Page 72 of The Monster You Made
***
We reach a plateau by midday, the sun weak against the snow. Elira calls for a halt, her breath steaming, her voice harsh. “We rest here. Fires low, no smoke. Scouts out.”
The rebels drop where they stand, too weary to argue. Some collapse against packs, others slump beside the supply trucks. The freed captives cling to one another, faces pale, lips blue. Hunger gnaws at all of us. Rourke mutters curses as he doles out thin rations of dried meat and hard bread.
Vera moves among them, Marta’s satchel clutched against her ribs. She kneels by the freed, speaking low, her voice steady. They cling to her words as though they are food. I watch her, silent, my chest tightening. Her fire does not falter, but I see the cracks. I see the way her hands shake when she thinks no one is looking.
She feels me watching. Our eyes meet across the plateau. For a heartbeat, warmth spreads through me, pulling me from the cliff’s edge. Then I look away. I cannot let her see the chains tightening in my chest.
***
Scouts return by dusk. Their faces are pale, their voices hushed. “There’s movement to the east. Crown riders. Not many, but fast.”
Elira bares her teeth. “Scouts. They’ll circle, report back.”
Rourke spits into the snow. “Then we’ll be buried under soldiers before week’s end.”
The council gathers, hunched in a circle around a shield used as a table. The map is spread, weighed by knives. Elira wants to strike the riders before they return. Rourke argues for hiding, scattering into the cliffs. The rebels murmur, restless, afraid.
I listen in silence, my hand clenched tight on the hilt of my sword. Declan’s laughter slithers in my ears.Run, and I’ll chase you. Fight, and I’ll bleed you dry. You always dance to my tune.
Vera looks at me. Her voice is soft but sharp. “Lucian. Say something. Lead them.”
The words are chains around my throat. I want to speak. I want to rise. But fear coils tighter, whispering that every choice I make is one he gave me. My jaw locks. My silence stretches. The rebels’ eyes turn from me to the snow.
At last, I force words free. “We move at dawn. Keep to the cliffs. No fires. No songs.” My voice is rough, hollow. It does not sound like mine.
The rebels nod, defeated. Elira slams her breaching axe into the snow but does not argue. Rourke mutters into his flask. Vera’s gaze lingers on me, heavy with something between anger and sorrow.
***
Night falls heavy. The fires burn low, hidden beneath snow-packed pits. The rebels huddle close, whispering prayers and curses. I walk the perimeter, my breath a white cloud in the dark. The cliffs loom high above, jagged teeth against the stars.
Declan’s presence is stronger here. I feel him in the shadows, hear him in the wind. They follow you into death, Lucian. Every step, every breath, they march because you march. When you break, they will break too.
My hands shake. I press them to the hilt of my sword until the tremor steadies. The steel grounds me, if only barely.
Vera finds me at the edge of the cliffs. She does not speak at first, only stands beside me, her breath mingling with mine in the cold. At last, she whispers, “You can’t keep carrying this alone.”
I close my eyes. “If I let go, he takes me.”
She touches my hand, steady, warm. “Then hold on to me instead.”
For a heartbeat, the chains loosen. For a heartbeat, the whispers fade. I turn to her, my chest aching with everything I cannot say. The wind howls, and still I want to believe her voice is stronger.
***
By morning, the road is gone. Snowdrifts have swallowed the path, leaving only jagged rocks and ice. The supply trucks creak, their wheels cracking. The freed stumble, their strength failing. Every step is a battle, every mile a wound.
Scouts ride ahead, but return with grim faces. “Tracks,” they report. “Fresh. Soldiers. They move faster than we thought.”
Elira snarls, her breaching axe glittering. “Let them come. We’ll break them before they break us.”
Rourke shakes his head. “We’re not ready. We’ve no food, no rest, no ground worth dying on. Fighting now is madness.”
The rebels murmur, fear thickening. Their eyes turn again to me. My silence stretches like ice, threatening to crack. I feel Declan’s laughter rumble deep inside. They beg for your word. Say it, and it will be mine.
I force myself to speak. “We keep moving. North. To the passes. If they follow, we bleed them in the snow.” My voice carries, but inside I am hollow. The rebels nod, some relieved, some doubtful. Vera watches me, her eyes burning. She doesn’t speak, but I feel her words pressing against me: Don’t lose yourself. Not now.
