“We can’t travel underground,” a man near Adam shouts. “We’ll be killed by the Cursed One.”

“I can keep us safe.”

More murmuring, more questions, more complaints from the crowd. I grit my teeth and feel an unwelcome stab of understanding for the Commander’s absolute refusal to entertain any discussion on his decisions. Trying to get one hundred fifty-seven opinionated people to agree on a course of action is harder than trying to herd a bunch of fighting tomcats out of an alley.

“Listen to me. Rowansmark is coming for us from the south. The Commander will be coming from the east. A river cuts us off to the west. North is the only logical choice. We’ll travel to Lankenshire. They have no alliances with the Commander or Rowansmark. We’ll try to secure an alliance of our own with them.”

“And if we can’t?” Ian asks, and several heads nod in agreement.

“I think once they see what we bring to the table, they’re going to want us on their side.”

Ian laughs. “A tiny remnant of survivors with barely enough skill to find food and water? Why should they extend us any kind of protection?”

I take a deep breath. “Because we have the tech that was stolen from Rowansmark, and it will be worth a small fortune to another city-state.”

I let the words fill the clearing. Let my voice ring out so no one doubts that we have to leave before our enemies arrive and that I can keep us safe while we travel. Ian stares at me in silence, and I turn to find the rest of the group staring at me as well.

“Shouldn’t we give it back?” someone asks.

Others murmur their agreement, and suddenly I’ve had enough.

I straighten my spine and speak as forcefully as possible. “That piece of tech is going to keep us safe as we cross the Wasteland. And it’s our only leverage for creating a new alliance. Besides, who would we give it to? To the Commander, who has already killed innocent people in his efforts to get his hands on it? He’d abuse the power in this tech just like he abuses everything else he touches. To Rowansmark? That would be giving them unlimited power over every other city-state. No one could stop them.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asks.

“The tech the Commander tried to steal from Rowansmark is a device that can call and control the Cursed One,” Rachel says, her voice cold, her blue eyes sharp. “Who knows how many of those they’ve created? If we give it back, then we voluntarily give Rowansmark the power to obliterate any city whose leader falls out of favor with James Rowan. Or to obliterate us.”

I nod. “But if we keep it, we can protect ourselves from the Cursed One while traveling through the Wasteland, and we can prove to other city-states that Rowansmark is a true threat. And given enough time, I can duplicate it so that our new allies aren’t defenseless.”

“That’s your plan?” Ian asks. “Duplicate stolen technology and turn it against Rowansmark?” There’s a curious intensity to his voice.

“Yes.” I don’t try to justify myself. I don’t have that luxury. I have one hundred fifty-seven people to keep safe, and two power-hungry leaders to thwart. I’ll do what I must.

“Why didn’t you use it?” Adam asks, and the pain in his voice echoes the pain inside of me. “If you have the tech, why didn’t you save Baalboden when the Cursed One tunneled under the Wall?”

“I tried. The device malfunctioned.” Before the murmurs can start up again, I throw a hand into the air, palm out, and say, “I’ve fixed the problem. I can’t turn back time and save our city, but I can keep us safe until we make a new alliance. Our only other choice is to sit here and wait for either the Commander or Rowansmark to destroy us. I’m not willing to do that.”

The people whisper and shift closer together, but no one offers another argument.

“We leave in two days. Sooner if we can manage. Drake, Nola, and Thom are in charge of packing up our supplies, loading the wagons, and completing the tunnel. If they ask for your help, you will give it to them.” I wait a beat, but no one questions me. “We’ll need a map of the northern territories, especially the road to Lankenshire. Has anyone been there?”

A voice speaks up from the middle of the crowd. “Many times. It’s about an eighteen-day journey. Maybe twenty with a group our size.”

I glance at the speaker, a short, weathered man with wispy gray hair and a brilliant purple cloth tied in a bow at his neck. He crushes a battered hat between fingers as brown and bent as twigs as he meets my gaze.

“Jeremiah Krunkel, sir. Head groom to the Commander for nigh unto thirty years. Done my fair share of travel.”

I stare him down. “Thirty years of loyal service to the Commander. Why not leave with the others three days ago and seek asylum at one of the southeastern city-states? Why follow me?”

Jeremiah’s pale eyes lock onto mine. “Figured thirty years of brutality was more than any man should have to bear.”

“Fair enough. Can you draw me a map?”

Jeremiah stands and shoves his hat onto his head. His fingers curl and twist like hairs held too close to a fire. “Have a bit of trouble holding a quill these days, but I’ll manage.”

“There are drawing supplies inside the compound. Meet me there in twenty minutes, and I’ll show you.” I look at the rest of the crowd. “We’re going out through the tunnel. I’ll collapse the basement ceiling in the compound to cover our tracks. It will be like we simply vanished. Until then, though, we have two days and a lot of work to do. Let’s get started.”