“Then come with me. Or I can knock you good with that rifle, make it look convincing—like I got a jump on you.”
“They’d just catch us again. And if you go alone, you’ll end up lost and dead of thirst.”
“You guys are the lost ones, heading east. There’s nothing east of West Tower.”
“That’s what I thought once too. Couldn’t be more wrong.” He stands and passes me the feeding pot. I accept it through the bars of the cage. I know I shouldn’t trust him, but curiosity gnaws at me.
“There’s settlements east of West Tower? In Burning Ground?”
He raises a brow in that knowing way he always had as a kid. Same look he gave me when I nagged him for not wearing his shirt that day.
“Where are we going, Asher? We were friends once. Please.”
Hurt glances his features. “We’re still friends.”
“Really? This is what friends do to each other?” I rattle the bars of the cage.
Asher searches for his buddies, and after confirming that they’re still out of earshot, he turns back to me.
“Beyond Burning Ground,” he says at a whisper. “We’re sidestepping it, aiming for a place called the Barrel. You’ll be out of there in a matter of days if you play it right, with a real chance of escape. Nothing like what I can offer you here. Let Bain and Cree get a payload from you, and get yourself moved to a new house. Servants have access to most parts of a home, especially the kitchen. Kitchens have knives. And you’ve always been good with a knife.” His face has that youthful look again, a sliver of the Asher I once knew. I wonder if this means his words are sincere. If everything else is an act. He’s a stranger, yet he’s not. I don’t know what to believe.
“I’m not staying in the Barrel long,” Asher goes on. “It was just for this last job, to pay off a debt to Bain, and then I’m leaving. But I’ll wait for you. We can head west together.”
Wait for me to murder whoever buys me, or to simply threaten my way free with a blade. Still, it sounds like a plan that has a chance of success. I’d rather run now, but Asher’s right. I don’t have the supplies to get anywhere safe.
“Say I manage all this and get myself free. How would I even find you?”
“The Vulture’s Roost. It’s a pub. I’ll stop in daily, at high noon.”
“What’s a pub?”
“A place that sells moonblitz and chow, but mostly moonblitz.”
Moonblitz was always at the bottom of our list for trading needs at Dead River. It could clean wounds fine and was a nice treat to sip on during a holiday, but it was never something we went out of our way to secure. To think there’s a place that sells it and that people actually trade valuables for the drink regularly sounds laughable.
Baby gurgles on the milk, drinking too quickly, and I pull the pot back to give her a chance to breathe. “Why are you helping me suddenly?”
“I was always helping you. At West Tower, the moment I knew it was you, I tried to help. And what I said earlier . . . It was only because Bain and Cree were listening.”
The quiet holds between us. His eyes gleam in the weak moonlight.
“They came for me at Dead River,” I blurt out.
Fear washes over him. “And you got away?”
“I was at Zuly’s.”
“The others?”
“Old Fang, Astra, and Cobel were murdered. They took the rest. You know where they took them, don’t you?”
He shakes his head and looks away—at the stars, the horizon, anything but me.
“Asher, where did they take them?”
“You can’t go there.”
“Who did it?” My voice cracks. “Who took them, and where are they going?”
“It’s a dead end. One way in, no way out. He controls everything. Let them go, Delta. Get sold in the Barrel, break loose, and find me at the Vulture’s Roost. I’m going to Powder Town. It’s the last free place in the wastes.”
“Let them go?” I stare at him, my stomach churning. The Asher I knew would never give that advice. “Just leave them? They’re my pack!”
“You don’t understand what it’s like there, Delta.”
“I would if you’d tell me!”
“You can’t do anything for them without damning yourself.”
There’s a muffle in the distance as Bain and Cree come into view. Asher steps away from the wagon.
“Ready to move?” Bain calls. Asher turns to me and holds out a hand, waiting for the now empty feeding pot. I feel like cracking it against the wagon, but I pass it through the bars. He might be trying to protect me, but all he’s doing is sending me forward blind and uninformed.
He slides a clean rag between the bars for Baby. “What’s her name?”
“Ba—” Suddenly I don’t want to admit that I haven’t named my own niece. “Bay,” I amend.
“And if she’s not yours . . .”
“Indie’s. She died during the birthing.”
He frowns, eyes cutting into me, and I feel like he’s saying something else in the silence that stretches between us, something I can’t hear.
The wagon lurches as Bain and Cree lean into the yoke, and Asher falls into step. He says nothing else, but steals a glance my way now and then. I burp Bay over my shoulder as we rock eastward, wishing I could hear all the things he refuses to speak.
* * *
At some point during the night we stop at a rocky outcropping that breaks from the earth like the bow of a sinking ship. The scrub surrounding it is barren, but the rocks provide a bit of shelter from the cold. There are signs of a camp: dark soot from an old fire, a canopy made of threadbare cotton supported by driftwood poles. They’ve stopped here before.
Bain gets a flame going in the empty fire pit. Cree throws meat on, pulled from a trap that was set somewhere nearby. My stomach growls viciously as they dig in. My gear gets raided, too, and the jerky I intended to eat over two days is gone within minutes.
“You can have a bite for a kiss,” Bain calls when he catches me watching.
“Scud off,” I answer.
“Aw, come on. Just a single kiss before you’re out of my world forever.” He smiles, running his tongue over his teeth.
“Leave her be,” Asher says.
“Old flame still flickering?” Bain elbows Asher with a wicked grin. “Yeah, I heard you guys talking. Childhood friends of some sort, maybe more. Well, we share everything in this crew.”
Asher lurches to his feet, putting himself between the fire pit and the wagon. Bain and Cree are both bulkier than he is, a few years older too, but his shoulders are squared—like he thinks he stands a chance.
Bain buckles over, laughing. Cree grins around a mouthful of squab.
“Messing around with the catch will just make her look like damaged goods,” Asher says.
“You ain’t never cared how much our catch fetched before this one,” Cree says, squinting at Asher.
“Well, this is the first girl,” Asher says, as if this makes his aiding in selling people more palatable.
“Still,” Cree goes on. “Why you care so much about this one? What’s she to you?”