PART THREE
THE MOUNTAINS
CHAPTER 17
I CAN’T MOVE FAST enough.
The city sticks to my heels like a long-stretched shadow. Always there, right behind me, a black reminder of Pips and cold silver tables and a Garden full of flowers. The wood in the trees makes me think of the auction stage. The rustles in the brush of a boy playing a hiding game. The mountain streams remind me of a Watcher’s body, head under water. All things I wanted to leave inside those tall iron gates.
We must go faster.
Brax and I keep a steady pace up a steep embankment lined by prickly pines. The ground is muddy beneath my feet, and I tear off my boots, needing to feel the soft earth ooze between my toes. The boulders are rougher to the touch and larger than I remember. The black sky above is as dark as tar.
I imagine Nina asking where I’ve been while Tam throws his arms around me. He won’t care that I’ve been gone once he sees me again. He’s quick to forget heartache. Nina will follow his lead and once we’ve resettled in a new camp, I’ll coax Salma into making me fry bread and teach the twins to knife fight. They’ll be old enough now.
Just before dawn I turn around and find that Kiran has fastened Daphne’s hands around his shoulders with his handkerchief while they ride. She’s fallen asleep somehow, and her head is flopping to the side. With the makeup and Kiran’s blood still sticky on her cheek, she really does look plagued.
I’m tempted to dump her here, but we can’t slow down yet. If an alarm at the Garden or the mayor’s house has been sounded, they’ll search the city first and then send a crew of Trackers into the mountains. I want to be as far away as possible before that happens.
Up and up we go. Higher into the mountains. The air is biting; my breath forms moist clouds in front of my face, but I barely feel it. I’m sweating clean through the yellow Skinmonger dress; even my bare shoulders feel warm now.
With the sun just cresting the mountains, Kiran whistles for me to slow down. Dell’s girth and breast piece are lathered with foamy white sweat. She snorts in a pouty way, no doubt frustrated with Daphne’s extra weight. Now that we’ve stopped, I feel it too. I’m bone tired; the muscles in my legs are wobbling, threatening to give out.
Kiran leads us southwest, off my course, to a small pool that sparkles in the gray morning. He’s woken Daphne in a soft voice and is easing her down to the ground. Her legs give way and she stumbles, backing into a tree for support. She looks terrible: eyes blackened by smudged makeup and swollen by tears, the fake Virulent mark smeared across her nose and mouth, her hair slicked back with sweat and dew. She must realize this because a second later she turns away and begins to scrub her face clean with the neck of her dress.
Kiran beckons me over to a tree split by lightning down the middle. He swipes away a cobweb covering a hole and then pulls out a bow and a packed leather quiver hidden inside. I smile. It may have been a while since I’ve hunted, but I know just how it will fit against my shoulder and the ting the sinew will make when the arrow flies.
I hold out my hand expectantly, and he lifts a brow.
“Yes, I know how,” I say before I remember that I don’t have to answer his gestures anymore. He has a voice and can speak for himself.
“Your hands are soft.” It’s not a compliment. You can’t notch an arrow without callouses on your hands; they’ll be all blistered and useless in no time.
“I’ll manage,” I tell him.
He hands it over and retrieves another for himself. The past hours have put a strain on him; his face is pale and damp, except for twin pink blotches staining his cheeks.
“Let me check that cut.” I reach for the bandage, but he backs away.
“It’s all right.”
I’m sure it’s not, but I don’t press it. We don’t have time to clean it properly anyhow.
Daphne’s touching the pond with the toe of her shoe, as if something might rise up and bite her.
“We can’t leave her,” Kiran says in a low voice, now reading my face.
“We most certainly can.”
“She knows about me,” he says.
“Well, whose fault is that?”
His golden eyes harden.
“She’s not gonna make it out here.”
I feel my shoulders creep up. “What do you care?”
He breathes in, nostrils flaring. “I’ve got a soft spot for fragile women.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who you calling fragile?”
He laughs—it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it, and there’s something crushing about the fact that he’s doing it at me.
His hands raise in surrender. “I didn’t say I have a soft spot for you, don’t worry.”
My neck gets all warm, and I look down at the bow, mad that he’s making fun of me. I expected it from Daphne and the other girls, not from him. I’m pretty sure I liked it better when he couldn’t talk.
“She’s not fragile. Trust me.” But even though I say this, I know he’s right. I couldn’t leave her to the Watcher’s beating and I can’t leave her to the mountains. They can be twice as vicious as the city if you don’t know how to survive them.
A twig breaks, and I turn to see my half friend half hidden behind Dell. Her nose turns up. From the look on her face it’s clear she’s overheard.
“Leave then,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”
If only she were right. “You won’t be,” I tell her. “You’ll come with us until I can take you to one of the outliers.” Marhollow, maybe, where my ma was raised.
“Us?” she says. “The Driver is going with you?”
I hesitate, unsure what to say to this. I did think Kiran would help me find my family. I don’t know why; he has his own people up here in the mountains. But the thought of us splitting up hollows out my stomach. He’s the only one who knows everything that’s happened these past few days, and as long as he’s around, it feels like we’re sharing that load somehow.
I wish he would say something, but he’s busy pretending like he hasn’t heard.
“The Driver has a name,” is all I can think of to come back with. The cold is beginning to get to me now. The sweat-soaked dress is freezing against my skin.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “What is it?” She’s looking up at him through her lashes, and picking at her fingernails.
“Kiran,” I say.
“Varick,” he says at the same time.
“Varick?” I turn and stare at him. And then shut my gaping mouth.
Of course Kiran—Varick—has a real name. Kiran was just something stupid I made up when he wasn’t talking. Suddenly I’m angry with him; he’s kept this a secret on purpose. Maybe I should be on my own. Daphne knows as much about him as I do.
Varick? It doesn’t fit him at all. Varick has such a crude, harsh sound to it. It’s not a name meant for someone who watches stars and plots escapes and speaks to horses. It certainly doesn’t match his gold-flecked eyes.
“Here.” Without meeting my gaze, Kiran hands me some more supplies from within the tree. Men’s pants, like the kind he wears. An oversized Driver’s shirt. I duck behind a boulder to change; I have to cuff the pants four times to make them short enough for me.
“Leave the dress in its place,” he tells me. “I’m sure the next Driver through will appreciate it.”
“Driva,” I say under my breath. Luckily, I can tell he’s being funny, so I wind the dress into a yellow ball and stuff it into the saddlebag.
“You’re not really planning on going it alone,” Kiran says, one brow rising beneath his messy hair.
My heart settles. But then he walks over to Daphne, gives her a small, lopsided smile, and hands her the reins. She smiles at the ground.
So glad everyone’s getting along.
Brax pads up beside me and drops a dead sparrow at my feet.
“Thanks,” I mutter. He lowers and begins to pull out the feathers with his teeth.
“I won’t be a bother,” Daphne says.
I seriously doubt that.
“Fine,” I concede, because somehow it seems easier right now than parting with them. “But keep up. Both of you,” I add to Kiran, because I don’t want him thinking I won’t leave him if he takes too long tending to his new pet. He shoots me a cocky grin, and I’m really beginning to think I’ve made a mistake.