The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 41

I pass what I can only assume is the night in restless fits of wakefulness, unable to find a comfortable position on the floor. Giving up on sleep, I force myself to my feet and test my strength, pacing back and forth and stretching my near-useless limbs. The skin on my back pulls and chafes with each movement, but I grit my teeth and force myself to breathe through the pain, working until I can move from wall to wall without showing any discomfort.

I rattle the iron bars on the door, then lean my forehead against them. How different would things have turned out if the rebellion had been a success? Would Meg have made a good queen? Would the districts have united? Would there have still been injustice, war, famine? The wasted possibilities cycle over and over, throbbing behind my temple. I rub the ache and cross back to the opposite end of the small cell, gingerly easing myself down into a seated position. Inevitably, my mind turns to Will.

Isolation is relentlessly unforgiving. All this time spent alone with my thoughts has driven me madder than Harmen's questioning ever could. Now, with nothing ahead of me but death and nothing behind me but darkness, I have finally been forced to see through my own veil of stubbornness. I've spent the last five years dreaming of vengeance, flitting about the rooftops in a vain bid to exist outside of the monarchy. I've robbed people, invaded their homes, taken advantage of them, betrayed their trust. I've hurt people in order to fuel my own, selfish agenda. Yes, I've been hurt, but I could never consider myself innocent.

I think I now understand why Will couldn't tell me about his part in my parents' deaths.

We are both victims of a hopeless goal, single-minded to a fault. What I did to Meg was really no different from what Will did to me. Considering how much it pained me to come clean to the Princess after so many weeks of wrestling with guilt, I can only imagine what Will must have gone through.

Try as I might, I can't rectify the guard in my parents' smouldering flat with the person I came to love. Will and the murderous guard are two entirely different people. One is a boy, abused and angry. The other is a fighter, his every move planned and precise. The only thing connecting the two is a rebellious nature. Will has changed, I am certain of that.

I'm also certain that no one has a hope of capturing his heart, not so long as he has a cause to aim for. It's hard to fault him for that, as he was never anything but upfront about his plans. It would be foolish of me to think I could ever matter more to him than an opportunity to change the world, not when I am unsure of what I would do if our situations were reversed. In moments of complete hopelessness, I may have imagined him bursting through that door to rescue me, but now those fancies have all but faded away.

My past mistakes rain down upon me as I wait to hear the sound of footsteps echoing through the tunnel. When they finally come for me, I am tense but controlled.

A key turns noisily in the cell door and it swings open. Lieutenant Griss strides purposefully into the cell, a satisfied sneer curling the corners of his cruel mouth. He signals and two guards step around him. I allow the men to hoist me to my feet and pull my hands behind my back; with some effort, I try to keep my spine straight and refrain from flinching as they bind my wrists.

"This is it, Runner," Griss says, brandishing a torch. I wince at the bright light and unsettling warmth. "I hope you had a good night's sleep; there is quite the crowd waiting for you."

"Must be a slow day," I say, grimacing as the guards finish tying me and grip my arm firmly.

They escort me out of the cell and down the tunnel back toward the gaol entrance. We ascend to the surface, the worn steps proving a trial for my tired legs. The gate guard waits by the front door and I notice that the bruise on his head is now fully healed. He pushes open the heavy door and I am instantly blinded.