Mine to Fear (Mine #3)(37)

“I think you're right,” Cynthia says.

It will be a big job, though, one I'm not sure we can do despite all of Serena's strong words. But we have to at least try.

“They will come around,” Cynthia says. “I know they will.”

“They do seem to trust you two,” I say. And Jack. They trust him the most out of everyone. “I think we need to have Jack be a part of this. They trust him.”

Cynthia and Serena both agree. Serena's mouth tightens, and she blinks rapidly.

“What is it?” Cynthia says.

“This isn't just about trying to help those who've come here. As good as that is, there's something that may not be as big as trying to change a whole society's perspective, but still something important. Someone important.”

“I want him back, too.” She sniffs, and my own eyes tear in response, but I don't let them flow out. “We'll just have to hope he can last through whatever it is they're putting him through, that he can make through it until we can figure a way to save him. Because we will save him.”

Though I don't mention that the possibility of him still being sane is slim. Even if he is still sane, how scarred will he be? Will he be so damaged he won't want anything anymore? She knows this, probably even better than I do. My brother, who he was, is most likely gone from us forever.





Chapter Twenty-Five





As I sit in the kitchen with little Ben strapped to me with a length of cloth, I tell myself I can do this. I've asked for help before. This is no different.

Who am I kidding? It's totally different. Asking for help for something small like organizing a ball or learning a new spell is entirely different than asking about overthrowing the most powerful man in the country.

No matter. Whether hard or not, it needs to be done, and Jack is the one who's become most like a leader in the short time our group has been together. If I want to convince them, he is the key. Too bad we got off on such a horrid start. Things have been better between us, though. Just not sure if better is good enough to convince him this is a good idea or not. It will all depend on how much he's really changed.

When I find him, he's shelling peas, so I sit next to him and help without saying a word. Ben, for once, stays nice and asleep as I assist. It's an activity I usually find relaxing, but nothing is relaxing about it today.

How does one bring up how they want to start a rebellion? Zade would be so much better at this than I. Or Chadwick for that matter. Maybe if I had joined their lessons on how to be a good spy I would be too. So much for all the frivolous things I learned. Who cares about pretty nails? I can't even remember the last time I spelled mine.

“Is there something you wanted?” Jack snips.

“Why would you say that?”

“Never before have you worked in the kitchen with me without being asked. Plus you keep scrunching your eyebrows together, making this tiny line between them.”

I suppose I am being really weird. “Can we go for a walk?”

Phyllis gives me the eye. No matter. Their thoughts don't matter yet, only Jack's. If I can get his, the rest will come. Hopefully.

“Something serious?”

“Isn't everything serious here?”

His eyebrows twitch as if to say touché. After putting down the peas and cleaning up the shells, he says to the others, “We'll be back in a while.”

I follow him through the maze of caves out into to the open where the fresh air brightens everything.

“So, what is it?” he asks.

Despite the change of scenery and lack of eavesdroppers, I can't bring myself to just say it. But there is something else I can say. That I need to say. “I'm sorry about how things started with us.”

“That's what this is about?”

I round on him, Ben stirring as I do so, hands fisted on my hips. “You can't even be nice when I'm trying to apologize. What is your problem?”

He does the strangest thing, at least for him. He smiles. “Forgive me. I didn't mean to sound so brash. It just didn't match my expectations of what you wanted.”

“Oh, well.” I drop my arms to my sides. “What were you expecting?”

“That you wanted something. I don't know what, but some type of favor from me.”

Only a favor valued in lives. “There is something.”

He smirks.

“No need to look like that,” I say. “It wasn't too hard to figure.”

The smirk leaves, replaced with an expression I can't read. “No, it wasn't hard to decipher at all. You though, you are much more difficult to discern.”

Something lovely flutters through me. “Only if you try and read too much into things.”

“It's how I was raised. To be aware of everything and what it means. To become a councilman.”

“You were being groomed to be a councilman?” With his attitude when I met him, I shouldn't be surprised, but with his station, it seems like a lofty goal.

“I know what you're thinking. I am—was a servant. How could I be a councilman? It wasn't always this way, though. Several years ago, my father was wealthy and about to become wealthier,” he says. “But things change.”