The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(75)

If we could find someone who knew how to pilot it.





28





Violet





Cans. They felt like my entire life now, and I had only been in the kitchen a little over three hours. Ashabee definitely had overly stocked pantries for one man living with a group of servants, but I was okay with it, seeing as we now had plenty of mouths to feed. My task for the day after the Matrian raid was half inventorying, half pre-packing, in preparation for our inevitable evacuation.

It was the one thing we could all agree on: we needed to leave sooner rather than later. How much sooner was anyone’s guess. We had killed over twenty women when all was said and done, and Tabitha, or whoever was in command, was going to notice an entire group going missing. I figured we had twenty-four to forty-eight hours before they showed up again, and I felt that was being optimistic.

But with the added concerns of our group of refugees/new rebels, the logistics of moving everyone were getting complicated—and we didn’t even know yet where we were going to move. I stowed several cans in one of the small wooden crates I had labeled ‘protein’ and slid it to the end of the counter. I had already piled several other such crates there, each marked clearly, and turned back to the pantry, eyeing the selection.

“I suppose it’s time for canned fruit,” I said aloud, and started pulling stacked cans off the shelf and placing them on the wide counter behind me.

“Seriously, why did you want this job?” came Owen’s voice from behind me. I jumped, slightly startled by his sudden appearance, and whirled, my hands balling up into fists. He winced and took a placating step back. “Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you.”

I took a deep breath. “Not your fault,” I said wearily. “My nerves are shot.”

“Mine, too,” Owen admitted, meeting my gaze. I could see in his eyes how much the collateral damage had affected him, too, and I wondered how he was coping with it.

All of us, not just Viggo, Ms. Dale, and… Henrik… had been deeply affected by the horrible deaths in the past two days. I was holding on by letting the coldly practical side of my mind take over. I told myself that we had won, we had saved people, we were going to move on with the battle. It was how I had looked at our innumerable setbacks. No feeling. Just move on, move on, move on. When that didn’t work—and it wasn’t working well—I tried to drown my feelings in those of the people around me. If I had to be strong to help and support them, then I couldn’t give in to despair. I couldn’t think about the dead children, or Henrik’s worsening condition.

I was beginning to suspect that if I didn’t have Viggo’s state of mind to worry about, I would have just collapsed into a puddle of angry nerves and then despair.

But it looked like that was happening anyway. At least Owen and I could laugh about it.

“How many did you manage to recruit?” I asked, pulling out more cans and stacking them up.

“Twenty-seven,” he replied. “No pilots, unfortunately, but it’s still great news. Actually, Ashabee’s staff were among the first volunteers. Kind of surprising, but Jeff and the rest of them seem determined to become King Maxen’s new honor guard.”

I made a face, and Owen nodded. “I couldn’t believe it either. I asked Jeff if he was serious, but he was adamant. Although he did tell me that he didn’t want to keep Maxen alive for patriotic reasons—just that he knows that Maxen is an important tool in this war.”

I nodded, but my eyebrows still hitched up in surprise. “I knew there was a reason I liked Jeff,” I said wryly as I carefully counted the canned peaches spread out on the counter.

“I also think that the group of them has had so much experience in dealing with pigheaded men that taking care of the king isn’t going to be a big transition for them,” he offered, and we both laughed bitterly, then moved on to the next question.

“Has anybody heard anything from Amber and Quinn yet?”

Owen’s face grew carefully neutral, which I had learned could be a sign of worry. “Not yet,” he admitted. “It’s only really been a day and a half, though… They’re probably still in transit. I’m not even sure if they’ll be able to contact us from The Green. It might not be wise, with Desmond so near. They could be across the border already.” The reassuring tone of his words didn’t reach his voice, which sounded distinctly worried.

“They’re both smart. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” I said, trying to be reassuring but feeling the exact same way.

We both fell silent, feeling the weight of the things we couldn’t know, and I scribbled some notes on the paper I was using as an inventory log. “Anything else exciting?” I finally asked, trying to sound relaxed, and wondering if there was something in particular he’d come to see me about.

He seemed to consider, and then something sparked in his eyes. “Oh! Yes, actually, I thought there was something you might want to see.”

“What is it?”

“It’s easier if I just show it to you,” Owen replied mysteriously.

Intrigued, and glad for a distraction from everyone’s grief, I set down my pen and clipboard and followed him through the house. The kitchen sat an inordinately long distance from both dining rooms, so he had to lead me across half the house before we reached the servants’ staircase Viggo had been defending. I slowed to a stop as he did.