The Gender War Read online

I shook my head. “We know they’re tapping the guards’ radios. If they have the news, then the Matrians will have it too. The only safe form of communication is through the special handhelds that our colleague Thomas modified. They… well… they can’t be intercepted. And before you ask, we can’t send one to your guards, because it can and will be detected. Your guards will lead them right here.”

  Maxen fell silent.

  “There’s more on this ticker,” Viggo said wearily. “Want to hear it, or are you just going to argue with everything?”

  The king frowned, but managed, “Well, since I can’t very well leave...”

  Viggo read, “‘The king’s chancellor, Dobin, has been in discussions with officials from the Matrian palace since early this morning. As Matrus has offered to send supplies, disaster relief workers, and wardens to help keep the peace, Dobin has also accepted the Matrians’ help concerning the successor to the throne of Patrus. There are rumors that one of the Matrian princesses is even involved.’”

  As I blinked, wondering why the name Dobin rang a bell, the king banged his fist against the table again. “Dobin,” he said. “He won’t let those Matrians trample all over him.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure…” I interjected, because suddenly I remembered where I’d heard that name before. “Dobin visited Desmond when I was in the facility in The Green. I remember because everybody was excited that such a powerful man would be visiting.” I also remembered the hard, unsettling look the man had given me as I’d gone in to have my own meeting with Desmond, and the memory didn’t make the situation we faced look any better.

  The king stared at me, his eyes bulging. Viggo had explained to him, or attempted to explain, the longer story of how he’d found me, and the facility in The Green, then how we’d stopped the bombing in Matrus. But I had no idea how much the king believed. Maybe none of it.

  “Surely you’re remembering wrong,” the king said.

  “No. It was him. I’m sure of it.”

  “What were they talking about?” the king demanded.

  “I wasn’t there… I didn’t hear what they talked about,” I admitted. “But if Desmond has him in her web, you can bet it’s not going to end well. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he have told you about the secret facility in The Green where a bunch of rebels are waiting to tear down the government?”

  At that point Ms. Dale came through the door with a faint smile on her lips, and accepted the ticker tape Viggo wordlessly held up. As her eyes moved slowly across the paper, her face turned grim.

  “I can’t believe this,” the king exploded, standing up, his handcuffs clinking. “I will not sit here and be blackmailed while my country is being run by traitors and attacked by terrorists! I need to get out there so I can lead the people in this war.”

  “The war is over,” Ms. Dale said coldly, dropping the tape on the floor. “You lost. The Matrians are controlling the media, and they’re already moving into your government. And your people are so terrified, they’ll believe the first thing they hear. If you want to stay alive, then you need to stay with us. We’re your best chance at surviving and mounting a rebellion.”

  Maxen whirled, taking in Ms. Dale. “And what use are a bunch of females in war? Especially two Matrian females who are ill-educated and poorly behaved?”

  There was a bright chuckle from the doorway, and I turned to see Henrik leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, staring at the king with humor in his eyes.

  “I apologize,” he said in a mirth-rich voice. “I’m just appreciating the irony of this—your country is being led around by its nose by Matrian females, and yet your best chance is… also with Matrian females. Am I the only one amused by this?”

  Nobody answered; nobody had to, as the blood drained out of Maxen’s face. He gaped, first at Ms. Dale, who stared icily at him, and then at me—I couldn’t help but give him a little wave. Henrik came up behind him, laying a heavy hand on the king’s shoulder and forcing him to sit back down as he took in the reality of his situation.

  “I suggest you treat these women with utmost respect,” Henrik said, and Maxen flinched as Henrik tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Because they’re some of the best strategists we have, they know the enemy far better than you, and last, but not least, they’re the only ones here, trying to help.”

  “You might also want to consider improving the conditions for women in your country after this,” Viggo added. “After all, it’ll be hard to find a leg to stand on even if we’re able to get you out of this mess. And believe me, the women of Patrus will not forget.”

  The king’s face grew more horrified, and I had to laugh at the image of two Patrian men fighting for women’s rights with their king. Granted, it was clear that Henrik and Viggo no longer felt included as a part of Patrian society, but even so, they were schooling the king admirably.

  I was just glad I got to be there to witness it. And, judging by the warm, appreciative look Ms. Dale shot at Henrik, so was she.

  14

  Viggo

  I was tired of arguing with Maxen. The man was intractable. Gone was the charismatic and intelligent persona he liked to put out to the world. In its place was a man who simply couldn’t grasp the severity of the situation he was in.

  The king was still flabbergasted from what Henrik and I had said to him, so I jumped on it. Slapping a blank piece of paper down on the table in front of him, I slid a pen toward his hand and crossed my arms. “The pardon,” I said pointedly.

  Maxen’s eyes drifted down to the paper, his expression still a bit dazed. He licked his lips and glanced at me, then back down at the paper, seemingly overwhelmed by his own indecision. I wasn’t about to let him argue more.

  “The pardon,” I pressed. “Or we leave you here to rot. It won’t be long until our enemies learn of this location, and I plan for us to be long gone when they get here. Whether or not you’ll be with us is completely up to you.”

  Maxen stared at me, and then reluctantly picked up the pen. “What, ah, should it say?” he asked after a moment.

  Ms. Dale moved up next to him and began coaching him. I had to roll my eyes and tune it out—it was annoying to think that the king had never once written a pardon. Perhaps it was just easier for him not to, but I didn’t care. No system was worth defending if it didn’t bend for its people.

  No system was worth defending if it would allow innocent women to swing for defending themselves.

  Yet here I was, working to save a man who embodied every aspect of it. It felt unconscionable. It felt wrong. Why did doing the right thing feel the same as making a terrible mistake?

  I looked over at Violet, feeling a heavy ache in my heart. We still hadn’t talked about my proposal. Which wasn’t her fault—the situation wasn’t exactly welcoming. When we’d been alone together in the cab of the truck, she’d practically passed out on my shoulder, and I hadn’t wanted to press her. It had just been comforting to have her there next to me as I drove exhaustedly through the night. But who knew when we would have a chance to talk about it in the future? I could only imagine we were going to be on the run for the next few days. In all probability, it would be longer.

  Yet there were things we needed to do beforehand.

  I stood up abruptly, attracting surprised attention from everyone in the room. “I’m going to the shed,” I announced. “Check to see if there are any supplies we might need before we go.” I focused on Ms. Dale. “You got him?”

  She nodded and turned back to the king, who was beginning to look like he had swallowed something bitter. I couldn’t even summon up the good humor to have a laugh at that, so I just left, heading toward the small shed.

  The key was under a nearby rock—it wasn’t the most secure place to leave it, but few people bothered coming up my track. The key was there when I picked up the rock, and I quickly slipped it into the padlock and pulled the door open.

  The first thing I zeroed in on was the tarp covering my motorcycle. I pulled it back, smiling a
s the familiar gleaming black and chrome lines came into sight. I ran my hands across the soft leather seats in reverence as I walked past it, heading to my workbench. When I’d left to find Violet, when I’d still had the king’s guarantee of funding whatever supplies I needed to track her down, I’d used his orders to instruct one of the wardens I distrusted least to take the bike back here after I left with Alejandro. It might have been a selfish impulse and a waste of the king’s money—but I was glad of it now.

  I had also told him to hide the keys to the bike in one of a group of mason jars screwed to the underside of a shelving unit. They were filled with little odds and ends—scraps of metal and loose screws and bolts—all neatly organized so I could find them more easily. Unscrewing one after another, I found it in the third jar from the right on the back row, sifting through the nails and other items until the keyring emerged. At least one thing in my life had gone just as I had planned it.

  I carried it back over to my bike and straddled the seat, inserting the key into the ignition. I held my breath for a moment and then hit the starter button with my thumb.

  It turned over easily, as if I had never left, the low roar soothing in its familiarity.

  “It still works?” came Violet’s voice, barely audible over the sound of the engine.

  I turned around and saw her standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with one arm crossed over her chest.

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded, a little smile playing on her lips. “I’m glad.”

  I shut the engine off and leaned against the bike, turning to face her. “What’s up?” I asked.

  Her face grew concerned. “I’m sorry. Did you want to be out here alone? I just… It seemed like you wanted to talk.”

  I recoiled for a moment, trying to process why she would think that, when it occurred to me that I had indeed left the cabin rather abruptly. I shook my head.

  “No,” I chuckled. “I was just frustrated by the situation with Maxen… and dealing with a moral dilemma. But I’d love to talk to you.”

  She smiled then and crossed over to the bike, carefully leaning against it and studying me. “What’s the moral dilemma?”

  I nodded toward the cabin. “Maxen. I just… I wonder what good will really come from this. I mean, suppose we help him raise an army and take back the capital. He’s someone who’s never going to change things. He’s still treating you and Ms. Dale like crap, and you are doing everything in your power to save him.”

  “It wasn’t until you and Henrik said anything that he even started to consider it,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “But he is who he is,” Violet went on. “We are who we are. I don’t think we should try to stop doing the right thing just because he’s an unmitigated ass. That would be something he would do, if he even bothered to help someone in the first place… We’re different.”

  “Better?” I asked, genuinely curious about her take on it.

  Violet shrugged. “I can’t say we’re better or worse—I mean, who am I to judge? I’ve done some horrible things to stay alive. Things that I can’t take back, even if I wanted to.” Her face darkened for a moment. “Maxen’s never had to face what we have, so how can we hold him up to our level, or even compare him to ourselves?”

  I blinked. I had honestly never looked at it like that. “You never cease to amaze me,” I said. “Even in the face of an ‘unmitigated ass’, you still defend him. Does that extend to Elena, Desmond, or Tabitha, I wonder?”

  “Oh no—they’re evil,” she deadpanned, and I laughed. “But, in all seriousness,” she continued, “I honestly can’t tell you that. Don’t get me wrong—if it came to me against them in a life or death situation, I would not hesitate to fight back or kill one—if not all—of them. But… if we managed to capture them, or they surrendered, then I think I would let their people decide what to do with them.”

  I nodded, realizing I felt the same way. “All right then, I guess I can cut Maxen some slack. But that guy is an utter tool.”

  “Agreed,” she said drolly, and I smiled at her. It was great to see her unguarded like this—not holding a gun, not running, not half-asleep, or… or bleeding. God.

  I realized I’d stopped talking and started staring when she leaned next to me, her body touching mine at hip and shoulder, her gray eyes warm.

  “I loved riding on this,” she said, and I smiled, drawn back into the memory of her small hands clinging to me as we’d ridden through the streets of Patrus more times than I could count. Each time she had touched me then, I had been forced to remind myself that she was married to another, to keep my forbidden attraction to her to myself.

  I could still barely believe my luck that her marriage was a sham and her false husband dead. That she really did want… me. That all those desires I’d thought I would have to bury forever were within my grasp. That I had a chance to start over. To have her as my own.

  I’d trailed off again. “Viggo?” Violet asked. “What are you thinking about?”

  I responded without even blinking an eye. “I’m thinking about how much I always wanted to do this.”

  Then I slid my hands around her waist, pulling her around to face me, enjoying the little gasp that escaped her before I pressed my lips against hers. I felt her smile against my mouth, her left hand moving up to press against my chest. Her lips opened to me and I delved deeper in, forgetting the world around us, getting lost in her.

  Violet.

  Without conscious thought, my hands pulled her closer to me, moving slowly up and down her body, enjoying her curves, the way she arched toward me, her small body pressed between my legs. A part of me wanted to pick her up and press her against a wall, but even through the rush of our two heartbeats accelerating, I knew I had to be careful. She was worn out, injured, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I gave in to my urge to be rough and set off her injury in the process.

  Violet took my lower lip in hers, nipping and teasing me, and I had to tamp down my resistance even harder. Her touch was making me feel better than I had in a long time. Energized. Powerful. And it was making me want more of her.

  My slipping control wasn’t tested any further, because a knock at the door and a conscientious throat-clearing interrupted us. Violet and I parted lips regretfully, and she turned to face the door, though I kept my arm around her waist as I shouted, “Come in!” I refused to be embarrassed about touching my girlfriend in front of people. She was mine, and they would just have to deal with it.

  The shed door opened all the way to reveal Ms. Dale and Henrik—Henrik’s expression openly amused, Ms. Dale barely managing not to smirk.

  “How’s it going?” she asked casually, and I shrugged, trying to remember what I’d come out here for. I felt great—for the moment—but the supply hunt wasn’t going well, that was for sure.

  “Well enough,” I responded. “We were just about to start looking for some of my old camping gear. It might be useful if we have to hide out.”

  Ms. Dale nodded and held out a piece of paper to me—the pardon. I grabbed it, reluctantly coming back to the real world as I scanned Maxen’s tight writing. It was everything I had asked for, signed and dated, with Henrik acting as a witness. I folded it up and tucked it into my pocket, surveying the group of people who had gathered outside. I decided it was the right time to ask a strategy question.

  We’d made everybody else check each other for trackers similar to mine during the drive back to the house last night. There was no way that I was letting Desmond, Elena, or anyone have their damned technology anywhere near my property. But there had been no traces of them on anyone but me. The wound on my back twinged at the memory.

  “Can either of you,” I asked Henrik and Ms. Dale, “tell me how Desmond managed to place a tracker on me while I was in the castle? And why it was only on me? Why not on Violet? Or… you?” I nodded at Ms. Dale.

  I remembered how our drive away from the Matrian palace had felt too easy
. Of course, the subsequent near-death-by-drowning had driven that notion from my head, but it had surfaced again the moment Amber’s group had commenced their attack on the king. Had Desmond just been toying with us? Had the heloship sent to hinder our escape just been filled with expendable tools, just used to help us feel like we had real foes to fight, so that her agents could tail us to Maxen’s location? But in that case, why try to drown us in the river?

  Henrik and Ms. Dale, each a former agent of the groups to which we were now opposed, considered the question.

  “I can’t tell you how she got it there, but I do know that the tracker on you was our backup option for finding the king,” Henrik said musingly. “We were waiting on intel from a palace insider for the king’s location until he deviated from his schedule to meet you at the hideout in the tunnel. Then we got new instructions and were able to lock onto the signal from your tracker. We had to wait until you’d reached the tunnel to move in, however, because we had to leave our tech behind when we went in…”

  I digested this information. “So she’d already had a plan to get to the king…” That was, in a way, almost a relief.

  “Palace insider?” Violet asked.

  “We weren’t given the name,” Henrik said, “so this is mostly speculation. But I would bet on it being Chancellor Dobin.”

  “That guy again,” Violet said, her face serious. We all remembered Dobin’s visit to The Green, especially since Violet had just educated Maxen about it earlier. That piece of the puzzle fit almost too well. “I wonder why he’s doing it,” I murmured. But no one seemed to have an answer to that.

  Ms. Dale spoke up, however. “I may have the answer to why the tracker was on you, Viggo,” she said. “At one time when I was working at the palace, it was standard practice to place tracker beads on all males who were caught for committing crimes, even for being suspected of committing crimes, in Matrus. I believe the practice was discontinued for those who were only suspects—but I’m pretty certain it would have been reinstated after the murders of Queen Rina and Alastair Jenks.”