Текст книги "The Sun Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Tristan nods. “He knows telling the people will just encourage them to rebel. They’ll demand to go above, to see what they’ve been deprived of their entire lives.”

“Then we have to tell them,” I say firmly, clasping my hands together, daring him to contradict me.

“I agree,” Tristan says.

Roc, who’s been relatively quiet for a while, says, “Tell them about your mom, Tristan.”

Tristan’s eyes immediately go glassy. He closes his eyes, opens them when he starts speaking. “My father took us on a tour through the New City, told us the whole story along the way, bit by unbelievable bit. He didn’t hold anything back, probably because he didn’t realize how negatively my mom and I would take it. I’m not making excuses for Killen, but he was younger, more in awe of what my father had accomplished than anything else.

“Well, my mother just took it all in, not visibly reacting, just listening to every word, capturing every sight with her eyes. I took my cues from her, staying mostly silent and trying not to miss anything. When the tour finished, and it was time to go back into the pod and down to the Sun Realm, my mother refused. She said she wasn’t done taking mental notes so she could accurately share what she’d seen with the world.”

“She was a strong woman,” I say, immediately thinking of the risks and sacrifices my own mother has made.

“She was. But not strong enough. My father was livid. What he did to her on the way up in the pod was nothing to what he did now. He punched her in the face, breaking her nose and blackening her eye. When she fell to her knees, he kicked her in the ribs repeatedly, until she collapsed from pain and exhaustion. I tried to stop it, but he was stronger than ten men, such was the intensity of his rage, and he threw me across the room like a jewelry box. I broke my wrist and couldn’t walk for a week. My mom couldn’t get out of bed for a month.”

“He’s the Devil,” Tawni says, her voice a whisper, almost reverent.

“Not far from it,” Tristan says, his eyes dark and brooding. So much of the pain he’s hidden from me is in this story, it takes me by surprise. Because I’m a moon dweller and he’s a sun dweller, I’ve taken for granted that my life is harder than his, that, if anything, he owes me. In reality, however, neither of us owes each other anything. We’ve both had it bad. We’ve both felt pain and loss. We’ve both lived in a world where nothing felt right.

But something’s still missing.

“What else about your mother?” I ask, knowing this story is far from over.

Before I’m half-finished with the question, Tristan’s nostrils are flaring as he sucks in a breath. “She recovered, of course, eventually. When she did, she came to me. I’ll never forget what she said. ‘Tristan, your father is a bad man,’ she said. ‘We need to tell everyone about what he showed us. We’re in this together—you and me. You understand?’ I did understand and I told her. I promised her I would do whatever I could to tell the world the truth. ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Wait for what feels like the right time.’

“Then she got all misty-eyed, hugged me, and said, ‘I might not always be around, Tristan, but know I’m always with you, in here.’ She patted my chest, a tear dripping from her chin. ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to protect you the way I should have.’ I was crying, too, and I didn’t know why at the time. I mean, yeah, I loved my mom, but it’s not like she was going anywhere. I didn’t realize until she disappeared three days later that she was saying goodbye.” There’s moisture on Tristan’s face but he either doesn’t notice or isn’t bothered by it. My heart wells up for him, a dull ache in my chest that doesn’t sufficiently encompass the emotion of losing a mother. I give him my hand again, which I’ve so selfishly denied him as he’s told the hardest story he’s ever had to tell. When he grasps my fingers I shiver, because his hand is as cold as ice, almost blue.

Sad like him and sad like me.

Chapter Eighteen

Tristan

Adele doesn’t hate me for keeping the truth from her. Or at least she’s decided to support me until a time when I’m not a mess anymore, perhaps for the good of the mission. Even Trevor’s backed off with his smartass remarks, although I suspect it will be a short reprieve.

I know they all have a zillion more questions, at least half of which I won’t be able to answer, but we all seem to realize that they aren’t really important right now, not when we have a president to kill. So we leave the tunnel rest stop to begin the last stage of our journey, a brief and uninterrupted walk into the capital.

Although my heart is heavy because of the dark truths, both about my father and about my mom, that I’ve dropped like a dead weight on my friends, my mind is lightened, like a ball and a chain (and maybe a wall or two) have been removed from my skull, opening my mind to a whole new world, one without secrets and lies and inequality. We’re not there yet, but I feel like we’re making progress, without even having accomplished anything yet.

I sense a renewed determination in all of us. Perhaps it was just resting for a few minutes, or the group understanding that we all now have. Or maybe it’s just because we’re all sick and tired of being held under the foot of a tyrant. Whatever the case, we all want the same thing, and we’ll do whatever it takes to get there.

When we enter the capital, subchapter one of the Sun Realm, a place I called home for most of my life, a strange thrill zips through the very marrow of my bones. If nothing else, the city is beautiful, a notch or two above even the finest sun dweller cities. The simulated sunset is nearly complete, and the artificial sun is glowing red, a fiery ball above the buildings and parks. The automatic streetlights are blinking on, one by one, preventing any semblance of gloom from ever infiltrating my father’s kingdom.

Without talking about it, we stop as a unit to watch the red sun darken, until, a few minutes later, it goes dark completely, disappearing on the roof of the cavern. Instantly, the rocky firmament springs back to life, as hundreds of blinking stars and a glowing moon appear, casting nighttime light across the subchapter.

I glance at Adele, whose head is craned toward the ceiling, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds under the shine of the artificial stars. Her lips are parted slightly, an air of wonder in her expression, her skin porcelain, her hair a silk curtain. She’s looking at a beautiful sight and I’m looking at her—another beautiful sight.

“It’s wonderful,” she says softly and almost mournfully, which surprises me until her next words. “But I bet it’s nothing compared to the real moon and stars.”

As I cock my head to gaze at the artificial moon I grew up with, I realize that in that simple statement is an important truth: no matter what we try to recreate down here, none of it will ever be as good as what’s up there, on Earth. And that’s crucial to understanding the magnitude of the responsibility on our shoulders. Not only must we remove my father from his position of power, but we must take the Tri-Realms on a journey, both in their way of thinking and also in where they live, to give them back their humanity. This is our solemn duty.

“Am I right?” Adele says, turning her head toward me.

“About what?” I ask, not remembering her having asked me a question.

“About the moon. The real one is better, right?”

“Oh. That. I honestly don’t know. When we left it was still sunny. But considering how much better the real sun was, I’d guess you’re probably right—the real moon is way better.”

“I want to see it,” she says. “Tawni and I are moon dwellers and we’ve never even seen the moon. It’s weird.” This is a side to Adele I’ve never really seen. She’s almost reflective, the way she’s looking at me with those intelligent eyes, like there’s a poem on her lips and a song in her heart. It’s another part of her I want to understand better.

“Might be sooner than you think,” I say, wishing I could promise her what only my father has the power to authorize.

“You think?” she says, smirking, not buying the lie.

Night fully upon us, I lead the way into the city, feeling at home and like an outsider all at the same time. I keep my hat and sunglasses on, as I’m more likely to be recognized in this place than any other. The people here love my father and anything that belongs to him, which, from their point of view, includes me. Both my father and the people are in for a surprise.

The streets are crowded, the day’s Sun Festival events concluded, the night’s festivities yet to begin. This in-between period is the perfect time for us to make our move, when people are buzzing with excitement and the effects of whatever liquids they’ve consumed during the day. It will also mean my father has finished with his normal Sun Festival duties and is back at the palace getting ready for the typical presidential party that he throws on this day every year. Except this year is different, because he’s also trying to fight a war, so he’ll be with his advisors, getting the latest news, making decisions on what moon dweller subchapters to bomb, which innocent civilians to murder in cold blood.

I can’t think of a better time for us to go say hello.

We melt into the flow of traffic, just another group of sun dwellers out for a night of fun, oblivious to the death being dealt by my father’s troops below. Up here, death is something that happens to old people, after living a long and enjoyable life, not something in the present, in the here and now.

After ten minutes we’re still on the outskirts of the massive capital city, moving shoulder to shoulder with the other citizens, who are taking their time, clapping and singing and moving lazily forward like they have all night to get from one block to the next. Which, of course, they do. But we’re on a much tighter schedule, one that can’t wait for anything or anyone.

Leading the way, I hang a right, from busy street to busier street, in the hopes of finding a deserted alley we can use to cut across the city. Unfortunately it’s just another sea of people, brightly dressed, moving in all different directions as if they all want to get to a different place at the same exact time. Crap.

“Turn around,” I say to Adele, who’s right on my tail.

“To where?” she says, looking at me like I’m crazy, which I probably am.

“I don’t know. Back, I guess.”

“Tristan, there’s nowhere to go. This place is a madhouse.”

I know she’s right, but we can’t exactly stand where we are and hope my father dies of a heart attack from having too much fun at the party. Although I do remember hoping for something very similar at last year’s Sun Festival party when, in my mother’s absence, my father was dancing with two of his bleach-blond personal aides.

“Need some help?” Roc says, bobbing up next to Adele at just the right time, as usual. How does he do that?

“We need to get some breathing space,” I say.

“Follow me,” he says, turning directly into the bulk of the crowd.

“Follow you wher—”

“Urgent message for the President!” Roc shouts, his voice booming even over the dull roar of the masses. Dozens of heads turn toward us and I look at the ground, trying to keep the brim of my hat over the majority of my face. And then Roc’s moving forward, a path opening miraculously before him, like a zipper being unzipped.

Luckily, I have enough sense to stay with him as he moves through the temporary gateway, because the crowd continues to press all around me, as if it cannot possibly leave such a gap open for more than a few seconds. Every five or six steps Roc repeats his message, sometimes prefacing it with “Make way, make way! On order from the president!” He really is amazing sometimes.

On Roc’s efforts alone, we swiftly travel another block and across the street, where Roc ducks into a dark alley between the buildings. At most, a shred of light from the streetlamps manages to penetrate the narrow passage, but it’s just as well considering our need for stealth and privacy. There won’t be anyone walking in a place where it’s dark. Not in this, the city of everlasting light.

In the alley, we pass a shadowy Dumpster overflowing with trash. Evidently the garbage overload is affecting even the capital. I gawk at the garbage because it seems so out of place here, in a city that’s always been perfect and pristine, because my father wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s almost like a chink in a seemingly impenetrable suit of armor—the first sign that maybe, just maybe, the dark knight within isn’t so invincible after all.

As I’m taking hope from the thought, the garbage seems to rise up, levitating in the air, forming arms and legs and a head, like it’s becoming a trash man or woman, just to prove that even rubbish in the Sun Realm is powerful beyond the waste in the Lower Realms. The garbage creature speaks: “Tristan Nailin,” it says.

We’re already on high alert, so when the voice shatters the eerie silence in the alleyway, we all visibly jump, instinctively drawing our weapons from where they’re hidden beneath our sun-dweller-worthy clothing. I don’t know if a being constructed of trash can be destroyed by a sword alone, or whether it will simply laugh from the mouth of a tin can as it reconstructs itself with old broom handles, food cartons, and rusty bike frames, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

“Whoa! Hold on there. No need for those,” the thing says. “We’re on your side.”

As if by magic, another two garbage creatures form up on either side of the original.

“What the hell is going on?” Trevor says. “I’ve never been to the Sun Realm, so maybe this is a normal, everyday occurrence, but come on!”

“It’s not normal,” Roc says.

“Who are you?” I say, squinting through the gloom.

“Oh, right, the disguises,” the voice says. A garbage-soiled arm lifts a smelly hand to a waste-covered head, and then lifts the scalp of the thing, as if it’s removing its skin from the top. Like a cloak, the garbage peels away, revealing a young man of perhaps twenty with dark hair, dark skin, and even darker eyes standing before us.

“My name is Bren,” the guy says. “My companions are Linus and Sinew.” The two garbage people on either side of Bren do a similar trash-cloak-removing trick to show who they truly are: a girl of no more than sixteen with a light-brown complexion and hair so dark it blends in with the night, barely visible in a bob knotted tightly on the top of her smallish head; and an even younger boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen, with wide light-brown eyes that stand out against his darker skin.

“Bren?” Roc says. I glance at my friend, who wears an expression I’ve rarely seen on his face: one of surprise, of shock, an incredulous expression that shows he both knows these people and knows them well.

“Roc—is that you?” Bren says, using the overflowing garbage as a ramp to step off of the Dumpster.

“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing in a Dumpster?”

“Why are you wearing the garb of a sun dweller?” Bren asks. “I thought you joined the Resistance.”

The two guys stand in front of each other, just staring for a long second, before grabbing each other in a firm, back-slapping embrace.

“How are you, man?” Roc says.

“Been better. Never thought I’d see you again. You remember my brother Linus and sister Sinew, right?” The two no-longer-garbage people raise a hand in greeting, but don’t move from their roost on the edge of the Dumpster.

“Of course,” Roc says. “Good to see the whole family is spending quality time together playing in the garbage.”

Bren laughs. “It’s a disguise.”

“Who are you hiding from?” Adele says, bringing everyone’s eyes to her.

“This is Adele,” Roc says. “And my girlfr—I mean, her friend Tawni.” He’s suddenly very interested in something on his shoe.

“I know who they are,” Bren says. “We’ve followed their journey quite closely, although always with a grain of salt—you know how much propaganda is on the news these days.”

“And I’m Trevor,” Trevor says, interjecting himself into the conversation. “This is all interesting, but we don’t really have time for chitchat. Can we cut to the chase here?”

Bren laughs again. “Your other friend is right, Roc. We mustn’t tarry; too much is at stake on this night of frivolity. Let me explain as succinctly as possible. I am also a servant, like Roc once was, working for a key sun dweller vice president who I will not name. My brother and sister also work in the same household, as aides to the master’s children.”

I raise my eyebrows, a question on my lips.

“I met Bren at a party many years ago hosted by your father,” Roc says to me, reading my mind, as usual. He doesn’t mention that my father is his father, too. “There’s a sort of society of sun dweller servants. We meet in secret when we’re running errands for our masters, share news and information, that sort of thing. You could say we’re linked by time and circumstance.”

“What you did not know, Roc,” Bren says, his eyes narrowing, “is that I was part of a faction within the servant society, one with a singular goal of helping to overthrow the government and bringing balance back to the Tri-Realms.” There’s a tremor in his voice as he speaks, not one of fear, but of pride, as if his passion for the cause is trying to get out in any way it can. The coldness of gooseflesh rises up on my arms.

“But why…?” Roc says, a question in his tone and in his eyes. He doesn’t finish the question, but Bren seems to discern the rest.

“I didn’t know to whom your or Tristan’s loyalties were,” Bren says. “You were on a shortlist of potential new inductees into our group, but then you ran away from the Sun Realm. That’s when we knew for sure you were one of us.”

“So you’re hiding in the trash as part of your work for this clandestine radical group?” Adele guesses.

“Oh no, we are not radicals,” Bren says. “We are revolutionaries. But yes, we seek to escape this place to join the Resistance below. If others are fighting, then we too shall fight. This Dumpster is a meeting place. The others shall join us soon. Then we make our way to the Moon Realm.”

Bren has a funny way of speaking, almost proper-sounding, not like Adele’s sister, Elsey, who tends to overdramatize things, but very formal and serious, as if the fate of the world depends on his diction and word choice. But regardless of the manner in which he conveys his message, his words are pure. This is a guy who wants to do the right thing. He’s one of us.

“Can you help us?” I ask, not really realizing the trust I’m putting in the servant until the words escape my lips.

“We cannot linger here much longer, as even now I fear the war is slipping away below us. But we will do what we can.”

“All we need is safe passage to the palace—I mean, the presidential complex. Can you show us the best way?”

“Ah, now that is truly a simple request. We’ll have you there within the hour. But then we must be off to join the forces below, for we will not sit idly by while the fate of the world rests on a knife’s edge.”

What Bren doesn’t know is that we’re the ones holding the knife.

Chapter Nineteen

Adele

I’m glad to be off the streets again.

Meeting Bren will either be the greatest stroke of luck to grace our mission thus far, or the coincidence that leads to our demise. Being a servant, he is one I’d certainly trust over anyone else up here. In any case, we’ve decided to follow him through the underground sewer system below the city, a dark, dank, and somber place that reminds me more of home than anything I’ve seen in the Sun Realm thus far.

We walk along the edge of the cylindrical concrete shaft that we find ourselves in, avoiding getting our feet wet sloshing through the thin stream of water that runs down the center. Tawni’s heels are off again, this time for good. Before discarding them in the water, I overheard her say, “I’ll miss you, pretty shoes,” which I don’t understand at all, and probably never will.

Bren has a flashlight, which saves us from using ours. As he walks abreast with his still-silent brother and sister, he explains the situation as he knows it. “I have information from a reliable source that the sun dwellers launched a coordinated attack last night on every major moon dweller border. They started with heavy bombing, which was then followed by large contingents of soldiers moving in to take control of each subchapter. The moon dwellers had little chance of stopping them.”

I can’t breathe, the thick oxygen sticking in my throat like glue. I stop, wheezing, my elbows dropping to my knees.

“Adele, what’s the matter?” Tristan says. His hand gently touches my back.

“What subchapters?” I choke out.

“I do not know,” Bren says. “But I do know subchapter one was hit the hardest.”

My legs start shaking and my vision blurs. Unable to hold up my weight any longer, I roll to the side, my shoulder thudding off the unforgiving concrete. My cheek scrapes against the rough surface, but I don’t care. No mark on my face could be as bad as what I’ve just heard. “We’re too late,” I moan. “It’s over.”

Tristan’s face appears through my tears as he kneels over me. “There’s still hope,” he says. “If she survived there will be a trial. She’ll be sentenced to death, but we might be able to rescue her before that happens.”

“And if she didn’t survive?” I say, images of my mom’s battered face cycling through my mind in black and white.

“She did,” Tristan asserts, “but if she didn’t, you still have your sister to take care of. If we can finish our mission, it could still make a difference for anyone still alive, especially for the non-military.”

Elsey’s face appears, replacing my dead mother. She’s smiling as usual, despite the war and my dad dying and my mom maybe dying and me being on a potential suicide mission. Just seeing her face for a moment, even if only in my mind, lifts my spirits long enough for me to blink away the tears and allow Tristan to help me to my feet.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, unwilling to look any of my comrades in the face after my mini-meltdown. “I’m okay now.”

“Screw ’em,” Trevor says. “As long as we’re alive, they’ve got a fight on their hands.”

When I look up my friends are staring at me. Tristan’s brow is furrowed and worried. Tawni looks ready to throw her arms around me. Roc is, well, he’s Roc, solid and steady and reliable, his hand half-extended, as if ready to catch me if my legs fail again. And Trevor: his face is a scowl, an expression that represents the righteous anger inside him, an anger that will only help us finish this mission together. His face, more than any of the others, steels me the most. My knuckles tighten at my sides as a surge of fire runs through me.

“Let’s end this,” I say.

We continue our march through the sewer, and my legs feel the lightest they’ve felt since leaving the Moon Realm. I can almost feel my friends, my sister, my mother, even my father, holding me up, becoming a part of me, supporting me. We’re in this together, still alive, still whole, still hopeful.

What was a steely determination to kill the man who ordered the death of my father, the maiming of my baby sister, has turned into a fierce and burning desire for revenge. Not just for those who I know that have been harmed by the cruel dictator who sits on his throne deep in the capital, but for everyone whose lives have been negatively impacted by his evil ways. We can’t get to him fast enough for me. Every muscle and ligament and bone in my body is firing perfectly, working efficiently as a team, and I know that when we do meet him I’ll be unstoppable, the most powerful and deadly force that he’s ever seen.

And then I’ll kill him.

Unfortunately, another hour of tromping, head stooped, through the sewers, takes just a bit of the fight out of me. Mostly we’ve been silent, although every once and a while Trevor will say something to try to fire us up, but even he’s been quiet for the last ten minutes.

“How big is this city?” I finally ask, in frustration.

“Big,” Tristan says. “Bigger than you can possibly imagine. Think the biggest moon dweller city and then multiple that by a hundred.”

His explanation makes it even harder for me to imagine. How can one fathom the fathomless? Anyway, we’re not trying to get all the way across it, just to the center, so it can’t be that far, right?

Wrong.

Neck aching, legs burning, mouth dry, spirit shattered, I stop an hour later when Bren pulls up in front of us.

“We’ve got to be close,” Tristan says, making my head perk up a little. He knows the size of the city better than me.

“We are,” Bren says. “And this is where we must part ways. For our path takes us below, while I suspect yours takes you straight to your father.”

“Good to luck to you, Bren,” Tristan says, clasping the servant’s hand. “We are forever in your debt.”

“Succeed in whatever your mission is, and all debts shall be forgiven,” Bren returns. Then, turning to Roc, he says, “Brother, forgive me for not trusting in the purity of your heart sooner. I very much would have liked to stand beside you in this fight.”

“And you, my friend,” Roc says, once more embracing him. “Linus, Sinew—listen to your brother. He has good instincts.”

The silent siblings nod solemnly, before the threesome head in the other direction, beginning the long walk back to where they started, and then on a dangerous journey to the Moon Realm, or what’s left of it. Just before the head of Bren’s flashlight disappears in the dark, Tristan calls out, “Where do we go?”

“A hundred yards more and you’ll reach a ladder. That’ll get you close,” Bren shouts, his echoes fading into the distance along with him.

“When we get to the ladder we can rest and make plans,” Tristan says. No one can argue with that idea.

I’m still feeling the effects of our bent-over jaunt through the sewers, but somehow it doesn’t hurt so much now that I know the end is near. Evidently my companions feel the same way, as our pace is redoubled and we reach a dead end only a minute later.

“I’m ready for a nap,” Trevor says, sprawling out along the curving edge of the tube.

“You do that…while we kill the president,” Roc says.

It’s strange hearing Roc say something like that, especially when he now knows the President is his father.

“Ooh, I don’t want to miss that,” Trevor says. “I guess I can sleep later, maybe when I’m dead.”

“You’re not going to die,” I say, sitting down. “None of us are.” It’s the biggest lie I’ve told in my entire life, and, selfishly, I think I told it to comfort my own fears rather than anyone else’s.

“So what’s the plan?” Tawni asks, hugging her knees next to me.

“Bust in, kill anything that moves, shoot Tristan and Roc’s dad in the head,” Trevor says bluntly.

“Our father,” Tristan corrects.

“Yeah, him, too,” Trevor says.

“I think we might want to try a slightly stealthier approach,” I say. “That is, if we do want to live through this. And I do—I’ve got a sister to look after.” I glance at Tristan, who gives me a slight nod, which I return in thanks for the not-so-subtle reminder he gave me earlier. No matter how bad things get, there’s always someone who needs me as much as I need them.

“She’s right,” he says. “We need to split up.”

“No!” I say right away. “We said we would stick together. Apart we’ll be hanging bats. Dead meat.”

“Hear me out,” Tristan says. “Roc and I know the palace better than anyone, my father included. When we were kids we explored every nook and cranny. We know the best ways in, the fastest routes from point to point, and the safest ways out. If we each lead a team in a different direction with the goal of eventually reaching the same destination—in this case my father’s throne room—it doubles our chance of success.”

“If one group is captured, the other might still make it,” Roc adds. Evidently they’ve already discussed this without us, although I have no idea when. “If we’re caught together, it’s all over.”

I shut my eyes. Argh! I’m mad, but not because of their plan, or that they came up with it without us, but because they’re right. It’s the best, and most logical, way to improve our chances for success.

“Who goes with who?” I say, giving up the argument without a fight.

“We wanted to leave that up to the group,” Tristan says.

“At least you left something up to the group,” I grumble under my breath.

“I want Tawni with me,” Roc says right away.

“Bad idea,” Trevor says. “We can’t let personal feelings get in the way of the mission as a whole.”

“I agree,” I say. “Tristan and I will split up, and so should Tawni and Roc.”

“Wait a minute. I’m not sure that makes the most sense,” Tristan says, frowning. “Strategically it might make the most sense to have you and me together.”

“It doesn’t,” I say, wanting more than anything to relent, to go with him, to seal our fates together with this decision. But I can’t. Trevor’s right, for once.

“Trevor and Adele are right,” Tawni says, glancing at Roc. “I’m sorry, I want to go with you, but…”

Roc chews on his lip, turns to Tristan, who’s doing much the same thing. “Three against two,” I say. “Couples must be separated.” Again. It’s the third time I’ll be separated from Tristan since first seeing him. If history repeats itself, we’ll both face great dangers before we ever see each other again.

“I don’t agree,” Tristan says, “but I’ll go along with the group’s decision.”

“Don’t make me beg,” Roc says to Tawni.

“Roc, I’m sorry.”

“Rrrr, fine. Okay. I’ll go with whoever we decide.”

“Me and Tawni,” I suggest, reverting naturally to the combo that’s gotten me this far.

“No way,” Tristan says. “Tawni’s not a fighter. You need at least two fighters.”

“She’ll fight if she has to,” I argue, which draws a smile from Tawni. “She even practiced with Roc, remember?” I add.

“That’s not helping your argument,” Tristan says. “Roc’s got spirit but he’s not exactly a professional warrior.”

“Hey! I’ve saved your skin more than once already,” Roc complains.

“I’m not contending that. I’m just saying that one training session with you won’t put Tawni on even ground with a palace guard.”

“But she’ll have me,” I say. “No one will touch her on my watch.”