CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CAMP WAS NOTICEABLY SILENT as the three of us descended the tree shortly after dawn. The Jungle may be the only place where morning is quieter than night, both animals and Brutes sleeping off the evening’s diversions.

We dismount the platform, wind through the main camp, pass the abandoned fire ring, gray with ash and strewn with bones, and finally reach a grassy clearing. Callisto’s nickers break the comparative quiet, like the voice of an old friend come to visit. Caked dirt patches add new patterns to the white sections of her hair, and her mane is so matted with barbs it could catch a fish, but, by Siyah, she’s never looked so fine to me. I let her nuzzle me with her wet nose, though it smears my once-black vest with horse slobber and half-chewed leaves.

I reach out to rub her neck, but a crusty patch of blood stops me.

“What’s this?” I mumble.

I don’t remember her being injured there before. No, this is new. A bead of glistening red drips from the small wound. I stretch my fingers toward it to investigate.

“No!” Rohan yells, grabbing my hand, too hard.

“Ow!” I yell back.

“Don’t touch it.”

I yank my hand from his grip and snap, “What —you going to tell me Brutes are afraid of a little blood?”

Jase steps between us, trying to diffuse our tempers. “Bats,” he says, soberly. He peers closely at Callisto’s neck without touching the wound. “Vampire. She’ll probably be fine, but just in case, you shouldn’t touch her blood. And if she shows signs of any . . .” His voice trails off.

“Any what?” I press, failing to keep alarm from my voice.

“If she . . . starts acting strange, then you’ll have to . . .” Jase seems reluctant to continue, and I stare at him, dumbfounded.

“What? What will I have to do?”

“You’ll have to kill her,” Rohan finishes. His matter-of-factness makes me madder.

“Kill her?”

“She’ll probably be fine,” Jase reassures, not very convincingly. “The odds are small that she’ll get sick.”

They don’t know me —don’t know the depth of my love for this horse. Her death would undo me. A Brute couldn’t possibly understand that. Could they?

Rohan pours water from a smooth leather flask, washing the wound. Callisto doesn’t seem bothered by the attention. Is that a good sign?

“How will I know? If she’s sick, will she show it?”

“Likely,” Jase answers. “We’ve never had horses, so I can’t say for sure. But other animals, they get twitchy, or act strange, or freeze up. We call it ‘the crazies.’ Each animal shows it differently. But you’ll at least get home. At least.”

I rub a hand down my horse’s nose. Clumps of dried mud scratch my skin.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Jase reiterates, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Here, I’ll help you put the seat on it,” he says, reaching for the saddle.

I almost correct his vocabulary but, not wanting him to feel silly, thank him instead.

Jase lifts the leather Alexia saddle onto Callisto’s back, and I slip my arm out of its sling to buckle the cinch and breast straps, followed by the headpiece.

Despite the soreness last night, my shoulder moves better today, and I leave the sling behind. That slimy paste of Rohan’s works wonders.

With Callisto properly saddled, I hand Jase the reins. He has already explained that he’ll lead me, blindfolded, out of the Jungle. The prospect of being steered chafes my independence, but if it means avoiding another tranquilizer dart, he can lead me like a lamb all the way to the Sea. Besides, I’m past worrying that Jase will do me wrong.

Rohan places a bundle of dried meat and three mangoes in my saddlebag, then steps toward me, a length of cloth tucked into his waistband. My blindfold, I gather.

“Be careful out there,” he says.

The implication takes a moment to register, but as his words sink in, my frustration with him a moment ago melts like butter in a pan. “You’re not coming?”

He shakes his head. “Torvus’s orders.”

“Ah.”

Why does that disappoint me? And for the love of Siyah, why won’t my eyes meet his? I took the liberty of staring at this Brute long into the night; now, in daylight, I can barely bring myself to look at him.

“I want you to take this,” he says, drawing a white bone dagger from a leather sheath on his leg.

The sturdy handle is carved with astonishing precision, intricately etched in a basket weave design. Above the guard, the two-sided blade —as long as his forearm —curves slightly at the tip. It’s the work of a skilled artist, if artist can describe a weapon-maker.

“It’s . . . impressive.” I fumble for words, amazed that he made this himself and that, though it probably took weeks or months to finish, he offers it to me.

“Don’t use it on Jase,” he quips.

I’m thankful he doesn’t seem to expect a grand show of gratitude, because I don’t know what else to say. In fact, Rohan doesn’t wait for further response at all. He’s already behind me, preparing my blindfold.

I slide the dagger into a sheath on my otherwise-empty belt, and Rohan seals out the sun with a dense, scratchy fabric. The last thing I see is the massive mahogany tree, dotted with huts, stretching its sturdy limbs proudly over Tree Camp.

“Please be careful,” Rohan’s deep voice whispers, his hair brushing my ear, sending a shiver of prickles down my neck. His hands, rough and strong, slide from my shoulders to my biceps, which he squeezes lightly before releasing me. His touch shouldn’t make me feel this way.

He can’t have it. He can’t have your allegiance, Rei.

It’s easy to lose track of time when one is blindfolded on the back of a horse. The curious Jungle sounds —jabbering, tweeting, knocking, clucking, warbling —eventually become monotonous without eyes to find their sources, and I grow weary of trying to get my bearings. And so it feels like days, not hours, have passed by the time Callisto stops under me and Jase says, “You can take the blindfold off.”

Hours of sightless travel have made me a little punchy, and I bemoan, “Really? Oh, can’t I leave it on? I’m growing rather fond of it.”

He smacks my leg, and Callisto shifts sideways at his unintentional directive. I laugh as he scrambles over a log to keep the reins.

Moments pass before my eyes adjust fully to the light, though the surrounding trees and brush shield us from the midday sun. Through a gap in the branches ahead, lowlands roll through Nedé, the wide swath cut by Highway Volcán blazing a trail toward its center. A dark smudge next to the road must be all that’s left of the finca Dáin attacked two days ago. At least I have my bearings, even if they do bring a rush of unwelcome reality.

“Torvus told me to take you to your finca, but if I go with you, we’d have to take a much longer route so I could stay out of sight. Even that would be tricky, though, with your horse.”

I hadn’t considered any of this. “Of course,” I say, as if I had. “I can find my way from here.”

“I figured you could,” he says, handing me my bow, quiver, and short sword. I hand the sword back, its place on my belt already occupied.

“Keep it. You can add it to your collection,” I tease.

As I arrange my bow and quiver, something he said dogs me. “Jase?”

He looks up expectantly, his hazel eyes shining like glossy stones.

I want answers.

“You’ve been there before —to Bella Terra. That’s why you know the way. You were hiding in the teak trees while I rode.”

His smile fades. “You knew?”

“I may not have been quite as unconscious as I looked,” I confess, cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I recognized Rohan the night of the attack —right before he drugged me. And your voice was familiar too. But why were you at Bella?”

He sighs, his eyebrows drawing in on themselves like the plant we toyed with yesterday. There it is again, his desire to tell me everything, to spell it out, plain as day. Why would he feel the need to keep secrets from me? It’s like he’s trying to protect me.

Trying to protect me. Just like —

“Mother,” I whisper aloud, the answer I’ve been seeking since the night of the attack falling into my lap like a ripe custard apple. His eyes hold the shape and color of Mother’s. Of mine. No wonder they seem so familiar. He seems so familiar.

Jase’s bronze cheeks flush the tiniest pink. He turns abruptly, clearly uncomfortable. I dismount Callisto so I can make him look at me. So I can study him and see that I’m not going crazy.

“Jase, why were you at Bella Terra?”

He meets my gaze, and I will him to hold it. We stare at each other for a long moment, every second of which solidifies my suspicions. I could be looking into Mother’s eyes from my four-poster bed, her form bent over a smaller version of me, her songs soothing me into sleep.

“Is she your —? How? How can you be —?”

“I told you, Reina,” he says softly, “it’s not for me to tell.”

Bewilderment and anger heat my blood, which was already near boiling from hours of cooking in the Jungle. He has to be connected to Mother somehow, though I don’t know how that’s possible. Why won’t he just answer my questions? Why is everyone always keeping things from me, like I’m a child?

“Fine,” I snap, turning back to Callisto.

“Reina,” he pleads, circling around me and blocking me from my horse. “I’m sorry. I really am. Don’t be mad.”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? You’ve only told me to trust you a hundred times since I met you, but you won’t extend the same courtesy to me. You’re right —there’s nothing to be upset about.”

He weighs my words, considering their validity. He knows I’m right. Well, he sees that I believe I’m right, which is almost the same thing.

“Okay,” he relents, but he clearly remains conflicted, and that hurts me more than waiting for answers. I want him to explain, but deep down I know that telling everything isn’t always right, or even kindest. I’m forcing his hand. I’m pitting him against his conscience, which contradicts mine.

“I only went there that one time,” he begins, “after Torvus told me the Rescuer was —”

Guilt forces me to cut in.

“No —don’t. Don’t tell me. I’m sorry.” As the rush of anger drains, my mind clears. “I . . . I do trust you. At least, I’ll try to.”

And I’ll go to the source for the answers I need, I resolve silently. I’ll ask Mother.

After a long second, Jase wraps his arms around me. The gesture’s unexpectedness, and firm tightness, take me off guard, but I welcome it and return it. The sensation reminds me a bit of Treowe’s hug in the Finca del Mar garden, yet carries an added assurance Tre couldn’t offer. My best friend gave me solidarity. He knew me and sensed I needed comfort. Jase’s strong embrace conveys confidence along with care, and that makes me braver.

I glance at his eyes one more time before mounting Callisto, just to make sure I’m not crazy. There it is, clear as sea water. Now that I recognize the similarity, I’m baffled I didn’t catch it sooner.

“Will I see you again?” I ask, taking up the reins.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t know. I hope so. But if not, I’m glad I met you, Reina Pierce.” Then he adds, hastily, as if embarrassed by his insensitivity, “Though I’m sorry about the circumstances.”

I only look back once as I make my way down to the valley, toward Highway Volcán and everything I’ve ever known. But he has already disappeared into the green veil of the Jungle —vanished, as if the past three days never happened.