“Don’t be an idiot,” Rachel says, and the fierce conviction in her voice warms me like nothing else. “It wasn’t Logan’s decision to steal from Rowansmark. That was the Commander. And if you think returning the device to Rowansmark and just hoping that they never decide to use it is a good move, then you’re too shortsighted to be leaders.”

Portia’s mouth snaps shut, and she looks at Clarissa.

“You’re acting like Logan killed our people. He didn’t. Some sick freak of a tracker did that for reasons that make sense to no one but him and Logan’s father,” Adam says, and places a hand on my shoulder. “Logan has fought for us. Guarded us. Rescued us time and again.”

There’s an ache in my chest that is slowly spreading. I thought once the others understood how much my past and my choices had cost them, that they’d be angry with me. Unable to look me in the eye. Instead, they’re standing by me in a united front. I’ve badly underestimated my people.

My friends.

“We have the safety of our own people to think of.” Maxwell looks over his shoulder as if expecting a killer to walk through the door at any moment.

“Maybe if we put him in the dungeon it will satisfy the tracker and keep him from killing again,” Portia says.

Frankie’s shoulders bunch as he raises his fists. Willow whips an arrow out of her quiver and aims it at Portia.

“Take one step toward Logan, and you get to be the first one to die,” she says.

Clarissa raises her hand in a placating gesture. “There will be no violence.” She locks eyes with Willow for a long moment. It’s clear that she expects Willow to cave and lower her bow.

It’s equally clear that Willow is prepared to outstare her for as long as it takes.

Clarissa finally lowers her hand and says, “Portia, I thank you for your suggestion, but I’d like to offer an additional opinion on the matter if I may.”

Portia nods, and I get the feeling that Clarissa’s question was mostly a show of politeness. I doubt anyone in Lankenshire says no to her very often.

“It seems to me that we are discussing taking action based on fear, instead of stepping back to look at the bigger picture. I don’t believe placating a murderer by imprisoning an innocent man is the kind of careful, just approach Lankenshire is known for,” she says.

“I appreciate your thoughts, Clarissa,” Portia says. “But we can’t let Logan McEntire and the others remain within our city when we know there’s a killer on the loose among them. We owe our people a safe, stable environment. We owe these people nothing.”

“They are people in need, Portia.” Clarissa’s voice is as hard as the floor beneath us. “The humanity in us requires that we take steps to help them if at all possible.”

“But—”

“Besides”—Clarissa lowers her voice and steps toward me—“we need that device.”

“In exchange for my freedom, and for offering my people shelter, I’ll build a replica of the Rowansmark device, along with a power booster so that any attempt to override your controls will be thwarted.”

The triumvirate exchange a look I can’t decipher, and put their heads together to discuss my offer too quietly for me to hear.

Finally, Clarissa meets my gaze. “You’re absolutely sure your power booster defeats any override attempts?”

“I am.”

“Who else knows you can build this?”

“Just my inner circle of friends and advisors.”

Portia says quietly, “If Rowansmark found out—”

“They won’t.” Clarissa’s voice is crisp, though she speaks softly. “We keep the knowledge contained to the three of us and Logan’s inner circle. If we give him a workspace in the council building itself, we should be able to keep this a secret from our Rowansmark keepers.”

Time feels like it’s slowing down while my heart is speeding up. Willow raises her bow again, and Frankie reaches for his sword while Rachel swears and tries to get out of bed.

My hand grips my sword hilt as I ask, “What do you mean, your Rowansmark keepers? If you’re in bed with Rowansmark, we’re leaving. Now.”

“We aren’t in bed with them by choice. None of the city-states are.” Maxwell’s words are forceful, but there’s fear in his eyes.

Clarissa straightens her back. “You aren’t the first to bring us news of Rowansmark’s ability to call and control the tanniyn.” It sounds like she says “ta-neen.”

“The tanniyn?” Rachel asks. “Do you mean the Cursed One?”

“Such a silly name,” Portia says. “Tanniyn is a Hebrew word that means dragon or serpent. Because the creatures who roam the Wasteland are both dragon and serpent, our early scholars felt it an appropriate classification for the beast. I believe most, if not all, of the other city-states agreed with our scholars and use that classification as well.”

“We didn’t,” Rachel says. “But then, keeping his people undereducated and superstitious sounds like something the Commander would do.”

“We called it the Cursed One because that’s the term Jared used,” Quinn says. “In our village, we just called it the beast.”

I look at Clarissa. “Who told you about Rowansmark’s ability to call and control the Cursed . . . the tanniyn?”

“Rowansmark itself.” Her mouth is grim. “They showed up here a month ago. Gave us a very convincing demonstration. Overrode the sonar signal all the leaders use to keep the beast at bay.” She taps the thick silver chain she wears around her neck. “Then they explained to us that they were now our watchdogs. They would keep the tanniyn from attacking as long as we paid a hefty protection fee each year. They left some trackers behind as their eyes and ears. If it looks like we’re considering rebellion against Rowansmark, the trackers will call the tanniyn and destroy us all.”