Broken City: Forsaken Part 11

"Then prove it," Blaise demands, crossing his arms over his chest. "Challenge me."

He laughs, but this time, the noise sounds more forced. "Challenge you? That'd be disgracing my name."

"Disgracing your name?" Blaise questions. "No, I think you're just scared."

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Wrath seethes. "You're the prisoner. You will respect me."

"I don't respect anyone without a reason," Blaise replies. "And right now, I see nothing to respect."

A loud crash reverberates from above, causing me to shudder.

"Relax," Blaise hisses at me. "I've got this under control."

I want to believe him, but it's difficult when we're the ones trapped in a hole, and Wrath is above, completely free to do whatever he wants.

"Fine," Wrath roars. "If you want to challenge me, challenge accepted. You and I will fight to the death." Satisfaction creeps into his tone. "I'm sure Zinnia can live with one less prisoner."

Fight to the death!

"Blaise, you can't do this."

"Sh ..." is all he says.

Fear hammers through my veins, potent and toxic. I need to find a way to get Blaise out of this. I won't let him die because of me.

"In fact, I think Zinnia might enjoy watching someone from the station die," Wrath adds, trying to provoke Blaise.

"I'm sure she would," Blaise responds calmly. "Sucks to be her, though, since she won't get to see that happen."

"Who's Zinnia?" I whisper, clutching the bottom of Blaise's leather jacket.

"It's this group of Forsaken's leader, I think," Blaise says in a low tone.

This group? Meaning there are more than one?

"Wrath, what are you doing?" A woman's voice drifts from above. "You know you're not supposed to be near the prisoners."

"I was just chatting with them," Wrath snaps. "And besides, I'm supposed to be taking one of them to Zinnia."

"Are you sure that's all you were doing?" the woman questions. "Because someone reported that you were trying to collect the girl for yourself. And I'm pretty sure I just overheard you accept a challenge from the male one."

"He threw a challenge at me," Wrath grumbles. "I had to accept."

"You can't accept without permission from Zinnia," the woman reminds him. "And you won't be taking the female prisoner anywhere. Zinnia requested her presence."

I frown. I have to go and see Zinnia, their leader who-I'm guessing-is the woman who shot me with a dreamland dart?

Fear courses through me. Why does she want to see me? Because she saw my number?

"Blaise, this Zinnia woman saw my number," I sputter, "right before she shot me with the dart."

"It'll be okay. I'll figure something out," Blaise whispers, but he doesn't sound as certain as he did a few minutes ago.

"Why does she want to see her?" Wrath asks.

"I have no idea," the woman answers. "But that's not for you to worry about. Now go speak to Zinnia about the challenge you want to have with the male prisoner and let me follow through with my orders."

Wrath mutters something before stomping away.

"I'm going to throw down the rope," the woman calls down to us. "Have the girl climb up."

"She's not going anywhere," Blaise snaps, stepping forward. "I already told your friend that."

"Wrath isn't my friend." She sighs exhaustedly as she lowers a rope into the hole. "And she will climb up or else I'll be forced to fill up this hole with water and let both of you drown. And I'd rather not have any more death on my hands."

Rage currents through Blaise. "You will not-"

"Blaise, it's okay." I put a hand on his shoulder and step around him. "I can handle being with Zinnia for a little bit." I offer him a small smile, even though I'm scared beyond imaginable. "Besides, it's better than us drowning."

"I don't like this." He lowers his voice. "They know you're a Nameless. That's not good, especially here."

"I know, but we don't really have a choice. I have to go up there" Telling myself to be brave, I give him what I hope is a rea.s.suring smile before I grab the rope.

Sucking a breath, I spring on my toes, pulling up and wrapping my legs around the rope. I begin to haul myself up, my arms griping in protest every time I lift my legs. Fortunately, the distance to the top isn't very far, because I don't have very much upper body strength. By the time I'm dragging myself out of the hole and onto the dirt, my muscles are throbbing.

I roll onto my back, breathing heavily as the sunlight blinds me.

"You're not from the station, are you?" The woman leans over me, giving my eyes a break from the sun.

I'm surprised by how young she is. She sounded older, but she looks around my age, and like the rest of the Forsaken, she's wearing leather pants and a jacket and has silver cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Her wavy black hair runs down her back with the top half secured in braids. Countless piercings decorate her ears, and her eyes remind me of the ocean. I realize then that, at some point in my life, I've watched waves crash against a sandy sh.o.r.e.

"So you're the one causing all the chaos with Wrath." She sizes me up, her head tilting to the side. "I don't really see what all the fuss is about. Maybe, if we cleaned you up, but I don't know." She extends a hand to me. "I'm Calla, by the way."

I hesitate, unsure if I should take her hand.

"Don't worry; I won't bite." She wiggles her fingers. "Come on. Hurry up."

Summoning my courage, I place my hand in hers, and she helps me to my feet. I stretch out my legs and brush the dirt off the back of my pants, noting that we're almost the exact same height.

"You're tall. I usually tower over most people." She eyes me over with her hands on her hips. "You can talk to me. I'm not as feisty and demanding as Zinnia or Wrath."

"Okay," I say, but I have no plans of saying anything. While she seems a bit more decent than Zinnia and Wrath, I know I can't trust her.

She sighs. "All right, fine. I get where you're coming from. But if you change your mind, I'd love to talk to someone who isn't from here. It gets tiring listening to the same boring stories over and over again. It's like no one ever wants to talk about anything else other than legends and sacrifices and hunting." She motions for me to follow her as she strolls down a flattened dirt path and toward a row of tents.

I shuffle after her, stealing glances at the grates in the ground. Most of them are dark and quiet, but every once in a while, I hear someone beg for help. What really makes my heart ache is when a child cries out for me to save them. The imprisonment is too familiar, like back when I was in my cell and listening to the cries of the other Nameless. I loathe the similarity.

Why can't this world be different? I want to open the grate up and free them, make this world different. They deserve to be free. What would happen if I tried?

Unable to bear the cries any longer, I focus on the metal fencing around the tents and then the rocky, jagged cliffs on the other side. I'm not chained or handcuffed. I could attempt to run and escape. But how would I save Ryder, Reece, and Blaise? I can't just leave them.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Calla warns, noticing my line of sight. "They'd shoot you dead before you even made it five feet." She points a finger at a lofty wooden structure. It takes me a moment to figure out what it is-a lookout tower. "Those are all over the property. Armed guards are inside, and they've been instructed to shoot anyone who tries to sneak in or out."

"I wasn't going to run," I reply nervously. "I was just looking around."

She rolls her eyes. "I doubt that. You ran from the channels. I'm sure running from here is no different."

I tug at the sleeve of my jacket, concealing the number. "I didn't run from the channels."

"Technically, no, but you did escape." She slows down, matching my sluggish pace. "How long have you been out?"

Every one of my instincts scream for me to lie. "A while."

She studies me meticulously. "Maybe that's why you talk so well?" It sounds like a question, but for some reason, it seems like she already knows the answer.

"I was taught when I got out of the channels." My erratic pulse hammers, but thank G.o.d my voice comes out steady.

I can't tell if she's buying it or not. I hope so because I don't think being different right now is a good idea.

"You must be really brave to survive such trauma without being very affected." She flashes me a conniving smirk then barrels down the path, snapping at me to keep up. When we pa.s.s the fire pit, now filled only with embers, she says, "They put the fire out so you don't have to worry about slipping into dreamland. But if you get out of line, Zinnia may dart you again, so I'd watch your back."

She strides past tents, greeting and nodding at people. Most nod and say h.e.l.lo back, their attention lingering on me. Most of them look annoyed, others disgusted, but a few seem mildly curious. None of them approach me, and several shuffle away and duck back into their tents.

"Don't take it personally. They don't like outsiders." Calla veers between two tents. "I guess they have every reason to, though."

I hurry after her. "Why's that?"

"You haven't heard the story?"

"No."

She checks left then right then spins around, nearly causing me to run into her. "Because of the hybrids."

"Hybrids?" I feign dumb, but my voice weakly quivers.

She nods, tossing an anxious glance behind her. "We're not really supposed to talk about it. Zinnia thinks, if we do, then we're asking to be cursed by the Deorum."

"The Deorum?" I bite my tongue. c.r.a.p. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Who knows if I'm supposed to know what that is already?

She angles her head back, staring down at the cracked dirt beneath her clunky, steel-toed boots. "The ones who watch us from below."

I glance at the ground then back at her. Is she talking about the Grim or a Tracker or what?

"Someone's down there?" I point to the ground.

"Not someone. The Deorum. They're the ones who take care of us now." When I continue to stare perplexedly at her, she sighs. "After the hybrid's killed off half of our kind, Zinnia made a deal with the Deorum. They watch out for us and protect us from the kind who can blend in undetected yet are infected with the thirst for lives."

My heart nearly stops dead. "You mean hybrids?"

She nods, evaluating my every movement as she reclines against the side of a tent. "It's almost impossible to tell a hybrid from a human. They don't have silver eyes like the Grim or translucent, pale skin, but they're just as evil and feed off humans.

"A few years ago, we made the mistake of letting a few into our camp. They said they wanted to join us and that they knew of a new location where we could get water. We're always looking for new water supplies, so we stupidly let our guard down and let them in." She clenches her hands into fists. "Never again was that supposed to happen. The Deorum are supposed to make sure of that. As long as we take care of them, they take care of us."

"And how do you take care of them?" I ask, though I'm pretty certain I know the answer. We were brought here to be sacrificed, and I'm betting the sacrifice is for the Deorum, whatever they are.

Instead of answering, her lips twist into a grin. "You know, every hybrid has one thing in common." She straightens her stance and s.n.a.t.c.hes hold of my arm. With a violent tug, she yanks me to her and slams me back against the tent. "They were all Nameless who just happen to miraculously heal from the trauma of being in the channels." Her fingernail scratches across my number. "They come out, walking and talking as if nothing happened to them. They're perfectly fine when they shouldn't be, and you want to know why? Because they're not human. Their inhuman, cold, distant, cruel minds can get over the trauma without being emotionally, physically, or mentally affected." She puts her lips beside my ear. "I don't know if you're one of them or not or how you got past the Deorum, but we will find out. We have a way to test for hybrids now."

My throat tightens. A test? Like how Mable put a drop of my blood on moonstone?

Oh, my G.o.d! They're going to know.

"You smell like rain," she muses, stepping back. "So strange since it hasn't rained for years."

I don't say a word. I never should've spoken to her to begin with.

"Come along." She snaps her fingers at me and strolls forward. "Zinnia will be p.i.s.sed if you're late."

I trail after her, worried about what awaits me when we get to Zinnia. Worried I won't pa.s.s the test. That we'll all end up sacrificed to the Deorum. But most of all, I worry that I am a hybrid. If I am, does that mean I'll eventually become a murderer?

If so, maybe I deserve whatever is coming to me.

Chapter Thirteen.

Quercu Calla doesn't speak to me as she hurries down a flattened path toward an enormous arched tent.

After we enter the tent, Calla waggles her fingers at me. "Have fun," she singsongs then skips back outside.

I turn in a circle, taking in the multiple lanterns strung across the ceiling and sheer black curtains across the farthest wall. A section of silver-trimmed chairs are set up in a half-circle around a large wooden trunk with nicked-steel tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. A rustic lock hangs on the front of the trunk, and I have the strongest compulsion to bust the metal apart so I can get to whatever is inside.

"It's where I keep my quercu."

I whirl around, pressing my hand to my sprinting heart.

The woman the Forsaken referred to as "your highness" pushes through the curtains, carrying a pleased grin on her face.

"I told Calla to let me know when you arrived." She strolls over to the chairs and props her laced up boot onto the seat to unbuckle her thigh holster. "She's never been good at following orders."

I smash my lips together, remaining silent.

"I'm Zinnia, but I'm sure you already figured that out." She drapes the holster across the back of the chair then crosses the tent toward me. "From the second I saw you, I knew there was something different about you. I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone, but I think Calla might have caught on." She ambles past me and reaches into the top of her leather corset, retrieving a skeleton key. "I overheard her telling you about the test I'm going to give you. I should be upset. It's not as fun if you know what's coming, but I can't really blame her." She slips the key into the lock. "Her brother and sister were slaughtered the night the hybrids raided our camp." The lock clicks, and she raises the lid of the trunk.

The scent of whatever is inside that trunk drives my body mad. My senses go wild, my blood pulsating underneath my skin, like little flakes of metal being drawn to a magnet.