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.”