CHAPTER 23
WE LAY BRAX’S BODY to rest between two pine trees, where the ground is soft and less riddled by roots. Because of our hurry, the grave is too shallow. There’s not even a stone to mark the spot. It is a far cry from the hero’s funeral he deserves, but it’s all we can do. When we’re done, my fingernails are ripped and dirty and my hands are bright red with cold.
“I’m sorry, Brax.”
These are the only words I can think to say. As soon as they’re uttered, Kiran hoists me up atop Dell, and together we ride hard southwest.
The sun rises what seems like too soon, and with it, new concern for my family. I hope Daphne has found the twins, and that they’ve arrived at the river, and that Lorcan is there to protect them. I tell myself right now they’re safer with someone else, but it feels wrong.
Every emotion within me is worn thin, like the ragged seams of my clothes. My temper is just on the edge of burning. My eyes are filled to the brim with tears. I even giggle a few times, for no reason. Amidst all these edges is a hole, right in the center of my chest. The one Brax used to fill.
Kiran turns against the sun at a yellowing meadow and retraces our tracks the opposite direction. We branch out southeast and then turn back again. We follow trails that lead to nowhere, then backtrack. Should someone follow, they will be led astray over and over.
My stomach grumbles with nerves and hunger throughout the early morning. The dew dampens our faces and chills my skin. I wonder if the twins are cold and if Daphne knows where to find them food. Tam’s so grown up now; he’ll probably take care of Nina himself.
Kiran dismounts when we return to the meadow in the midmorning. We’ve been here four times today taking various paths, but when Kiran crouches beside an outcropping of tracks, it’s not just Dell’s shod imprints he sees, but the semicircle track of a cheap, hired animal, like the fares at the Driver barn.
Trackers have been here since we last were.
The other prints are lost in the harder ground, and though we search, we find no more.
Kiran remounts, his lips drawn in a thin, straight line. Tucked within his belt beneath the shirt, he’s carrying two guns that he stole off the dead Virulent. His bow rests across one thigh. I scan the surrounding area for any sign of movement, an arrow notched in Aran’s bow. Every falling pinecone and chirping bird draws our eyes.
“I say we follow Lorcan,” he whispers as Dell creeps through the woods.
“We can’t. If they’re watching us, we’ll lead them home.”
Kiran shakes his head in frustration.
“What do you propose then?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know.
We don’t rest until the sun is high overhead. The stream where we stop is cool and clear, and I kneel and dip my hands and face into the water to scrub away the dried blood and muck. But it doesn’t wash away the harsh memories. I don’t think anything can do that.
When I rise, Kiran’s staring at me, rubbing the line between his brows with his thumb.
I listen, thinking he’s doing the same, but hear nothing but the birds.
“It’s too quiet.” I roll my tense shoulders.
Kiran is still staring.
It occurs to me that I should thank him. I doubt he’s waiting for it, but I don’t want him to think I’ve taken all his risks for granted. He might be used to sticking his neck out for other Drivers, but I’m not used to anyone doing it for me. But when I try to express my gratitude, the words get stuck in my throat.
“What is it?” His voice cracks a little. These last hours are wearing him thin.
I hesitate, wanting to get back on Dell, but knowing she needs a little more time to rest. Carrying two bodies half the night is taking its toll on her. She’s lathered in sweat, with white salt lines beside her girth.
“Just … Lorcan. I keep thinking about what he did last night.”
I don’t know why I say this, but it makes some of the pressure between us go away.
Kiran gives a curt nod. “Old man took care of things, didn’t he?”
“He protected the other Drivers.”
Kiran steps closer, and now we’re only an arm’s length apart. His eyes are glimmering like the river stones, and the way he’s looking at me is like he’s touching me. Like I can feel his gaze skimming my skin, making me warm.
“I hate to tell you, Aya, but sometimes you have a hard time seeing what’s right in front of you.” A ghost of a smile plays across his lips.
I take a step back.
“If he wanted to be my father, he would have stayed close instead of always running away.”
“Maybe it was too hard to spend every day staring at your ma’s scars.”
My temper rises. “How dare—”
“Because,” he pushes on, “because he knew he’d been the one to do it.”
He lifts his hand and very gently trails an X across my right cheek, exactly the way he had the night I’d asked him to help me break the purity rule. I know then that Kiran wouldn’t have been able to live with my scars either. I bat his hand away, but not as strongly as I intend and my fingers end up curling around his on my cheek.
He moves closer, and just like when he first crossed the stream into the solitary yard, I’m stuck in place.
I swallow. “He didn’t hold the knife.”
“But he might as well have. Don’t you see how hard it was? He couldn’t talk to her. He couldn’t laugh with her. He couldn’t tell her he cared about her.”
“Well, words aren’t everything.”
And before I can draw breath again, Kiran’s kissing me. Or at least his mouth has frozen against mine. He seems nearly as surprised by it as I am and smirks briefly before his lips soften and his copper-flecked eyes drift closed.
Gently, his other hand skims over my hair, coming to rest at the base of my neck. A quake starts deep inside of me and by the time it reaches my jaw, I know he can feel it. Something changes in his face then. A look I haven’t seen before, which surprises me because I thought I knew every one of them. His brows lift just slightly, and draw together. His shoulders rise, just a tiny bit. And it’s right then that I figure out the truth: Part of my soul may belong to Kiran, but part of his belongs to me, too.
I don’t want this moment to ever end.
With Kiran, I am the barest version of myself, not protected by my walls, not hidden behind the Garden’s makeup and dresses. I am fierce and pretty and my value is not recorded by some bodybook or measured by stars on an auction block. I’m not so scared, not so alone, and because being here with him feels so right, I know I can’t trust it. We’re in danger, and when Kiran kisses me it weakens my shield. I can’t defend myself from Trackers without that shield. I can’t protect the twins. I can’t let my guard down. Not now, maybe not ever.
I push him away, but it’s hard because the muscles in my arms don’t seem to work anymore. He blinks and opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Since I found out he can talk, this is the first time I’ve seen him speechless.
And suddenly, like a furious punch, I remember Kyna. Maybe Driver men are just like other men in the city; they think they can take their pick of whatever girl they want. Well I’m not built that way. I’m loyal, and if someone wants to kiss on me, they better be loyal too.
A crackling in the brush behind me steals our attention. Instantly, our arrows are loaded and our bows are at eye level. Kiran still has the guns, but he doesn’t reach for them. I wonder if he even knows how to use one.
Dell lifts her head, ears pinned flat against her neck, and Kiran places a steadying hand on her nose. She grinds the bit anxiously. Her mouth is edged with foam and sweat.
Keeping low, I follow the sound, softly placing each step so I make as little noise as possible. Ten paces away, I hear murmuring. Ten paces more and I see them.
In a small sapling grove are four men with horses. One is crouching on the ground, pressing his fingertips into what I’m sure are Dell’s prints.
Three of them, including the man on foot, are Trackers. I can see the flashlights on their hip belts and the nets tied to the backs of their saddles.
The fourth is Mr. Greer.
He’s wearing riding breeches and a silk shirt that shimmers even when the wind is calm. Dark hair hangs in crisp points around his eyes. His face is covered by a black scarf, but the pins holding it in place have been dislodged, and a hint of that jagged, raised scar on the top of his cheek sticks out.
“If she’s masquerading as a Driver like he said, they’ll kill her. Not in the city, mind you, but out here they would. They don’t take well to folks interfering with their kind,” says one of the mounted Trackers.
I’m frozen, holding my breath. I wish I’d never met Amir Ryker in that candy shop at the auction. I wish he didn’t exist. Mr. Greer too, and the mayor, and all these Trackers. If I’m glad for nothing else in my life, it’s that we didn’t follow Lorcan home right away.
“It would be a waste if they disposed of her.” Greer’s voice is rougher than before, like sand blowing against metal.
“Right, because then she can’t hang,” another Tracker laughs. He spits on the ground and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
“If she’s alive, she won’t hang,” assures Mr. Greer. “We paid a considerable sum for her.”
“Waste to give her to a boy, then,” says the Tracker on the ground. “Should save her for a man.” He rises and puffs out his chest. The others laugh, Mr. Greer along with them.
Greer adjusts his scarf. “She’ll pay her dues, not to worry.”
The Tracker, now strutting back to his horse, stops short. “I’d think tangling with the mayor’s favorite girl would have made an impression. You’ve still got one pretty cheek, Greer. Don’t lose the other one.”
Mr. Greer shoots him in the chest, with a gun I didn’t even see in his hand.
A cry bursts from my throat as I topple backwards. The three remaining faces turn my way.
There’s no hiding now. I get up and I run.