Defiance

…Like the Wall surrounding the city of Baalboden, the compound is a massive expanse of weather-stained gray stone bolstered by ribbons of steel. Darkened windows are cut into the bulky exterior like lidless, unblinking eyes, and the roof holds several turrets manned with guards whose sole job it is to cut down any intruders before they’ve gone twenty paces.

Not that any citizen of Baalboden would be stupid enough to defy the man who rules us with a ferocity rivaled only by what waits for us out in the Wasteland.

Before the guard manning the spiked iron gate can open it, another wagon rumbles to a stop behind ours. I glance over my shoulder and heat stings my
cheeks as Logan McEntire strides toward us, the dying sun painting his dark blond hair gold.

I will my pale skin not to betray me and do my best to pretend I don’t see him. I’ve spent so much time today hoping Dad would finally return from the Wasteland, I neglected to consider that any reading of his will would naturally include his apprentice.

Which is fine. As long as I don’t have to speak to him.

“Oliver. Rachel,” Logan says as he comes to stand beside us. His voice is its usual calm, I-bet-I-can-find-an-algorithm-to-fix-this tone, and I have a sudden desire to pick a fight with him.

Except that would make it look like I care that he’s here..

And I don’t.

His presence won’t change anything. My Protectorship will be given to Oliver, Logan will take over Dad’s courier duties, and I’ll keep checking off the days until Dad comes home again, and life can go back to normal.

Oliver reaches out to clap his free hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Good of you to come,” he says. As if Logan had a choice. As if any of us have a choice.

“It feels too soon,” Logan says softly as the guard opens the gate and waves. us forward. “Jared’s tough. We should give him more than sixty days past his scheduled return date before we’re forced to declare him dead.”

I glance at Logan in surprise, and find his dark blue eyes on mine, the fierce conviction in them a perfect match for what burns in me. My lips curve into at small smile before I remember I’m not going to act like I care about him.

I’ve had enough firsthand experience with caring about Logan McEntire to last me a lifetime.

I look away and walk into the compound without another word.

Oliver and Logan follow on my heels. A steward, dressed in black, leads us into a box of a room and quietly excuses himself, shutting the door behind him.

Straight-back wooden chairs surround a long polished table, and six torches rest in black iron brackets against stark white walls. The air feels smoky and closed off, but I don’t know if the choked feeling in my throat is from lack of oxygen or from the fact that facing us at the end of the table is Commander Jason Chase, ruler of Baalboden.

The torchlight skims the gold braid on his crisp blue military jacket, scrapes over the twin furrows of the scar that twists a path from his left temple to his mouth, and dies in the unremitting darkness of his eyes.

“Sit,” he says.

We obey. Our chairs drag against the stone floor, a high-pitched squeal of distress. Two men sit on either side of the Commander’s chair. One worries a stack of parchment lying in front of him with nervous fingers. The other wears a studious expression on the doughy folds of his face and holds a quill poised over an inkwell, a sheet of blank parchment unfurled before him.

The Commander examines each of us in turn before sitting in his chair, his spine held at rigid attention. Without sparing a glance for the two men beside him, he says, “Oliver James Reece, Logan McEntire, and Rachel Elizabeth Adams, you have been called here today to deal with the matter of the death of Jared Nathaniel Adams.”

I jerk forward at his words, leaning past Oliver on my left so I can meet the Commander’s gaze, but Logan grips my right arm and pulls me back. “Shh,” he breathes against my ear.

I yank my arm from his grasp and swallow the protest begging to be unleashed. We aren’t here because Dad is dead. We’re here because the
Commander won’t allow more time for us to prove he’s alive. Anger hums beneath my skin.

The Commander continues. “Upon his failure to return from his courier mission to the city-state of Carrington, I invoked the sixty-day grace period for return. Those sixty days are now over.”

The round man scratches furiously on the parchment without spilling a spare drop of ink from his quill. I want to speak. To make him record my protest. Anything could have gone wrong in the Wasteland. Dad could’ve taken sick. Been kidnapped by highwaymen. Been driven off course by the Cursed One. None of those events are necessarily fatal. We just need to give him more time. My body vibrates, tension coiling within me until I have to clamp my jaw tight to keep from interrupting.

“Therefore, by right as ruler and upholder of law in Baalboden, I now pronounce Jared Nathaniel Adams dead.”

The small, nervous-fingered man gathers the stack of papers in front of him, clears his throat, and begins to read Dad’s will. I let his words slide past me, willing him to hurry up so we can leave. But when he suddenly falls silent and frowns, I start paying attention.

“Is there a problem?” the Commander asks in a tone meant to convey that there’d better not be.

“It’s, ah, just a bit irregular. Highly irregular.” The man’s fingers clench the parchment, curling the edges until they begin to crumble.

“Continue,” the Commander says to him. A hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach.

“In the matter of the Protectorship of my daughter, Rachel Elizabeth Adams, I do hereby appoint as her Protector…” Another clearing of his throat. A
swift glance in my direction.

No, not in my direction. In Logan’s.

I grip the table’s edge with clammy fingers and feel the bottom drop out of my world as the man says, “I do hereby appoint as her Protector, until such a day as she is legally Claimed, my apprentice, Logan McEntire.”

_______________________________________
Chapter 2: Logan

It takes a second for the news to sink in. For me to realize he said my name. Not Oliver’s. Mine.

Even as I absorb the sucker punch of panic to my gut, I’m scrambling for a plan. Something we can all agree on as reasonable and just. A Protector is an older male family member or a husband. Not a nineteen-year-old orphan who carved his way out of poverty and desperation to become the apprentice to Baalboden’s best tracker.

Maybe the Commander will intervene and tell us how preposterous this is. Acknowledge that I can’t possibly be expected to take on a sixteen-year-old ward. Not when a man of Oliver’s age and reputation is willing and able.

Instead, the Commander looks across the long expanse of table between us and smiles, a small tightening of his mouth that does nothing to mitigate the predatory challenge in his eyes. He won’t step in without seeing me beg him for it first. I press my lips closed, a thin line of defiance. I’d rather combine every element on the periodic table and take my chances with the outcome than humble myself before the Commander. Even for the worthy cause of giving both Rachel and Oliver what I know they want. I’ll have to come up with another way to put Oliver in charge of Rachel. Maybe as her new Protector, it’s within my rights to assign her to another?

Before I can pursue this line of thinking, Rachel leaps to her feet and says, “No!”

Oliver grabs for her, tugging her toward her chair, but she shakes him off.

“No?” The Commander draws the word out with deliberate intent, looking at her properly for the first time since we entered the room. Dread sinks into me at the way his eyes scrape over her like he’d enjoy teaching her how to keep her mouth shut.

I’ve seen that expression on the kind of men who frequent the back alleys of South Edge. It never bodes well for the woman they’ve selected as their prey. Rachel’s voice shakes. “He’s not… I can’t be…. This is crazy.”

I snatch her arm and forcibly seat her again before she says something that gets her in the kind of trouble I can’t save her from. “What she means is that this is very unexpected.”

“What I mean is there is no way in this lifetime that I’ll ever willingly answer to you.” She glares at me, but her words are laced with panic.

I understand the feeling. I don’t know how to be a Protector. Especially Rachel’s Protector. And I don’t know what words to say that would make her despise the situation less.

“You dare argue against your father’s wishes?” The Commander leans forward, placing each palm flat against the table.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, I- ”

“You don’t.” I meet her eyes and try to convey with my expression that she should be quiet and let me handle this. Not that I’ve ever known Jared’s headstrong daughter to be quiet about anything. But the thought of what the Commander could do to her if she angers him makes me sick with fear.

She throws me a look of absolute loathing, then pulls her arm free and turns to the Commander. “He’s only nineteen. Wouldn’t a man of Oliver’s years and experience be a better choice?”

Her words hurt, a sudden sharp ache that takes me by surprise. The fact that I was about to suggest the same does nothing to lessen the sting.

“Your father didn’t think so,” the Commander says dismissively, turning his gaze from her as if she couldn’t possibly have anything more to say.

“But… I’m nearly Claiming age. Just three months away. Surely I’m old enough not to need to stay under the roof of my official Protector-”

The Commander straightens abruptly and glares Rachel into silence. “First, you question your father’s wisdom over you. Now, you question the
Protectorship laws of Baalboden itself?”

“Sir, she’s just bit off balance right now. It’s been a difficult day for her.” The calm in Oliver’s voice is strained around the edges.

The expression on the Commander’s face turns the dread coursing through me into stone. Oliver can’t defuse him. Rachel can’t either, not that she’d try. That leaves me. Standing between the leader who’s hated me for most of my life and the girl who thinks she hates me too.

“To argue against the law of Baalboden is to argue against me.” The Commander chops each word into a sharp-edged weapon. “Are you absolutely sure you wish to take me on, girl?” Stepping away from his chair, he marches toward us with slow deliberation.

The torches paint grotesque shadows on his face as he passes them, and I brace myself. Best Case Scenario: All he intends is to give Rachel a lecture, and I can wait until it’s over before quietly insisting, as her Protector, that we take her home.

Worst Case Scenario: He intends to punish her physically for having the gall to argue with him, and I’ll have to step in. Promise to do the job myself when I get her home. Transfer his attention from her to me. It’s what a true Protector would do.

I no longer harbor false hope that I can somehow delegate the job to Oliver. The Commander won’t allow it, not after this. Jared trusted me with the person he loved most. Not Oliver, her surrogate grandfather. Not Roderigo Angeles, her best friend’s father. Me. The orphaned apprentice she once said she loved. I don’t understand why Jared felt this was best for her, but I don’t have to. He offered an outcast street rat a place at his table. Not just as an employee, but as a friend. I owe it to him to do my best for Rachel.

And because I understand how it feels to have the foundation you built your life on ripped away from you, I owe it to Rachel, too.

The Commander now stands behind Rachel’s chair, gripping its back with bloodless fingers. He’s beginning to look close to his seventy-odd years. His skin is worn and thin, and wrinkles score the backs of his hands. Still, his frame is muscular, and he moves with the steady grace of an experienced fighter. Only a fool would underestimate him.

“If not for me, the survivors of the Cursed One’s first attacks fifty years ago would be scattered across the ruins of their cities. Leaderless. Hopeless. Or do you forget that while the monster might lay waste to others, it never comes within Baalboden’s Wall?”

The Commander leans closer, the torchlight flickering across his skin to gild Rachel’s hair with flame. His words are brittle slaps against the air. “If not for me, the Cursed One would have burned this city to the ground decades ago.”

His voice is rising, his fingers clenched against the back of her chair like he means to snap it in two.

“I will not tolerate dissension. I will not tolerate disobedience.” He grabs a handful of her hair and twists her around to face him. I clench my fists and prepare to defend her if he takes it any further. She hisses a quick gasp of pain but meets his eyes without flinching.

“And I will not tolerate a mere girl speaking to me as if she was my equal. You live because I allow it. Never forget that.” Deliberately unclenching my fists, I open my mouth to offer the Commander whatever assurances it takes to get him to calm down, but Rachel beats me to it.

“I won’t forget it.”

She sounds appropriately frightened and humbled, though knowing her it’s possible she’s simply figured out how to show him what he expects to see. He uncurls his fingers from her hair, wipes his hand against his pant leg as if he’s touched something filthy, and abruptly turns to me.

“Let that be a lesson to you in how to control your ward. It appears Jared was somewhat remiss in her education.”

He has no idea just how remiss Jared’s been about instilling in Rachel the docile, meek obedience expected from a woman in Baalboden. I manage a single nod, as if grateful for the tutelage.

“I should take her home now,” I say, making every effort to sound as if I feel nothing about the entire proceeding.

“Indeed,” Oliver says, reaching out to engulf Rachel’s hand in his. His voice is just as unruffled as mine. We both know better than to show emotion to the Commander. “We’ll need to pack her belongings. Or are you planning to move into Jared’s house?”

It’s going to be hard enough to adjust to living under the same roof as Rachel. I don’t think I can bear it if I also have to adjust to leaving the solitude of my little cottage behind as well.

“She’ll move to my house.”

Rachel jerks as if I’ve slapped her. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe she can’t bear the thought of leaving her home either, but it’s too late to take it back. To show indecisiveness in front of the Commander is foolish in the extreme. Regret over my words mixes with anger at being forced into a position where my only choices are to give up everything or expect Rachel to instead. There’s no right answer, no easy solution that will somehow make this bearable for either of us. The weight of my new responsibility feels heavy enough to crush me.

“May we leave?” Oliver asks the Commander.

His dark eyes gleaming, the Commander says, “You may.” But as we push our chairs away from the table and get to our feet, he steps closer to Rachel and glances at me, malice glittering in his eyes. “Tell me, girl, why do you despise your new Protector so much? And don’t bother trying to lie.” His eyes slide off of me and onto her. “I’d only have to punish you.” He doesn’t sound sorry about this.

Rachel throws me one quick look, her blue eyes pleading. It’s the same look I saw two years ago, the morning of her fifteenth birthday, when everything changed between us. I’d just won the apprenticeship to Jared, and he was out on a courier mission to Carrington, a city-state several days’ journey to the east of us. Oliver was staying at the house as he always did when Jared was away, and he was busy in the kitchen baking Rachel’s favorite lemon cake for her birthday treat. I’d joined Rachel on the back porch at her request. I thought she simply wanted to talk about missing Jared, or missing her mother, something we both had in common.

Instead, she sat beside me, her cheeks flushing, her eyes refusing to meet mine, and told me she was in love with me. I heard the vibrant hope in her words, heard the way her breath caught in her throat when I took too long to answer, and felt clumsy and foolish.

She looked at me as I sat, baking in the early summer sunshine, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t hurt her but wouldn’t encourage the impossible. I tried to explain. To tell her I couldn’t think about romance when I had so much to prove. To make her see how fast Jared would terminate my apprenticeship if he thought there was anything improper between us. To assure her she was young, and there would be others.

The words were awkward and stilted, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hands as the hope in her eyes slowly turned to pleading and finally subsided behind a cold wall of anger. I reached out, bridging the distance between us like I could somehow erase the damage, but she jumped to her feet and left me sitting there with nothing but the echo of my promise that she’d get over me.

She’s spent every second since proving me right. I haven’t had a glimpse of anything beneath the fierce independence she wears like a second skin until now. Now, with the Commander demanding to be privy to details that I know humiliated her, she turns to me. I don’t intend to let her down.

“I’m afraid I’ve behaved rather poorly toward Miss Adams in the past,” I say, stepping slightly in front of Rachel so the Commander has to either deal with me or be the first to step back. “I can’t blame her for hoping a good man like Oliver would be her father’s choice.”

He studies me with a smirk. “Either Jared didn’t care about this poor behavior of yours, or he never knew about it.”

I nod toward the Commander with the barest pretense of respect before turning to face Rachel. “Shall we go get your things packed?”

Her face is dead white. Even the torchlight refuses to lend her any color. Straightening her spine, she slides her shield of fierce independence back in place and says, “Fine. But only until Dad returns.”

Then she walks out of the room.

I move to follow her, but the Commander’s hand snakes out and digs into my shoulder. “And when is Jared planning to return?” he asks.

“I beg your pardon?” His tone is vicious.

“She said ‘until Dad returns.’ When do you expect his return?” His other hand rests on the hilt of his sword, and his fingers bite into my cloak like he wishes he could draw blood.

“We don’t expect his return,” I say calmly, though my mind is racing. If the Commander really thinks Jared simply died while traveling the Wasteland, why the sharp interest in Rachel’s belief Jared will return? “Rachel only wishes things were different.”

“If you know something more about Jared’s recent failure to return, tell me now.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Don’t even think about lying to me,” the Commander says, malice dripping from every word.

The silence between us is thick with tension. The Commander doesn’t think Jared ran into trouble on his last mission. And he certainly doesn’t think Jared’s dead. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I know with terrible certainty that Jared is in more danger from his leader than he could ever be from the Wasteland.

“I’m not lying,” I say.

The Commander leans forward, chopping off his words like he’d spit them in my face if he could. “If I find out otherwise, I’ll punish the girl first. You, of all people, should understand that.”

The sudden memory of my mother’s broken body lying lifeless at the Commander’s feet makes it nearly impossible to say, “I understand.”

He releases my shoulder slowly, and I turn to leave the room, keeping my head held high. My back straight. My face schooled into an expressionless mask as if the twin fuels of panic and anger haven’t been ignited deep where the Commander never thinks look.

Jared’s in trouble. I have to come up with a solution-something I can use to track him down before the Commander does. And I have to do it before the Commander decides we know more than we’re telling. As I stride out of the compound, following Oliver and Rachel toward the waiting wagons, I begin to plan.