C. J. Redwine - Defiance Series Complete Collection

Contents

For Clint, who cheerfully sacrificed his free time to support my dreams. Thank you for believing in me. I love you.

CONTENTS

RACHEL

T he weight of their pity is like a stone tied about my neck. I feel it in the little side glances, the puckered skin between frowning brows, the hushed whispers that carry across the purple-gray dusk of twilight like tiny daggers drawing blood.

He isnt coming home.

Its hard to ignore the few citizens still milling about the gate leading out into the Wasteland, the guards who flank the opening, and Olivers solid, reassuring bulk by my side, but I have to. I cant bear to let one sliver of doubt cut into me.

Looking past the fifty-yard perimeter of scorched ground that we keep around the wall, I search the forest for movement. The Wasteland is a tangle of trees, undergrowth, and the husks of the cities that once were, all coated in the bright, slippery green growth of early spring and the drifting piles of silvery ash that remind us of our fragility. Somewhere in its depths, bands of lawless highwaymen pillage for goods they can trade at the city-states. Somewhere beneath it, the Cursed One roams, seeking to devour what little remains of a once great civilization.

I dont care about any of that. I just want Dad to make it home in time.

Rachel-girl, Oliver says, his brown, flour-stained fingers wrapping gently around my arm as if to prepare me for what he wants to say.

Hes coming.

I dont think

He is . I dig my nails into my palms and strain to see movement in the thickening twilight, as if by the force of my will I can bring him home.

Oliver squeezes my arm but says nothing. I know he thinks Dad is dead. Everyone thinks so. Everyone but me. The thought that I stand alone in my conviction sends a bright, hard shaft of pain through me, and suddenly I need Oliver to understand.

To agree.

Hes not just a courier, you know. I glance at Olivers broad shoulders, which carve a deep shadow into the ground beneath him, and wish for the days when I was little enough to perch on his back, feeling the rumble of his voice through my skin as we walked to the gate to meet Dad after yet another successful trip. Hes also a tracker. The Commanders best. Theres no way he got caught unaware in the Wasteland.

Olivers voice is steady as he says, He is good at his job, Rachel-girl. But something must have... held him up. He isnt coming home in time.

I turn away, trying to see where the perimeter ends and the Wasteland begins, but the sun is nothing but a fiery mirage below the tree line now, and the shadows have taken over.

Last call! one of the guards shouts, his shoulders flexing beneath the dark blue of his uniform as he reaches for the iron handle beside him and begins tugging the gate inward. I flinch as it slams shut with a harsh metallic clang. The guards weave thick, gleaming chains through the frame, securing it until the guards on the morning shift return with the key.

For a moment, we stand staring at the now-closed gate. Then Oliver wraps an arm around me and says, Its time.

Tears sting my eyes, and I clench my jaw so hard my teeth grind together. Im not going to cry. Not now. Later, after Dad has been officially declared dead, and my Protectorship has transferred to Oliver, Ill let myself feel the pain of being the only one left whos willing to believe that Jared Adams, Baalbodens best tracker, is still alive.

I use the wooden step box to climb into the wagon that waits for us, and reach a hand back to help Oliver hoist himself up as well.

As the wagon sways and lurches over the cobblestone streets to the Commanders compound, I wrap my fists in my cloak and try to ignore the way my stomach burns with every rotation of the wheels. Oliver reaches out and unravels my cloak from my right hand. His palm swallows mine, his skin warm, the maple-raisin scent of his baking comforting me. I lean into him, pressing my cheek against the scratchy linen of his tunic.

Im sorry, he says softly.

For a moment, I want to burrow in. Soak up the comfort he offers and pretend he can make it better. Instead, I sit up, spine straight, just the way Dad taught me. He didnt come back today, but that doesnt mean he wont come home at all. If anyone knows how to survive the Wasteland, its Dad. My voice catches on a sudden surge of griefa dark, secret fear that my faith in Dads skills will be proven wrong, and Ill be left alone. It isnt fair that he has to be declared dead.

Its probably my job to tell you life isnt fair, but I figure you already know that. His voice is steady, but his eyes look sad. So instead, Ill tell you that hope is precious, and youre right not to give it up.

I look him in the eye, daring him to feed me a lie and tell me he still believes. Even when it looks like everyone else already has?

Especially when it looks like everyone else already has. He pats my hand as the wagon grinds to a halt, its bed swaying long after the wheels have stopped.

The driver walks toward the back of the wagon, and jerks the canvas flap aside. I climb down and watch anxiously as Oliver follows. Though only faint creases mar the brown skin of his face, his hair is more gray than black, and he moves with the careful precision of age. Reaching for him, I slide my arm through his as he navigates his way off the heavy wooden step box. Together, we turn to face the compound.

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 theyve 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 dont see him. Ive 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 dont 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 hes here.

And I dont .

His presence wont change anything. My Protectorship will be given to Oliver, Logan will take over Dads courier duties, and Ill 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 Logans 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. Jareds tough. We should give him more than sixty days past his scheduled return date before were 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 a small smile before I remember Im not going to act like I care about him.