The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 30

I catch sight of several people making their way to the bar toward Marc and for a moment I stiffen, sure that they mean to hurt him. A woman leads the group and steps up next to him. She is tall and thin but her voice is strong.

"If it weren't for the Runner, we would still be rotting in the Palace gaol!" she cries out, and I relax when I recognize her as one of the commoners from the ball. "She is our hero and our hope!"

I swallow, tears pricking my vision at the woman's words.

"She delayed my brother's draft!" Harry's booming voice reverberates through the entire room. "I will follow the Runner!"

"My children would have starved if it weren't for her generosity! I follow the Runner!" another woman calls out.

Bit by bit, the sounds of assent drown out the naysayers. In some region of my mind, I know I am meant to speak, but the words are completely lost. My chest and throat are constricted so tightly that I can barely breathe. It takes every reserve of control I have to keep from staggering from my perch atop the table.

"My friends!" I finally manage, my voice breaking. "You know me. You knew my father, my brother, my mother. You know that they dreamed of this day, that they died for it. Know now that with every fibre of my being, I will fight for a city free of oppression. I have found a way, and I have found the person to lead us! Now, who is with me?"

Someone hands me a stein and I thrust it into the air, feeling my heart swell as dozens of tankards rise in unison.

"To the Queen!" I yell, my voice strong and sure.

"To the Queen!" The voices unite in such a crescendo that I am nearly knocked over. Together as one, we toast uncertainty and hope.

Several hours later, the bar has started to empty and my mind is spinning from a heady combination of the speech, the upcoming rebellion, the drink and frustration.

I hold my head in my hand and look at the piece of parchment in front of me. Will has marked a small tick for every person who has agreed to arm themselves and march with us to the Palace when the time is right. Despite the enthusiasm earlier, the number of marks on the page is depressingly low.

"I'm sorry, I really am." A burly man with a shaven head is sitting at the table across from us, twisting his handkerchief in his thick hands. "It's just that I have three little ones at home. If something were to happen to me, what would become of them?"

I sigh, exchanging a look with Will. "I understand, Marty. I've met your children. I don't want to take you away from them, but wouldn't they be proud of their papa for fighting for a better future for them?"

Marty runs a hand over his scalp. "I just can't take the risk. I'm sorry." He pats my hand apologetically as he stands. "Good luck."

As Marty shuffles away, I lift my tankard to my mouth and grimace when I find it empty. Next to me, Will sighs and shoves his chair back from the table.

"So," I say, casting a sideways glance at him.

"I guess that's everyone." He frowns at the parchment laid before us.

"A little underwhelming, is it not?" I ask.

He doesn't say anything, his eyes never leaving the paper.

"I just don't understand." I clench my fists. "They all want change, but no one is willing to fight for it."

"They're scared," he replies evenly.

"They should be scared." I slam my empty mug onto the table, causing Will to jump and a few of the stragglers to look up at us. "If we don't act soon, this Wasteland war will take away the last of our choices and there won't be enough of us left to stand up to the King."

"You aren't telling me anything I don't know." He sounds distracted.

I look up and follow his gaze to where Marc stands at the opposite end of the room, talking with a small group.

"He says he knows you," I say.

Will murmurs non-committally, "I'll get you a fresh drink."

I make to hand him my tankard, but he has already risen and is shouldering his way toward the bar. Exasperated, I put my empty mug down again and rest my aching head on my folded arms.

Why would they all come tonight? Why would they sing my praises and toast Meg if they weren't committed to this cause? It seems it is one thing to get everyone riled up and feeling self-righteous, but quite another to put a weapon in their hands and point them toward the Palace. At this rate, we'll be slaughtered before we even reach the front gate.

I lift my head. Marc has joined Will at the bar and they are talking to one another, their voices too low for me to hear. Marc's eyebrows are furrowed and Will's shoulders seem stooped forward defensively.

My vision blurs as another bout of nausea threatens me. I groan and shut my eyes, suddenly overcome with tiredness.

Eventually, I feel the chair next to me shift as Will's weight is lowered into it again.

"What was all that about?" I murmur into the folds of my arms.

"Nothing—just chatting. I think we had better get you back to the Palace, don't you?"

"No." I raise my head to look at him. "I already sent a message ahead to Vitrola. I told her that I'm staying with a friend in the City tonight."

"Is that what I am? A friend?"

"Who said I was talking about you?"

He stands and lifts me under the shoulders. I lean against him gratefully, breathing in his scent.

"It better be me," he grunts as we weave our way toward the door. "I'm not sure who else would put up with you."

As we pass the bar, I catch Marc's eye. His mouth is pressed into a tight line, but he nods cordially. Will pushes open the door of the tavern and we step out into the cool night air.

The walk to Will's flat helps to sober me up and I begin to feel less melancholic and more angry.

"Honestly, I don't know why we bother," I grumble. "What's the point, really? They won't lift a finger to help themselves."

"Most of them are just concerned about their families," Will replies. "There are people who are already receiving a pension from their sons, brothers and fathers dying in the Wastelands. If they throw that away, it's like their loved one died for nothing."

"Why are you standing up for them?" I ask, incredulously. "This whole thing was your idea."

He shrugs. "I guess I just understand their hesitation. We can't expect everyone to be as crazy as you."

"Maybe it's because I don't have a family." I scuff the toe of my boot on the dusty ground. "If you don't have anyone depending on you, then you don't have anything to lose."

Will stops abruptly. He grabs my shoulders and turns me roughly to face him.

"What?" I demand angrily, stumbling on the uneven ground.

I can only barely make out his features in the dim lamplight of the street. He arrests my eyes with his before placing his warm hands on my cheeks and kissing me soundly.

"I depend on you," he says, matter of factly. "If you were to be gone, it would matter. It would matter more than I can say. Do you understand that?"

I blink rapidly, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Don't you ever say that you have nothing to lose. I know I don't have any say over your mad stunts, but know that when you fall. I feel the impact. If you hurt, I hurt. Get it?"

I nod, wordlessly.

"Good." He takes my hand in his and we walk the rest of the way home in silence.