MARKS- Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I’m such a mess this evening, I nearly dump the contents of my plate into my lap. My body sags with exhaustion, first beaten by Ward’s anger, then slammed by the look on his face when he saw my marks. I’ve never confessed my kills to anyone, and my lips still blaze with heat and have swollen from the kisses we took from one another. My insides feel as though they’ve been scrubbed raw and left on a line to drip dry.

I toss and turn in my sleep, my thoughts finding nowhere to settle but on Ward, and that sends enough adrenaline through me I could probably go out and move the cavern with my own two hands.

Ward stirs beside me, jostling me from my dreams. I rise up on my elbow, but he gently pushes me down. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers. He plants a kiss on my forehead, and I can’t stop myself from grinning. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Morning comes, and though I’ve slept only a little, my body thrums with energy. Blair is bent not over the stove, but over Nolan, spooning broth into his mouth. Relief cracks me open even further. He doesn’t leave his bed all morning, but there’s a tinge of normal color in his cheeks. He spends the morning teasing his kids and letting Blair fuss over him.

When I bring him a cup of water after lunch, he pulls me into a hug. “Thank you, Gretta. You risked much for me.”

“No more than you all have for me.”

He smiles as Liddy climbs onto the bed beside him. He gives me a wink before turning his attention to her.

Acceptance is a funny thing. I’ve craved it like water my entire life, and now that I have it, I don’t know what to do with it. Ward surely told Nolan about me, but he treats me no different. Really, none of them do.

I’ve already offered to write words for their papers, but both Nolan and Ward forbid me to do it. For one, with the guards being on to me, my name will be more recognizable. And second: now that I’ve gone missing, if my name starts showing up in papers the King gets his hands on, then they’ll come search for me, and put us all in danger. Especially Ward.

So now I’m just here. Not Gretta Marks with her power and history. Simply Gretta, who dyes and braids Liddy’s hair and will never learn to cook well. Gretta with family. Gretta with Ward.

Dinner comes and goes, and while I wash the dishes I can’t stop watching the tunnel entrance.

“You expecting someone?” Blair asks.

I dip my head and concentrate on the dishes. “No, just lost in thought.” Thoughts of your brother, and his lips and the way he felt when he pressed me to him last night. The corners of my mouth quirk up. Blast you, lips! Contain yourself.

That is not what I’ll be telling them tonight.

“Ward!” Liddy shouts his name and runs to him.

I nearly drop the pot I’m holding because it seems my body and mind cannot both function when Ward is in the room. His eyes shoot across the room to mine, and I might as well be a sack of flour for all the good I’ll be able to do while he’s here. I grin like an idiot then have the good sense to bite my lip and look away.

He does no more than nod to me. It’s like a dance, both of us eyeing each other, watching the movements of the other, but unable to say a word for fear someone else will know. And this is a secret I cherish. One that thrills me and buoys me. Who knew secrets could be so delicious and nourishing? Mine have always starved my soul. But not Ward.

The storyteller for tonight takes his place just as I set the last dish to dry. Everyone settles down around the fire. Ward stands against the wall. I hover around the edge of the circle, loathe to sit down without him near me but worried he’ll plop down beside me and I won’t be able to contain myself. I busy myself with nothing at all, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

I glance up and Ward catches my eye. He nods to the springs. Forget sitting by me; he wants to be alone with me. I dip my head in understanding, and a second later he disappears down the tunnel where the papers are. The one that connects to the springs.

My stomach flutters. I snatch a towel from the stack. “I’m going to take a bath,” I whisper to Blair.

I don’t even wait to hear her response. I grab the fabric from the wall as I walk down the tunnel, letting it fall to the ground to let everyone know it’s occupied.

They won’t know it’s occupied by both of us.

When I reach the end of the tunnel, the empty room and its silence are the only things awaiting me. I put my towel on a rock then crouch down next to the spring’s edge. I dip my finger in and trace letters on the surface of the water.

“What are you writing?”

I look over my shoulder where Ward walks toward me. “Nothing. Just words without meaning.” I stand and suddenly feel amiss being with him. He caught my eye and nodded here. I know he wanted me to come, but still I bite my lip, unsure what to do. What I want if for him to kiss me. Skies above, how I want him to kiss me.

Ward grabs the hem of his shirt and in one motion lifts it over his head.

Oh Saints, he wants more than to kiss me.

I take a step back, but Ward catches my hand in his. “Not that.” He nods to the water. “Come swim with me.” He takes off his boots and wades in, his pants still on.

I watch his back disappear under water before my body finds its wits and I can move. He’s asked me to swim and while it is an innocent activity, an invitation to be with him doing anything is so intimate I blush before my fingers even reach for my laces. I tug at where they are tied behind my back. The laces are done up tight, blast them, and barely shift when I pull at my dress. Come on, fingers. I don’t dare tell Ward I need help. Undressing in front of him is one thing. Having him help me undress is a destination far down the road, if it exists at all.

Ward isn’t looking, and I smile. Even here, swimming with a girl, he’s chivalrous. Finally, my laces loosen enough I can shrug out of my dress. I lay it across the rock with my towel. I remove the ribbon from the end of my braid, then wind my hair up on top of my head and secure it there. Then I turn toward the water.

The room is humid and warm as always, but still I shiver in my shift. Goose bumps prickle my arms while at the same time a blazing heat flames to life in my cheeks. Once my toes hit the water, I look up and find Ward not only smiling but with his arm stretched out to me. I walk deeper into the water, and when I reach him he catches my hand in his and tugs me to him.

I drift in the water, coming to a stop in front of him. He drops my hand and places both of his on the side of my face, and finally, finally, he kisses me. The same heat from last night explodes inside me. I plant my lips firm to his, and don’t fumble with my thoughts or my body. All I can think about is Ward, and wanting more Ward. I step closer to him and urge my lips to do more. Saints above. One night of kissing and suddenly I feel like I’m an expert. My hands skim over Ward’s sides and his hands glide over my bare shoulders. Between the warmth of the springs and the heat I feel in my veins, the room is surely on fire.

Ward stops kissing me and grins. “That was the longest shift I’ve ever had,” he says. “All day I was thinking of you and dying to get back to you.”

I hold up my hand, a fresh blistered mark running along the back of it. “I burnt my hand twice today because I was so distracted.”

He laughs, and the joy bubbling out of me is exquisite, like chocolate the first time you taste it. “Come on.” Ward breaks into a swim.

I don’t know what sorcery Ward possesses, but I follow without a moment’s hesitation. And would probably follow him to the gates of hell itself without so much as a glance behind me.

When we reach the edge of the spring, Ward stands and raises his eyebrows. “Want to race?”

“All right.” I plant my feet on the rocky bottom, ready to push off. “On three?”

Ward nods. “One, two.”

He dives in before the next number is spoken. Blasted cheater. I want to scream it at him but don’t dare for fear my words will bounce off the walls and announce to everyone in the main room that I’m not alone. Instead, I take a deep breath and dive in after him.

My head breaks the surface, and Ward is more than halfway across the springs. When he’s within a few strokes, I cry out and sink down, clutching my foot as a grimace of pain takes over my face. I gasp and bite my lip, keeping a moan at bay.

Ward rushes to me. “What happened? Did you cut your foot?”

I turn to him and while he is worried and fretful, take hold of his shoulders and dunk him under the water. I hold him there long enough to plant my feet in his ribs and shove off. By the time he emerges, I’m halfway to the edge.

And still he beats me.

My face is slack with outrage, but he takes me in his arms. “I could never let you get away from me, Gretta.”

His voice drips with both sarcasm and truth. Sweet, blessed truth: I don’t ever want to be away from him. He wraps his arms around my waist and draws me to him. I wrap my legs around him, the water and my joy a buoy that keeps me upright against him.

Ward presses his face close to mine. “I don’t ever want to let you go, Gretta.” He looks at me, eyes full of a lifetime of pain and an eternity of hope.

There’s nothing between us now but a slip of warm water and the thin cotton of my shift. How funny that even so exposed, I’ve never felt so covered and protected. I raise my hands to brush the stubble on Ward’s chin. Then I kiss him. A kiss that says more than my words ever could. Not words of unending devotion and loyalty. But an echo of his own words and ones of a promise to throw myself into this just as he is. To trust him with me.

Ward tightens his arms around me. I rest my head against his chest. His heart beats sure and solid; a steady cadence I could mark my life by. He doesn’t do anything else. No assumptions or expectations or wandering hands. Just his arms around me as if I’m the only thing in life that matters.

And that’s when I know: Ward's what matters most to me.

 

MARKS - Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Blair holds me, her hand smoothing my hair as I sob into her chest like a baby. When I’m done, she loops her arm in mine and we walk up the tunnel. The noise in the main room is immediately sucked into silence. Everyone stares at me, some with scowls on their faces. 

Blair escorts me to her side of the room, not bothering to notice everyone and the looks on their faces. They surely hate me. But these people are seeking out Lyrans and our power. My presence here puts them in no more danger than the papers hidden in the tunnel.

The papers.

Now that everyone knows, I should help. Ward rests against a wall, cleaning his dagger.

I tuck my skirts and sit beside him. “You said you wanted to know more about the Lyran poem. About how our powers work.”

He turns toward me. “You don’t have to do this, Gretta.”

I make myself look at him. “It helps not to have it hidden.”

He settles back against the rock wall.

“I never know how my words will come to fruition.” I clasp my hands around my knees and trace my thumbs over each other as I talk. “Today for example, I knew guards were headed toward Meggie’s house. Her husband, Sam, was my papa’s best friend. He and Meggie are like an aunt and uncle to me.” I hope they are well. “Anyway, the guards were searching for paper and taking anyone who had it. And I know Meggie has some and wouldn’t give it up.”

Ward stops cleaning his dagger. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“For me,” I tell him. “In case I ever needed it. So yesterday after I got the medicine, I saw the smoke and knew what would happen if they found paper at Meggie and Sam’s. I had paper with me, so I wrote that Meggie’s papers would remain hidden.”

I turn to him and he looks at me, his face blank.

“That’s why Breck went after me, Ward. He was supposed to go into Meggie’s but didn’t.”

“Because he came after you instead.”

I nod.

“So you’re not immune to your own words?”

Are any of us? “No. Not unless I write specifically about myself.”

I lean my head against the wall. He might as well know everything. “Remember that morning you saw me at the docks?”

He grins. “The morning you ran into me?”

I laugh. “Yes. I was hiding words there.”

Ward lifts his head off the rock. “What words?”

“Meggie was pregnant, and they have five sons. I wrote her a daughter.”

Ward blinks. “What else have you written?”

“After that day we first met, I wrote that Breck would never have me.”

Ward’s face tightens.

“I never thanked you for that day.” The words tumble out from wherever they’ve been hiding. “Or for bringing me here, or getting him off me yesterday. Or for letting me stay here with your family. Or the million other things you’ve done.”

His smile comes back, stretching across his face. “My pleasure,” he says. “What other things have you written lately?”

I’ve written more than I realized. “The woman I work with told me about the King’s festival in November, and how it was planned for the courtyard. I wrote that it would rain.”

Ward laughs. “I wondered where that storm blew in from.”

“Do you know what the King wants with the prince of Faraday?”

“No. It’s one of the things I’ve been trying to find out.”

I wonder if he’ll ask me to write that knowledge to him. But the silence lingers and he doesn’t ask.

“You said you never know how your words will come about, right?” he asks.

“That’s right.”

“So if you had written safety for Nolan, it might’ve come about by someone else on the mission dying or getting hurt worse?”

I’ve never thought of it that way. “I suppose.”

“Sometimes, Gretta, no words are needed.” He tugs my elbow until I turn and look at him. “You don’t have to save everyone.”

The breath I take is shallow and ragged. He keeps tearing down my guilt, and as it falls away my anger does, too. And all I have left is my grief.

If Ward can tell my emotions and thoughts are at war with each other, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he looks out over the room. “What other things can you tell me about Lyran powers?”

"I have to know names of people. It can’t be arbitrary. And of course I have to sign my name, and the paper’s never destroyed. Oh, and the sentences have to be seven words long.”

 

He looks up from his dagger. “There’s no mention of that in the poem.”

“No, but it’s well known among Lyrans that our words have to be in groups of seven. Legend has it that our gift was bestowed on us by God himself, and seven is the number of completion.”

“That’s why deaths are limited to seven. Why not saves?”

I rub my fingers over my marks. “I don’t know.”

Ward nods to my arm. “Who did you save?”

I freeze, my fingers stuck over my marks. Oh judgment, you cruel, cruel thing. Here I thought you had gone, but you were just waiting for me. Ward doesn’t know. I assumed he had, because he recognized the marks.

Disappointment and longing rise up inside me, but I swallow them down. “Mine are kills.”

#

The room I dye in feels like a sanctuary and not a prison tonight. I left Ward as soon as I spoke those words, acknowledging the lives I’ve taken. I have carried the truth of my marks for years, but I can’t hold the truth and Ward’s reaction to it together in one hand. So like always, I fled.

Nowhere to run to but this room. I don’t have enough supplies for a big batch of any one color. So, just like when I brought Liddy here to distract her, I dabble in several colors, filling my head with the rhythm of work.

Minutes pass and the colors bleed from one to the next. Cloth hangs in colors across the clotheslines, a rainbow of fabric against the sullen gray walls. A tiny swatch simmers in my pot of dye, a piece so small I’m not sure what to do with it. Make an apron for Liddy’s doll, maybe? I pull it from the pot and drape it across the line.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel. I cast a glance that direction just as Ward appears at the entrance.

There’s no expression on his face. His features don’t betray his emotions as easily as mine do. But there is no tightness to his features. No knitting of brows or clenched jaw. Just openness, despite all he’s learned of me.

And there are more secrets he doesn’t know.

“What are you dyeing?” he asks.

“Random stuff,” I tell him. “I needed something to do.” I blot my hands with a rag to soak up any lingering dye.

Ward steps close and stares at my hands. “You’ve collected a lot of colors.”

He says it so casual, as if commenting on the weather or something I’ve baked. I wonder if it’s his nature or his guard training that makes him able to hold back any undercurrent of anger or betrayal he may be feeling.

I wiggle my fingers. “I wanted to dye so it would hide any ink I might use. Maybe, too, so I wouldn’t always look at my hands and see the blood of those I’ve killed.” The truth tumbles out as though it’s metal and Ward’s the magnet it must get to. I turn my hands over and stare at the other side. “Sometimes all I see is red.”

“That’s not what I see.” Ward grabs my hands. “I see pink; the color Meggie’s baby’s cheeks will turn when she’s laughing.”

Something lurches inside me, and I look up at Ward.

“I see blue,” he continues, “of tears you’ve wiped from people’s eyes. Grey the color of sickness you took from Nolan. Brown the color of Liddy’s hair that you braid.”

I stare at my fingers, seeing colors on them I’ve never seen before.

“Mostly I see green,” he says.

My breath catches in my throat. “What’s the green for?”

He smiles. “The life you bring to people.”

I look up at Ward. His brown-blond hair lies in a mess across his head, the way Lucas’ hair used to. I reach up and smooth the stray pieces down.

Ward grips my wrist. Heat creeps into my cheeks. I’ve touched him as if I had his permission.

Saints, what was I thinking? His brown eyes pierce mine and I swallow. Hard. My heart drums a crazy rhythm. He’s going to push me away. Because I’m a stupid girl and he’s too sweet a boy to let me act like this. He lowers my arm to my side and releases it.

I take a step back and lick my lips. “Ward,” I begin, not knowing what to say but knowing I must say something.

He steps closer and cups my cheeks in his hands.

The pressure of his lips on mine is stunning. Then soothing. His kiss is warm. Unexpected. Gentle and solid and all things Ward.

I gasp and he pulls back and drops his hands. Now he’s the one blushing. “I’m sorry,” he says.

He steps back, but before he can move further I grab his neck and pull him toward me. I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, and press my lips to his before he can move or before I can tell myself this is stupid.

His arms come around me tight and he leans down, curving his face to mine. He smells like rain and paper. Like a clean slate or a new story. Like hope and second chances.

A surge of energy pulses through me. My fingers climb from his neck to his hair, and his arms press harder around me, as if he’s trying to absorb me into his body. My heart hammers inside my chest and warmth washes through my veins. A desperate urge to melt into him floods through me. His grip on me is fierce, but the touch of his lips to mine is soft like a late afternoon sun or a nighttime lullaby.

I have no idea what I’m doing. If my lips are supposed to stay still or move like this or move a different way. I open my eyes. Ward’s eyes are closed, his lips still moving against mine. I shut my eyes again, and I don’t know which part I love more, Ward kissing me or the way his arms are wrapped around me, holding me close to him.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against mine. My arms fall from his head to his side. He doesn’t speak. And Ward was right; sometimes words aren’t needed. His silence is all the words I need to hear.

His breaths are fast and urgent. Excitement pulses between us. And even though I’m so happy, all I want to do is cry. Ward lifts his head off mine and smiles, and the dimple on his face is like a cavern - a wide expanse of space that I could fall into and never be able to climb out of.

I’m not sure I’d want to.

“You don’t have to run from me, Gretta.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll just come find you, no matter where you run off to.”

I smile and kiss him again. Ward doesn’t know it, but I think he’s already found me.

 

 

MARKS- Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ward’s words hang in the air, as thick as the humidity around us. They’re not only truth; they’re an accusation. My arm is still caught in his hand. I want to yank it away. To run far away from here. From my memories. From myself.

Instead, I start to cry.

I force myself to look at Ward. At his eyes, which are wide. Here he’s granted me protection and friendship, and I’ve betrayed him with my secret. I don’t want the King to find me, and like a coward I’ve hidden here, refusing to get involved because it might cost me too much.

Ward will never forgive me.

I stare at my arm, forever branded with my worst sins. I jerk hard, and Ward releases me. The pressure in my chest builds until I think I might explode into a million pieces. I’m not worthy of this power I have. And I’m certainly not worthy of a family, even one I’ve adopted as my own.

What have I done?     

I push off my feet, but Ward’s arms come around me, stopping me. He’s risked his life more than once to find me, and I have repaid him with nothing but lies. I wait for him to yell or hit me. To shake me and scream and ask why I’ve done this.

But he doesn’t do any of it. Just locks his arms around me like a fortress he dares me to leave. All my life I’ve been running, and never been able to get away. From any of it. And finally, after years of raging against it, I finally surrender the grief I’ve tried to keep buried for years and my sobs come fast and ragged. I look down at my arm, trapped now between my body and Ward’s. The marks on it are blinding. That’s why I’ve hated my power. Because it killed them. Because I couldn’t save those I loved the most. Because I’d have rather died with them than live alone.

And now the King has won, because I let my fear keep me from using the one thing I have that could help. I bury my forehead deeper into Ward’s chest, as if I all my sins can dissolve into his goodness, and be no more.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s me who should be saying that.” Ward reaches a hand and smooths down my hair. “Your brother didn’t die from the plague, did he?”

I shake my head. “The King killed them all. First Papa. That’s when we went into hiding. But he found us. He killed Mama and my two brothers. I watched it all. I ran with my baby sister, and I couldn’t care for her, so I had to give her away, too." The truth sucks the air from my lungs. "He took them all from me.”

Ward’s grip on me tightens, and I wish his arms alone could keep the pain from tearing at me. I should’ve never been trusted with my power. It shouldn’t have come to me. I’m not good enough. “I’ve let him win,” I sob.

“He hasn’t won, Gretta. You’re still here, living life and not letting him stop you. You defy him with every breath you take.”

But I haven’t. The King has sucked me dry. Spilled all their blood. “I don’t have anybody.”

“You have me. And my family.”

A hand squeezes around my heart. “They’ll hate me now. I could ‘ve written Nolan’s safety and I didn’t. I could’ve done a million things and didn’t.”

“We know what it’s like to live in fear, Gretta. They’ll not hate you.”

I tuck myself further under his chin. “Do you?”

He chuckles. “Oh Gretta, I have to go every day and do what he tells me. The wrong you think you’ve done to me doesn’t even count as bad compared to that.”

But Ward’s goodness defies the King more than my words do.

“I thought you hated me because I was a guard,” he says.

I shake my head, still tucked against his chest. “You can’t help that.”

“You can’t help what you are, either.”

I suppose not. But I haven’t done any good with it like he has. “You’re the bravest person I know, Ward,” I whisper.

His fingers trace down the tangles of my hair. Then he steps back. “I need to tell the others, Gretta.”

My eyes go wide.

“Not so we can use you. They need to know to protect you should anything ever happen, especially if I’m not here.”

I hate the idea of them knowing. “What if they don’t want me here?”

"I want you here, Gretta, and I’ll not let them kick you out.”

His gaze is stern. He means it. I nod then glance to the tunnel, wondering if I’ll have the courage to walk to the truth that awaits me.

“Why don’t you stay here?” Ward says. “I’ll pull the ribbon so you’re alone, and send Blair down with a towel.”

I’d rather drown than face them. I nod and Ward squeezes my arm once before he leaves. Alone, I undress and leave my clothes in a heap on the rock floor. I stand naked on the water’s edge, and honestly, the truth Ward is telling everyone right now exposes me more than my own unclothed body does. I could saunter up the tunnel right now and not feel as vulnerable as I do having them find out what I am.

The water feels like an embrace, warm and inviting, as though now that the truth is out I can rest and not run anymore. I hate running.

And hiding.

And chasing freedom that never seems to come.

I suppose having everyone know and hate me is no worse than not being fully accepted. Minutes pass and I stop thinking about my words and my family. I float on my back and think of colors. Of the golden flecks in Ward’s hair when firelight bounces off it. I think of Liddy’s hair, brown the color of pine bark, and so much like Nolan’s. I think of my own Papa’s hair, golden like sunlight across a pond in summer. And Lucas’, which was even a shade lighter. I think of black the color of winter nights and how it’s different from the black of darkness when I’m in the unlit tunnels here, and different even from the black of the lines on my arm.

I hold my arm over my face and study the lines, now glistening with water. Three marks that mean death and mercy at the same time. I wonder if death had a color, if it would be something other than black. Life should be more than one color. If the saves on a Lyran’s arm spring up black as well, surely death cannot be just that color.

If I were a color, what would I be?

A throat clears, and I sink down into the water.

Blair stands on the shoreline and gestures to the towel in her hand. “Do you want me to leave it for you?”

Running from her won’t make it any easier. I shake my head. “I’m done.”

She gives a small smile that can only be polite. My steps are wobbly and uncertain. When I step naked out of the water, it isn’t my body I’m nervous about Blair seeing, but the marks on it. They represent a power I’ve not shared with her. They’re marks of selfishness now.

I can’t look her in the eyes but know I must, else she’ll never stop thinking me a coward. Running from shame is ten times worse than running from responsibility. Blair hands me the towel, her eyes not telling me anything. I rub the fabric over my body, wishing I could wash away all the regret I seem to wear like a second skin.

“I brought you a clean dress,” she says.

Either a gesture of mercy or because someone wants the dress I wear back. “Thank you,”

She hands me a clean shift as well, which I pull over my shoulders. The dress Blair gives me is dark green, like pine needles against fallen snow. Without me asking, she laces up the back. I tug the sleeves of the dress down, but Blair grabs my arm. Then her fingers skim over the lines there.

“Oh, Blair, I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes rise to meet mine. “You’ve done me no offense.”

“I could’ve saved Nolan.”

She presses her hands to the sides of my face. “But you did.” She grabs my arm. “You may not have a mark for it, Gretta. But rest assured it was you who saved him.”

Her words crack open a dam inside me. One I constructed years ago of lies and guilt and unspoken words. I’ve saved someone. Someone who is like family to me. Someone who is family to Ward. And if that’s my only reason for being here, so be it.

But that reason may be over, my purpose used up. If that’s true, then what now?  

           

MARKS - Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

My heart hammers triple speed: part from exhaustion and part from fear it’ll be Breck’s face and not Ward’s that looms around the corner next. The top of the castle turrets pokes out above the skyline. The alley is deserted. For now, at least.

I take deep breaths of trash tinged air and will my heart to quiet. Not that hearing anyone coming will give me any sort of advantage. I nestle down deeper between the barrels, the rough wood scraping against my arms, and tuck my feet tight underneath me.

My body tenses, as though it can still feel Breck’s heated gaze. Hopefully Meggie is safe. I rummage down the front of my dress and extract the paper with my words on it, then reach and grab the spare one as well. Bits of trash and debris clutter up the edges of the street. I feel behind me, my hands brushing past old bones and spilled beer and who knows what else. I wad the papers and tuck them into the trash behind me.

Fear wraps tight around my brain, sending images of a thousand different horrible possibilities flying through my mind. Sam and Meggie caught. Breck’s body against mine. My mother dying. Ashtin being taken. Blood, blood. Always the red of blood and grey the color of death.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught of images my brain keeps creating. I dig in my dress again for the bottle of medicine. I can still help Nolan. My head falls against the stone wall and instead of fears, I think of colors. Pink like a summer sunset, bright and blazing as the sun nestles against it. Deep brown like my father’s beard, the color of snuggles and safety. Lively purple like violets on the road side. Crisp white like undisturbed snow.

Footsteps echo down the street. I pray they’re Ward’s and tuck myself into a tighter ball. I peek above my arms. Ward stands in front of me, without his tunic on.

He thrusts a pair of work boots in my hands. “Put these on.” He doesn’t look at me. Just stalks off to the other side of the street.

I put my feet, shoes and all, in the boots, then stand and walk to where Ward waits. He doesn’t grant me a word or a nod. Nothing. What he does give me is a grip like a vice on my left wrist. One look at his face and I bite back my protest. Once again I’m dragged through the streets after him like a plow behind an ox.

Ward doesn’t look behind us. He strides as if he’s out to conquer the world and destroy anything standing in his way. I’m not sure if the bubble inside my stomach is one of relief or fear. When we reach a sewer tunnel, Ward throws up the gate. He picks me up and places me inside as though I’m no more than someone he’s arrested. My wrist throbs where he’s been holding it, but before I can shove my other hand forward, he grabs my left again. I grasp my skirts with my other hand, lifting my hem as far out of the sewage as I can. At least Ward offered me the boots this time.

His silence is so loud it seems to echo off the sewer walls. I’m not sure what I expected: if I thought Ward would pepper me with questions about why I was there or tuck me under his chin to calm me down. He leads me with determined steps through the tunnel, then swings open the gate. When he pulls me down to the ground, he doesn’t look at me. Silence stretches tightly between us as we walk.

Ward snaps the password to the man guarding the tunnel, getting a scowl in return before the man sees me in tow and furrows his brows. Ward drags me down the tunnel into the main room. I don’t even have time to register the look of confusion most in the room have when Ward drops my hand and steps in front of me.

His face is red. Red like my fingers after I burnt them on the stove once when I was little. Red like anger and assumptions.

He grabs my shoulders. “What in the name of the Saints were you doing in the city? I told you not to go back, and you did. And then you practically flirt in front of Breck? He almost had you, Gretta! What were you thinking?”

There’s no way Breck could’ve had me, but I’m not about to explain that to Ward. Instead I reach my hand between my breasts and grab the bottle and put it in his hand. “I was thinking about this.”

Ward stares at the bottle, his face still tight with anger.

“Nolan needs it,” I say.

Ward raises his eyes to meet mine. “How’d you get it?”

I take a breath. “I stole it.”

He can’t be mad at that. I dare him to. Petty robbery is nothing compared to his brother-in-law dying. Blair and the other women stand watching us. Most of them gaping, surprised no doubt by our appearance and Ward shouting at me. Well, let him shout. I’ve done what needs doing, and though my arm will bear no mark of it, I’ve saved Nolan’s life.

Ward stares at the bottle, then walks over to Blair, pressing it into her hands. When he walks back and stands before me, I prepare for a curt apology from him. Instead, his eyes are dark and his jaw is clenched again. “What does medicine have to do with getting Breck to notice you?”

Well blast. I glance away and bite my lip. A lie won’t form fast enough, and there’s nothing close to the truth that would make it easier for Ward to swallow. I meet his eyes again, dark and hard like the dark brown of dead wood or mud in a rainstorm.

“He was headed toward the house of someone I know,” I tell him. “Someone who I know has paper.”

Again, I expect sad eyes or an acknowledgement of a deed done right.

Ward shakes his head. “Gretta, you can’t do that.”

“I couldn’t let him have them!”

“You can’t save everyone, Gretta!”

“Neither can you!”

He jerks back, as though my words were a slap. He can hate me, and I don’t care. I did what I had to do.

I should’ve done more.

I rub my forearms. All these years fear has rendered me a useless weapon; a rusted blade, so much power but not the freedom to use it. Too much and not enough all at once. My fingers swirl over my wrist. No marks of those saved are on it. And there should be. I should’ve saved three by now, and died trying to save a million more.

Ward’s face still looms in front of mine. He opens his mouth, but I step around him. I don’t look at anyone else and hold my arm in my hand as I race down the tunnel that leads to the springs.

My breaths are jagged, just like my thoughts and the fear that bolts through me like lightning. I am a raging storm, thunderous and loud but going nowhere. I wish I weren’t. I wish I was nothing. That I never had this power. That no one in my family ever had it.

I reach the springs and kick Ward’s boots off and untie my own. Then I step into the water, crouch and swirl my fingers in it, washing off sweat and dirt. Stains of last week’s colors still decorate my fingers; stains I can’t wash away. Much like guilt and shame and the regrets I’ve carried with me since I was ten. All of it mixes together, like the dye on my fingers.

Footsteps echo behind me. I know it’s Ward even before he squats beside me in the water. I open my mouth. To explain. To apologize. To ask him to leave.

Before I decide on the words, his hand bears down on mine. With one jerk, he wrenches my sleeve up my arm. Three darkened lines crisscross the underside of my forearm. Out of habit I tear my eyes away from the marks I wish were never there.

I stare at Ward’s forehead until his eyes snap to mine.

“Great skies,” he says, the truth of me shining as horror in his eyes. “You’re one of them.” 

MARKS- Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Breck is thirty paces away. Twenty. I let rage hammer my heart, and I wrap my response of fear so tight around myself I can’t move. He rakes his eyes over my body, and I feel as though I stand in nothing but my shift. He grins at me. Closer, and closer he comes. When Breck is ten paces away I dart behind the man beside me and push back through the crowd.

What the hell was I thinking? The crowd will part around a guard like water around a rock. I lower my head and weave around people as fast as I can. If I reach the end of the throng of people, Breck will have nothing but a clear line of sight and ample space to catch me. I raise my head to get my bearings. A side street is just a few yards away. I elbow past a clump of women and dash down it.

I look over my shoulder. Breck is striding toward me.

So is Ward.

What is he doing? I spin around and walk faster. He’s going to intervene and expose himself, and I’ll not have harm to Ward laid upon my head along with everything else I’ve done. And I know Breck can’t have me. My words will keep him away more than Ward’s sword.

At least I hope so. I never know how the truth of my words will manifest itself, and perhaps Ward intervening is it. But no. If I can keep Ward away, it’ll push someone else into play.

I’m almost to the end of the street when I glance behind me. Breck is close. I break into a full-blown run.

He can’t have you. He can’t have you.

I touch the bottle of medicine where it’s safely tucked in my dress then scan the street in front of me. Two men talk outside a store. A woman stands in her doorway, shaking out a rug. A vendor sells spiced peanuts from his cart, and has two customers waiting in line.

It’s not crowded enough to get lost. I need to create chaos. No. I need to be chaos. We’re close to Low Street – the poorest section of town. Close enough to those hurt most by the King that they likely hate him. I’ll have to bank on that.

I point over the peanut vendor’s shoulder. “Stop him!”

Everyone turns first to me then to the direction where I point.

“That man!” I yell. “He took my tax money!”

Everyone turns and looks for the invisible man, I shove into the vendor’s cart, peanuts flying over the cobblestone street. Commotion erupts. My basket rolls down the street and someone steps on my cloak, ripping it from my neck. The vendor is no doubt yelling at me, but I turn to the woman standing in her doorway, her rug now limp in her hands.

“He’s up there!” I scream, and point to her upstairs window. The woman furrows her brows, then widens her eyes and yells. People trickle out of their homes and businesses as a streak of blue enters my field of vision. I scan the signs above the doorways. Tailor. Baker. Tavern.

Perfect.

I rush inside, the vendor now screaming obscenities. I burst through the doors of the tavern. “There are guards outside throwing coins!”

The room goes silent in an instant. A dozen men stare back at me. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. Mugs of ale frozen in their hands.

I paste a look of joy and eagerness on my face. “Hurry!” I tell them.

The first man nearly collides into me as he races out. Others rush after him. Even the barmaid runs out the door. I dip behind the bar as soon as she’s out of the way and head through the doorway to the kitchen. A cook stands over a stove, but I dash straight through to the door in the back. It empties into an alley. I sprint left, away from the castle and back the way I came.

My lungs heave and my muscles quiver. Keep going, legs. The end of the alley looms ahead. I collapse against the wall and peer around the corner. No one. Frenzied voices bounce down the street from where I was. I shove off the wall and go right, farther away from the chaos. From the castle. My legs shake, and all I can hear in my head is my own jagged heart and my lungs, desperate for air. One minute passes.

Two. Three.

I turn onto a different street and walk, swallowing great mouthfuls of air into my lungs. My steps are normal, my face calm. No one looks at me. I turn back the direction I came, walking backwards, as I wait.

Breck doesn’t turn the corner.

No one does.

Great skies, it worked. He doesn’t have me. I’ve never pushed the limits of my words’ power so much.

I take a step backward, my heart sagging and my shoulders slumping as relief floods my body.

A strong hand grips my shoulder. One movement from that hand, and I spin around before fear can find a toehold inside me.

Ward.

I open my mouth, but before I can speak, he digs his fingers deeper into my shoulder and drags me down the street. We round the corner and turn down another one. No one gives us a second look. A guard has a girl, and every eye is averted. Ward’s moving so fast it takes me two or three steps to match his every one. I nearly trip but he doesn’t stop, dragging me with him.

When we pop out on another street, the castle looms close in front of us. Too close. Ward dips into an alley. The back door of a tavern stands open. Empty beer barrels are lined up along the wall. Ward pushes me down between two of them.

“Don’t you dare move.” His words are clipped through his clenched teeth, and without another word, he spins and leaves me there.