Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(62)

“Right!” Tyger said, and then winked at Rowan. “And I’ll hold the lettuce.”

The moment Tyger was gone, Scythe Rand closed the door. And locked it.

“I was burned over 50 percent of my body, and my back was broken,” Scythe Rand said. “You left me for dead, but it’ll take a whole lot more than you to end me.”

She didn’t have to tell Rowan for him to figure out what had happened next. She had dragged herself out of the flames, thrown herself into a publicar, and had it take her to Texas—a region where she could get medical attention at a healing center with no questions asked. Then she had lain low. Waiting. Waiting for him.

“What are you doing with Tyger?”

Rand smirked as she slunk toward him. “Weren’t you listening? I’m turning him into a scythe.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” Then she smirked again. “Well, maybe just a little.”

“It can’t be both. Either it’s the truth or a lie.”

“That’s the problem with you, Rowan. ?You can’t see any of the shades in between.”

And then he realized something. “Scythe Brahms! He was working for you!”

“Just figured that out, did you?” She sat on the bed. “We knew if he gleaned your father, you’d go after him eventually. He’s really an awful scythe—but he was loyal to Goddard. He actually cried real tears of joy when he found out I was alive. And after you so thoroughly humiliated him, he was more than happy to be the bait to lure you in.”

“Tyger thinks bringing me here was his idea.”

Rand wrinkled her nose in an almost flirtatious way. “That was the easy part. I told him we’d have to find him a sparring partner, someone about his size and age. ‘What about Rowan Damisch?’ he said. ‘Oh, what a fantastic idea,’ I said right back. He’s certainly not the sharpest machete on the mantle, but he’s very sincere. It’s almost charming.”

“If you hurt him, I swear—”

“You swear what? Considering your current situation, you can’t do anything but swear.”

Then she pulled out a dagger from her robe. The handle was green marble, and the blade was shiny black. “It would be fun-and-a-half to carve out your heart right now,” she said, but instead she dragged the tip of the blade along the arch of his foot. Not hard enough to draw blood, but with just enough pressure to make his toes curl. “But cutting your heart out will have to wait . . . because there’s so much more in store for you!”

? ? ?

For hours, Rowan could do nothing but think about his predicament, alone on a bed that must have been comfortable, but when you were tied to it, it might as well have been a bed of nails.

So he was in Texas. What did he know about the Texas region? Not much that could help him. Learning about it had not been part of his training, and Charter Regions were not taught in school unless one chose to study them. All Rowan really knew was common knowledge and hearsay.

Texan homes had no Thunderhead cameras.

Texan cars didn’t drive themselves unless they had to.

And the only law in Texas was the law of one’s own conscience.

He’d once known a kid who had moved from Texas. He wore big boots and a big hat, and a belt buckle that could stop a mortar shell.

“It’s a lot less boring there,” the kid had said. “We can have crazy-exotic pets, and dangerous dog breeds that are outlawed other places. And weapons! Guns and knives and stuff that only scythes get to have everywhere else, we can have. Of course, people aren’t supposed to actually use ’em, but sometimes they do.”? Which explained why the Texas region had the highest rate of accidental shootings and pet-bear maulings in the world.

“And we don’t got unsavories in Texas,” the kid had bragged. “Anyone who gets out of hand, we just kick their sorry ass out.”

There was also no penalty for rendering someone deadish—except having to face retribution from the victim after they were revived—which was a pretty good deterrent.

It seemed to Rowan that the Texas region had embraced its roots, and had chosen to mimic the Old West the way Tonists mimicked mortal-age religions. In short, Texas had the best of both worlds—or the worst, depending on your point of view. There were benefits for both the courageous and the foolhardy, but also a great many opportunities to truly screw up one’s life.

But, just as in every Charter Region, no one was forced to stay. “If you don’t like it, leave,” was the unofficial motto of all Charter Regions. Plenty of people left, but plenty also came, leaving a population that enjoyed things just the way they were.

It seemed the only person in Texas unable to do as he pleased was Rowan.

? ? ?

Later that day, two guards came for him. They weren’t members of the BladeGuard—they were muscle for hire. When they untied him, Rowan considered taking them out. He could have done it in seconds, leaving them unconscious on the floor, but he decided against it. All he knew of his captivity were the dimensions of his bedroom. Better to get the lay of the land before attempting any sort of escape.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked one of guards.

“Where Scythe Rand told us to take you,” was all he could get out of him.

Rowan made a mental note of everything he saw: The ceramic lamp beside his bed could be used as a weapon in a pinch. The windows did not open, and were probably made from unbreakable glass. When he had been tied to the bed, the windows afforded him no view but the sky . . . but now, as they led him from the room, he could see that they were in a high-rise. ?This was an apartment—and as they made their way down a long hallway that opened up into a huge living area, he realized that it was a penthouse.