Sylph is still talking, rambling on about ways to get me into the Claiming ceremony with her. None of her ideas are plausible. Finally, she slumps her shoulders and says, “You’re so close to seventeen! If only your dad was still here, he could’ve petitioned for a special sanction …” Her eyes widen and fill with tears.

“Sylph—”

She runs to me and envelopes me in a cloud of velvet and lace. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”

I push her away gently. “I’m not mad. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Her eyes brighten. “Maybe Logan could Claim you!”

My heart speeds up, but I shake my head. “Don’t be silly.”

She grabs my hands and dances in place. “Wouldn’t that be romantic? I’d be Mrs. Smithson West. And you’d be Mrs. Logan McEntire. We could host dinner parties together, and go to Market together, and—”

I laugh a little desperately and link my fingers with hers. She twirls us around, and I let her spin me, let myself ignore the Wasteland, the bounty on my father’s head, and the complications lying between Logan and me. She doesn’t know it, but it will be our last time together. I want to leave her with nothing but happy memories.

We stumble and fall to the floor, doubled over in breathless laughter. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. She hugs me back, but then her laughter chokes into the kind of silence she’s rarely capable of. I turn my head to see the cause and feel my stomach lurch.

Commander Chase stands in the back doorway, his sword drawn and his dark eyes cold.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RACHEL

Sylph’s arms tighten around me, and I squeeze her back before slowly disengaging. My knees are shaking as I force myself to my feet, moving to stand between the Commander and my best friend.

“You’re coming with me.” He gestures toward the door behind him. The polished silver buttons on his crisp blue uniform catch the morning sunlight and wink like little diamonds. I look away.

It doesn’t occur to me to argue, despite my promise that I would strike him down and get away if he threatened me when Logan wasn’t around to help. Sylph is here. She’ll pay the price for my actions just as surely as I will, and I’m not about to risk it. Besides, he still needs me.

I hope.

“Rachel!” Sylph whispers as I head toward the door. I toss one look at her and try to smile, though my lips are trembling. I step into the morning light, a light breeze playing with my hair as I face the trio of Brute Squad guards waiting for me on the cobblestone street.

Their swords are drawn too.

The Commander presses his palm against my back. Without my cloak, the heat from his body scorches mine.

“Get in,” he says, and the Brute Squad steps aside to reveal a large mule-drawn covered wagon.

I glance around the street, but if anyone notices what’s happening, they aren’t stopping to stare. I can’t blame them. Shrugging off the Commander’s hand, I refuse the assistance of the guard closest to me and climb into the back of the wagon. The Commander and one of the three guards follow on my heels. In a moment, the wagon lurches forward and rumbles over the cobblestone street.

The heavy canvas covering dilutes the morning sun into something dim and gray, and my eyes struggle to adjust. It takes a few seconds to notice the cloth-covered lump leaning against the far wall of the wagon. Foreboding fills me, an oily poison that makes me queasy.

I don’t know what’s under the cloth, but it can’t be good.

“Have a seat.” The Commander moves past me, knocking me into the wooden bench lining the wagon wall behind me, and settles on the opposite bench, right beside the lump. His sword is still drawn.

The other guard braces himself against the back of the wagon and stands, sword drawn, blocking the exit. I want to scan my surroundings looking for possible escape routes, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the lump. There’s something horribly familiar about its shape, but I don’t want to put it into words because it isn’t possible.

It can’t be possible.

“You and that inventor have been keeping secrets.” The Commander’s eyes are bright, hard orbs lighting the dim space with malice. “Did he really think I wouldn’t know your every move before you do?”

I look at the cloth-covered lump and dread pools in my stomach. It’s just the right size for a person.

Logan. The Commander’s always hated Logan. He didn’t want him to come with me. I look at the person shrouded in cloth and try to find my voice, though I have no idea what I’ll say.

“Not going to tell me what you’re up to?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

“I see you need a bit of convincing.” He smiles and drives his sword into the lump. Whoever is trapped beneath the cloth sucks in a raspy breath and moans. Blood blossoms beneath the cloth and spreads like a fast-blooming rose.

My breath leaves me as if I’ve been hit in the stomach. “Who is that?”

Oh please, oh please let it be a stranger. Another guard. Another object lesson. Please. Don’t let it be Logan.

The Commander ignores me. “I don’t trust Logan McEntire. I don’t trust you, either, but you have a quality he lacks.”

I can’t look away from the blood, and I feel a scream clawing for freedom at the back of my throat.

“Do you know what that is?” He pulls his sword free, and the person beneath the cloth twitches. “It’s loyalty.”