Deliverance
Page 92
Frankie snorts. “Sounds like exchanging one devil for another.”
“Exactly. I want to remove James Rowan from power, keep the Commander from taking over, and destroy as many of the tanniyn as we possibly can. If the Commander doesn’t call the beasts, I’m sure James Rowan will. The tanniyn don’t surface underwater. Which means they can’t breathe underwater.”
“So you’re aiming to flood Rowansmark?” Frankie’s brows come together. “There are innocent people living there.”
“Rowansmark regularly gets flooded, even with the dam. The city has an evacuation plan put in place for this. Plus, all of their homes have three stories with balconies so that if necessary, people can get to their roofs. I won’t willingly put the Rowansmark citizens in danger.”
“And you’ve got Captain Burkes on board with this?”
“Yes. When the Commander makes his move, we’ll be ready.”
Frankie meets my eyes and grins like someone just bet on him in a fight. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
RACHEL
I finish the last mouthful of pecan halves that Marcus shoved through the crack in our cells and smile for him while he blinks anxiously, asking me over and over again not to die.
“More?” he asks. “Have oatmeal. Julia loves.”
“Was Julia your wife?” I ask, though I already know the answer. He talks to her night and day, mumbling about Ian growing taller and having big feet, about not remembering to clean the stove between meals, and then reassures her that he still knows her song by heart.
“Julia. Song.” He hums a few bars of his favorite discordant melody again. I’m guessing that’s his version of Julia’s song.
He disappears, scuttling toward his bunk, and then he’s back, shoving two fingers coated in oatmeal through the crack. I reach out, scrape the oatmeal from his skin, and put it in my mouth. It’s cold and gummy, but I swallow it gratefully.
“Music?” He hums for me and waits as if encouraging me to hum along. I try a few bars, copying his wandering notes as best as I can, and he rewards me with a flash of a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry that Julia is gone. And that Ian . . .”
“Ian.” He breathes the name like a prayer, and I shift uncomfortably, welcoming the stab of pain in my back to distract me from the anguished devotion in Marcus’s voice.
“Mostly I’m sorry that Logan was taken from you, even though that means I wouldn’t have known him.” The thought sends a tendril of aching loneliness through me. What would it be like if I’d never known Logan? Never sparred with the boy who didn’t mind the fact that I could beat him or argued with the boy who challenged me because he respected my intelligence?
Never kissed the boy who makes me feel like fire runs just beneath my skin?
“Know him? Know Logan?” Marcus watches me closely.
“I know him,” I tell him again, just like I have every day since I’ve been in the dungeon. “I know Logan.” Three little words that don’t do anything justice. I know the look on his face when he’s so busy thinking about an invention that he doesn’t hear a word anyone is saying. I know the roughness of his calloused fingers. The way his skin smells like ink and paper. I know the lengths he’ll go to keep his promises.
I know the smile he gives to others and the one he gives only to me.
I don’t realize I’m smiling too—a drifting, dreamy sort of smile—until Marcus makes a soft hooting noise and asks, “Love him? Logan? Love?”
“I do,” I say, and Marcus hums wildly. “And you love him, too. That’s why you worked so hard to finish the invention that would ransom his life. I want him to meet you. I want him to have a family. But to do that, I have to know where the summoners are located and how to destroy them before Rowan can use them against Logan when he arrives to rescue me.”
Marcus falls silent, his eye blinking rapidly as his gaze flits from my face to the floor and back again. “Know. Don’t know.” He shakes his head and speaks louder. “Know it. Know.”
I try to sound calm and soothing. “It’s okay, Marcus. We’ll take it slow. Please. You and I are the only ones left who can save your son.”
He quiets, and then says in a low voice, “Sons. Save my sons. James? Punish them? You promised. Sons.”
I close my eyes and try not to think of the way Sylph’s heartbeat slowed and then stopped as Ian’s poison coursed through her veins. “Yes. Your sons. I promised. We’ll do one question at a time, okay? First, do the summoners actually work?”
He mutters something that sounds like “inverse” followed by a string of unintelligible sounds that might be scientific equations or might be nothing at all.
“Did you say ‘inverse’?” I ask, leaning my face against the wall so I can watch Marcus. His ruined face contorts, the scar tissue that covers what’s left of his features pulling his mouth into grotesque angles while he mumbles and keens. He grabs his hair—still thick and dark blond like Logan’s, but with gray at the temples—and yanks on it so hard, I expect to see his scalp start to bleed.
I’m running out of time. If Samuel takes the bait and visits me, I need to be ready. I bite back the surge of frustration, and try again.
“The summoners work by using inverse?” I ask. That doesn’t sound like an actual thing, but he keeps repeating it, so it must be important.
“Exactly. I want to remove James Rowan from power, keep the Commander from taking over, and destroy as many of the tanniyn as we possibly can. If the Commander doesn’t call the beasts, I’m sure James Rowan will. The tanniyn don’t surface underwater. Which means they can’t breathe underwater.”
“So you’re aiming to flood Rowansmark?” Frankie’s brows come together. “There are innocent people living there.”
“Rowansmark regularly gets flooded, even with the dam. The city has an evacuation plan put in place for this. Plus, all of their homes have three stories with balconies so that if necessary, people can get to their roofs. I won’t willingly put the Rowansmark citizens in danger.”
“And you’ve got Captain Burkes on board with this?”
“Yes. When the Commander makes his move, we’ll be ready.”
Frankie meets my eyes and grins like someone just bet on him in a fight. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
RACHEL
I finish the last mouthful of pecan halves that Marcus shoved through the crack in our cells and smile for him while he blinks anxiously, asking me over and over again not to die.
“More?” he asks. “Have oatmeal. Julia loves.”
“Was Julia your wife?” I ask, though I already know the answer. He talks to her night and day, mumbling about Ian growing taller and having big feet, about not remembering to clean the stove between meals, and then reassures her that he still knows her song by heart.
“Julia. Song.” He hums a few bars of his favorite discordant melody again. I’m guessing that’s his version of Julia’s song.
He disappears, scuttling toward his bunk, and then he’s back, shoving two fingers coated in oatmeal through the crack. I reach out, scrape the oatmeal from his skin, and put it in my mouth. It’s cold and gummy, but I swallow it gratefully.
“Music?” He hums for me and waits as if encouraging me to hum along. I try a few bars, copying his wandering notes as best as I can, and he rewards me with a flash of a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry that Julia is gone. And that Ian . . .”
“Ian.” He breathes the name like a prayer, and I shift uncomfortably, welcoming the stab of pain in my back to distract me from the anguished devotion in Marcus’s voice.
“Mostly I’m sorry that Logan was taken from you, even though that means I wouldn’t have known him.” The thought sends a tendril of aching loneliness through me. What would it be like if I’d never known Logan? Never sparred with the boy who didn’t mind the fact that I could beat him or argued with the boy who challenged me because he respected my intelligence?
Never kissed the boy who makes me feel like fire runs just beneath my skin?
“Know him? Know Logan?” Marcus watches me closely.
“I know him,” I tell him again, just like I have every day since I’ve been in the dungeon. “I know Logan.” Three little words that don’t do anything justice. I know the look on his face when he’s so busy thinking about an invention that he doesn’t hear a word anyone is saying. I know the roughness of his calloused fingers. The way his skin smells like ink and paper. I know the lengths he’ll go to keep his promises.
I know the smile he gives to others and the one he gives only to me.
I don’t realize I’m smiling too—a drifting, dreamy sort of smile—until Marcus makes a soft hooting noise and asks, “Love him? Logan? Love?”
“I do,” I say, and Marcus hums wildly. “And you love him, too. That’s why you worked so hard to finish the invention that would ransom his life. I want him to meet you. I want him to have a family. But to do that, I have to know where the summoners are located and how to destroy them before Rowan can use them against Logan when he arrives to rescue me.”
Marcus falls silent, his eye blinking rapidly as his gaze flits from my face to the floor and back again. “Know. Don’t know.” He shakes his head and speaks louder. “Know it. Know.”
I try to sound calm and soothing. “It’s okay, Marcus. We’ll take it slow. Please. You and I are the only ones left who can save your son.”
He quiets, and then says in a low voice, “Sons. Save my sons. James? Punish them? You promised. Sons.”
I close my eyes and try not to think of the way Sylph’s heartbeat slowed and then stopped as Ian’s poison coursed through her veins. “Yes. Your sons. I promised. We’ll do one question at a time, okay? First, do the summoners actually work?”
He mutters something that sounds like “inverse” followed by a string of unintelligible sounds that might be scientific equations or might be nothing at all.
“Did you say ‘inverse’?” I ask, leaning my face against the wall so I can watch Marcus. His ruined face contorts, the scar tissue that covers what’s left of his features pulling his mouth into grotesque angles while he mumbles and keens. He grabs his hair—still thick and dark blond like Logan’s, but with gray at the temples—and yanks on it so hard, I expect to see his scalp start to bleed.
I’m running out of time. If Samuel takes the bait and visits me, I need to be ready. I bite back the surge of frustration, and try again.
“The summoners work by using inverse?” I ask. That doesn’t sound like an actual thing, but he keeps repeating it, so it must be important.
