My heels clack as we walk through the bunker, drawing attention my way. The people we pass stop and stare. News has spread that I’m going to Geneva for the peace talks. I’m now the girl walking to her execution in a dress. But some look hopeful, and their hope gives me courage.
Will’s palm slickens the closer we get to the stairwell, which will take us to the surface. As soon as we round the corner and see it, his hand tightens on mine.
“This is where I leave you,” he says.
I nod. Swallow. No one goes outside unless ordered to. The radiation from the blasts is still too dangerously high. And if the radiation doesn’t kill you, your fellow citizens might.
Will tugs on our clasped hands, pulling me to him. “Make it back here alive,” he says. His lips brush my forehead. It’s not a goodbye kiss, and I really appreciate that.
After a moment, he lets me go. I back up to the stairwell door, watching him. I feel hyper alive. It’s the same feeling I have every time I fight on the battlefield. I can’t figure out if it’s the sudden, startling possibility of Will and me or the prospect of meeting the king that has me feeling this way, but it’s not an unpleasant sensation.
“I’ll try my best to come back alive,” I say.
Will gives me a small smile. “I’m holding you to that, Serenity.”
I climb the stairs for what seems like ages. When I finally reach the top, the floor closest to the surface, several people wait for me. Among them are the general and my father.
My father’s eyebrows nudge up when he sees me. This is the first time I’ve ever looked remotely feminine.
“You look … just like your mother,” he manages to say. I blush at this—that’s the best compliment my father could’ve given me.
General Kline grunts his approval. “Now that you’re here, Serenity, it’s time to get moving.” As he speaks, the general begins leading the group to the garage, where all our vehicles are kept. “We’re sending a dozen guards to go with you two,” the general says to my father and me. “They are there to protect you should negotiations dissolve.”
The general, my father, and I get into one of the military vehicles. The rest of our entourage piles into two other cars.
“I want you both to report to me every night,” General Kline continues. “Be sure to watch your words. Let’s assume the king can hear everything you say to me. You both know the code words.”
In front of us the cement floor tilts up until it kisses the ceiling of the bunker. As I watch, the ceiling slides back, and the leaves that helped camouflage the hidden door fall into the bunker like confetti.
Natural light streams in, the first I’ve seen in months, and the sight of it takes my breath away. The washed out sky beyond is not the same blue that haunts my memories, but it’s still one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in a long time.
Once the ceiling slides back far enough, our caravan pulls out. My eyes drink in the war-scorched earth. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the damage isn’t as apparent as it is in the heart of our once big cities, but if you stare long enough, you’ll see it.
It’s a five-minute drive to the hangar that houses our jet. Short enough that if the representatives ever needed to make a quick escape they could, but long enough that if the hangar were ever to be attacked, the bunker would remain unharmed.
We pull into it, and inside several aircraft wait. One sits in front of the rest, and several men and women already swarm around it, loading the jet, and checking up on its general maintenance.
“Ambassador Freeman,” the general turns to my father, “this will work.”
I see a muscle in my father’s cheek flex, and something unspoken passes between the two of them. Whatever it is, it has my father angry.
Beyond us, the rest of our group is beginning to load themselves onboard the aircraft. I grab my bag, clenching my jaw at the airy way my dress swishes around my legs—as if I am some delicate thing that requires only the lightest of caresses and the softest material.
I stare at the jet that will take me away from this miserable land to one that’s already fallen to the king. The same king that’s taken everything from me. I’ll come face to face with him. I take a deep breath.
Time to dance with the devil.
Chapter 3
Serenity
Eight years ago my father put a gun in my hand for the first time.
That morning when I walked into the kitchen, he sat at our table sipping a cup of coffee, a wrapped box in front of him.
I halted at the sight of it.
“Thought I’d forgotten your birthday?” he asked, glancing up from his laptop.
I had. He hadn’t mentioned it, and I hadn’t bothered reminding him. He’d been so busy. So weary. It made me feel guilty any time I thought of mentioning it to him.
I continued to stare at the gift.
“Well?” He closed the computer screen and pushed it aside. “Are you going to open it?”
Tentatively I approached the kitchen table. “You didn’t have to get me a present,” I said, even as I reached for the box.
He gave me a gentle smile, but something in his eyes warned me to curb my enthusiasm.
Carefully I peeled away the wrapping, savoring the fact that my father had remembered. Beneath it was a worn-out shoebox advertising men’s loafers. I raised my eyebrows, earning me a chuckle.
“Open the lid, Serenity,” my father said, leaning forward.
I lifted it like he asked, and balked at what rested inside.
“Go ahead and grab it—gently.”
Reaching in, I touched the cold metal and wrapped my hands around the handle.
“Do you know what that is?” he asked me.
How could I not know? “It’s a gun.” I tried to curb my disappointment. I wouldn’t be getting any new toys this year. Not on my father’s watch.
“No,” my father said. “That is a death sentence.”
I stared at the weapon in my hand like it was a snake.
“I know you’ve seen the street gangs shooting up property for the hell of it,” he continued, leaving his seat to kneel at my side. “That is not a toy. You point that gun, then you aim to kill.”