“Besides, that’s not what I meant. You care about that redheaded girl. That’s why Ian took her. And you had one chance to ransom her life. But you didn’t take it.” She cocks her head as if studying me. “Guess you didn’t care as much as Ian said you did.”

I can’t tell her how much I care about Rachel, so I settle for glaring at her instead.

She laughs. “I see I’ve struck a nerve. How strange that you care enough to be upset about the fact that she’s dead by now, but you didn’t care enough to go to Rowansmark when—”

“What do you mean she’s dead now?” I scramble to my feet, ignoring the sword aimed at my chest.

“You went north. It was obvious you had no intention of going south, either because the Commander wouldn’t let you, or because you chose not to make the trade.” She shrugs, though her eyes are locked on mine with uncomfortable intensity. “Either way, we sent a messenger to James Rowan telling him you’d made the wrong choice. If he didn’t get the message already, he will in a day or two, and then your girl will be of no more use to him.”

Rachel.

The image of her bleeding to death at Ian’s feet fills my head, and my knees won’t hold me. I sink slowly to the earth, groping blindly for something to ground me to reality again, but the only reality left to me is that I didn’t count on the surviving trackers in Lankenshire sending a message to James Rowan that I wasn’t interested in trading the device for Rachel’s life. I didn’t count on her usefulness to him ending before I even had an army ready to march to her rescue.

I didn’t count on failing.

There’s a distant roaring in my ears, and a desperate need to do something to fix this, even though it’s too late. I’m weeks away from Rowansmark, and it’s too late.

Everything I’ve lost—Oliver, my mother, and now Rachel—wells up within me and hardens into a blaze of fury so absolute, I don’t hesitate. Grabbing my sword, I charge the tracker.

“Logan!” Nola screams, but I’m not listening. I can’t listen. All I can do is hack and slash and fight until somehow I vanquish the awful pit of loss that wants to ruin me.

The trackers converge, swords swinging, and then the soft thwang of an arrow disturbs the air, and the female tracker stiffens and falls.

“Get away from her!” Jodi yells as the anatomical trigger in the tracker’s body starts beeping, but I don’t care.

Ducking under the sword arm of the tracker on my right, I snatch his cloak and pivot to put him between me and the explosion. He attacks with cold efficiency, but I punch and pummel my way into him because he’s part of what killed Rachel. He’s part of it, and I have to destroy it. All of it. Before it destroys me.

The female tracker explodes, but I barely feel the bits of bone and blood that hit me. The third tracker grabs me from behind, locking his arm under my throat. I slam my head against his face, drive my heels into his shins, and raise my sword to pound the hilt against his head. The tracker in front of me lunges forward, sword raised, and another arrow buries itself in his chest.

I don’t even bother trying to get out of the way of the explosion. Let it come. Let it cover me in the blood I should have shed weeks ago to find her. To save her.

“Let him go.” Nola hurtles into the tracker holding me, and he grunts in pain. His grip slackens, and I twist away from him. I raise my sword to swing at him, but he’s clutching the dagger Nola drove into his neck. I reach up and yank it out. Blood gushes, and I hand the dagger back to Nola and walk away.

One more tracker. I scan the clearing, and he steps out of the trees closest to where Jodi still stands, doing her part to be exactly where Willow asked her to be. He’s a tall, lean man with squinty eyes that assess me without any discernible emotion. He has a wicked-looking machete in one hand and a curved knife in the other.

“Where is it?” he asks.

I let my eyes glance off Jodi and then back to the tracker as if I’m hoping he didn’t notice the direction of my gaze. “We don’t have it.”

He pivots toward Jodi and raises his weapons. Jodi lunges to the right, takes two running steps, and grabs a low-hanging branch even as Willow springs from the tree behind the tracker and tackles him. He hits the ground and instantly grapples for a hold on her, but Willow isn’t interested in fighting him. She digs her fingers into the pressure point behind his ear, and in seconds, he goes limp.

“Kill him,” I snap as I stalk across the clearing. “Better yet, get out of the way and let me do it myself.”

“No.” Willow ignores me in favor of whipping the tracker’s hands behind his back and trussing him up like a pig—hands and ankles both tied with the same rope.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I crouch beside her, my sword still out. “You heard what they said. If you aren’t going to kill him, I will.”

“No, you won’t.” Willow gives me a sharp look. “Don’t you want to see if what they told you is true? See just how much time we really have?”

“The female tracker said—”

“She could’ve lied.” Willow tests the ropes and, satisfied that she’s taken every inch of the tracker’s mobility, shoves him onto his back and smacks his face. “Wake up!”

“What’s to stop this tracker from lying too?” I ask, my voice hard because I can’t allow the hope to seep into me. I can’t let myself start to believe that I haven’t lost Rachel only to realize all over again that she’s gone.