Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (29 page)

Tyce
approaches Dylan.  “Will the light do?”

“What
is that?” I ask, nodding to the boy in the corner.

“Getting
his first tat.  Want one?”  He grins.

“No.” 
I glance down at his arms and wonder how much it hurts.  I don’t return the
smile.

“The
light is fine,” Dylan assures Tyce.

One
of Tyce’s boys--I realize now they’re all young, probably twenty and
under--holds a light above my head.  Another guy, brown-headed and maybe
fourteen, holds my hair away from the chip, and when Dylan touches my jaw to
push my head to the side, the kid holds me still.

Dylan
keeps his voice just loud enough for me to hear.  “I’m sorry, I can’t numb the
incision site.” 

“I
know.”  I grit my teeth. 

The
blade feels ice cold against my flesh and it stings beyond belief.  I bite down
hard, barely keeping a groan from turning into a scream.

Dylan
slices into the skin around my chip, and it feels like he’s shredding the
flesh.  I didn’t look before he started, but now I’m wondering what the heck
he’s cutting me with.  It feels larger than a scalpel, not that I would expect
these people to have scalpels. 

Once
he’s satisfied he’s cut away enough skin, he starts tugging on the chip, and I
realize it’s much bigger than what showed through the skin.  Something deep
inside my head tugs and I finally release a scream, and the boy holding my head
tightens his grip. 

“I’m
going to have to cut this,” Dylan says over his shoulder.  I’m in too much pain
to ask what it is.

Someone
hands him a knife, and I hear him sawing something, but I don’t think he’s
cutting
me
.
  When he gets through whatever it is,
something snaps back into my head and the pressure disappears.  But not the
pain.

I
finally look and see Dylan holding a device three times the size of the piece
that had been on the surface.  When he drops it in a little bowl, it makes a
plink sound and for some reason, I lose control of my stomach.  I vomit over
the edge of the table somewhere near the light guy’s feet.  The light flicks
away from me as he dodges the puke.

Dylan
holds my shoulder.  “Let me stitch it, and then we’re done.” 

I
nod, and the incision stings.  It feels like
gaping hole
would be more
appropriate than
incision
but I can’t see it, so maybe it’s not as bad
as it feels. 

By
the time the needle pricks my skin and thread pulls it tight, it’s nearly numb,
or at least I’m blocking it out somehow.

I
lie still on the table long after he’s done.  He takes the bowl and chip
somewhere, and when he returns simply says, “How do you feel?”

 
“Um.”  My mouth is cottony and probably smells wretched.  “Water?”

“Tyce,
can she have some water?”

A
moment later, Dylan extends a cup to me.  I prop up on one elbow and take it,
sipping cautiously.  Surely they wouldn’t poison me after all this trouble.

“Is
there a restroom?” I ask no one in particular.

I
sit up and ignore the puddle of my blood on the table.  A guy with brown hair
steps up.  Despite his baby face, he has markings up and down his arms, too. 
He also has fresh scratch marks on his cheeks.  I blush a little as he gestures
for me to follow him.  I don’t want to know if that’s the one I attacked, but
he probably is.

“I’ll
show ‘er.”  Tyce steps up and the boy walks away.

Tyce
leads me down a dark corridor to a door.  He leans casually against the
doorframe, looking me over.  A moment later, he opens the door and tilts his
head for me to go in. 

I
enter cautiously, but it is, in fact, a bathroom.  Though the mirror is dingy
and warped, I see the incision site, swelled and bloody.  I turn on the faucet
and wet my hands before wiping the blood away.  When I’m satisfied my neck is
as clean as I can get it, I address the blood on my forehead and gently wash
off the wound on my scalp.  I swish water around in my mouth hoping to rid it
of the awful after-vomit taste.

When
Tyce takes me back to our room, Dylan is already there, along with a pile of
blankets and pillows, which sits in the middle of the floor.

The
door locks behind me, and I realize we’re still technically being held
captive. 

Dylan
stands with his hands in his pockets next to the bedding.  When I walk toward
him, he reaches for me.  I wrap my arms around his waist and tilt my head up so
I can whisper--I don’t know who might be listening--and he bends down so I can
reach his ear.

“How
much of what you said was true?”

He
kisses my forehead.  “About ninety percent.”

“What
about the other ten?”  He strokes my hair.  “Stop distracting me.  Tell me the
truth.”  He pulls his hands away from my hair and lays them on my shoulders.  I
want to push him away until he spills it, but I don’t know if we’re being
watched.  I don’t want them to see us fighting.  But there has to be more, it
seems there always is.

Dylan
huffs, his body tense against me.  “Fine.  Your transmitter only fires once a
day because your body shut down every device w--”  He clears his throat. 
“Every device they tried that transmitted constantly or more frequently.  Your
brain sensed the electric pulse, and your body attacked the device.  You would
convulse, your heart rate would soar, among other things.  The most they could
get your anatomy to accept was a low-frequency device with a minimal, daily
transmission.”

“When
did all that happen?”  I wonder if this has something to do with the immunity
Nathan talked about when I got my chip.  Dylan shouldn’t know anything about
that, unless they briefed him on my entire history for the short time he was in
Chemistry before transferring to Tech.  But why would they trust him with that
information?

He
huffs again, and I think he’s getting tired of all my questions.  “When you
came in for your implant, they kept you under for three days.  You woke up
thinking it was the same day, but it wasn’t.”   He scratches his chin.  “The
rest was true.”

Sensing
the conversation is over, Dylan spreads out the blankets on the floor, making
two distinct and separate pallets a couple feet apart, each with one pillow. 

I
crawl into the pallet closer to the door.  I don’t see what Dylan does, because
I turn away from him and settle in.  The lights are shut off from the outside.  
Ever
since we left the compound, I haven’t had a sleepless night.
  I drift off
in no time.

A
voice says my name.  A moment later, a hand touches my shoulder.  I open my
eyes, suddenly alert, and grab a wrist, jerking the hand away from me.  I lock
eyes with Tyce.  “Don’t touch me.” 

He
holds up both hands to demonstrate that he’s not trying to hurt me.  I release
his wrist, shoving it away.  “Sorry ‘bout that.  Didn’t mean to scare ya.” 

He
backs up and plops into the wooden chair, but this time sitting frontward, with
a foot propped on the edge.  He fidgets with the hem of his pants, and he looks
much younger this way.

Behind
him, there’s a sliver of light coming in through the open door.  Beside his
chair, there’s a tray of food on the floor. 

Tyce
runs his fingers through his hair and pushes it away from his face.  “How ya
holdin’ up?” 

“I’m
fine.”

“That
was a pretty gnarly thing he took out of you.  He sure seems to know a lot
about them.”

I
sit up.  “Mmm.”  I press my lips together and try to look apathetic.

“Where
are you from, Cori?”

Without
facing him, I rub my eyes.  “I’m from Antius.  You know that.”

I
can’t see clearly enough, but I think he smirks.  He points to Dylan.  “
He
...
is from Antius.  But
you
...well, you’re nothing like
him.”

“What
do you mean?”

I
glance over at Dylan, whose breaths are deep and steady. 

“He’s
even-tempered, intelligent, calculated.  He strikes me as the type of guy who’s
only ever known captivity.”

“Ah.” 
I don’t want to be intrigued, but I am.

“But
you.”  He leans forward in his chair.  “You’re like a bear in a cage.  All
instinct.  You’re tactile.  You’re
animal
.  You’re not that different
from me and the
savages
I run with.”  He says the last part mockingly. 
“How’d the kid get wrapped up in whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Escaping
Antius?”

He
nods.

I
think long and hard how to answer.  I don’t think honesty will help me now. 
Tyce is trying to appeal to me, which means he wants to trust me. 

“I
needed his help.”  I bite my lip, hating admitting need, even if I
am
lying.  “So he helped me escape, but something went wrong, and he had no choice
but come with me.”

“You
trust him?  What if he’s the reason it’s so easy for them to track you?  He
is
one of them, you know.”  I remember that Dylan is Nathan’s son but feel guilty
as soon as I consider it.  He’s
not
like his father. 

“I
am, too.” 

He
laughs quietly.  “Don’t lie.  You’re not one of them, and you don’t need
anyone.”

“You
ask a lot of questions.”

“I’d
like to know who I’m dealing with.”  He narrows his eyes at me.

“So
would I.”

“Okay,
kiddo.  What would you like to know?”  He rubs his palms on his pant legs. 

I
take a deep breath, not sure how to ask without sounding stupid.  But now I
know he doesn’t think I’m smart, anyway, so why bother trying to sound like I
am?  “The
older
men we saw...”

“The
savages?”  He grins.

I
nod, not sure how to phrase the actual question.
 
He
spares me the turmoil.

“They
are human beings,” he says, sounding irritated.  “They’re just damaged.  The
effects of the bombs never wore off completely--thus the masks--but they
settled down.  And their offspring did not inherit their
disease
.
”  That explains why the young ones are normal and the old
ones are not.  “And our offspring is uninfected, too.”

“You
have children?”  I can’t keep my mouth from gaping open.

“I
fathered a tot when I was fifteen.  I would have fathered more, but my mate was
killed while expecting our second.”

I
look at my hands, fidgeting with my fingernails.  I don’t have a reply.

Tyce
clears his throat.  “Why did you bring him with you?”  He’s more forceful this
time.

I
glance over my shoulder at Dylan again.  I won’t betray him.  “I wanted him to
come.  He’s my best friend.  And yes, I trust him.”

He
waits a few moments longer, pondering my reply, I guess.  He scratches his knee
and rakes his hand through his hair again.  He’s no good at sitting still,
that’s for sure.

“All
right, then.”  He rises and walks toward the door just as sunlight begins to
pour through cracks in the blackened glass.  He turns back toward me.  “
His
people killed her.  She was defenseless and almost nine months pregnant.  You
tell me who the savages are.”

I
can’t look at him.  It was so easy to judge him, to assume the worst.  But he’s
just as human as I am.  Maybe even more so.

“I
hate them, too, you know.”  I glance sideways at him.  He leans against the
doorway, crossing his arms.

“Maybe
I could deliver you to them, since you’re so special.  In exchange for them
leaving us the hell alone.”

“Even
if they agreed, they wouldn’t honor it.”  My chest tightens, and my palms
sweat. 

“You’re
probably right,” he says. 

The
door closes and I look back to Dylan.  He turns on his side toward me,
groggily.  He squints at me through eyes swollen from sleep, propping himself
on an elbow.

“He
could keep you safer than I can.  You’d be smart to side with him.”

“Don’t
be ridiculous,” I scoff, but his words bounce around in my skull. 
You’d be
smart to side with him.
  I drop my head between my knees and cover it with
both hands. 

I
didn’t wake up with a headache. 

I
lift my head and touch it in different spots, checking for pressure or pain. 
Something still feels off, but it doesn’t hurt.  It’s hurt every day
since...since I got my chip.  The chip is gone, the headache is gone.  I wonder
what’s still inside that Dylan couldn’t remove, but whatever’s left is not the
source of those headaches, and I’m grateful.

Dylan
doesn’t speak for a while after we finish eating what Tyce left us.  What the
food lacked in flavor, it made up for in freshness.  Bread and soup.