Creators(54)

“What about us?” Henry asked.

“You immerse yourself in the new life. Watch over Stephanie and Tess. And when we attack, you’ll be there to help us fight,” my father answered.

I glanced at Henry, who was staring at Stephanie. “I can do that,” he said firmly.

My father walked over to the burning campfire that lit up the night sky. He reached down and pulled out the heated iron. He walked toward Stephanie. “I’m sorry we have to do it this way, but if you don’t have the three marks, they’ll just send you to a compound.”

“I understand, sir.” Stephanie bent to her knees and robotically pulled her long hair to the side. I watched as Henry clenched his jaw. Stephanie grunted as the third mark was seared into her skin. A lone tear slid down her cheek, but still she did not cry out.

Unable to stand it any longer, Henry stalked to Stephanie’s side and took her hand in his. Despite the obvious break in order, she made no objections.

When my father had dismissed us, I made my way to Stephanie. Henry whispered into her ear words of comfort and brushed the hair from her neck, touching her as if she would break. She shook her head and managed a small laugh when she saw me. “You would think he’s never seen a girl branded before.”

“You all right?” I asked.

Stephanie nodded. “Hurts like hell, but I’ll heal. Or, rather, scar.”

I shrugged. “It’s not so bad. At least it’s now a two-member club.”

We were two girls ready for battle.





Chapter 23


“You do know you don’t have to sneak around, right? I’m okay with you and Stephanie,” I told Henry as we went to work on setting up the camp.

Henry froze and his mouth dropped open. Once he realized I had noted his reaction, he popped his mouth closed and went back to work building the campfire. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So I didn’t see you holding her hand last night at dinner when you thought no one was looking?”

Henry blushed. “I…I was just asking if she was okay.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh my God! If you can’t admit it to your best friend, how are you ever going to tell her?”

“We’re back to being best friends, then?” he asked, his voice growing serious.

I dropped the tarp I had been holding and walked over to him. I took his hand into mine. “We’ve always been best friends, Henry.”

He squeezed my hand. “I guess we have. Even when we’re both pretending to hate each other.”

“Even then,” I said quietly.

Henry squeezed my hand once more and then went back to work. “So, it doesn’t make you jealous? Not even a little?” he joked.

“You’re unreal.” I laughed. “So, you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know. We’re in the middle of a war. It doesn’t exactly feel like the best time,” he said, throwing a stick at me.

“Oh, Henry. Don’t be a dumb-ass. There is no better time.” I poked him in the ribs with the twig for good measure.

Later that night, as Henry snuck Stephanie off to talk to her alone, I pulled out a book Robert had given me before I left the camp. Our parting had been marked with strangeness. I never took my brother-in-law to be an avid reader. But as he mumbled final tips and combat instructions, he placed a copy of William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night into my hands. He said nothing of the book or why he gave it to me. He simply told me he found it on Eric before he was buried, and he thought I should have it.

I pulled the book from my satchel and leaned closer to the glowing fire to borrow some of its light. We would be reaching my old compound in the morning, and while I should have been sleeping, I knew I wouldn’t be able to.

When I opened the book, my breath caught in my throat. Etched onto the title page was a name: William McNair. Below it was a hand-sketched drawing of a wild shipwreck. The sea had tossed the vessel right into a reef. Below it, he’d hastily drawn a beach and on the land stood a girl. Despite the violent sea behind her, the girl looked happy.

I remembered how McNair talked of the sea. And I wondered if he would have been as happy as the girl in the picture, weathered any storm, to find such a piece of land. Land untouched by our troubles.

I skimmed a couple of pages of the book and came across an underlined passage. It was an exchange between a captain and a shipwrecked girl named Viola. The heroine wondered what she would do in this new and unfamiliar land, and the captain told her it was a miracle she was saved.

It had been so long since any one of us had seen a miracle.

Feeling the ghost of McNair throughout the pages of the book, I snuggled down against the ground and pulled a blanket over my shoulders. I’d rather fight sleep than fight a dead man’s unfulfilled hopes and dreams. I had too many of those myself.