The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(8)

I nodded. In the pre-dawn dark, when we’d decided most of our enemies would be asleep, Owen had taken the risk of contacting our allies on the handheld we’d brought, something we’d feared to do directly after the attack, as the airwaves around the castle would certainly be more heavily monitored. Since then, he had been more involved with receiving updates on our handheld from Ms. Dale and Thomas, as I had refused to leave Violet’s side any more than necessary. It may have already been fourteen hours since we’d left the palace, but it made sense that the immediate area was too risky for the heloship. I just itched with impatience, wishing there was a way we could get Amber to us sooner.

“Did anything come through on the ticker?” I asked after a moment.

Owen shook his head, keeping his eyes on the path ahead. “Thomas thinks they’re still down. Possibly even permanently. With the damage to the palace…”

He trailed off, taking a quick look at Violet. I followed his gaze, understanding the look on his face. Violet had torn the place apart. According to Thomas, who had managed to get back to our base with Amber and Jay, he and Violet had crafted the plan together. Three bombs, three explosions, which had gutted the palace and even caused one of the inner structures to collapse. It was a true miracle she had even survived her own bombs, given how much destruction they had wrought.

The violence of it all hadn’t been lost on me. Violet had gone to great lengths to secure her family’s freedom. I couldn’t fault her for taking action, and I admired that she hadn’t gone in there without a plan. Others would have blindly accepted the deal with Tabitha, nobly exchanging themselves for their family members.

But not Violet. She knew Tabitha. She knew what Tabitha had been capable of—we both did. Violet had experienced it firsthand when Tabitha had driven a knife through her hand in Matrus.

It felt like a lifetime ago that I had found her in Elena’s palace, strapped upright to a board, the knife jutting out of her hand and blood streaming down her palm. At the time, I hadn’t thought it could get any worse than that. Seeing her in agony, amid all the chaos and violence infecting our lives. It had been intolerable. And now…

Something chirped, and I blinked, looking over at Owen. He let go of the steering wheel to slide his hand into his pants pocket and pull out the black handheld, passing it over to me. I grabbed it awkwardly, trying not to shift Violet too much, and clicked it on.

On my way with doctor, the line of text read.

“Amber just checked in,” I informed Owen, and he nodded. I clicked off the handheld but kept it out in case we needed it. My eyes resumed their scan of the forest, keeping watch as we drove.

“Good—we’re going to make it, Viggo. Don’t worry.”

I frowned at him. “You can’t know that,” I replied stonily, my throat constricting tightly, making my words harsh even to my own ears. I swallowed, pushing back the strong emotions causing me this pain.

Owen shook his head, favoring me with a quick glance. “Yes, I can,” he replied, his voice quiet and sincere.

I bit back a curse, frustrated by the younger man’s attempt to bolster me. He didn’t know—couldn’t know—as much as me about how awful the world could be. How unjust and cruel it was.

I paused, cutting the bitter thought off. That was grossly unfair to Owen—he did know as much as me. His brother had been taken from him long ago, and he’d been fighting for him ever since. I was being too harsh toward him, resenting his optimistic nature when at another time I might have been the one offering similar words.

I shook my irritation aside, and Owen kept talking. “We are going to make it,” he emphasized, meeting my gaze for a long, unwavering second before turning back to the forest. “We did not just go through hell to get her out of there, only to have her die. Besides”—he grinned, as he turned the wheel slowly—“Violet is too stubborn to die.”

The way he delivered the statement, rough with affection and humor, managed to get a short laugh out of me. I looked down at Violet again, feeling my own heart swell with love for her. Owen was right—Violet was too stubborn to do anything she didn’t want to.

As I looked down, the woman cried out something indecipherable as she writhed in my arms. I smoothed my hands over her hair, whispering to her in low, soft tones. She settled down after a moment, turning her head slightly and exhaling in a soft sigh. I held her tightly, and then did something I hadn’t done in a long time—not since the night before Miriam’s sentence was to be carried out.

I prayed.





5





Violet





I became aware slowly, by degrees. This time it was different. There was no hush of tension or hint of urgency—nothing that justified me waking—but I woke anyway. I kept my eyes closed, remembering the pain that had usually intensified each time I had opened my eyes, and instead slowly turned my head, listening with my good ear.

I heard the sound of birds chirping, their noise joyous. I wetted my lips and sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the tightness around my ribs. I slowly lifted my eyelids.

I was lying in a bed, a worn homemade quilt pulled over me. The colors were muted, soft, and I felt a deep appreciation for that. But the bed was different than I might have expected. It was made of metal, not wood, and the mattress sagged slightly in the middle. A little pulse of alarm jolted me out of my half-slumbering state, and I took a risk, opening my eyes wider.