Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (24 page)

“Nathan,
please.  He’s our son.”

“I
have many sons.  And many women.  What makes you think you two are so
special?”  His voice comes out as a growl and she doesn’t struggle even though
I can tell he’s really hurting her.

“I
was just tucking him in.  It’s human to love.  We’re made that way.  Children
need the love of a parent.”

“The
love of a parent?  A father?” he snarls.

“Or
a mother.”  She begins to cry as his knuckles go white.  She makes a sound like
she’s gagging and choking. 

“I
know nothing of either.”  Sweat glistens on his forehead in the dim hall
lights.  His face hardens more than I’ve ever seen it.  “But the love of a
woman, I don’t mind so much.”

She
whimpers as his hold loosens.  She meets his eyes but says nothing.  He strokes
her face as if now he can take back the pain he just caused, but he can’t.

His
voice comes out shaky.  “I could have been good to you.  If you’d loved me. 
But no, you were saving that for this boy, weren’t you?  Let me tell you, he’s
nothing, and you’re nothing.”  He wipes sweat from his brow.  “Unless you think
you could reconsider my offer.”

“And
break your own laws?”  She spits in his face.

He
rubs his slimy cheek against her face, closing his eyes in some sick reverie. 
“If it’s my laws you’re concerned about, you should have never touched that
boy.  Time to say goodbye.”

Her
screams fill the hall as he pulls her away by her hair, her body dragging
across the linoleum.

I
come to my senses with my hand covering my gaping mouth.  He may not know what
I saw, but he knows enough.  No wonder Dylan hates him.  I hate him, too, I
just never knew Dylan had a reason to feel the same.

“I
was there.”

He
leans forward.  “What?”

“I
saw him take her.  I had no idea it was your mother.  I’d forgotten about it.”

“Did
you see what he did to her?  Where he took her?” he chokes out.

“I
don’t know.”

“I
know he killed her.”  He calms down a bit.  And I’m sure he’s right. 

“I’m
sorry, Dylan.  I should have done something.”  

He
shakes his head and huffs.  “There’s nothing you could have done, Cori.”  He
attempts to reassure me, but it doesn’t work.  I play the memory over and over,
trying to come up with another possible outcome, but the options all end with
her dead and me in jail or dead, too. 

Long
moments pass as the silence grows, both of us deep in thought.  I’m surprised
when he continues, because it’s not anything close to the horrible things I’m
dwelling on.

“She
was a great mother.  I can’t imagine a better one.”  I think of the risks she
took and know he’s right.  In the end she sacrificed her life to give her son
what she thought he needed.

“Will
you tell me about her?”  I realize how much I never knew about my own mother
and try to imagine her holding me the way Dylan said Meredith held him.  I
almost envy it, but I’m so happy he had that.  It clearly meant so much to him.

“She
really tried her best to show me what love was.  The beauty of human touch. 
The importance of freedom.  She told me stories about life before the war.  She
was a teenager when it happened, but she spoke fondly of her country.  Of her
family.  Nathan took pity on her and allowed her to come to Cornelius’s
underground shelter.”

He
pauses, and I’m glad, because it’s a lot to take in.  I’m breathing heavily,
and I feel tears searing into the back of my eyes, fighting their way forward. 
Thinking of Nathan’s hand around Meredith’s throat, I clench my eyelids to ward
off the tears.

“She
didn’t want to leave her family, but her father wanted her to survive.  So he
watched Nathan take her away.” 
Nathan her hero.  Nathan her killer.

I’m
sitting up straight now, my legs crossed before me. 

“I
wasn’t supposed to know what family meant.  Not in Antius.  But because of my
mother, I do.  And I miss her.”

“I
miss my family, too.”  I try hard to remember my mother’s face, but it’s a
fleeting memory.

“Did
they hug you?  Kiss you?” he asks, tenderly.

“Yes,
they did.”  A tear finds its way to my cheek, and I wipe it away as a shiver
runs through me.  I rub my arms, wondering if my father would be ashamed of the
hollow thing I’ve become.

“That’s
what I miss the most.  Being touched,” his voice quivers, and I look over to
see him shivering, too.  Our warmth was much better insulated inside that tree
with us pressed together. 

I
feel guilty for having been so self-centered over the course of our
friendship.  He lost his mother, and I didn’t even notice.  Even worse, I saw
her taken away without realizing who she was.  We share loathing for the same
man, but I was too selfish to see it.  And like me, he never belonged in a
place like Antius.  He had a family and lost it, just like I did. 

Dylan,
my friend.  My genius friend who always supported me, always came up with ways
to help me.  Who snuck around to get me an electronic book to help fill the
sleepless nights.  Who risked his life to warn me when things got too
dangerous.  Who came up with ridiculous inventions to try to help me get out of
that place, even when I made no plans to take him with me.  I’d just assumed he
was happy there.  After we escaped, he told me he had dreamed of leaving Antius
with me.  Why did that never occur to me? 

I
owe Dylan so much, and all I’ve done is hurt him.  I thought jumping off a
tower was brave, but
this
will be the biggest test of bravery I’ve
faced.  I stand up and wipe my palms on my pants.  How am I sweating while
freezing cold? 

He
looks at me, bemused.  He’s not drugged this time, so there’s no safety net or
possibility he won’t remember.  And neither of us is grieving.  This is about
me and him...mostly him.

I
walk toward him, and the distance seems like miles even though it’s only a few
steps.  He doesn’t take his eyes off me.  I drop to my knees and wrap my arms
around his neck.  I cup the back of his head--like he did to me in the
tree--and I hold him against me.  I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m blushing
from head to toe.

Wanting
to comfort him, I recall being consoled as a child and run my hand back and
forth on Dylan’s shoulder.  I can’t tell if we’re both trembling or if it’s
just me. 

“You
don’t have to do this.”

“I
want to,” I shudder.

He
breathes hard against my neck.  “You’re shaking.”  Well, it’s just me, then.

“I
know.”  A laugh escapes me.

He
reaches for my shoulder and pulls me into his lap.  I lay my head on his chest
with my forehead pressed against his jaw.  I touch the side of his neck with my
fingertips as he wraps an arm across my shoulder and pulls my legs closer. 
Without letting go of my shoulder, he runs his hand up and down each of my
calves in turn to warm them.  Then he warms my arm.  I didn’t come over here to
get warm, but it’s nice. 

I
find myself tracing his collar bone, and almost stop, but force myself not to. 
Instead, I lay my palm on his chest and move up toward his shoulder.  Ever so
carefully, I move my hand toward the nape of his neck. 

I’ve
spent as many years as I can remember cringing at the slightest contact, but
Dylan’s touch feels like the most natural thing in the world.  I think I knew
it when we were together in the tree, but I didn’t want to accept it. 

My
parents loved each other.  People are supposed to love, supposed to touch.  I
know that, but I’ve become something solitary and detached.  Antius made me--
Nathan
--
made me that way.  Maybe Dylan can undo it.

Still
touching Dylan’s neck, I pause when my fingers graze over his chip implant
below his ear and linger there until he places his hand over mine.  A moment
later, he moves my hand to his face and leans into it.  He rubs his cheek
against it and then kisses my palm.  I relax my hand and he lowers it, letting
it go before it rests against my own chest.

“Thank
you,” he whispers into my hair, returning his attention to warming me up.

I
try to say, “Mm hmm,” but it just comes out like some kind of groan.  I clear
my throat.  “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

He
kisses my forehead.  “Make you a deal.”

“Okay,”
my voice squeaks.  I think my throat is caving in.

“I
won’t touch you unless you want me to, and when I wake up each morning, I won’t
expect anything.”

“In
return?” I ask.

“You
don’t punish me for things I didn’t do to you.” 

Deal
.

The
next day plays out just like the last.  A lot of hiking, a little food, and
both of us exhausted.  We try to do as little climbing as possible, but the
land is far from flat, so the ups and downs slow us down considerably, and I
wonder how much ground we’re actually covering. 

Dylan
holds up his end of the deal, but I find myself in his arms again at night, and
I’m growing used to it.  More than
used
to it--I would miss it if I had
to stop.

Then
another day of starving and tracking toward the sun, and another cold night
wrapped in Dylan’s warmth passes.  If we starve to death, at least we’ll die
together.  My mouth is dry, my lips are chapped.  I’m clumsy, and exhausted. 
Dylan tells me we’re dehydrated. 

Pacing
through the forest, I notice it dissipates the farther we get.  I rest my hand
on a tree and lean against it for support.

“We
have to find water soon.”  The pain in my belly is reduced to a permanent
ache.  I’ve forgotten what Antius slush tastes like, but I’d bet it’s heavenly
now, but it’s water I really crave.

I
peer ahead.  I squeeze my eyes shut, then look again.  The wood is different
ahead.  It’s faded gray, but there’s no bark on it.  I squint.  The wood is cut
in pieces and standing up side-by-side in a row.  Dylan follows my eyes and
sees what I do. 

“What
do you think that is?” he asks.

“A
fence.” 

The
fence runs probably a half-mile in each direction.  On the other side, we see
the tops of houses lined up in a row, sitting equal distances from one
another.  Approaching the fence as quietly as we can, we peek through the
slats. 

Semi-green
grass covers a small yard littered with weeds.  An old wooden structure stands
in the middle with two metal chains hanging from it, swinging gently in the
wind.  Beyond that sits a house, not anything like the large building in
Antius.  This one has warped, painted wood striped across its surface.  The
only concrete I see is cracked on the ground next to the door leading inside. 
The structure can’t possibly be that strong if it’s only made of wood.  But
it’s still standing.

The
yard is surrounded on all sides with more fencing.  We walk over so we can see
what’s to the right, and it’s a repeat of the first: a house with a fenced in
yard.  This one has a man-made hole in the ground half-full of green, dirty
water.

It
appears each yard will hold the same spectacle, so we decide the first one is
the one to approach.  It’s evident that this place has long been abandoned, so
we’ll be careful, but it feels safe enough. 

Dylan
grabs the top of the fence and pulls himself up enough to see over.  The fence
cracks under his weight.  He looks at me and shrugs.  I cock an eyebrow, not
sure what he’s thinking and not sure if I like that glint in his eye.  We’re
starving to death and he looks...happy.

He
turns away from the fence, confusing me at first, then he pulls his knee
forward and slams his foot into the fence.  The old wood breaks, and he keeps
kicking until he’s made a decent-sized hole then yanks some of the boards away.

He
stands with a proud grin and gestures toward the hole with his palm upward. 
“Ladies first.”  There’s that charm again.  If I wasn’t dying of starvation,
dehydration, and exhaustion, I would react.  Instead, I just step through the
hole and into the grass on the other side. 

Being
surrounded by a fence immediately reminds me of being trapped in Antius.  I
stand frozen until Dylan crawls through and places a hand on my shoulder, which
he retracts as soon as I look at him.

“I’m
fine,” I answer before I realize he didn’t ask.

He
takes the lead toward the house, and I follow closely.  The door has a large,
dusty pane of glass. 

I
try the handle, and it’s locked, of course.  I start to peek inside, but Dylan
throws his elbow into the glass, breaking a chunk out of it.  He reaches inside
and unlocks the door, sliding it open and walking in with me on his heels. 
I
don’t like this
.
  Dylan closes the door behind us.

We
stand beside a table and chairs.  Just ahead is a kitchen sink, an archaic
stovetop, and a lot of cabinets.  Soft, cushy furniture sits to our right,
arranged around a wooden piece with a black, plastic machine tipped over in
front of it.  Broken glass surrounds it.