The Offering (13 page)

Once we'd gotten far enough from the palace that there was no chance we'd be seen, Eden had allowed me to shed my cloak, and we'd used the glow from my skin as a lantern of sorts, illuminating the trails and making it at least a little easier for the horses to see where they were stepping. It wasn't until we'd entered the forests surrounding the work camp that she'd clamped down on us once more, warning us to remain quiet and keep close.

But it wasn't just the darkness that put us in harm's way.
There were also nighttime predators, both animal and human, waiting for their chance to pounce on us.

Eden shook her head. “We're not taking the horses,” she told Brook, and now I was the one who set my mug down.

“Then, what? How will we travel?”

Caspar grinned, not just at Brooklynn this time but at me as well. “Come on. I'll show you.”

He pulled on his coat, which was patched and threadbare, with sleeves that were too short, as he led us back outdoors. The sun was just coming up on the horizon, bursting into the gunmetal sky with fingers of orange and pink and the oddest blooms of gold. It was spectacular, and I breathed deeply, trying to inhale its glory.

Keeping his head low, Caspar led us along an overgrown path that was so encroached upon on both sides by weeds and grasses that only the narrowest space of path was even visible at all. We followed him between and around more of the small cabinlike buildings, similar to the one where Brook and I had slept, and it soon became clear that the compound was massive and mazelike, and as unkempt as the pathways we walked on. It could have easily been regarded as abandoned by anyone looking at it from the outside.

It was no place for children. Especially those who were all alone in the world.

As we rounded a corner, a girl joined us. She didn't say anything, just nodded to Caspar, and then to Eden. She was younger than Brook and me, and I put her somewhere around her thirteenth or fourteenth year. Her skin was darker than mine—as was everyone's, it seemed—but not from spending
time outdoors. Hers was naturally browner, as if she'd inherited it from her parentage, the way Brook had. Her hair, too, was dark, almost black, and was long except around her face, where it looked as if it had been hacked and chopped with a dull-edged knife, likely to keep it away from her eyes. But that wasn't what was most notable about her, nor was it the fact that her eyes themselves were the most unusual shade of blue. Not like Angelina's or mine, pale and crystalline, but rather piercing . . . electric. Much like the sapphire I wore pressed against my heart.

No, the most startling thing was her bird. A stark black crow sat, unmoving, on her shoulder, like an inanimate prop. It wasn't until the bird blinked that I realized it was truly alive.

I waited for someone to introduce the girl as she fell into step beside us, but no one did, as if her presence were just accepted, like an unexpected gust of wind.

We approached a crumbling circle of stacked stones that I recognized as a well. Around it there were several rusted buckets, most of which had succumbed to various forms of plant life that grew in and around them. It was a good indicator of just how long ago they'd been discarded.

As we neared the well, I wrinkled my nose at the odor coming up from the ground. “You don't . . . drink from that, do you?” I probed, eyeing the corroded bucket that hung from a pulley above the well.

Caspar and the nameless girl exchanged a look as we passed the disintegrating stone structure. “Well went bad years ago. We get our water from upstream. Near the mouth of the river.”

I thought about the children I'd met the night before. Most of them were small, and I tried to imagine them toting heavy buckets of water to and from camp. “Is that far?”

Caspar grinned at me, clearly understanding my concern. “Never mind 'bout us. We'll be just fine. From what Eden here tells me, you got enough on your minds without worryin' about a buncha kids.”

I shot Eden a glance, wondering how much she'd told him. But she shook her head discreetly, her silent reassurance that my identity was still safe. I turned my attention back to Caspar. “How come you're here? I mean, why aren't you with your sister instead of being here, in the work camp?”

I could feel Eden's irritation as surely as I saw her lips purse and her eyes narrow. Her glower made my toes curl, but I had no intention of letting her intimidate me. I had a little sister, and the idea of her in a place like this . . .

Well, it would never happen.

Caspar either didn't notice Eden's scowl or was accustomed to his sister's irritation, and he laughed at my curiosity. “When Eden left, I was just a boy. I wasn't old enough to go with her.”

Brook skidded to a halt. “Wait! Are you saying Eden was here too?” She nudged her way to the front of our group so she could be heard. She surveyed Eden, as if seeing her in a new light altogether. “You
lived
here? In the work camp? I never knew that.”

Eden kept walking. “There's a lot of things you don't know about me” was all she told Brook, and then she turned her attention to Caspar. “I told you I'd come back for you, and I did. You were the one who didn't want to leave.” She didn't
sound disappointed, the way a sister might if she hadn't been able to persuade her brother to come with her. She sounded bitter, as if this were a sore spot and Brook had just jabbed a stick into it.

“You can come with me now,” she maintained. Her eyes narrowed on him, and Brook and I stopped too.

Caspar sighed. “Look around, Eden,” he said, his voice and his face softening. Eden didn't look, but I did.

We were standing on a hillside now, overlooking the encampment as it stretched in front of us—larger and more widespread than I'd first realized. Than I'd ever imagined. I tried to guess how many children it housed, how many orphans Caspar was responsible for. It was baffling that they'd done so well for so long on their own.

“I can't leave here,” he went on. “You have your cause and I have mine.”

They stared at each other, neither blinking. Neither looking as if they had any intention of backing down. They shared that same determination, that same inflexibility.

It made me squirm to witness.

Just when I started to consider sneaking away, creeping back down the path to hide in the cramped barrack where Eden had deposited us last night, Eden reached out and punched Caspar playfully in the arm. “You've gone soft. I always knew you'd be the motherly type,” she taunted.

Caspar, refusing to let Eden see that her blow—or her words—had stung, did his best to hide his cringe. “And you're about as lovable as a thorny shrew.” He scowled at her. “Only not half as cuddly.”

Eden grinned, and I couldn't help thinking she'd taken his insult as a compliment. Caspar just shook his head and started walking again. We followed until he finally came to a halt in front of a large building that reminded me of one of the oversize storehouses in the warehouse district of the Capitol. Unlike the rest of the compound, this building wasn't dilapidated at all. The outside was made from concrete and steel, with paint that wasn't chipped or peeling. It was as tall as it was wide, and likely as deep. Even the ground we stood on here was smoothly laid asphalt, new and even and black.

“How is this possible?” I asked, staring at the building, which seemed so out of place here.

Eden chuckled, and I suddenly felt like I was the butt of the joke. “What? That the work camps were given resources for the commodities they were expected to manufacture, but not for the children they housed? Did you think Sabara would have expended anything more than she had to for the care of orphans?”

I closed my eyes and tried to remind myself that this was why Ludania needed me. That these were the kinds of changes I'd been working so hard to make.

“So what was it you were manufacturing here?” I asked Caspar.

“We were a munitions camp.”

My eyes strayed to the dark-haired girl with the bird perched on her shoulder, and I felt sick that children like her, and like the others from the bunkhouse last night, had been exploited so freely under Sabara's reign. It was hard to imagine children making weapons.

I had never considered where Ludania's weapons had come from, or where they were coming from now.

You did this
, I accused Sabara.
They're only children, and you turned them into slaves.

They were nothing
, she hissed back.
They had no homes, and I housed them. No food, and I fed them. I gave them a purpose
.

She ignored the part where they'd been overworked and tortured and experimented on, but there was no way she hadn't known. She just didn't care.

You cannot maintain an empire without an army, and that army must be invincible
, Sabara justified, as if there were any excuse for her actions.

I shook my head, trying to purge Sabara from my mind. Not wanting her corrupt logic to poison me.

Casting me a curious grin, Caspar continued, unlocking the massive warehouse door. “But this . . .” He tugged the handle, and the door started to open. “This is what we're most proud of,” he announced smugly.

“This? This what?” Brooklynn asked, sounding skeptical. I felt my thoughts clearing. What could a bunch of kids possibly have inside that warehouse that could be useful to us right now?

Slivers of sunlight streamed into the dark interior from windows high above, shining at odd angles and casting squares on the concrete floor like checkerboards. Above us we heard the frantic beating of wings as a flock of birds from within the building took flight into the rafters. The girl's bird, however, remained as still as ever.

But all that faded into the background the moment we spotted the machinery taking up the center of the floor. I wasn't entirely certain what it was, but it was most definitely a vehicle. Some sort of massive, strangely shaped, motorized vehicle.

“What the . . .” Brook's question trailed off as she approached the beast of a machine, her fingers outstretched toward it. “Can I?” She turned her wide brown eyes on Caspar, beseeching him to say yes.

He was powerless against her, and he nodded mutely.

When her hands fell against the steel, Brooklynn let out a sigh. A sound that was equal parts ecstasy and relief. “What is it?”

“We call it a Vehicular Assault Navigator. Or VAN,” Caspar said with a chuckle. “It's like a portable armory. We got it outfitted for travel too, though. You can hole up in there for weeks on end. Trust me, we know. We had to do it more than once when we been out hunting.”

I hadn't thought about how they'd gathered food, but it made sense that they'd have to hunt, I supposed. I had to admit they were a resourceful lot, and I respected Caspar for taking care of his charges without help.

I hated that I'd have to turn him in once we returned home, but I couldn't just leave them out here to fend for themselves.

“So, what? You're just letting us take it?”

“Yes,” Eden told Brook. “It'll make it easier to travel at night. Safer to keep . . . her . . .” She looked at me and frowned, as if she hadn't considered what she was supposed to call me in front of anyone else.

“Layla,” Brook offered, with a roll of her eyes as she glanced meaningfully at Eden, waiting for her to continue with her explanation.

Eden frowned at me. “To keep
Layla
here hidden.”

I ignored the looks they exchanged and hoped Caspar hadn't noticed, as I turned my attention back to the VAN.

The vehicle was long—as long as three of any other vehicle I'd ever been in before, and it was painted no singular color but rather a mishmash of blues and reds and greens and browns, all smattered together like a slapdash collage. The tires were enormous as well, almost as tall as I was, and they seemed almost too large for the VAN itself.

It was hideous, but magnificent all the same.

As I rounded the VAN, I noted there were windows that ran all along both sides. Most of them still had glass, although some had been painted over and some were crusted with age-old dirt and grime. But there were other openings in the sides as well, small rectangles below the windows that had been cut all the way through the metal and were soldered around the edges.

I ran my finger around one of the welded gaps.

“For weapons. So you can fire without opening a window,” Caspar explained from behind me.

I nodded. “Can we go inside?” I didn't even have to ask the question. Caspar was already opening the door to lead us in.

I wasn't sure what my trepidation was all about. I wasn't afraid, but I was most definitely awed. It was very much the way I'd felt when I'd first held Zafir's sword in my hand, like it was too powerful for me. Too much to handle.

The interior of the VAN was dark, and the oily scent of petroleum mixed with the smells of mold and stale dirt. Even without much light I could make out five rows of bench seats, paired two by two across a short aisle from each other. Each seat could hold two people—and perhaps three, if they squeezed together. After those five rows, there were metal shelves that were battened down to the floors and walls with large metal rivets. They were likely sturdier than they appeared. Beyond those there were three large steel barrels and some floor mats and blankets.

The inside was as colorful, and as daunting, as the outside.

Brook sat in a bucketlike chair at the very front of the VAN and ran her hand around the steering wheel. “Who'll drive it?”

Caspar clapped Eden on the shoulder. “Eden here can drive just about anything. She can fix about anything too.” His chest puffed up with obvious pride. “Taught me everything she knows. Isn't that right, Sis?”

Eden glared at her little brother but didn't argue.

Brook eyed the control panel, all of the gauges and dials, her fingers hovering just above—but not touching—them. “Do you think I could learn to drive too?” she asked, sounding far more hopeful and childlike than she'd probably meant to.