But Logan doesn’t need to hear that. He has a terrified group of survivors to protect from a danger that is suddenly all too real. He has decisions to make, arguments to win, and problems to solve. The least I can do is give him one less thing to worry about.

Ignoring the voice inside my head that whispers I’m only protecting Logan so that I can protect myself from talking about things I don’t want to face, I smile reassuringly and say, “I’m fine.”

The lie leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as we get to our feet and check to see that the rest of our group survived the blast. I cast one more glance over my shoulder at the pile of metal and stone that seals off the entrance to Baalboden. Just outside the Wall, the object of my hatred is still breathing. Still living. Still waiting for the vengeance I promised my father when I lay on his grave.

The icy silence within me presses close as I imagine the Commander slowly bleeding to death at my feet. Holding that thought, I turn my back on the Wall and walk away, ignoring the way Quinn’s eyes follow me as I go.

Chapter Seven

LOGAN

We lost four men at the gate. They were my responsibility, and now they’re gone. All my planning, all my careful instruction, all for nothing because Drake refused to do his part.

That his refusal saved Rachel and me makes the guilt I feel that much worse.

I don’t look at him as I give the order to strip the soldiers’ bodies of anything we can use. Weapons. Scabbards. Boots. We’re in no position to leave a single item of value behind.

“They’re from Carrington. The Commander is with them, along with the guards who fled into the Wasteland with him like the cowardly dogs they are,” Rachel says. Her voice trembles a little when she says the Commander’s name, but she lifts her chin and stares me down—stares everyone down—as if daring us to call her weak. “They’ll have Dragonskin on beneath their tunics.”

“What’s Dragonskin?” Quinn asks as he flips a body over and pulls his sister’s arrow free.

“Impenetrable armor worn beneath a soldier’s clothing. Kind of like a metal tunic with tiny interlocking scales,” I say.

“It’s thin and lightweight, almost the density of a cotton tunic, so it doesn’t hamper movement or slow them down,” Rachel says. “That’s why Willow’s arrows weren’t stopping the soldiers until she aimed for their heads.”

Drake bends down to tug at the bloodstained jacket of a soldier who died with Willow’s arrow in his throat. Rachel balls her hands into fists and looks away.

“It’s Carrington’s design, and they don’t trade it out to anyone. Ever,” Drake says, his eyes on me. “It’s their best-kept secret. They also don’t leave their city-state and attack others. They don’t have to. Because all of their soldiers wear Dragonskin, everyone knows attacking Carrington is futile unless—”

“Unless you have a weapon capable of destroying metal,” I say without meeting his eyes.

“The Cursed One can destroy metal.” Willow scrubs a handful of arrow tips against the bright green blades of grass that have pushed their way through the blackened soil at the edge of the path. “Looks like your Commander—”

“He’s not our Commander. Not anymore.” Rachel’s voice is cold.

“Fine. The man formerly known as your Commander must have explained the facts of life to Carrington, and they’re scared that if someone else gets ahold of the device to control the Cursed One, all the Dragonskin in the world won’t save them from being incinerated.”

“He must have promised them safety or shared control of the device in exchange for working with him,” Drake says as he removes a pair of almost-new boots from the feet of a dead soldier. “What do you think, Logan?”

I think he should’ve blown the gate and taken the survivors out of the city the way we planned. I’m spared the necessity of answering him when Willow laughs and says, “I just met the Commander, and I can tell you I wouldn’t trust him to keep his word unless I had a sword already cutting into his neck. The leader of Carrington is either stupid or is planning a double cross of his own.”

“Well, that isn’t going to be our problem,” Drake says, and stands, the soldier’s boots in his hands, while Frankie rips the bloody tunic off of the body and reveals the silvery sheath of armor underneath. “We’ll be out of the Commander’s reach soon. Right, Logan?” Drake reaches out to clap a hand on my shoulder, and I step back.

He nods. “Figured something was eating at you. Out with it, then.”

Willow slides her arrows back into her quiver and bends to help Ian remove another soldier’s Dragonskin. Thom slowly crouches down to unstrap a scabbard. Quinn unlaces a pair of boots, his eyes on Rachel, who frowns at Drake and me.

“You should’ve blown the gate,” I say, and my words are too small, too weak to contain the sharp sting of impotent fury raging within me. I look at him, at his steady brown eyes holding my own, and my fingers curl into fists. “We had an agreement, Drake. A plan. And four men died today because you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“No, four men died today because they, like the rest of us, wanted to keep you safe.”

I slam my left fist into my right palm. “Do you think that reasoning makes it better? We exchanged four lives for two today. That’s a poor bargain any way you look at it.”

“So if the situation was reversed, and it was me and Frankie outside the Wall, you’d have blown the gate and left us to the mercy of that army?” Drake asks, his voice calm.