The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) (21 page)

I remove the
needle.

And I wait.

Dalmar is watching me with a questioning gaze I don’t have
answers for, and Timofei looks as if he’s connected the dots and
worked out what I’ve done. What I
think
I’ve done. Horatia has come to
stand behind me, her hand on my shoulder strong and
steady.

In the minutes we sit
there, watching Honour’s unmoving form for signs of resuscitation,
it’s Horatia who gives me strength. She keeps me sitting there
instead of running out of this prison, through the heavy city hall
doors, and fleeing this town entirely.

A gasp escapes
Honour.

My voice is a
strangled creature. “Honour? Please say you can hear me.”

He coughs and I burst
out crying. Horatia’s hand presses soothing circles into my
shoulder, reminding me so painfully of Bennet.

Through a wavering
veil, I watch Timofei check Honour. He reels back a moment later.
“He’s better,” he says. Seconds pass before he says to Dalmar, “I
think we could move him now.”

“We’ll take him to the
Station.”

I wipe my eyes with
the back of my hands. “I’m coming with you.”

Dalmar gives me a
look, as if it’s ludicrous to think I’d be left behind. “Of
course.”

Timofei manoeuvres
Honour into his arms. A voice says, “You can’t take him out. It’s
against the rules.”

I
start, spinning around.
Of course. The
guards.
I’d forgotten.

Dalmar stands swiftly,
the veins at his neck straining and his jaw set—warning signs the
guard overlooks. Horatia grabs one of my makeshift weapons from the
floor—a piece of glass attached to an old tool handle with tape and
string. She stands ready beside Dalmar, her chin tipped up,
expression daring. Dalmar, I notice, has drawn a rusted dagger. I
join them, wielding the Cure still half-filled with the deadly
toxin it sucked from Honour’s blood. The three of us must look
exceptionally pitiful but the guard takes a step back, as if we are
a hellish sight with our amateur weapons. It is our expressions, I
think, the looks in our eyes.

In
this moment, with death a hair’s breadth away, we are fearsome and
fearless. We have beaten death, so what are these feeble guards to
us?
Absolutely nothing
is the clear answer, and they know it too. All three of them
edge away, the two boys running back along the hallway. The woman
scrutinises Honour with glassy eyes but doesn’t stop us as we push
past.

“Move,” Dalmar says.
“They’ll bring others.”

“So what?” There’s a
crooked, savage grin playing about Horatia’s mouth. I’m inclined to
agree with her. What in this world could possibly stop us now?

I glance at Honour
held in Timofei’s arms, still unconscious but with colour returning
to his skin. I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would
do anything for him. I say, “Let them come,” and I mean it. I would
face down Gods and demons to protect Honour. What are men compared
to them? Men are nothing.

***

Miya

12:03. 23.10.2040. The
Free Lands, Northlands, Manchester.

The dark haired
soldier who was fixated on Honour when we first came in approaches
me while I’m wandering the town. “Can I talk to you?” she asks.

I watch her from the
corner of my eye. “About what?”

“Your friend.”

She doesn’t offer
anything else, motioning to one of the mangled benches that line
the high street. I perch on the edge, putting distance between us.
She just watches me. I watch her back, narrow my eyes at the golden
bird tattooed on her face.

“Why are you so
interested in Honour?” I ask.

She gazes at something
down the road: two children chasing each other in a circle. “Not
him. This is about—I don’t know what he calls himself.” With a fake
smile she faces me and says, “The boy you travel with, the one
you’re closely bonded to. I think he’s my brother.”

The
bench slams into the back of my knees as I shoot up.
Yosiah? What the hell is she talking
about?
I bite down on the inside of my
cheek until blood fills my mouth. “That’s bullshit.”

“Would you just ask
him?” She runs her hands over her hair. I don’t know why—it’s short
and straight and not a hair out of place. “Ask him if he has a
sister called Kari. Tell him I’m here.”

I narrow my eyes,
defensive. If this woman is Yosiah’s sister, so what? That changes
nothing. I don’t know why everything in me is screaming that she’ll
ruin my life, that he’ll stay with her instead of me. He wants to
stay in Manchester, isn’t that what he said? If she is his sister,
that gives him a major reason to stay. I suck in a tight breath and
decide I’ve got no choice now. I have to stay in this town. No way
am I losing Yosiah.

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll ask.” I almost walk away but if
she
is
his
sister, I need to know. So does Siah. If this woman is a liar, I
don’t want to get his hopes up. I know he misses his family—it’s
clear in the way he watches me with Livy and Tom. I raise my eyes
to Kari’s, unflinching. “What’s your brother’s name?”

Kari’s gaze lingers on
my face, trying to read me. A flash of irritation shows she found
nothing. “Vian Yosiah Merchant.”

So he has a sister? I
shouldn’t be hurt he didn’t tell me. I never told him about my
brother or sister. We keep our pasts hidden for a reason. It’s
better if no one knows who we are—or at least it’s better that way
for me. The Officials have done shit to me that I want to forget.
If everyone knows my real name, maybe States’ll find out too, and
then they’ll torture me again. I’m not risking that.

I’ve been quiet for
far too long. Kari has locked onto my emotion. God knows what she
saw. I meet her gaze steadily, ignoring the way Yosiah’s amber eyes
stare back at me. “What do you want?” I spit. “What do you want
from him?”

She
looks away, struggling with pain or anger. “I want my brother to
know I’m here. I haven’t seen him in years. The last time I saw
him—” She snaps her jaw shut. There are tears in her voice but none
on her face. Clearly I’m not the only one who wears masks. “I’ve
been looking for him for so long. I was told a group of kids had
been smuggled out of the fence and he was among them. Clearly that
was a lie. I thought he was
dead
. If he thinks the same about
me, I want him to know I’m alive and I’m here if he wants to find
me.”

“Well.” I give her a
stiff nod. How am I supposed to tell Siah the sister he never told
me about is alive and demanding to see him? “Congrats, you found
him.”

I walk away from Kari
and the way she looks at me like I’m something dangerous and
disgusting she doesn’t want to get close to. She thinks I won’t
tell Siah what she said. As if I’d keep something this big from
him. I’m not that bad a person. Well—maybe I am but not to Siah.
Yosiah is the exception to every one of my rules.

13:18. 23.10.2040. The
Free Lands, Manchester.

I lower myself onto
the mattress in the room I share with Yosiah and hand him a
half-empty bottle of whiskey I swiped from the food hall.

“No thanks,” he says
automatically, barely even looking up from the book he’s
reading.

“Take it. You’re gonna
need it.”

In an instant he goes
from relaxed to alert. “What is it?”

“Do you have a
sister?” I watch him for any sign of a lie. He tenses at the
question, looking away, and I know he doesn’t want to talk about
this. I know it’s true.

“I used to,” he
says.

I take a gulp of the
alcohol and tell him, “You still do. I met her today. She told me
to ask if you had a sister called Kari.”

Hope and disbelief
make him look vulnerable, younger. “You …”

“Yeah. She’s here with
the Manchester people. She said she’d been looking for you.”

“But she’s—I saw.”
He’s shaking his head over and over as if he can’t get an image out
of it.

I close my fingers
around his wrist. “She kinda looks like you. And she said your
name—your birth name.” His eyes turn unbearably sad. “Is your
surname Merchant?” I add, smirking.

“Yeah.” His eyes
narrow. “What?”

“That’s a stupid
name.”

He gives me a little
shove, his face falling into an expression I’m familiar with. He’s
offended and amused and about to retort something heavy on the
sarcasm. “Your surname is Vanella, Miya. You can make fun of me
when your name doesn’t sound like a luxury food.”

I make a face, glaring
half-heartedly. “How did you find that out? I doubt Tom would say
that in his sleep.”

His
grin is sly.
Damn my sister!

I launch myself on top
of him, pinning him to the mattress and fighting him harmlessly.
It’s less me being annoyed by his remark than it is distracting him
from whatever memory he was drawn into.

Siah pushes against my
ribs with the heel of his hand, not even trying to unseat me from
him. I thump his leg—the uninjured one—and he pinches my shoulder.
He flips our positions, looming above me as if he’d actually hurt
me. His face is moulded into an aggressive mask that might scare
someone else. I run my fingers over the thin skin over his ribs and
he laughs breathlessly, always so ticklish.

“Never let me find a
secret weapon,” I say. “I’ll always exploit it.”

He scowls.

I
smirk up at him, smug at having the upper hand and
he—
of course he does
—he kisses me. I push him away with my palm. His sigh of
disappointment clouds the cold air.

“You
have to stop doing that,” I say. I feel like my insides are
squirming but I won’t let this happen. I’ll fight it for as long as
I can. I won’t let myself be discarded like all the other girls
I’ve known. And even if he doesn’t use me and leave, I don’t want
to be
Yosiah’s Girl
. If I let myself be with him that’s all I’ll be from then
on. I’ll stop being Miya, just a possession, a girl and a man’s
name.

He brushes my shoulder
and climbs off me. “That was the last time, I promise.”

“Yeah.” I frown,
unable to understand why the heaviness in my chest didn’t leave
with his touch. It should’ve gone.

Siah grabs his coat,
shrugging it on. He says, “I’m going to find my sister.”

“Okay.” I can’t meet
his eyes. “Good luck.”

I watch his feet walk
out of the fabric doorway.

***

Honour

10:06. 24.10.2040. The
Free Lands, Northlands, Manchester.

Almost dying can give
you a new perspective on life.

I’m not going to
re-evaluate my whole existence or make any major life choices, but
my breakfast tastes twice as good knowing that I might never have
eaten again, the pancakes sweet on my tongue. The sky looks bluer
than I remember it but it might just be a rare sunny day in
October. Either way, I’m pretty happy to not be dead.

I
wear just a blue T-shirt over my chest, letting the cold in the
cafeteria prick my skin in a cool reminder that I’m alive. The
scolding heat in my veins is something I won’t forget soon. It was
like the times I’d burnt my hands on the stove at home but a
hundred times worse, and on the
inside
of my body. If Bran hadn’t
used his invention on me I don’t know what would’ve
happened.

I shiver and not just
from the cold.

As I shovel syrupy
pancakes into my mouth, Timofei sits on the other side of the
table. His dark eyes scan me. “You scared us all yesterday. We
thought you were dead for sure.”

“I was,” I say.
“Apparently. I don’t really remember much.” Except the heat.

“I do. It wasn’t nice
to watch.” He takes a long swig of water. “Lucky we have the time
traveller.”

The
way he says it makes my temper spike. “He has a name.” I push away
from the table, breakfast now heavy in my stomach. Is that how he
thinks of us? Is that how all the Guardians think of us? Not even
as people, just
things
that come in handy every now and then.

When my anger doesn’t
get any more potent I realise I don’t care. I couldn’t give a crap
what these people think of me. I’m grateful they took me in and
gave my sister and friends a safe place and I’m especially grateful
they got us safely out of Forgotten London before it Fell. But they
don’t matter to me, not like Tia and Dal and Hele and Bran. Not
like Miya and Yosiah and John.

“Honour that’s not
what I meant. Sit down. Please.”

My scowl loses heat
when I see the way he’s looking at me. If eyes could beg, his
would. I sit back down. “What do you want from me? Guessing this
isn’t you trying to be my friend.”

He shrugs, no remorse
on his face at using me. Actually, when I look closer I can’t find
an expression at all. He’s completely without emotion. I’m about to
think something irritated, about him being a robot, but I’m wrong.
Of course I am. My cold annoyance warms and wanes. With all the
crap going on, with being immersed in a new town, with my and every
one of my family’s growing struggles, I’d forgotten that Timofei
and Alba were close.

The grief isn’t so
noticeable on him like on Bran and Tia and Dalmar but it’s there. I
should have seen it. When I first met Timofei in a dark, unused
Underground station he was sarcastic, friendly, and joked around
with Dalmar. I’ve seen him angry and calculating, assertive and
composed, amused and affectionate. There’s always an emotion
written clearly on his face but now there’s nothing. He’s a blank
shell.