enough to be a great-granddaddy to your children.” He finishes his meat and tosses his stick aside.
“Of course you will.” A sharp pain slices into me as I realize if Logan and I disappear into the Wasteland with Dad, Oliver will miss seeing me Claimed, and he’ll never be a great-granddaddy to my future children. I glance at a passing guard, resplendent in his military uniform, and my steps falter as the full impact of our plan hits me. Not only will Oliver miss those important moments in my life, he’ll be the only one left here to pay the price for our deception. I have no doubt the Commander will torture and kill Oliver as a lasting example of the price of disobedience and disloyalty.
I tighten my hand around Oliver’s arm and make a decision. Logan will just have to figure out a way to smuggle Oliver out with us. I refuse to leave him behind.
We’re nearly past the gate when the ground beneath us trembles. Little pebbles and loose grains of sand skip and slide across the cobblestones. Outside the gate, someone screams.
I lock eyes with Oliver, and he pushes me off the road as the citizens nearest the gate panic. Knocking each other down, Protectors half-dragging their women, they race past us. I stumble off the cobblestones and onto the uneven space of grass between the gate and the Market road. Oliver is right behind me.
The vibrations beneath us increase in strength, and I dig my fingers into Oliver’s arm.
“It will surface outside the Wall,” he says. His voice sounds like he’s carrying a weight he can’t bear to shoulder.
I look through the still-open gate and my stomach sinks. Baalboden citizens are out there. They left for the sanctioned highwaymen trading day, and they won’t have time to cross the perimeter of scorched earth to get back inside the Wall before the Cursed One arrives.
Even as I finish the thought, several citizens break free of the frightened, milling pack at the edge of the Wasteland and sprint toward the safety of the gate. Others scramble to climb trees or get in the highwaymen’s wagons, though I can’t see how that will help. A guard leaves the gatehouse and races past us on horseback, no doubt heading toward the Commander’s compound.
“Get back. Rachel, get back!” Oliver pulls at me as another wave of terrified citizens fight to get out of harm’s way and back into Lower Market.
I take an elbow to the chest from a husky man in a tattered cloak, and spin out of the way before the mule rider behind him can crush me beneath his steed’s hooves.
“Rachel!” Oliver yells as the same husky man gets knocked off the road by the mule and slams into Oliver, sending them both sprawling. The ground shakes so much it’s hard to find my footing, but I claw my way over to them, grab the man’s arm, and wrestle him off Oliver.
Behind me, the screams are eclipsed by a raw, primal roar of fury, and I whip my head around to see the glistening black length of the Cursed One burst through the ground. It’s huge, nearly half the height of the Wall, and just as thick. It’s my first actual sighting of the beast, and every instinct in me screams to run, but I can’t look away. Besides, running means leaving Oliver behind, and I won’t do that. I just have to hope the legend about the Cursed One never attacking inside Baalboden’s Wall is true.
Lashing its serpentlike tail, the beast crushes two of the citizens running toward the gate, but its attention is on the horde of highwaymen and citizens in front of it. Horror trembles through me as the creature opens its mouth and strafes the closest wagons and people with fire.
“Rachel, leave!” Oliver is yelling at me, but I can barely hear him over the screams.
People are burning, throwing themselves on the ground and beating at the flames, but the beast just keeps spewing fire at anything that moves. Sickened, I turn and hang on to Oliver. I want to cry, to give voice to the rising shock and terror within me, but Dad taught me better than that. Losing your head in a crisis is a good way to become the crisis.
Instead, I loop my arm under Oliver’s and tug. “Get up. We can’t stay here.”
The man with the tattered cloak still lies where I threw him, his eyes fastened on the destruction outside the gate. I punch him in the shoulder. “Hey! Help me get him up.”
He rips his gaze away from the carnage and barely glances at me. “Help him yourself,” he says, and shoves himself to his feet. He’s gone before I can tell him what a filthy coward he is.
I swear and plant my feet so I can leverage Oliver off the ground. Behind me, the creature roars, people wail, and fire snaps viciously. I refuse to look. As I finish hauling Oliver to his feet, hoofbeats pound the cobblestones. I look up. The Commander now sits astride the guard’s horse and is galloping straight for the gate, his whip flashing as he urges the terrified animal toward a certain doom.
Oliver wraps his arm around my waist as the Commander reaches the gate, which is choked with desperate citizens fleeing the attack. He never slows. Instead, he slashes with the whip, driving people into the side of the Wall. One man can’t move out of his way fast enough, and the Commander rides over the top of him. The man lies crumpled and still in the Commander’s wake.
He’s going to die. Be disintegrated right in front of us. Fear and bitter hope twine themselves together within me until I can’t tell them apart. I don’t want Baalboden to be thrown into leaderless chaos, but I can’t pretend I’d mourn him.
The beast lashes its tail, narrowly missing the Commander. His horse shies and refuses to move closer, despite repeated lashes of the whip. Abandoning the horse, the Commander leaps to the ground and strides toward the creature. People still stagger in through the gate, burned and limping. In the Wasteland, little remains of the highwaymen and citizens trapped in the Cursed One’s fire.
Before the Commander can reach the beast, it trembles, a shudder running the length of its monstrous black body. Pointing its snout into the air, it sniffs and shudders again. Then just as suddenly as it appeared, it dives back below the ground, leaving the Commander standing alone outside the gate.
“Why?” I look at Oliver. “Why did it leave like that?”
He stares at the flames, his expression haunted. “Some say the Commander has power over it.”
“That’s ridiculous. The Commander never even got that close to it,” I say as the Commander ignores the victims of the beast’s fire and strides back toward Baalboden.
“No one else showed the courage to face down the Cursed One in defense of our citizens,” Oliver says quietly, like it pains him to admit it.
The Commander reaches the gate and steps over the body lying there without a downward glance. Fury bites at me, chasing the last of my terror away.
“Was it courage to whip people out of the way? To run a man down like his life was worth nothing?”
“Shh.” Oliver shakes my arm as the Commander nears us. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Somebody has to.”
Oliver’s voice is low and fierce. “The Cursed One never attacks inside Baalboden’s Wall. Living under the Commander’s rule is the price we pay for our protection. In here, we’re safe.”
“Not safe enough.” I meet the Commander’s dark gaze as he strides past us. His stare is penetrating, and my hands grow clammy at the way his eyes slide from me to Oliver as if he’s just remembered something important.
We stand on the grass until the Commander is long out of sight. I spend the entire time thinking of ways Logan and I can take Oliver with us when we go.