“Well, maybe if they’d taught us something worth knowing instead of wasting our time with how to sew a pretty dress or set a fancy table, I would’ve had more incentive. Besides, I did well in Basic Medical.”

“Mr. Phillips said you had the worst bedside manner he’d ever seen.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “I just have a low tolerance for whining.”

I laugh, and the pain in my head is nothing but a faint twinge now. The powder has done its job.

“I can put more salve on this if you’d like. Maybe it won’t scar quite so . . . badly.” Sylph’s cool fingers brush lightly against my neck, tracing the edges of the brand the Commander burned into my skin while I was at his mercy in the dungeon. It’s still healing, and the new skin feels tight and itchy.

“Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing you can do to make it look like anything less than the Commander’s Brute Squad insignia,” I say. And because both Sylph and Smithson look uncomfortable, I laugh a little. “Is it really that bad? Do I need to wear a scarf for life?”

Smithson’s brown eyes meet mine for a long moment. “It’s a good reminder of why we follow you instead of him.”

Now I’m the one who’s uncomfortable. I look at my hands, and wait quietly for Sylph to finish checking the burn.

She pats my shoulder. “All done. Do you want some pain medicine to keep with you in case the headache comes back, or do you want to find the medical wagon when you need more?”

“I’ll take some with me.”

She measures a few pinches of powder into a pouch and hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I say, and capture her gaze with mine. Once upon a time, she was the talkative, energetic girl whose heart was big enough to love Rachel, sharp edges and all, even when she could never fully understand the inner chambers of Rachel’s spirit. Now grief and loss have carved away the innocence and left wisdom in its place. I’m grateful that the size of her heart remains unchanged.

She smiles, her green eyes lighting with true pleasure. “You’re welcome. You’ve done so much for us. It’s nice to be able to do something for you.”

I don’t know what to do with her words, so I smile a little and head toward the wagon’s exit. Time to get us off the main road to Lankenshire.

Best Case Scenario: I continue to elude the Commander, get our people to safety, and catch the killer before the body count rises.

Worst Case Scenario: I fail.

I step out of the wagon as the path dips down between two chunks of moss-covered stone. I don’t know if I can catch the killer. I don’t know if I can keep everyone alive as we travel through the Wasteland. And I don’t know if I can convince Lankenshire to form an alliance with us.

But I do know that I’m prepared to lay my life on the line to make it happen. These people may have ignored me or mistreated me when we were all living in fear of the Commander’s vicious reprisals, but now they look at me with respect and trust. I refuse to be unworthy of either.

Chapter Thirty-One

RACHEL

Logan pushes us hard for four hours before calling a halt for lunch. We left the main road to Lankenshire two hours ago. Quinn, Willow, Ian, and I doubled back and did everything we could to disguise our trail and lay false ones instead. Hopefully by the time the army reaches the place where we left the road, we’ll be too far out of range for any of the guards to track us with our wristmarks.

We’ve seen no sign of the army behind us, but everyone is jumpy. Looking over their shoulders. Losing their tempers. Clutching their loved ones close. We may have left the Commander on the other side of the fire we set, but all one hundred forty-five survivors are still traveling with us, which means the person working with the Rowansmark tracker is still in our midst.

I take my lunch ration of rabbit meat wrapped in dandelion leaves and find Logan sitting next to Drake beneath the shade of a large walnut tree. He smiles when he sees me, but there are shadows in his eyes that have nothing to do with the pain in his head, and he won’t hold my gaze. Drake’s shoulders are slumped, and he keeps tugging on his beard, something he only does when he’s worried.

I toss my cloak onto the ground and sit beside Logan. “What’s going on?”

Logan holds the gray metallic object he found with this morning’s message. His thumb rubs across the fluted edge as if he thinks he can figure out who put it in our room if only he presses hard enough.

Without looking at me, he says, “According to the map, we should reach the river that separates us from the northern city-states by nightfall. Maybe sooner. I just hope I can find a way to get us across before the Commander realizes he’s lost us and starts looking for where we left the main road. If he’s using a tracking device, it won’t take him long to figure out we aren’t where he thought we’d be.”

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Neither does Drake. And both of them won’t stop looking at the metallic object in Logan’s hand. Finally, I say, “Okay, what’s really going on?”

Logan rubs the piece of metal. “We need to talk about what happened this morning.”

I sit up straighter. “Yes, we do. We need a plan. We have to catch this person before he has a chance to kill again.”

Drake tugs on his beard, and Logan’s jaw clenches.

“What? What did I say?” I look from one to the other.

Logan holds up the gray object. “See this edge?” His thumb presses against the fluted end again. “There’s a hole here and the tube is hollow inside. The other edge is as sharp as a needle.” His eyes meet mine, and the pain in them makes it suddenly harder to breathe. “I think this is a conduit for poison.”