20. TWENTY

twenty

THE RIGHT QUESTIONS

I swallow back the knot collecting in my throat and narrow my eyes. “You went through my stuff?”

Marge stares me up and down. “Hardly, child. It fell off the counter. It’s a good thing I found it.”

I snatch the journal, press it to my chest, and twist my shoulders away from her view. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She’s already turned away from me, pouring a concoction on the counter into a glass bottle. Either she’s about to request a handsome bribe for her silence, or the King’s guard is already on their way, and she’s counting down the seconds until they burst in here and free her of me forever.

“Fire incarnate. Flame in flesh. Blood of power,” she whispers, her attention still fixed on transferring the liquid into the container.

I clench my hand tighter around the journal. “You…you liar. You did read it.”

She stops pouring, setting the bottle down and turning to lock eyes with me. “Keep slewing accusations, and I’ll turn you loose to the King himself, Katerina.”

“If you’ve already turned me in, it doesn’t matter.”

“I haven’t.”

“And why not? What do you want?”

She grins, pouring the rest of the liquid in the bottle before corking it shut. “I want to go to the Dragon Lands.”

The journal almost slips from my hand. Is this what blackmail feels like? “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I would know that insignia anywhere.”

My eyes widen, and I absent-mindedly trace the symbol on the front. “You…you’re a rebel?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not asking the right questions.”

“Well, what should I be asking, then?”

“Don’t you want to know what it was like? The world we live in today was not what it was. In fact, there was peace and freedom. There weren’t these attacks or high taxes. People didn’t starve to death. Diseases were treated with care, no matter your income or status. There was community, family, and love. For decades people have been trying to sneak out across the border, to go to the Dragon Lands—free from the King’s laws.”

She might as well have sprouted her own pair of wings and horns. I watch her with a gaped mouth. Maybe this is some sort of test. I not-so-subtly survey the room around us, looking for anyone hidden behind the cabinets or beneath the beds. I’m suspicious someone is lying in wait for me to agree before springing out to arrest me.

“Our King is…honorable and…kind. He rules for the benefit of his kingdom…” I stare at her. “You can be executed for speaking of the rebels and lands before.”

“And you can be executed for having a rebel journal. What are you doing with a rebel’s journal, Katerina?”

Can she hear my heartbeat from there? My deafening pulse nearly drowns out the rest of my thoughts and her words. I open my mouth to reply, and the door swings open. Slipping the journal behind my back and into the band of my pants, I tug my tunic over it.

In walks Cole, his focus bouncing back and forth between Marge and me. “Marge, my apologies for the intrusion. But may I borrow my sister for a few minutes?”

Marge nods, turns, and adjusts the jars on a top shelf to make space for the fresh bottle she poured earlier. I swipe my satchel off the ground, sneak the journal into my bag, and nearly run for the door.

Once we are in Cole’s room, the door shut, he asks, “Did you get it?”

“Yes…but she found it first.”

Stress flashes a twinge in his jaw, his eyes wild as he grabs my shoulders. “Fuck, we don’t have a lot of time then. I need you to go, I need you to—”

“It’s okay, I don’t think she’s going to turn us in.”

His eyebrows bunch. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Retrieving my journal, I present the cover to him and trace the emblem on the front with my fingers. “See this symbol? She knew it. She knew details about dragons and repeated what my father wrote—”

“So, she read it, then?”

“No. She knew it. And she asked to go to the Dragon Lands.”

He’s slow to respond as he processes. “She’s…testing you. She’s trying to see what you know.”

“I don’t think she was. And if she was, it’s too late to worry about it now.” I place the journal back into my bag.

Cole grabs my hands and rests them on his chest, leaning his forehead against mine. His heart hammers underneath my palms.

“I need you to listen to me, Kat. You need to go. You’re not safe here.”

“I’m not leaving you.” I enunciate each word and pull back to look him in the eyes.

His eyes soften. “I’d rather die a thousand times over than live in a world without you again. This may be the worst place for you to be right now—”

“I’m not leaving. We stay together, remember? She’s not going to turn us in. The way she spoke, Cole, I know it.”

He sighs, shaking his head in conclusion as he unlaces his fingers from mine.

My throat tightens, and I see no other way around it, blurting the words aloud, “We’ll burn it.”

My heart sinks at the thought of destroying the only piece of my father I have. The last tangible thing tying me back to my family, my heritage. But I would rather lose it, than lose Cole.

His expression softens, hinting he knows the significance of what this means to me. “I…I can’t let you do that.”

“Yes, you can,” I beg. “We’ll burn it tonight, and even if she turns us in, there will be no proof of it.”

He stares blankly at my bag for a long moment, before flicking his gaze up to me. “Are you sure?”

I nod, biting my lip.

He sighs. “Very well then. We keep it here until then. And if Marge reports it—it’s mine. And you get out of here as fast as you can.”

My heart swells, knowing damn well I can’t let him make such a sacrifice but not bothering to argue with him. Not right now.

We shove the journal deep inside the trunk in his room and leave. When we get back to the healer’s quadrant, Marge is gone. My stomach turns sour as my thoughts gallop to all the scenarios of her turning us in and being wrong about her.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

Cole squeezes my hand to slow my thoughts. “If she’s not here, she might be at the sparring ring. Maybe someone was injured.”

We race to the sparring ring out in the forest, and sure enough, she’s crouched over and assessing a downed man’s leg.

I join her on the ground. “What happened?”

The man’s sandy blonde head is leaned back, his thick brown eyebrows scrunched, and eyes squeezed shut in pain. He was one of the three Mistwood transplants, making him either Gavin or Nolan.

“Leg injury. Do you think you can help carry him back to the healer’s quadrant?” Marge answers.

I whip my gaze from the man’s leg to Marge, doubt creeping in about being able to lift him on my own.

Cole takes a step closer. “I can help—”

“Darian!” Marge barks. “Get over here and help us get Nolan to the healer’s quadrant.”

Darian’s eyes meet mine, and he pushes off the tree he was leaning against, casually strolling over to us.

“I don’t need his help,” I scoff, desperate to have anyone but him help. I grab Nolan’s hand, helping him sit up and looping his arm around my neck. Circling my arms around his torso, I push up through my legs, my knees wobbling and threatening to buckle from lifting his weight. But I only get him a few inches off the ground before setting him back down to catch my breath.

Cole shifts in to help but is brushed aside by Darian.

Instead, Cole strides to the center of the sparring circle, addressing the rest of the squad who watches us with wide eyes, “Let’s resume sparring.”

A hint of mischief darkens Darian’s eyes as he slides in next to me. He flicks his fingers for me to move down and monitor Nolan’s leg while he does the heavy lifting.

I stare him up and down. “Pfft.”

Darian shoves his arm into me, knocking me out of his way, his voice sultry soft. “Gods, you are so hot—”

The admission makes my mouth part in shock.

“— headed. ” He sighs, clearly using the pause to his advantage, and I fall for it.

“Are you always an ass?” I bite.

Nolan chuckles, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two of us.

Darian mutters, “No, sometimes I sleep.”

Marge snaps her fingers impatiently at the two of us.

Glad I’m not the only one irritated by his antics.

Darian hauls Nolan up to stand, and I slide to Nolan’s other side, wrapping my arm around his lower back to brace him. Darian and I help Nolan back to the healer’s quadrant. Admittedly, I’m relieved for Darian’s help as I couldn’t have lifted or carried Nolan on my own.

“Next…time,” Nolan pants. “I’ll break your arm…Darian.”

Darian chuckles. “It’s cute you think I’m afraid of you. I’ll get your other leg before you can even touch me.”

Nolan snarls. “You spoiled ass—”

“Stop it, the both of you!” Marge warns and pulls the door open for the three of us.

We shuffle into the healer’s quadrant awkwardly. As soon as Darian helps lower Nolan onto a bed, he heads for the door. Marge stretches her staff out, blocking Darian’s path.

Intensity crackles between the two of them as they stare each other down in silence, like two wolves circling each other, waiting for the other to strike first.

If I didn’t know them, I would have been scared for Marge. But she challenges his glare with a lifted chin, her shoulders back, and posture confident despite her need for a staff to walk.

Maybe I should be scared for him .

Darian moves first, swatting her staff out the way and taking another step to the door. Marge swings the wood down on the top of his head, smacking him with a loud ‘thud,’ and Darian spins on her with an incinerating scowl.

Nolan mirrors my own gaping mouth and wide eyes at the movement.

“Your life is your own to ruin. But you’re not going to make things harder for me by bringing more in here to tend to,” Marge warns. “Do you understand me?”

“I don’t remember asking, nor caring, for your opinion,” Darian quips.

“Speak to me like that one more time, and I’ll cut you off.”

Darian falls silent, computing whatever it is she means by it. After a few still moments, he ducks his head and leaves. Nolan and I exchange a glance, awkwardly pretending we didn’t just witness it all.

I help Marge gather vials and materials while she assesses Nolan’s injury. Luckily for Nolan, it doesn’t seem to be broken, but Marge instructs him to rest for a few days.

Melaina enters the room and sweeps over to Nolan. “Are you okay? It looked like an awful hit.”

Nolan nods. “I’m fine.”

Marge commands Melaina and me to take Nolan back to his room, and that I’m dismissed afterwards. The three of us slip out of the healer’s quadrant to Nolan’s room and slide him into his bed.

Melaina turns to me, tucking a black strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for your help…”

“Katerina,” I finish for her with a smile.

She mirrors my grin. “Katerina. Nice to meet you, I’m Melaina.”

“Nolan,” Nolan introduces himself through gritted teeth.

I nod my head to both of them and leave, finding Cole outside waiting.

“How’s Nolan?” he asks.

“Marge doesn’t think it’s broken, but he’s on bed rest for a few days.”

Cole sighs, running a hand through his hair.

I glance around us to ensure no one else is in earshot. “Why don’t you discharge Darian? He’s nothing but a menace to everyone here.”

“It’s not that easy. He’s the best swordsman in the Kingdom. Chosen by the King himself—”

“Then why doesn’t the King have him? Did he piss him off, too?” I hiss.

“The King wanted him to train all of our northern posts. With the uptick in rebel attacks, he’s our best bet at teaching our squads some serious combat moves. But he’s been refusing.”

“Why?”

“Well…” Cole blows out a breath. “I think he’s a little pissed. He expected he would lead his own squad. When he arrived, I don’t think he realized I would be the captain.”

“So, he’s thinking his power move is to be a dick to everyone? Can’t you negotiate some sort of terms?”

If Cole leaves with me and Daeja, perhaps Darian could take the coveted captain role. Although, considering how it would affect Archie, Marge, and everyone else in the squad, maybe it’s a bad idea.

Cole frowns. “Drunks, terrorists, and toddlers aren’t worth negotiating with. And he’s essentially all three.”

I snort, scanning around us in case he’s lingering about. “So he’s mad at you?”

“Yep.”

“Still doesn’t explain why he’s a complete ass to everyone else.”

Cole shrugs. “I think in part it’s to test me. He doesn’t think I deserve the title.”

I whip my gaze back to him. “If anyone deserves it, Cole, it’s you.”

Cole shakes his head, his eyes falling to the ground as his cheeks redden.

I jab his arm to get his attention. “Have you seen the way Archie looks at you? He quite literally bows before you every time he’s in your presence.”

Cole laughs. “Well, it’s misplaced.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Stop doubting yourself,” I command him.

Our eyes lock, and the desire to kiss him heats my chest. I want to kiss away that stubborn modesty of his. The way his eyes smolder before his gaze lowers to my mouth, tells me he’s thinking the same thing. As if lured by an invisible force, I take a half step toward him. But he turns away, no doubt to hide the longing he masks from the others around us.

“I can’t,” I mutter, averting my gaze from the flaming torch Cole holds, to the pile of wood on his stone floor.

I can’t incinerate the last tether to my family and my father. Guilt, sadness, and anger swarm me all at once. Guilt washes over me—I can’t be the one to burn it. Sad that, after tonight, I’ll have nothing left of my father. And angry I can’t do anything to change it.

But it’s the only way to eliminate any proof if Marge decides to report me. The required proximity to a flame petrifies me as much as destroying the journal. Staring at the kindling Cole collected for us to burn the journal in, my mouth goes dry as I picture the wood engulfed in flames. The crackling branches mimicking a snapping neck. Screams a whispered echo in my ears, and nightmarish words I can’t decipher coming to life.

With a shaky hand and eyes still lowered, I hold out my father’s journal to Cole. “I can’t be the one to do it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks for the third time. His fingers close around the journal, but he doesn’t take it from me.

I stare at the leather cover. I’ve lost so much—and perhaps I shouldn’t be so sentimental about a silly journal.

In the grand scheme of things, it is only paper and ink.

Struggling, I convince myself that between the journal, and Cole and Daeja, I’m making the right choice.

With a nod, I let my hand slip from the journal. Before Cole notices my glossy eyes, I turn away and head for his door.

“Wait—where are you going?” he asks.

“Just…burn it. I can’t stay to watch,” I whisper over my shoulder before exiting Cole’s room. When I get to my own, I sink into my bed and cry.

At least I fulfilled my father’s written wish of burning the journal.