The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(38)

Nobody answered; nobody had to, as the blood drained out of Maxen’s face. He gaped, first at Ms. Dale, who stared icily at him, and then at me—I couldn’t help but give him a little wave. Henrik came up behind him, laying a heavy hand on the king’s shoulder and forcing him to sit back down as he took in the reality of his situation.

“I suggest you treat these women with utmost respect,” Henrik said, and Maxen flinched as Henrik tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Because they’re some of the best strategists we have, they know the enemy far better than you, and last, but not least, they’re the only ones here, trying to help.”

“You might also want to consider improving the conditions for women in your country after this,” Viggo added. “After all, it’ll be hard to find a leg to stand on even if we’re able to get you out of this mess. And believe me, the women of Patrus will not forget.”

The king’s face grew more horrified, and I had to laugh at the image of two Patrian men fighting for women’s rights with their king. Granted, it was clear that Henrik and Viggo no longer felt included as a part of Patrian society, but even so, they were schooling the king admirably.

I was just glad I got to be there to witness it. And, judging by the warm, appreciative look Ms. Dale shot at Henrik, so was she.





14





Viggo





I was tired of arguing with Maxen. The man was intractable. Gone was the charismatic and intelligent persona he liked to put out to the world. In its place was a man who simply couldn’t grasp the severity of the situation he was in.

The king was still flabbergasted from what Henrik and I had said to him, so I jumped on it. Slapping a blank piece of paper down on the table in front of him, I slid a pen toward his hand and crossed my arms. “The pardon,” I said pointedly.

Maxen’s eyes drifted down to the paper, his expression still a bit dazed. He licked his lips and glanced at me, then back down at the paper, seemingly overwhelmed by his own indecision. I wasn’t about to let him argue more.

“The pardon,” I pressed. “Or we leave you here to rot. It won’t be long until our enemies learn of this location, and I plan for us to be long gone when they get here. Whether or not you’ll be with us is completely up to you.”

Maxen stared at me, and then reluctantly picked up the pen. “What, ah, should it say?” he asked after a moment.

Ms. Dale moved up next to him and began coaching him. I had to roll my eyes and tune it out—it was annoying to think that the king had never once written a pardon. Perhaps it was just easier for him not to, but I didn’t care. No system was worth defending if it didn’t bend for its people.

No system was worth defending if it would allow innocent women to swing for defending themselves.

Yet here I was, working to save a man who embodied every aspect of it. It felt unconscionable. It felt wrong. Why did doing the right thing feel the same as making a terrible mistake?

I looked over at Violet, feeling a heavy ache in my heart. We still hadn’t talked about my proposal. Which wasn’t her fault—the situation wasn’t exactly welcoming. When we’d been alone together in the cab of the truck, she’d practically passed out on my shoulder, and I hadn’t wanted to press her. It had just been comforting to have her there next to me as I drove exhaustedly through the night. But who knew when we would have a chance to talk about it in the future? I could only imagine we were going to be on the run for the next few days. In all probability, it would be longer.

Yet there were things we needed to do beforehand.

I stood up abruptly, attracting surprised attention from everyone in the room. “I’m going to the shed,” I announced. “Check to see if there are any supplies we might need before we go.” I focused on Ms. Dale. “You got him?”

She nodded and turned back to the king, who was beginning to look like he had swallowed something bitter. I couldn’t even summon up the good humor to have a laugh at that, so I just left, heading toward the small shed.

The key was under a nearby rock—it wasn’t the most secure place to leave it, but few people bothered coming up my track. The key was there when I picked up the rock, and I quickly slipped it into the padlock and pulled the door open.

The first thing I zeroed in on was the tarp covering my motorcycle. I pulled it back, smiling as the familiar gleaming black and chrome lines came into sight. I ran my hands across the soft leather seats in reverence as I walked past it, heading to my workbench. When I’d left to find Violet, when I’d still had the king’s guarantee of funding whatever supplies I needed to track her down, I’d used his orders to instruct one of the wardens I distrusted least to take the bike back here after I left with Alejandro. It might have been a selfish impulse and a waste of the king’s money—but I was glad of it now.

I had also told him to hide the keys to the bike in one of a group of mason jars screwed to the underside of a shelving unit. They were filled with little odds and ends—scraps of metal and loose screws and bolts—all neatly organized so I could find them more easily. Unscrewing one after another, I found it in the third jar from the right on the back row, sifting through the nails and other items until the keyring emerged. At least one thing in my life had gone just as I had planned it.

I carried it back over to my bike and straddled the seat, inserting the key into the ignition. I held my breath for a moment and then hit the starter button with my thumb.