Rebel Song (12 page)

Elyra froze, feeling a sharp twinge in her chest.

“Um, yes, I do. I have been dedicated to my Friday appointment for some time now. Blame it on my tendencies toward the softer matters. Why
?
”

A pompous grin inflated Markus’ smooth cheeks.

“Now that I am in the final term of my internship, I am going to be in a full-time position of service to this great country, I thought I should donate my time more freely to those in need. I thought maybe I could join you some Friday in your efforts?”

Elyra’s heart nearly stopped. Anger bubbled up in her belly. In the time that she had been volunteering, no one had ever questioned her actions or intentions. That was
her
time.
Her
project.

“That’s very generous of you, but I’m sure your talents are required elsewhere. You wouldn’t want to waste your time tutoring Valley children, would you? I don’t imagine you have that kind of patience.”             

“Elyra,” he reached out and affectionately touched her shoulder. She stiffened. “I want to spend more time with you. If that means tutoring dirty street kids, I’ll do it,” he said laughing. She shook him off, irritated and offended.

“The dirty street kids have all the help they need, thank you. Besides, don’t we get enough time together in these dreadful council meetings?” Her formal façade cracked as she lost her patience. She loathed these attempts to cuddle up to her.

Markus sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Well then…can I take you out for dinner sometime? It would be fun to get out into the city, don’t you think?” She fought the urge to gag. He’d spent the past ten years doing everything he could to get in her way. Now, suddenly she was his soul mate?

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She averted her eyes.

“Why do you insist on pushing me away? After all we’ve been through, don’t I at least deserve a chance?”

She grimaced. Yes, they had known each other most of their lives. They had witnessed a lot growing up. But when had it ever been together? When had he ever been by her side and not knocking her out of the way to chase after her father? Before she could respond, Henri came down the hall and stopped next to them.

“There are my two favorite children,” Henri said in a jolly tone he never used when he was alone with his daughter. “Planning something fun for the afternoon?” Markus grinned and took Elyra’s hand.

“Just catching up. Lately, I feel we never have any time to connect.” Markus gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She firmly, yet gracefully, ripped her hand from his grip and smiled falsely.

“It’s so nice to see my girl spending time with the right sort,” Henri said. “She spends so much time knee-deep in poverty, I’ve half a mind to think she’ll up and marry a butcher’s son one of these days.”

“Duty calls for us all in different ways,” Elyra responded.

“My daughter, the philanthropist.”

“She has a good heart, Your Grace,” Markus chimed in.

Elyra put her hand to her heart an exaggerated gesture of flattery.

“Kind of you to say. But now you’ll have to excuse me. I have a great deal of poverty to attend to.” She offered a polite smile to Markus and her father and hurried down the hall.

She heard Markus call out a “we’ll catch up later” but pretended not to hear, bypassing the west wing lift and scrambling up the three flights of stairs. Once safely in her room, she threw down the padlock and sighed in relief, berating herself for letting Markus get under her skin.
Was he really that bad?
She
had
known him her entire life. As her father’s ward and his foster son after his parents died, he’d been like a brother to her—or more like an irritating cousin that wouldn’t go home. Even as a child he was just like the rest of them—hungry for power and control. Always so eager to stick his nose in political plans. True, he had grown up since he’d played soldier when they were children, tormenting her with wooden swords and sling shots. He was well spoken, ambitious and she supposed he was handsome in a manicured sort of way with gentle eyes and thick sandy hair always skillfully styled.

She shook her head at the thought. Despite his recent congeniality, she could hear every ambitious plot in his mind. She’d also grown up from the skinny, bratty princess that just wanted to run around outside and ride her horse backward without a saddle. She was preparing to rule a country—a vital part of the political system. She was educated, fluent in five languages, and some said she was even beautiful. At the risk of vanity, she knew she had grown into a good catch, even by princess standards. Markus had never been shy about his political aspirations and she presented a convenient stepping stone. How proud her father would be if the son he never had married the daughter he was stuck with. On paper they would have made a genius couple: the ambitious and disgustingly wealthy son of Batem  and the beautiful soft-hearted altruistic princess, side by side, curing the sick and feeding the hungry while restoring Arelanda to its glory days. It would
never
happen. Last she checked, even the daughter of the great King Henri the II of House Ballantyne had some say in her own life. She wouldn’t be anyone’s pawn.

CHAPTER 15

The room was dim and the air was thick with sweat and hot breath. A few antiquated overhead lamps flickered and buzzed and Rogan could hear the drip of water somewhere in the shadows. Cable sat at the front table, scouring over papers, squinting to read the words in the poor light. Donal and Ben sat in the corner, sipping dark red wine from a small canning jar with their eyes fixed hard on Cable. Iris hovered beside the table, stepping back and forth unnecessarily. Sibby, Mikkel and Alec sat cross-armed and brooding. Whatever Cable had just announced didn’t bode well for the group. Rogan cut through the crowd of tables to sit beside Donal and Ben. Donal was mindlessly rubbing his gray-streaked beard and Ben sucked away at a cigarette.

“What’s going on?” Rogan whispered. “Feels like a funeral in here.”

“Might as well be. The King’s going to be the death of us all, anyway,” Ben said. Rogan raised an eyebrow. “The council just passed a new farm tax to raise local distribution by two points.”

“Two points? They can’t do that! That’s a fortune,” Rogan snapped a little too loudly.

“Well they did,” Donal said. “And there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”

“Easy for you to say, old man,” Ben snapped. “It’s not your farm that’ll bear the brunt.”

“Oh no?” Donal turned to him. “And what do you suppose the vintners will have to do once the distribution taxes go up? They raise their damn costs, you half-wit. Then who do you think has to raise their costs to keep their profits from rotting away?” Donal pushed a wine glass toward Benton to make his point.

“Well then, we’re all fucked,” Ben picked up the glass and took a swig.

Rogan assessed his companions. Alec’s eyes were alive with that unpredictable rage of his. His twin sister Sibby scanned the room like a nervous deer. Mikkel sat still and calm, his hollow eyes stuck to the dirty cannery floor. Rogan knew his family’s financial situation was growing dire, but Mikkel was looking worse each time he saw him.

“So what’s the plan?” Rogan asked.

“Hasn’t been discussed yet. Iris just brought Cable the news,” Ben said.

“Iris? How did she find out?”

Donal twisted his mouth.             

“She snuck into a damn county government briefing at City Hall. A
private
briefing I might add,” Donal emphasized the last line loudly enough to pull Iris’ ear. “Got herself some fake government credentials. Wonder where she got those.” He turned, glaring at Rogan.

Thank you Jova,
Rogan thought.

“We can’t be the last to know these things, Da,” Iris said. “We’d already owe back taxes before they educate the Valley on the new laws, and you know it. We’re a bunch of pheasants in a barrel out here.”

“Damn risky behavior. I should never have let her hang around all of you degenerates.” Despite Donal’s misgivings about the situation, it was obvious even he knew Iris was right.

“It was good of you to bring it straight to Cable, Iris,” Rogan said, squeezing her forearm affectionately. “I hope you know how much you mean to this cause.”

Iris blushed and lowered her eyes, tugging on her black leggings absently.

At one time, she would have infiltrated the council itself if it meant winning Rogan’s affection. But he knew she had long come to accept that there was never going to be anything more between them. Regardless, her cheeks flushed at his touch and he did his best to ignore the effect he had on her.

“What are we going to do about what Ben brought us?” Rogan asked.

Donal sighed but didn’t look at him.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“What did Ben bring you?” Iris asked.

“Nothing,” Donal snapped. She scowled and opened her mouth to protest but Cable called out to hush the buzzing crowd, interrupting her.

“Quiet. Quiet!” Cable shouted. He was dressed in faded jeans and a plaid work shirt. His shaggy brown hair was loose and he was unshaven, but he still looked tall and commanding. “I’ve read over the bill. It’s all here, plain as day. Commencing January first of this coming year, all distribution of wine within the ten counties of Arelanda will be subject to a two point increase in local tax.”

An angry grumble erupted from the crowd.

“You can’t let those bastards get away with this!” A man shouted in a thick Northern brogue.

“It’s unconstitutional!” A woman yelled out.

The complaints flew through the room for a few minutes. Cable sat unmoved, taking it all in. He stared out at the crowd with blank eyes. Finally, he raised his hands to quite the crowd again.

“It’s unconstitutional, yes. We all know this. But it’s not illegal—”

“Taxes raised five points in the last year? How are we supposed to operate for any kind of profit at all?” Alec interrupted. “And for what purpose? To fund a greedy war? Where’s the legality in that?”

The crowd hissed in agreement.

“Please, let me finish,” Cable said. “I think it’s time we change up our efforts. We sit around complaining about the increase in taxes and the embargo on shipping. We argue about the constitutionality of the laws and the corruption of the King and council. But where does it get us?”

“It’s time to fight back!” Alec chimed in again.

Cable paused and stared at Alec.

“I agree. But not with violence.”

“When did you go soft?” Ben called out.

“There is a difference between strategic and soft, Benton. What did the violence get our predecessors? The wrong end of a ranger’s baton is what,” Cable said.

Rogan’s stomach clenched, his anger purring at the insinuation that their reckless violence was what got his father and uncle killed.

“Henri never reserved his batons for the unruly and blood-thirsty back then; what makes you think he’ll be any different now?” Benton added.

Cable looked both annoyed and surprised to hear his advocate contesting him. Ben and Rogan were his sworn loyal sidekicks, after all.

“Well of course not, Ben. A lot of innocent people have died for our cause. But what I’m saying is that had the Cause not started a chain of bombings and attacks, it might not have been reciprocated so ferociously.”

Benton smirked.

“And you think we’ll just be able to reason with them? Hey Ballantyne, I was thinking it would be more fair if we don’t pay higher taxes. How about you elect honest men to the council and  spread the wealth around.”

The crowd snickered softly.

“I don’t know Ben. Have you ever tried it?” Cable asked coolly.

“Colt Elwood was unarmed when they crushed his skull in front of his brother and eight-year old nephew. And don’t forget his father,” Ben pointed to Rogan. “Theron thought like that. He thought peaceful protest and reason would get them further than anything. What did gracious rhetoric get them?”

Rogan felt his insides burn.

“Calm down, Ben,” Rogan touched his shoulder. “Cable’s just trying to limit the bloodshed.”

Ben flicked his hand away.

“It’s too late for that,” Ben said through gritted teeth.

“I respect your opinions Ben, I really do. But you confuse vengeance with justice. I’m not here just to start another bloody hopeless street battle just to be annihilated by the royal army. I’m here because I think we can change things.” Cable paused and directed his attention back to the crowd. He stood even taller. “I don’t just want a war. I want a revolution.” 

The crowd erupted in a roar.

After the speech, Cable approached the table where Rogan sat with Ben, Donal and Iris. From the way Iris’ cheeks flushed and her body tensed at his approach, Rogan wondered whether his suspicions about her romantic involvement with their stoic leader were true. Cable offered Iris a smile and friendly shoulder squeeze.

“Quite the speech,” Rogan said.

“Thanks,” Cable nodded. “I mean what I say.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Ben sneered, still riled up from their public debate.

“Do we need to take this somewhere else?” Cable asked. Ben narrowed his eyes for a moment but then  shook his head. “Good. Look, Ben, you don’t have to agree with everything I say, but you do have to listen if you want to be part of this organization.”

“Just don’t get us all killed,” Ben added with a smirk.

“That’s my goal.”

“You’re a bold man, Cable,” Donal said. “Just be careful what you wish for. Some roads are one way only.”

Cable smiled and nodded.

“I’ll remember that. Rogan, can I talk with you before you go?”

Rogan glanced at his companions uneasily but nodded.

“Sure. Let’s take a walk. I’ll see you guys later.”

They left the cannery basement and slipped out behind the building where the shipping docks loomed. The night was crisp but the scents of fish and rotting garbage clung to the still air. He could hear the gentle lap of the bay water against the rickety wooden pier. Cable looked out at the water in silence.

“So, what do you need?” Rogan asked.

Cable turned and looked at him thoughtfully.

“Sorry that stuff about your da came up.”

Rogan shrugged.

“It’s all right. I faced those ghosts a long time ago. Theron was a big part of our history. We can’t just forget it all happened.”

“True. Not everyone has the mind to see that. He was a great leader. I really admired him. Wanted to be just like him. His death—it shattered us. We’re only now putting the pieces back together.  And you’ve been integral in helping us do that. I hope you know that.”

“Thanks. I’m just doing what I can to be a good soldier.”

“You’re more than a soldier. You’re smart and rational. You don’t blurt out every thought that comes to mind and you don’t react to what’s said to you. Moreover, people actually listen to what you say. You’re not a soldier, Rogan, you’re a leader.”

Rogan stared at Cable blankly, not sure what he was hearing.

“That’s nice of you to say—”

“I’m not being nice. I’m not a nice person really. What I am is a practical one. I’ve seen what’s out there and I know what we need to defeat it. When I was down in that hole in Suell, I realized I had found true evil. I mean the evil you hear about in a Temple Sunday school lecture—the evil that boils in the pits of Hell. And you don’t defeat evil by yelling the loudest. You have to outsmart it.” Cable looked back at the cannery building. “They need you to help lead them.
I
need you.”

Rogan’s heart sped up and he felt a wave of dizziness come over him. He took a few breaths to steady himself.

“Lead them? Cable, I…I’m not cut out for that. You’re the one who leads us, not me,” Rogan protested.

“I know and I’m not stepping down. But I can’t do it alone. I need others who can rally this cause. Make it worth something.”

All Rogan could think about was Elyra. What would Cable say about that?  Would he still trust him so implicitly if he knew?

“If you need a right hand, I think there are better choices, Cable. What about Ben, or Alec? Or Donal? Talk to someone who’s been to war.”

“Donal? Sure, he has as many battle scars as any, but he’s old and conservative. He’s been a good mentor, but the times have changed. Ben is too much of a hothead and quick to fight, which tonight clearly demonstrated. Alec? Impulsive, angry and possibly insane. The one I need is you.”

“Who’s going to follow Theron Elwood’s kid, Cable?”

“Anyone who’s worth a damn. You were meant for this.”

“I don’t know…” Rogan hesitated. Before he could finish his sentence, Cable touched his shoulder and looked him square in the eyes.

“You can do this. I trust you.”

After the meeting, Rogan couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wandered through the city streets surrounding the docks, thinking hard. The Cause was on edge, their patience and tolerance hanging by a thread. He could feel the blood boiling at the surface. How did Cable expect him to lead this? He didn’t know the first thing about leading anyone. He wanted to believe protests and political influence were enough to make a change, but he knew deep down they weren’t. Pantone and Ballantyne would never let the Cause have any voice. They would never give in to the demands of a group of farmers with rusty black market shotguns and axes. The Cause was spreading throughout the other counties and allegiances were forming, but the ties were too loose. There was no unity, no organization. They had to be careful whom they trusted with every breath—did Cable truly think they could bring it all together under one banner?

He felt a desperate need to see her, stronger than any urge had been over the past few months. It came over him as though he were drowning and gasping for air. He had tried to forget her but sometimes the memory of her touch monopolized every thought. With all this talk of the end of the world and bringing down a kingdom, how could he not spend every moment thinking about her future in this? Would their success mean her demise? But what he wanted hardly mattered. The reality was still that she was Elyra Ballantyne and he was a hell-bound rebel.