Rise (20 page)

“Party tonight at Sappho's?” I yelled to her, hoping she heard the smile in my voice. I gestured to the girls behind me, the six horses continuing down the path.

Quinn looked up, her head tilted to one side, smirking. She went down the back of the boat and appeared on the dock, her steps hurried as she came toward us. I dismounted, letting her squeeze me to her in one of her breathless, all-consuming hugs. Her hair smelled of saltwater, a few coarse curls tickling my neck.

She pulled back, her eyes scanning the girls behind me. “Where's Arden?” she asked. “We thought she was with you.”

“I haven't seen her in more than three months.” I lowered my voice as I spoke. “She's gone back on the Trail. She went to the siege with some of the boys from the dugout.”

Quinn's brows knitted together. “She hasn't been here.”

“And you didn't hear anything about her? No messages? I thought she might still be inside the City.”

“I'll fill you in later on what's happening in the City,” she whispered, looking over my shoulder at some of the younger girls. “We've heard some things that worried us.”

Before I could say anything else I heard the soft padding of feet on pavement, and Lilac rounded the corner, her hair tied back in braids. She was holding a doll by its arm, its painted features worn off. “Mom, it's Eve,” she yelled over her shoulder. “She has horses!”

The mare started backward but I grabbed the reins, waiting until she calmed. The girls had already dismounted behind me, some hitching the horses to trees, others unloading the sacks and giving the animals the last of the food and water. Beatrice had Benny and Silas beside her, one hand resting on each of them as Maeve came toward us.

“You're back,” she called out. There was no feeling in her voice—no surprise, no hint of anger or confusion. She hugged her worn jean jacket to her body, steeling herself against the wind that whipped off the bay. “And I see you're not alone.” Her eyes settled on Benny and Silas.

All the nervousness I had felt about seeing her again was gone. So much had changed in the past months. We were both traitors now, according to my father. She had harbored escapees from the Schools. We could both be hanged. I tried to remind myself of that as she kept staring at the two boys. “They have nowhere else to go,” I said. “I won't leave them.”

“You know we have rules.”

“For men—there were never supposed to be
men
here,” I insisted. “They're barely eight years old. What's going to happen to them in the wild?”

Beatrice held them tighter. “I can be responsible for them. And when they're of age we can revisit the conversation.”

“I don't know you,” Maeve said, scanning Beatrice's face. “Why would that mean anything to me?”

Behind her, a few women came out of their houses, some peering through the front windows of abandoned stores. “You shouldn't have left without telling us,” Maeve went on, now directing the comment at me. “We weren't certain at first if you'd been taken or if you'd gone on your own. Some of the women were worried.”

“I wasn't in a position to tell you I was leaving,” I said.

Maeve narrowed her eyes, sensing there was more to the statement. Her eyes went from Benny back to Silas, until finally she spoke. “They can stay for now, but you're responsible for them.” Then she gestured over her shoulder, to the path that led to her house. “We'll set you up in the house beside mine. I'll be able to take care of you there.”

Take care of you
. I nearly laughed at the words. Bette and Kit picked up a few of the bags and started forward, but I directed them to stop. “We'll stay with Quinn for now, until we can get something more permanent set up. Thank you, though, for your generosity.” I smiled—a tight, unflinching smile—and turned back to the dock.

Quinn gave me a puzzled look. I ignored it, knowing I'd have to explain later. Instead I helped the rest of the girls down toward the boat, making sure they tied their horses far enough into the woods that they couldn't be seen from the beach. As we packed the rest of the supplies, I noticed Maeve hiking up through the woods, appearing and disappearing beyond the trees. Every now and then she turned back, watching me.

QUINN HAD CHOSEN THE BIGGEST HOUSEBOAT ON THE BAY, A
gargantuan thing now green with algae. It still held the possessions of the past owners—gold statues of ducks, a long leather couch, and a ripped painting that looked vaguely like one I'd seen in my old art book, by a man named Rothko. In two days the girls had settled in. Their few belongings were strewn everywhere, finding their way onto countertops, hanging over the tops of doors and tucked beneath the couch cushions.

I knew it was best for them—to be here, to be settled. Tully, an older woman who'd practiced as a doctor before the plague, examined Helene's foot. She reset it, believing there was a chance for it to heal correctly, even now. Silas and Benny had befriended Lilac, though Maeve had warned her against it. They fit in easily, and despite the rule, most of the women had agreed they were young enough to stay.

With Benny, Silas, and the younger girls asleep upstairs, Quinn moved easily around the hull, plucking a few plates from a high cabinet. Outside, the water rose over the portholes. Barnacles clung to the glass.

“And here you are,” she said, setting the plates down in front of us. She pointed to the steaming pot of abalone in the middle of the table, just visible in the candlelight. “Hope you're not sick of it yet.”

“We've been eating dried chipmunk,” Clara said with a laugh, referring to the jarred, salted meats we'd found in the dugout. In our days on the road I'd determined it was squirrel, not chipmunk, but it seemed pointless to mention that now. “Besides, there's no seafood in the City. I consider this a delicacy.” She plucked one of the shells from the pot and put it on her plate, Beatrice and Ruby following her lead.

I watched Quinn as she moved around the kitchen, pulling out a few silver forks and extra plates from the rusted stove, the useless cord duct taped to the side of it. “Do I have to beg?” I asked. “It's been two days, and you haven't said a word about that message. What do you know that we don't?”

Quinn set the forks down on the table. She rested her hands on the back of the chair, squeezing it so hard her knuckles went white. “What's the use in sharing it now?” she said. “The siege is over. We can't change anything.” She paused before she sat, glancing quickly at my stomach.

“Since when do you need to protect me, Quinn?” I asked. “No special treatment. You don't think I can handle what you're going to say? Just because I'm pregnant?”

“It's upsetting,” Quinn said, lowering her voice. “That's all.” She slid an abalone off its iridescent shell, popping the soft meat into her mouth.

Clara was silent for a moment. She set down her fork. “We still have friends and family inside the City walls,” she said. “My mother's there . . . and Charles. We thought the fighting was over.”

“The fighting is over,” Quinn said. “But as I understand it, things there are even worse now. There have been raids in the middle of the night. Families in the Outlands have been broken up—people have been accused of fighting against the King during the siege. They've left the bodies of the executed there, in front of the Palace, rotting for days. There was a message that the army from the colonies will come, that they've been rallied by a rebel leader from the west. But it's still uncertain . . .”

She glanced at me again, then looked down, nudging the glossy shells on her plate.

“Go on, Quinn,” I prodded. “We need to know.”

She pressed her lips together, then let out a deep sigh. “There was this message the other night from the City. It was a woman's voice. She didn't even use a code. She identified herself as a Palace worker. A man was yelling in the background. She said the Princess betrayed her father and was working for the rebel cause. They were taking Palace workers into custody to question them, to see who was involved. Most hadn't returned afterward. She believed one of the workers was executed because he didn't cooperate.”

“What was her name? Who was she?” I could barely get the words out.

“She didn't say,” Quinn answered. “Apparently he's been questioning everyone, trying to get information on your whereabouts. And most of those interrogated haven't been seen after. When I thought about it I knew I shouldn't tell you. I didn't want you to feel like it was your fault.”

“It is my fault,” I said. “Don't you see that? I escaped. I had knowledge of the tunnels, and I left the City. It
is
my fault.”

I stood. Beatrice tried to grab my arm, but I pulled away.

“You couldn't have known,” she said. “You did the best you could. There are nine girls who are here, safe, because you helped them. They're not in the Schools anymore. You brought me, didn't you? Where would I be now?”

Ruby watched me, her eyes red. “You didn't know this would happen,” she said. Even those words, that reprieve from her, couldn't calm me. Until I was back there, in my father's custody, others would be captured, tortured, detained indefinitely. Until I was executed, others would be executed in my place.

“There's nothing you can do,” Clara said. She pushed back, away from the table. “Don't blame yourself, Eve. You were working with Moss—you tried.”

But the mention of Moss just brought me back to the day I'd left. His body in the elevator. How the bullet had ripped through his back. “I just need this day to end,” I said, starting toward the stairs. “I can't think anymore.”

Quinn stood, trying to get in front of me, but I sidestepped her. “Eve—I'm sorry. You see now why I didn't want to tell you?”

“No—I'm glad you did,” I said, watching them as I started up the stairs. “I needed to know.” When I got to the top landing I maneuvered through the hallways in silence. Light came in through the windows, dimmed by the plants that grew over the houseboat's roof. I counted the doors as I went, finally turning in to the room Ruby, Clara, and I shared.

I curled up on the mattress. The cabin was so dark I could hardly see two inches in front of me. I rested my hand on my chest, trying to slow my heart. I thought of Arden now, of what she must've felt when she was in hiding with Ruby and Pip, listening to word of the siege. Of course she had wanted to go. How could I stay here, waiting for word that the fighting had ended? Was I supposed to just hope that somehow my father would be stopped?

It was a long while before Ruby and Clara came to bed. I shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“She needed the rest,” Clara whispered. I heard the give of the mattress as she lay down in the bed above me. Ruby settled in, too, turning onto her side, readjusting several times until she was comfortable. An hour passed, maybe two. When I was certain they wouldn't wake, I stood, turning out into the hall.

I walked down the corridor, past the wide living area, where a few of the girls slept on the couches. A set of sliding doors let out onto the houseboat's worn deck. Outside, the moon had disappeared behind a thick layer of fog. The cold air felt good on my skin. I climbed down the side ladder and took off down the dock, carefully stepping around the broken boards.

I just needed to be out, to be moving—to feel I was going somewhere. I started through the trees, moving quickly over gnarled roots and rocks. Most of the houses were dark. Up ahead, beyond a few high bushes, I could just make out a figure. I was about to turn, winding back down the path, when she spotted me.

“Eve—what are you doing out here?” Maeve asked. “What's wrong?”

I glanced down the trail, realizing I'd nearly made it to her house. She was standing at the base of a massive oak tree. It took me a moment, my eyes adjusting to the light, to realize she was holding Lilac's doll.

“I just needed air,” I said. “I couldn't sleep.”

“I suppose Quinn's house has taken some getting used to,” she said. There was the hint of a suggestion in it—why hadn't I returned to that room beside hers? Why had I been so cold to her when I first arrived? I could see, even now, she wanted to know.

“Quinn's house has been great,” I said. “The girls are happy there. I just couldn't sleep, that's all. And you?”

She held up the doll. “Lilac left her out here. I promised I'd organize a search party—one person, but still.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Want to come inside for a minute? I still have the lanterns lit.”

How many times had I imagined this moment, what I would say if we were alone? I started up the trail behind her, ducking a few low branches. “That night that I left,” I said, keeping my eyes on the thick tree roots that wormed through the dirt. “We were trying to find Caleb.”

“I assumed that much,” Maeve said. “But we never heard word one way or the other. Like I said—you shouldn't have gone without saying good-bye.”

We pushed into the house. Most of the wood cabinets were half open, their contents emptied onto the counter. The kitchen table was covered with unmarked cans, stacks of recovered dish towels, and piles of utensils. There were dozens of wine bottles filled with boiled rainwater. Dried fruit sat in foggy plastic containers, warped and buckling, their tops held on by old rubber bands. “I clean sometimes when Lilac goes to sleep,” she said. “It passes the time.”

“I didn't tell you, because I didn't want you to try to keep me here,” I said.

“And why would I do that?” she asked. She leaned back against the counter, her face softer in the lantern light.

“We heard you, Maeve. You, Isis, and Quinn. We heard you debating whether or not Arden and I should be allowed to stay. I know you were planning on using me to negotiate.”