“I stopped you from killing Chorda,” I reminded him and then felt sick, hearing myself say the name aloud. That demented animal didn’t deserve a name. I shook off the memory of his twisted face. Thinking about the past would just shut me down and I couldn’t afford to let that happen right now. Not if we were going to escape.
“Hey, come on,” Rafe said. “It’s your first time in the Feral Zone. Of course you made mistakes.”
“Like falling for the wrong boy?” I’d said it to be funny, since he was always teasing me about Everson, but Rafe grew still.
He returned his gaze to the dark skyline. “No, you didn’t. He’s a stiff, but he’s a good guy. He won’t crawl out your window after you fall asleep or come on to your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“Missing the point.”
“He’s not you. Got it.” I nudged his arm. “You know, for all your talk, you’re kind of a good guy yourself.”
“Wrong. I’m the guy that stays alive.” He faced me, looking as serious as I’d ever seen him. “And the one you leave behind if you get the chance to escape. You understand?”
“What?” I frowned. “No. You got me this far. I’m not going to leave you.”
“Yeah, you are,” he said firmly. “I’ll be all right. I’m always all right. Lane, promise me if you get the chance, you’ll go and not look back.”
“No!”
The queen strolled over just then, preventing him from saying more. Just as well. There wasn’t any more to be said on that topic.
“What are you two talking about all by yourselves?” she asked in a sultry tone.
Rafe didn’t miss a beat. “We’re wondering what you have in mind for the feral down there.”
“Oh, it’s just a new handler’s initiation test,” she said with an airy wave. “To see if he can kill a feral armed with only a baton and knife. Omar is convinced this one is a natural. But he’s been wrong before. I don’t see how an initiate will be a match for the feral he’s picked out. That thing has already maimed two men. Left one completely blind.” She smiled suddenly. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
I felt a throb of loathing for her and the other members of the court, happily risking a new handler’s life just so they could enjoy the show.
The handlers switched on the huge spotlights along the roof’s edge that were aimed at the yard and outer fence, turning the castle into an eerie oasis of light in the dark city. With a howl, the feral covered his eyes and skittered back until he’d reached the end of his chain.
A door opened and the initiate stumbled into the yard as if shoved from behind. He eased back into the shadows along the castle wall as he surveyed the courtyard. Like the other handlers, he wore a long leather apron, but also some sort of burlap padding from his wrists to shoulders. The protective sleeves were so thick, he looked like his arms were in casts, although they seemed flexible enough as he reached for the weapons offered by a handler — a knob-topped baton and a knife. As the handler spoke to him, the initiate nodded and practiced extending the heavy steel baton.
“You know, it’s strange, isn’t it? Finding three strays outside our compound in one day,” the queen mused. “Omar, where did the initiate say he was from?”
“He didn’t. He refused to tell us anything, which is why he’s down there.” Omar’s one eye sharpened on us. “He put up quite a fight,” Omar went on. “Between that and his fatigues, I’m sure he’s military, though I don’t recognize the uniform.”
After collapsing the baton, the initiate stepped out of the shadows and lifted his face. My heart stopped. In the yard three stories below stood Everson, dark haired, steel eyed, and fiercely defiant as he took in the crowded roof.
“Did not see that coming,” Rafe murmured and then glanced at me. “Relax. He was trained to kill ferals.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he’s a soldier?” the queen hissed at Omar. “What if he came to reestablish contact? What if he has orders for the king?”
“If the West wanted to reestablish contact with the quarantine compounds, they wouldn’t send just one soldier.” Omar’s tone was so acid, the surrounding guests backed off as if afraid of getting splattered. “He’s a runaway or criminal. Either way, he’ll fit in here just fine.”
“The king and I decide who fits in here. Not you.”
Omar’s lips twitched as he unclipped a key from his belt loop, tossed it into the air, and caught it like he was flipping a coin. “I believe Queen Mahari said that once. And Queen Charmaine, she also thought she had a say in things.”
Mahari. Charmaine. The lionesses caged in the yard. They were the king’s ex-wives! No wonder Queen Sindee was unbalanced and insanely jealous. She had no idea how much longer she would be queen. Or human, for that matter.
Omar tossed up the key again, caught it, and reclipped it to his belt loop with a pat. It had to be the key to the ex-queens’ cage. If the current queen hadn’t been wearing her Ferae test, I would have sworn that she was on the verge of going feral based on how she was glaring at Omar. I hoped the two of them would rip each other to shreds. I turned my attention back to the yard below.
With the bright lights aimed at him, I knew there was no way Everson could see exactly who was up here — didn’t know that I was watching. As he took position where the handler indicated, I was tempted to call down to him. I wanted some sort of connection with him. Wanted him to know — What? What feeling was welling up in me? Fear, yes, of course. And worry. But something else too. Something I didn’t have a name for. Then, when the handlers circled the snarling feral, I was suddenly glad that Everson wasn’t paying attention to the audience on the roof. He’d need all of his focus to keep from being bitten by the slavering madman.
The feral lunged for the handlers, jaws snapping as he danced at the end of his chain. Two of the handlers backed away fast while the third lifted his gun and fired into the night sky. The sound echoed eerily through the dead city. The handler then unhooked the overhead chain and set the feral free.
27
The handler who’d released the feral now escaped into the castle. The door closed with an ominous bang. The feral was a huge, hairy figure standing on two legs, with long, sharp claws that reflected the light from above. Instead of leaping on Everson like I’d expected, the feral pulled his chain free of the sagging wire, turned tail — literally — and raced around the building. Was he checking for a break in the fence? From this vantage point I could see that his search would be useless.
Everson headed the other way around the castle. The handlers on the roof followed him with the spotlights. We crossed the roof to watch him stalk along carefully. The crowd jeered and placed bets. Everson made it to the backside of the castle, but the feral wasn’t there to greet him … or so he thought. At that instant the ivy erupted behind him. With an ear-splitting shriek the feral plunged from his hiding place.
I clapped my hands over my eyes. Suddenly there was silence. “Is he okay?” I hissed, and then dared to lower my fingers.
“Course he is,” Rafe whispered. “Guy’s no slouch.”
The feral had his jaws clamped down on Everson’s forearm, but the burlap padding protected his skin. Everson pulled his arm free and staggered back.
“He should have gutted it then,” Omar growled. “He had the chance.”
The feral bounded after Everson and, with a flying leap, took him down. Spinning and writhing together, they rolled over the grass. Everson cracked the feral in the face with the baton, which bought him enough time to spring to his feet.
Several people on the roof shouted their approval.