Deception (45 page)
She holds herself very still and then turns to look at Portia and Maxwell. A look passes between them, fraught with meaning, and then she turns back to me. “Are you able to replicate this device?”
I take a deep breath and look her straight in the eye. “Yes. I need some specific supplies to complete the replica, but I understand the tech. Not only do I understand it, I can improve it. I can make a device with a more powerful signal than Rowansmark’s.”
Maxwell and Portia exchange a swift glance, but Clarissa doesn’t look away from me. Instead, she says, “You asked for our hospitality, for our help, and we gave it to you freely. You neglected to tell us you’d brought a killer inside of our walls. Especially one intent on killing people associated with you.”
“He should go.” Portia speaks for the first time, her voice soft but unyielding. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and says, “If we cast him out, the killer will have to follow.”
“You aren’t throwing Logan out into the Wasteland.” Adam steps to my side.
“If we decide—”
“Forget what you decide. He’s one of ours. If he leaves, we all leave.” Frankie moves between me and the members of the triumvirate.
My throat closes as Quinn hauls himself out of bed on shaky legs and stands beside Frankie to form a wall between me and those who want to cast me out.
“But he brought this on you,” Portia says. “He brought death and destruction. We can’t afford to risk the same.” There’s an undercurrent of fear in her voice. Willow casts a quick glance my way, and I give a slight nod. We aren’t just talking about the risk of one tracker whose sole focus is on me. Whatever Portia fears, she thinks our problems will make the problems already existing inside Lankenshire worse.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Rachel says, and the fierce conviction in her voice warms me like nothing else. “It wasn’t Logan’s decision to steal from Rowansmark. That was the Commander. And if you think returning the device to Rowansmark and just
hoping
that they never decide to use it is a good move, then you’re too shortsighted to be leaders.”
Portia’s mouth snaps shut, and she looks at Clarissa.
“You’re acting like Logan killed our people. He didn’t. Some sick freak of a tracker did that for reasons that make sense to no one but him and Logan’s father,” Adam says, and places a hand on my shoulder. “Logan has fought for us. Guarded us. Rescued us time and again.”
There’s an ache in my chest that is slowly spreading. I thought once the others understood how much my past and my choices had cost them, that they’d be angry with me. Unable to look me in the eye. Instead, they’re standing by me in a united front. I’ve badly underestimated my people.
My friends.
“We have the safety of our own people to think of.” Maxwell looks over his shoulder as if expecting a killer to walk through the door at any moment.
“Maybe if we put him in the dungeon it will satisfy the tracker and keep him from killing again,” Portia says.
Frankie’s shoulders bunch as he raises his fists. Willow whips an arrow out of her quiver and aims it at Portia.
“Take one step toward Logan, and you get to be the first one to die,” she says.
Clarissa raises her hand in a placating gesture. “There will be no violence.” She locks eyes with Willow for a long moment. It’s clear that she expects Willow to cave and lower her bow.
It’s equally clear that Willow is prepared to outstare her for as long as it takes.
Clarissa finally lowers her hand and says, “Portia, I thank you for your suggestion, but I’d like to offer an additional opinion on the matter if I may.”
Portia nods, and I get the feeling that Clarissa’s question was mostly a show of politeness. I doubt anyone in Lankenshire says no to her very often.
“It seems to me that we are discussing taking action based on fear, instead of stepping back to look at the bigger picture. I don’t believe placating a murderer by imprisoning an innocent man is the kind of careful, just approach Lankenshire is known for,” she says.
“I appreciate your thoughts, Clarissa,” Portia says. “But we can’t let Logan McEntire and the others remain within our city when we know there’s a killer on the loose among them. We owe our people a safe, stable environment. We owe these people nothing.”
“They are people in need, Portia.” Clarissa’s voice is as hard as the floor beneath us. “The humanity in us requires that we take steps to help them if at all possible.”
“But—”
“Besides”—Clarissa lowers her voice and steps toward me—“we need that device.”
“In exchange for my freedom, and for offering my people shelter, I’ll build a replica of the Rowansmark device, along with a power booster so that any attempt to override your controls will be thwarted.”
The triumvirate exchange a look I can’t decipher, and put their heads together to discuss my offer too quietly for me to hear.
Finally, Clarissa meets my gaze. “You’re absolutely sure your power booster defeats any override attempts?”
“I am.”
“Who else knows you can build this?”
“Just my inner circle of friends and advisors.”
Portia says quietly, “If Rowansmark found out—”
“They won’t.” Clarissa’s voice is crisp, though she speaks softly. “We keep the knowledge contained to the three of us and Logan’s inner circle. If we give him a workspace in the council building itself, we should be able to keep this a secret from our Rowansmark keepers.”
Time feels like it’s slowing down while my heart is speeding up. Willow raises her bow again, and Frankie reaches for his sword while Rachel swears and tries to get out of bed.
My hand grips my sword hilt as I ask, “What do you mean, your Rowansmark keepers? If you’re in bed with Rowansmark, we’re leaving. Now.”
“We aren’t in bed with them by choice. None of the city-states are.” Maxwell’s words are forceful, but there’s fear in his eyes.
Clarissa straightens her back. “You aren’t the first to bring us news of Rowansmark’s ability to call and control the
tanniyn
.” It sounds like she says “ta-neen.”
“The
tanniyn
?” Rachel asks. “Do you mean the Cursed One?”
“Such a silly name,” Portia says. “
Tanniyn
is a Hebrew word that means dragon or serpent. Because the creatures who roam the Wasteland are both dragon and serpent, our early scholars felt it an appropriate classification for the beast. I believe most, if not all, of the other city-states agreed with our scholars and use that classification as well.”
“We didn’t,” Rachel says. “But then, keeping his people undereducated and superstitious sounds like something the Commander would do.”
“We called it the Cursed One because that’s the term Jared used,” Quinn says. “In our village, we just called it the beast.”
I look at Clarissa. “Who told you about Rowansmark’s ability to call and control the Cursed . . . the
tanniyn
?”
“Rowansmark itself.” Her mouth is grim. “They showed up here a month ago. Gave us a very convincing demonstration. Overrode the sonar signal all the leaders use to keep the beast at bay.” She taps the thick silver chain she wears around her neck. “Then they explained to us that they were now our watchdogs. They would keep the
tanniyn
from attacking as long as we paid a hefty protection fee each year. They left some trackers behind as their eyes and ears. If it looks like we’re considering rebellion against Rowansmark, the trackers will call the
tanniyn
and destroy us all.”
“Not if I build you a device that can overpower theirs.” I hold out my hand. “I will give you tech capable of freeing you from Rowansmark’s tyranny in exchange for an alliance with my people. With
me
.”
She turns to look at Maxwell and Portia for a long moment. I’m not sure how to interpret their expressions, but Clarissa doesn’t share my difficulty. She turns to face me and takes my hand.
“We are allies.” Her grip is firm. “We will give you a workspace in the council building under the guise of allowing you to borrow our library to research the city-states north of us. That should help keep the trackers from becoming suspicious. Make a list of supplies you need and meet us there in one hour. Elim can show you where it is.”
Without another word, Maxwell, Clarissa, and Portia turn and leave the room. The second they reach the hall, Willow says, “Close the door. We don’t need an audience for what I’m about to tell you.”
LOGAN
“I
’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Willow asks as Adam shuts the door behind the Lankenshire triumvirate.
“The good news,” I say, and hope she knows better than to admit that I gave her the task of hiding the device in the Wasteland. It’s not that I don’t trust everyone in the room. It’s that the fewer people who know about it, the less likely it is that Rowansmark trackers can torture my people and discover the truth.
“I caught the tracker who was on the field when the fires were set. Or at least a tracker who looked just like him.”
“Where?” I ask, as Rachel, Quinn, Frankie, and Adam lean forward, their eyes riveted on Willow.
“About forty yards into the eastern Wasteland. He must have thought any chance of being caught was gone now that we were inside the city wall.” She shrugs. “He thought wrong.”
“What were you doing out in the Wasteland?” Quinn asks, his voice just as raw and raspy as Rachel’s.
“Hunting.” Her eyes gleam. “And I found what I was looking for.”
With the tracker in custody, perhaps I can get some answers of my own. Not that a tracker will give me information of his own volition. I’ll have to get my hands dirty, maybe do a few things that until a month ago I’d have sworn I’d never do, but I will have answers. Whoever is masquerading as a loyal Baalboden survivor is going to be caught and punished.
“What’s the bad news?” I ask, and Willow purses her lips like she’s just sucked on a lemon.
“He didn’t survive.”
“What didn’t he survive?” Frankie frowns at her.
She shrugs. “Me. He found it necessary to try to kill me after I’d already defeated him. I defended myself, and now he’s dead.”
I swallow the harsh tang of disappointment, and force myself to say, “It’s okay. At least you removed that threat. Now we just have to figure out which of our people knows about my past and—”
“Oh, I don’t think we’re looking for one of your people.” Willow’s dark eyes find mine, and something feral lies in their depths. “The tracker had a wristmark on his right arm. It looked identical to the ones everyone in camp wears.”
“Rowansmark trackers don’t have wristmarks,” Rachel says.
“Well, this one did.” Willow fists her hands on her hips as if daring us to call her a liar.
I feel sick. Unsteady. My blood roars through me, and I have to grab the end of Rachel’s bed to hold myself upright as the final pieces fall into place.
“No wonder we couldn’t find the traitor in our camp. He had a wristmark. He’d studied Baalboden. He knew just enough to masquerade as one of us, and we never questioned it because he looked the part.” I can’t stand still. Not when so much fury fuels me. Right under my nose this entire time. A tracker. Sneaking into my tent and leaving messages. Slitting throats. Poisoning us and then watching us burn. I stalk across the room and wheel back around to see the rage that burns in me reflected on every face I see.
“I know you said to leave the last message in the middle of the road, but it’s a clue. After seeing the wristmark on that tracker, I figured we needed all the clues we could get,” Willow says as she thrusts a piece of parchment at me.
It hasn’t survived the night very well. It’s stained with damp, and the ink is smudged in several places. I wish I could go back and reverse my decision to leave it where it lay, but wishing won’t solve the problem.
“Spread it out,” I say, and pull the small table beside Rachel’s bed over to me. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Willow lays the parchment on the table’s surface and secures two opposing corners by placing a mug on one and a jar of salve on the other. I peer at the words scrawled across the page and try to force it all to make sense.
Traitors d erve to ie. You h ve b n dged.
“The first sentence is obviously ‘Traitors deserve to die.’ Not quite sure about the end of the second sentence, though.” Adam taps the parchment lightly.
“Traitors deserve to die. You”—I draw my finger in a line beneath the other words and go for the obvious—“have been . . . what? You have been—”
“Judged?” Adam asks.
“Sounds like the same pile of self-righteous idiocy he’s been saying all along.” Willow waves her hands in the air with more drama than I realized she possessed. “Your debt is unpaid! Traitors deserve to die! You’ve been judged!” She looks at me. “Wait until we catch him. Then I’ll show him what it’s like to be judged.”
“Judge and be judged.” Rachel’s voice shakes as she struggles to sit up.