Author's Note:
This is a continuation of The Runner series. If you haven't read The Runner, check out my profile.
Thanks! I hope you enjoy Part 2 :)
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The sun bakes down across my shoulders as I sprint from rooftop to rooftop. My legs burn with exertion and my heart pounds steadily in my chest. My breaths are slow and even, falling into a natural rhythm.
My feet land securely on the ledges and I push out across the alleyways, clearing the gaps effortlessly. My trained eyes scan the landscape in front of me, registering the familiar layout of the City and charting my course toward the Palace.
I move from the depths of what was once the Commons and into the former Court. As I run I note how it is becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two districts. The excessive displays of wealth that used to be displayed prominently in the windows and storefronts have dissipated and migrated closer to our outer Wall. Now, the City streets blend together in a cacophony of colour. Sun-bleached buildings boast brightly painted shutters and richly dyed fabrics dangle on clotheslines between the alleyways.
The glass Palace swims into view and I have to blink to clear my vision, at the same time absentmindedly swiping the tendrils of red hair from my forehead. The sun has risen to its highest point and I am hard pressed to find a direction to approach from which the reflective walls of the Palace don't blind me. I curse myself for letting the hour grow late and increase my speed, relying on my instincts rather than my eyesight to direct me across the roofs.
Finally, I reach the edge of the Court nearest the royal grounds. I swing myself down over the ledge and drop window by window until I reach the ground, dusting the sand from my hands as I straighten.
This street marks the barrier between the City buildings and the wall surrounding the army compound. I turn to jog in the direction of the compound's front gate but am immediately halted in my tracks when something adorning the wall catches my eye.
I step closer, feeling a frown pull at my mouth as I read the propaganda someone has posted.
Meg's serene face smiles out at me from the parchment, marred by the words "Queen of Extinction" scrawled crudely across her features. Scowling, I reach up and tear the poster away, balling it in my fists before I rip down three more posters.
Cursing under my breath I turn and run to the front gate, smoothly dodging the carriages and people crowding the street.
The gate guard has already opened the gate to admit me and I call out my thanks as I tear past him. I run through the gate and toward the training field, bypassing the airships in the hangar and the barracks. Up ahead, I can hear the sounds of multiple booted feet marching in formation as Will runs his drills, his familiar, deep voice carrying across the open grounds.
I circle around the rear of the field and hop the fence, then duck down behind the marching soldiers, looking for an inconspicuous opening. I nudge my way into position next to my friend, Marc, adopting his stance and stepping in time with the drills. Marc throws me a knowing wink, stepping helpfully to the side.
Will's voice sounds from the front of the pack, counting off our steps as we turn and march across the field. I chance a look to the front of the line, catching sight of his scruffy head and trimmed beard, his square jaw clenched tightly in concentration. My steady heartbeat picks up and I force myself to focus on the back of the woman in front of me, copying her movements.
"Nicely done." Will finally calls a halt.
I suppress a sigh, covertly rubbing my lower back. Even after running these drills countless times, the practice of following orders still rankles me. The fact that it is Will calling out commands is all the more annoying.
"All right, soldiers, let's partner up for a bit of sparring. Everyone, grab a weapon," Will instructs and the soldiers disperse, heading toward the rack of swords lined up at the far end of the field.
Finally, here's a bit of training that I can actually use. I select a sword of hammered steel, testing its weight; stepping back, I take a few experimental swings. Only a couple of months have passed since I began training, but the deadly movements are already beginning to feel natural—
an intuitive step up from my street tussles. Rotating in place, I try a couple more sequences. I bring my sword up and swipe it vertically across my chest, then jump when the blade is suddenly blocked by opposing steel.
Will pushes my sword aside with his, his steely eyes dark with challenge.
I smirk and correct my stance, meeting his eye and raising an eyebrow.
Will's blade meets mine over and over with practised precision, challenging my weak side intermittently and forcing me to block. The sounds of metal striking metal reverberate through the dusty air as we join the other soldiers.
"You're still too tense across your shoulders. Relax—follow your weapon."
I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I sidestep him and block again, changing tactics abruptly and forcing him to defend. He counters my manoeuvres easily, not bothering to hide his smirk.
"Find something funny?" I ask, my voice hoarse from the exercise.
"When you're annoyed you stop using your head."
He shoves my blade aside again, deliberately using enough force to send me stumbling backwards.
"Don't let your emotions dictate your fight." He shoots me a meaningful look before he turns to shout directions over his shoulder. "You can't defend all day, Grifin. Attack him!"
At once, I hear the sound of one soldier viciously attacking another with a renewed sense of vigor. Grifin's opponent desperately defends himself against the blows, at the same time releasing a string of colourful curses.
"How are you able to see Grifin and still fight me?" I ask, buying myself a few moments to catch my breath.
"I see everything." A familiar dimple dots his cheek. "I also saw you sneak in late. You missed drills. Again."
"I caught the gist of it." I switch the sword to my left hand and wait for him to do the same.
"If you want to train with my army, then you need to stick to our rules." Will' voice has taken on that note of condescension and I feel myself prickle.
I channel my anger and aim my sword for his undefended side, letting out a grunt of annoyance when he blocks. "When I told you I wanted to train, what I meant was that I wanted to learn to fight, not to march."
"It's all part of a larger picture. Fighting is about more than just strength and technique." He parries patiently, his tone measured. "It's also about discipline."
I strike again, intending to catch him by surprise. I overcompensate and Will takes full advantage of my loss of balance, bringing his sword down on mine and sending me crashing to the ground.
I roll over onto my back, scowling at the blade pointed toward my neck.
"Most importantly, it's about attacking with your head and not your heart." That half-grin eases my annoyance a bit and I knock his sword away, accepting his hand and letting him pull me to my feet.
"I can't say I've missed your approach to teaching," I grumble, rubbing my sore arm.
"Perhaps not, but you have to admit that this is infinitely more fun than learning names and manners." He picks up my sword and tosses it back to me. "Now, let's try it again."
The daylight has begun to wane by the time we are finally released from training. I joke with Marc and the other soldiers as we cross the shadowed training field to replace our weapons, then wave goodbye and hang back when they troop off toward the barracks.
I rock back and forth on my heels, stretching my arms and legs in an effort to loosen the tight muscles. I watch the soldiers retreating figures as I wait, only half-listening to their companionable chatter.
The dreaded draft was abolished when Meg came into power. Soon after, Will left the Palace medical practice and accepted the position of Commander. Enlistment was open to anyone interested, men and women alike. The ever-present threat of the Wastelanders and the army's fair pay attracted more people than we anticipated, prompting Will to organize a training camp.
Though I am not an official soldier, my newfound status within the City has afforded me the opportunity to train with the new recruits. I figured my experience on the street would translate easily to sword fighting but as Will has helpfully pointed out time and time again, I lack the discipline needed to be considered a truly fierce opponent. These thoughts set my blood boiling again and I am scowling by the time Will draws up next to me.
"You did well today," he says as we fall into step. He is wearing his official sand-coloured jacket and has affixed his sword to his waist. "You're definitely improving."
I am in no mood to discuss training and instead change the subject, remarking, "You're dressed quite formally for supper."
"We are banqueting with the Queen. Some of us still wish to uphold royal standards." As he speaks, his gaze rakes over my figure.
I glance down at my clothes. My pants and tunic are made of quality fabrics and my light, sturdy boots were crafted specially for me by Meg's personal tanner. My afternoon bouts in the training field have left me coated with patches of dust and dirt but compared to my street rat days, I think I appear quite decent.
"Would you prefer I wear a gown of spun gold?" I ask.
"I would prefer you wear nothing at all." He slips a hand around my waist and pulls me to him. At once, I melt into the familiar cocoon of his body, kissing him deeply as my hands reach up behind his neck to urge him closer.
I feel his mouth smile against mine and at once the pressures of the day lift from my shoulders. As frustrated as he makes me, there is no denying that there is little I would deny this ridiculous man.
He growls low in his throat, pulling away reluctantly. "We should go—we have responsibilities to attend to."
"I never asked for them." I sigh. The prospect of a meal at the Palace pales in comparison to a stolen night with Will.
"You did, when you brought a rebellion." He pulls me back into step with him. "Or have you forgotten that, already?"
"Of course I haven't. I just didn't think that afterward, I would be expected to assist with running the City."
"What did you suppose you would do? There isn't much need for thievery these days."
I nudge him playfully with my elbow. "I know that. To be honest, I never really figured anything past taking down the King."
"Such little faith for a revolutionary."
I laugh. "It wasn't a lack of faith, it was a lack of foresight."
"I think we could agree what you lack in foresight I more than make up for." He nudges me back, quickly offering a hand to catch me when I stumble on my tired legs. "Some would say to a fault."
"Were it left up to you, Commander Cain, humans would have burned sitting in the desert before making the decision to stand."
He laughs, hugging me to his side as we exit the compound. We bid goodnight to the gate guard and Will flags down a carriage, offering me a hand to help me into my seat. I smile at our formal manners, leftover from the days when he was a Palace physician and I was a lady-in-waiting to the Princess. To be fair, I was really just a common street thief and merely pretending to be a lady at the time, but still, his simple gestures never fail to touch my heart.
We disembark at the Palace and are immediately waved through the doors. I glance up at the beautiful glass facade as we pass beneath the entryway, marveling at the way the faultless glass walls reflect the starry night sky.
The Great Hall is at the far end of the Palace, past the open foyer and the main staircases. The ornate decorations that used to line these walls have largely migrated to the Palace treasury, but colourful mosaics and patterns still blink cheerfully in the lantern light. Priceless tapestries and plush settees decorate the cavernous space, boasting our City's legendary craftsmanship. We move through the crowd of people milling about the foyer, their conversations ebbing and flowing as they walk to and from the Great Hall.
When I lived at the Palace as a lady, meals were a starched and formal event. White-gloved Commoners served the decadent courses atop gold plates as we sat straight-backed in our chairs and murmured stiffly in low voices.
Meg's meals are a more laid-back affair. The food is laid out on a single table in the Hall for guests to serve themselves while Palace workers move seamlessly through the room, tidying up and offering drinks.
I crane my neck as I scan the crowd, searching for the largest cluster of people. Someone claps Will on the back and he turns to shake the man's hand, laughing. I take the opportunity to slip away, making my way into the Hall.
Meg sits at one of the tables, poised and listening raptly to a white-haired man. Our queen is resplendent tonight, dressed in a violet gown with her raven hair brushed to a high sheen and knotted elegantly at the nape of her neck. I watch her carefully as I move toward the spread. The man is gesticulating grandly as he speaks and my eyes flick over to the ever-present guards standing behind Meg. They eye the speaker warily but appear unconcerned, so I take my time in preparing a plate of food before I pick my way toward my friend. I sink down into the chair nearest her, placing myself directly in the white-haired man's line of sight.
His eyes flick to me and an ugly flush creeps up his splotchy neck. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, inviting him to continue as I take a bite of my dinner.
"All I am saying, your Majesty, is that those of us accustomed to having live-in help should not be punished."
"And as I have already explained, Mr. Helmes, you are not being punished. If you require assistance, there are people willing to work for you, for a fair compensation." Meg's voice is calm, betraying nothing.
"But how can I be expected to afford that, as well as my taxes?" Helmes' face colours further and he deliberately avoids my gaze.
"If you cannot afford both, Mr. Helmes, you will need to procure employment for yourself."
"I am an old man!"
"Everyone can be of use. It is a selfish person who says otherwise." Meg tilts her head up at him. Despite the fact that she is sitting and he is standing, she still manages to convey the sense that she is towering above him. "As I see it, you have two options. You can visit the Palace tomorrow morning and inquire about a work placement, or otherwise you can learn a new word."
Nearly all the blood has drained from his face and the red splotches on his neck stand out unattractively. "What word?"
"'Budget', Mr. Helmes."
I snort and my fork clatters noisily against my plate. Meg kicks me under the table, her brown eyes narrowed in warning.
"Sorry," I murmur, then stuff another forkful into my mouth.
She turns around again. "Now if you will excuse me, Mr. Helmes. I wish to share a meal with my friend."
He shuffles away, muttering as he pulls on his cap over his sparse hair.
"I suppose you can't please everyone," I say sarcastically, watching his retreating figure.
Meg poises a fork delicately over my plate and samples some of my meal. "I doubt very much that Mr. Helmes has been pleased a day in his life."
"You may be right about that." I spear my last carrot before she can take it. "Good meal tonight."
"Do you think so? Rations have been a bit...sparse lately."
"The oasis is just going through a slow season," I say, reassuringly. "It happens occasionally and we've survived worse."
"Of course." She rolls her shoulders back as if to relieve some tension. "Take as much as you need, in any case. Rumour has it that Will's training camp is ruthlessly taxing."
"Leave it to Will to over-prepare." I push my plate away and lean back in my chair, stretching my legs. From the corner of my eye I can see Meg rolling her shoulders back and I am grateful to the hovering guests and guards for giving us some space. Meg tries not to show her strain, but I know how acutely she feels every one of the City's worries.
"He has proven to be an extremely thorough Commander," she agrees, sounding distracted.
"How are you doing?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
She sighs wearily. "I'm holding up. It's difficult to make decisions when no matter what path I choose, people get angry."
"That implies you are making the rest happy."
"Am I?" She leans back in her chair. "Things seem to be more or less improving, but even with an open forum, I know they are whispering about me."
"People will always talk. It doesn't mean anything."
"I wonder how often the snakes said the same thing to my father," she says, drily. "Don't coddle me, Kay. Tell me the truth. I don't want to be completely oblivious to the needs of my people the way he was."
I pause, considering. "I can tell you the things that are being said about you, but I don't think it would do you any good to know them."
"I don't care. Tell me anyway."
"There are posters of you up around the City with crude slogans on them." I watch her carefully. "''Queen of Treason,, 'Queen of Liars,' cleverness of that nature."
"Lovely." She twirls a tendril of hair absentmindedly. "Anything else?"
"It's mostly Courtiers talking. They complain about jobs meant for them going to Commoners." For the sake of brevity I forgo the politically correct terms of "former Commoner" and "former Courtier". "They complain about not having enough food and money."
"You mean, they don't have the same amount of money and food they had before the rebellion." She closes her eyes briefly. "So, no one is actually starving in the street?"
"Far from it. There are a few outliers, of course, but it's a big City and a new system. The best thing you ever did was turn the Palace into a place where people could come and ask for help. If people don't want to take advantage of your offerings, that's their problem." I try to keep my voice measured, fighting the frustration bubbling up inside me. These Courtiers have no concept of what it actually is to be poor and hungry. I cannot stand to hear them grumble about Meg's policies when she has done nothing but amazing things for us.
She senses my aggravation and places her cool hand over mine. "Thank you for telling me, Kay. It means a lot to me, to have you working with the citizens on my behalf."
I shrug. "I'm happy to do it." Being the go-between for Meg and the people means that I get to split my time between the Palace and my old friends in the Commons—really no job at all.
Just as she's opened her mouth to say something else, a low murmur sounds from near the doors to the Hall. Meg's brow furrows as she rises to her feet, standing to greet the messenger racing through the surprised crowd toward her.
"What is it?" she demands before he can properly catch his breath.
"The outer gate," he pants, referring to the Wall separating the City from the Wastelands, "is under attack." He sucks in a great lungful of air as he looks fearfully up at Meg. "The Wastelanders are breaking through."