I stare at him like I’m questioning his sanity, and he says, “Now that you know my background, you don’t trust me. You treat me differently.”

He’s wrong. I haven’t had a second to even think about Ian since we had our conversation in the tunnel. I’ve been too busy trying to keep everyone safe from Carrington’s swords. I’m about to tell him he’s imagining things when I notice the tight line of his shoulders. The way his I-don’t-really-care expression is plastered to his face like a shield.

How many times in my childhood did I look like that after I’d scrounged up the courage to beg a merchant for an odd job or a bit of spare food? It’s the look of a boy expecting to be kicked but too proud to show you that it hurts.

Choosing my words with care, I say, “I’m sorry I gave you that impression, but I really haven’t thought about your Brute Squad background since we discussed it. If you think my unwillingness to discuss what little I know of Quinn means I don’t trust you, you’re wrong.”

“You talk to Drake, Thom, Frankie, Quinn, Willow, Nola, and Rachel about your plans. You listen to their opinions before you make decisions.”

A headache is beginning to throb behind my eyes. Between Ian’s ability to turn the girls in camp into giggling, starry-eyed creatures and his apparent need for my approval, I’m beginning to wish he hadn’t volunteered for guard duty. It would be easier if he’d wanted to cook, or chop wood, or anything that didn’t require direct contact with me.

“I volunteered to fight off Carrington at the gate so that you and Rachel could make it back inside because I believed you were different from the Commander. That you were a leader who would listen to your people, not just to the few who already agree with you.”

His voice is quiet, but his words leave a mark.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “You’ve earned the right to speak your mind to me. But honestly, there’s nothing new to share. My plan is to get us safely to Lankenshire, demonstrate that Rowansmark has deliberately built tech that can destroy any city-state whose leader opposes them, and then prove my words by telling them what happened to Baalboden.”

We skirt a large puddle, and I glance behind me again. Not because I expect to see my people moving any faster, but because the tension that grips me insists I search the surrounding Wasteland for flashes of red-jacketed soldiers running toward us in the rain.

“Have you considered that you might be starting problems between Rowansmark and Lankenshire that don’t need to exist?” Ian asks.

“What do you mean? I thought that of anyone here, you’d be happy to have a city-state ready to stand up to Rowansmark, since your father died there.”

“I don’t hold Rowansmark personally responsible for my father’s death.” There’s a thread of ugly viciousness in his voice that promises retribution for the man he does blame. I can’t help but be grateful to have another person in the group who truly understands the depths of the Commander’s evil, and who knows that stopping him permanently is the only possible option.

He wipes at the streams of water that sluice over his cheekbones where his hood fails to cover him, and looks at me. “Lankenshire is a city of scholars. Healers. Most of them prefer books instead of swords.” He says this like he can’t fathom the absurdity of such a thing.

“And you know all of this . . . how?”

He rolls his eyes. “I apprenticed to take my father’s place. Who do you think traveled with the Commander when he visited the other city-states? Regular guards? Please.”

“So you’ve been to Lankenshire?”

He shakes his head. “My trip to Rowansmark was my first and only mission outside of Baalboden. My apprenticeship required a deeper study of each of the nine city-states. But every boy in the group knows Lankenshire is a city of scholars. We studied them in school.”

Ah, school. Something as an outcast I was never allowed to attend. Not that it stopped me from learning. I have Oliver and Jared to thank for that, though I didn’t have a chance to tell Jared. I never expected him to die in the Wasteland and leave Rachel and me alone. I have to hope that somehow he knew what he meant to me.

What he still means to me.

“My point is that Lankenshire won’t be prepared for this. They can’t stand up to Rowansmark—”

“No one can. Don’t you see?” My voice is too loud, and I work to speak calmly. Ian has surprised me once again. Clearly, his Brute Squad training was incomplete if he’s actually concerned about the welfare of a group of strangers. “If Rowansmark is the only city-state that can harness the Cursed One and use it at their whim, no one is safe. The only way to stand up to them is to inform the other leaders of the situation and then get busy building tech that can match theirs.”

“So you really mean to do it? Copy their design and build weapons to match it? Give every single leader, regardless of his moral compass, a weapon of that magnitude?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

He’s silent for a moment and then asks, “Can you build it fast enough to protect Lankenshire from both Carrington and Rowansmark?”

I have no idea. It depends on what tech supplies Lankenshire has. On how fast I can interpret the nuances of the device currently strapped to my chest. On how fast the Commander tracks us down.

Best Case Scenario: We reach Lankenshire safely, they listen to me and agree to an alliance, and I’m able to quickly duplicate the device.