She schools her features, but I glimpse concern in her eyes before Fallon regards Devlan with a hard stare. “That information is classified—at least, until Xander decides it’s not.”
Devlan’s brows furrow, but he says respectfully, “Yes ma’am.”
“And remember, Devlan,” Fallon continues. “You’re to lead the new mission, but Xander is now my second in command. You’ll answer to him if I send new orders.” Devlan nods, and Fallon returns her gaze to me. “I assume she doesn’t know anything. Huh.” She stares at the ground a moment. “But, I think I can connect the dots, Devlan. I see where we can take this.”
I glance between them, wondering how anyone is connecting anything. “Would someone please tell me something?” I plead, upset that my voice shakes.
Devlan releases a heavy breath and turns toward me. He hands me the dagger, wrapping my fingers around the hilt. “This…that you hold in your hand”—his eyes capture mine—“is a very powerful symbol. It belonged to the Rebel who coordinated the first uprising.”
My mouth drops open, ready to deny his claim, but he presses on. “Your father.”
“No,” I say, barely above a whisper. I turn my back on them and say with more conviction, “No.”
“Yes, Zara.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Your father was the first Rebel leader.”
EIGHTEEN
I jerk out of Devlan’s grasp. Whirling around, I stare first at Fallon’s downcast eyes avoiding me, then at Devlan, his features etched with pity. Anger sears my chest. “No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying. My father was a farmer—a cloner. You’re mistaken.”
No one responds. Devlan only continues to watch me with sympathy lacing his eyes. I wish he’d argue—be the stubborn ass he always is—but he just stares at me. Unexpectedly, Fallon steps forward.
“Zara,” she says, and my head whips in her direction. “The leader before me spent many years prepping me. And this”—she raises her hand and points to a silver ring—“was your father’s.” A sad smile slides across her face. My gaze moves to the band and my heart aches with familiarity.
“It was his wedding band,” she continues. “The dagger marked him as the leader. It bears the Rebel crest and his given name’s initials. But when he chose to leave, he took the dagger to always have proof of who he was, and gave Micah the ring as the marker. A strong reminder of our mission and what we stand for.”
My eyes slip over the ring. It catches the candlelight, glinting as she slowly fans her hand back and forth. When I took the dagger from under the floorboard, I’d studied the ring my father also kept there. It had my father’s name inscribed on the inside of the band: Rorick.
I take a step closer to Fallon. “Show me the inscription. If it’s his ring, my mother’s name will be inscribed on the band.”
Her eyes scan my face, and I see sorrow in them. My chest tightens. She slides the ring off her finger and hands it to me. I take a deep breath, then hold it up to the candlelight, my hand trembling. Inside the silver band, letters spell out a name. Carmen. My mother.
I palm the ring, squeezing it as my eyes burn. I shake my head once and forcefully hand Fallon back the ring. The tent air is suddenly stale and suffocating. I barge through the tent flaps. The cool night air engulfs me, and I drink it in, cleanse my lungs of the fiery ache.
How could he hide this from me?
“He was trying to protect you,” Devlan says from behind me, answering my unspoken question. My head snaps his way. Devlan stands with his hand resting on his hilt. I say nothing and walk away from the camp toward the woods. I don’t want to be near anyone who knows these secrets of the man who raised me. Not before I can understand them first.
He follows, his footsteps matching mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t put it together sooner. None of us knew his true name. We’re just told what initials to look for with the crest.” He pauses for a beat. “But with your age, and your father’s name…I should have made the connection.”
I look to the sky, continuing my slow trek. “You and me both.”
“Your mother was a Rebel, too,” he says. “She was rumored to be fierce.”
I stop and lean my shoulder against a tree, keeping my back to him. “My whole life has been a lie. But it’s good to know I officially have nowhere to go, nowhere to belong.” I bow my head. “Can you please leave me alone now?”
“I’m sorry, but no. We don’t have enough time, Zara.”
I nearly laugh. Time. That is something none of us have enough of.
“It’s all so recent,” I say, as if to myself while I ponder the reality that our world—this realm—hasn’t been functioning as long as I believed. If my father was the first Rebel leader, then Karm hasn’t existed long. How did King Hart wipe out the old customs so thoroughly?
I answer my own question as I think back on all the punishments, the tales of monsters and starvation and the impossibility of survival Outside. King Hart is far more ruthless and meticulous than I ever thought possible.
Devlan places his hand on the tree above my head, so close I could move just a fraction and lean against him instead. “After your mother was killed during a mission,” he says, “your father was distraught. Story is, he promised your mother that, if anything ever happened to her, he’d retire and raise you away from the rebellion.” He pauses, his fingers scrape at the bark. “After she died, he truly wanted to do nothing but give you a life that, if only for a short while, you could live happily.”
My mind catches up to his words, and I turn and face him. “My mother was Taken,” I argue. “I watched the Force drag her, screaming obscenities, from our home.”
“It was a ruse.” He lowers his face so that I can see his eyes in the glowing campfire. “She was a plant for the Rebels. Although she was discovered, her death wasn’t in vain. Because of her we now know the Force has a testing procedure for the Virus.”
A tear escapes down my cheek. I turn my back to him again and I let it fall. Everything in my life has been a lie. “So, my mother didn’t want me brought into this. But my father gave me the dagger,” I counter. “Why would he give it to me if he promised to keep me away? He must have known at some point I’d discover the truth.”
Devlan moves in front of me, his eyes finding mine. “I don’t know, but that dagger gives you our protection, so I’m sure he had his reason. And the ring? It’s a symbol of what we fight for. A reminder of all that has been and continues to be taken away. It’s what I fight for.”
My breath shudders out, fogging as it passes my lips. One thing occurs to me. “Then, my mother wasn’t Taken. She wasn’t mad.”
He shakes his head slowly. “She wasn’t. She fought hard…for you.”
His words wrap around me, comforting and solid, like the strength the dagger gives me. My mother wasn’t mad. My father endured cruelty at the hands of the Force to raise me. Yet I’m the orphan of two Rebels, who is to marry the son of the king they fought against.
I close my eyes and shake my head at the bitter irony. “At least my father won’t have to watch me marry King Hart’s son,” I say. “I suppose there are some small—” My words stop short when I open my eyes and see Devlan’s rigid features.
His brows pull together. “There’s something else I brought you here to see.”
His words slam against my chest like a mallet, and I press my hand to my heart. “Just tell me, Devlan.” I pull air into my lungs. “I don’t think I can take another shock right now.”
“Please, just come.” His eyes beckon me to trust him.