I scramble over the lip of the Wall and race into the rounded stone turret a few yards to my left. Rain pounds the walkway as I grab the magnetic handgrips I’d snatched from Logan’s supply of inventions before leaving with him for Sylph’s house. The metal circles feel cold against my skin, and I hurriedly strap them onto my palms. I don’t have long before the guards return.
I wave my hand cautiously in front of the iron torch bracket beside the doorway, and the handgrip slams my arm to the bracket. It takes most of my strength to yank myself free. These will easily adhere to the steel ribbing on the outside of the Wall and hold my weight as I descend. It pains me to admit it, but Logan is a genius.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
I drag my cloak closer to my body. The rain is falling in opaque sheets. I’ll be lucky if I can see two yards in front of me. Which means the guards won’t be able to see me either.
But it also means I can’t see what waits for me in the Wasteland. I’m not too worried about highwaymen or wild animals. What I can’t kill, I can elude. Dad trained me well. Facing the Cursed One, however, is another matter.
We don’t know how long the beast lurked in its lair beneath the surface, but we know what set it loose. A rich businessman searching for a new source of renewable fuel bought up land all over the globe, hired crews, and on one fateful day, had every crew drill down through a layer of metamorphic rock deep beneath the earth’s crust. Instead of finding a new source of fuel, the crews woke immense, fire-breathing beasts who tracked their prey by sound. Driven wild by the noise of the civilizations living above them, or perhaps driven by nothing more than a feral instinct to destroy anything that might be able to destroy them, the beasts surfaced and laid waste to miles of densely populated areas each time they broke through the ground.
In the ensuing chaos, every military branch positioned their most experienced squadrons in densely populated areas with the plan to set traps for the beasts. It was a suicide mission. No one could predict when or where the creatures would surface, and any troops not perfectly in position were immediately destroyed. Several squadrons got lucky and blew a beast or two apart before they themselves were killed, but the military was shattered before they could kill them all.
As a last-ditch effort, the government on our continent sent all they had left—a team of young, inexperienced soldiers and a handful of geologists—down into the bowels of the earth to seal our beast back into its lair. The team, led by Commander Chase, failed, and when the surviving members returned to the surface, there was no government. No law and order. Nothing but panic, fire, and one surviving monster systematically killing the survivors.
The Commander and his team took charge, organizing food and relief efforts, and proving repeatedly that, for reasons they refused to share, the remaining Cursed One never attacked them or anyone around them. It didn’t take long for the survivors to rally behind the protected men and proclaim them their new leaders. Within a decade, nine city-states led by the Commander and the other members of his team stretched across our continent, offering citizens shelter and protection in exchange for swearing allegiance to the leader of that city.
Leaving the protection of Baalboden behind meant risking an encounter with the beast, especially since the Commander built his city-state closer to the creature’s den than any of the other leaders. One wrong move, and I’ll never be heard from again.
Which means I can’t make a mistake. My hands shake as I rehearse my plan.
Run out the doorway. Grab the edge of the Wall. Vault over. Slam my hands against the steel ribbing as I fall. Slide down and escape into the vast, treacherous darkness of the Wasteland with nothing but my wits and my knife.
It can work. It has to work.
I take a deep breath and sprint out the door.
I haven’t gone more than three yards before I slam into a hard, unyielding obstacle. Strong fingers reach out to grab my arms, and I look up.
Commander Chase.
Terror rips a white-hot path through my body, and I can barely breathe.
I’m dead.
He stares at me for an excruciating moment, then shoves me through the turret’s arched doorway, two members of his Brute Squad on his heels. One of them strikes flint at the lantern resting on the room’s table, and the sudden light stings. Fury burns in the Commander’s dark eyes, and my knees threaten to collapse beneath me.
We take three steps into the room before he lets go of me with a shove that propels me backward toward the table. I stumble over the edge of my cloak and crumple to the floor, twisting my body in midair so I land with my back to him.
I need a second to tug Logan’s magnetic hand grips off my palms and shove them into my inner cloak pocket. I might be going down, but I don’t need to take Logan with me. Covering my actions by struggling to stand again, I feel a tiny rush of relief when the grips slide into my pocket without incident.
“You’ve been keeping secrets from me.” There’s no room in his tone for avoiding the inevitable. The two guards with him move to flank me, their hands already wrapped around the hilts of their swords.
I shake my head, my blood roaring in my ears.
He whips his right hand into the air, palm facing me, and the guards draw their swords.
“Tell me the truth, girl, or die. I don’t care which you choose.”
“I was trying to sneak over the Wall,” I say in a voice that’s parchment thin. “I want to find my father.”
He nods once, and the guard beside me lays the edge of his sword against my neck. I raise my chin as the silver bites into my skin, but I refuse to beg for mercy. He should’ve sent a tracker when my father failed to return from his last mission. If he didn’t have mercy for his best courier, he isn’t going to find any to spare for me.
“I knew it.” He spits the words at me. “On the day his will was read, I could see that you knew something about his whereabouts.” The smile he gives me makes me feel sick. “It’s nice to know the extra effort I’ve taken to have you followed since then is about to pay off. Now, where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
His smile stretches until it strains against the thick rope of scar tissue marring his face. “Of course you know where he is. He’s probably supposed to meet you on the other side of the Wall. A girl doesn’t go out into the Wasteland alone.” His tone is full of contempt, his hand still raised as if at any moment he might fold it into a fist, giving the guard permission to kill me.
“Why not?” I ask, proud that my voice only shakes a little.
His smile dies slowly. “You’re in desperate need of someone to teach you your proper place.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling, and try to ignore the way the silver blade at my throat scrapes my skin raw.
“Where is he?” the Commander asks.
“I don’t know.”
He draws his own sword and steps close. The guard withdraws his blade from my neck but doesn’t sheath it.
I can smell the warm, wet wool of the Commander’s military jacket mixed with the dank, foul scent of his breath. My knees feel like liquid, and I have to clamp my teeth together to keep them from chattering as his dark eyes devour me.
“You’re lying.” His lip curls around the words as they fall like stones between us. “If you don’t know where he is, how did you expect to find him?”
“I was going to track him.”
“Track him?” The Commander steps back and turns to the guard beside me. “She was going to track him.” They both laugh.
Anger straightens my spine. “I can do it.”
“Look at you.” The Commander flicks his sword at me, and I flinch as the tip slices the air beside my face. “Nothing but a girl who thinks she can track one of my best couriers into the Wasteland with only pants and a cloak for protection. Women like you are the entire reason we need the Protectorship protocol. We save ourselves from your foolishness.”
“It isn’t foolish. I know what I’m doing. My father saw to that.”
In the sudden silence following my announcement, I hear the heavy patter of the rain outside the room as it bounces off the stone walkway. I also hear the low sound of men’s voices just beyond the turret. Before I can do more than cast my eyes toward the door, Commander Chase wheels toward me, his expression reminding me of a predator about to pounce on his prey.
“Did he, now?”
I nod and force myself to swallow past the icy lump forming at the back of my throat. I have to convince him Dad is still alive, and I’m qualified to find him. My plan to sneak over the Wall might be dashed to pieces, but there was nothing to say I couldn’t head into the Wasteland on a Commander-sanctioned mission. Even Logan wouldn’t be able to argue against that.
Well, he’d argue. But he wouldn’t be able to stop me.
“And how did he make sure you, a girl, knew how to survive the Wasteland?”
“He took me with him on some of his courier missions.”
Something vicious flashes across his face, and he smiles, a horrible parody of mirth. I take a step back and bump against the table behind me.
More guards enter the room, pushing another man in front of them. I barely spare them a glance, but freeze when I see who it is they’ve caught.
Logan.
My heart clenches, a sudden pain that makes it hard to hold Logan’s gaze as he stands to the left of the Commander, his hair plastered to his head, and his blue eyes locked on mine. I’m responsible for this. He’s only here because he’s trying to be a good Protector. No matter how angry I am at him for refusing to help me track Dad, he doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of the Commander’s wrath.
Maybe if I keep the Commander distracted with what I can offer in the effort to track down Dad, he’ll spare Logan whatever harsh consequence a Protector receives when his ward goes horribly astray.
Commander Chase doesn’t bother turning around. Instead, he takes a step toward me, crowding me against the table. “Did your father take you with him on his second to last mission?”
I open my mouth, but Logan shakes his head frantically and says, “No.”
The Commander tosses a glance over his shoulder. “Ah, the arrival of your Protector.” He swings his sword until the tip digs into the soft skin beneath my chin. I grip the table with clammy hands and try to remain absolutely still. “Not another word, or she dies.”
Logan’s hands curl into fists, but he clenches his jaw and remains silent.
The Commander’s sword remains steady as he says, “The truth, please. Did you go with your father on his second to last courier mission?”
“Yes.” I breathe the word, but even that slight movement scrapes my skin across his blade. The pain is sharp and quick, and a hot trickle of blood slowly snakes its way down my neck.
“Where did you go?”
“Rowansmark.” More pain. More blood.
Logan makes a sound that reminds me of a starving alley dog stalking his next meal.
The Commander smiles. “And here is where you give me either your secrets or your life.” His sword tip digs into my chin, and tears sting my eyes. “Did anything unusual happen on the trip to Rowansmark?”
I glance at Logan. His face is white. I can read the plea for silence in his eyes as easily as if he’d begged aloud. But I believe the Commander’s promise to kill me. And this is my only way out of Baalboden to track Dad. I have to tell the truth.
I try to tilt my chin away from the sword’s tip and pray I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life. “Yes.”