Rogue. Julie KagawaЧитать онлайн книгу.
closer than it actually had been. But he did describe me as a young white male with dark hair, dressed all in black, and the police were on the lookout for anyone matching that description. They wouldn’t find me, of course. I didn’t exist in their systems; as far as the humans could tell, I was a ghost. By the time the authorities even got close to this hotel, I’d be on the other side of the country. Back to the war they couldn’t see.
Back to Talon.
I ground my teeth, tempted to hurl the phone at the wall, or maybe the television so that I wouldn’t have to see the aftermath of what I’d caused. Dammit. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it was the first time Talon had outright lied to me. Before, there had been suspicious happenstance, crossed communications, orders that could’ve been misinterpreted or reasoned away. Not this time. Talon had assured me that building was clear; I would have never pressed that button if it wasn’t.
And they knew it, too.
Sickened, I switched off the TV and flopped back on the bed, dragging my hands down my face. What now? How could I go on like this, knowing Talon would lie, that they would use me and more innocent people would get caught in the cross fire?
I could hear my trainer’s thin, high voice echoing in my head, mocking me. There is no such thing as an “innocent casualty,” agent, it said. This is a war, and people will die. That is the ugly truth of it. A few human deaths should not concern you.
But they did. A lot. Maybe I was the exception; maybe no other dragon in Talon cared if a few janitors were killed because they had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I did. And now more people were dead because of me.
My phone vibrated beside me on the quilt. Sitting up, I grabbed it as the screen came to life, showing a new message.
Stop moping, it read, indicating no one but my trainer, the Chief Basilisk himself. Brusque and to the point as always, but somehow finding ways to insult me. A car will be at your location in five minutes. You have a new assignment.
Another mission? So soon? Dammit, I had just barely completed this one, and I was tired. More than tired. Sickened. Numb. Furious. Both with myself and with Talon. I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to lock myself in a room and drink an insane amount of alcohol, until the scene on the news faded out of my mind. I’d be equally happy to stalk into an office and ream someone out, possibly with fire and a lot of cuss words. The last thing I wanted was to be called back for another assignment.
But what else could I do?
Methodically, I rose and began packing my things. Talon’s word was law; the opinions of a juvenile Basilisk agent didn’t concern them. They would send me out on another mission, and they would continue to do so, regardless of what I wanted. But I had the ominous, sneaking suspicion that I was reaching the limit of how far I could be pushed, used, lied to. One word hovered at the back of my mind, constant and terrifying, appearing in my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to shove it back.
Rogue.
Six hours till dawn.
I lay on my cot with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling of my cell, watching the cracks blur and run together. Around me, the jail block was dark, quiet. The only light came from beneath the door to the guard station at the end of the hall, and I was the only prisoner in the room. I’d been given my last meal hours ago—rations and water, as the Order didn’t believe in final requests—and it had been delivered by a cold-faced soldier who had spit “dragonlover” at me before tossing it to the floor. Where it still lay, untouched, near the front of the cell.
Six hours till dawn. Six hours before my cell door would open, and a pair of soldiers would step through, announcing that it was time. I’d be handcuffed, escorted across the training field and taken to the long brick wall facing the rising sun. There would be witnesses, of course. The Perfect Soldier was about to be executed for treason; there would probably be a crowd. Perhaps the entire base would turn out. I wondered if Tristan would be there, and Lieutenant Martin. I didn’t know if they would come; truthfully, I wasn’t certain I wanted them to witness my final moments, as a traitor to the Order. There would be a line of soldiers standing in front of that wall, six of them, all with loaded rifles. I would be taken before them, offered a blindfold, which I would refuse, and then I’d be left standing there alone, facing them all. The countdown would begin.
Ready…
Aim…
Fire!
I shivered, unable to stop myself. I wasn’t afraid to die; I’d prepared myself for death many times before. In the field, before a strike on a nest, or facing down a single dragon—we all knew that, at any moment, we could be killed. Soldiers died; it was a fact of life, one you couldn’t predict or avoid. There was no tactical reason the soldier standing just inches away would take a bullet to the temple and I would be spared. I was alive because I was good at what I did, but sometimes I’d just gotten lucky.
But there was a distinction between cheating death and knowing the exact time it would come for you, down to the last second. And there was a difference between dying in battle and standing there with your hands behind your back, waiting for your former brothers in arms—the very soldiers you had fought with, bled with—to kill you.
Five and a half hours till dawn.
I didn’t regret my choice. I’d meant every word I said in the courtroom. And if it came down to it again, and I stood on that beach with the dragon I was sent to kill, knowing that if I let her go I would die instead… I would still choose to save her.
But I had betrayed my Order, and everything I knew, to side with the enemy. I’d seen fellow soldiers die in front of me, torn apart by claws or blasted with dragonfire. I’d watched squad mates throw themselves in front of bullets or charge into the fray alone, just to give the rest of us an advantage. I knew I deserved death. I’d turned my back on the Order that raised me, the brothers who had died for the cause, to save our greatest foes. I knew I should feel remorse, crushing guilt, for family I’d betrayed.
But lying on my cot, mere hours from my own execution, all I could think of was her. Where was she now? What was she doing? Did she think of me at all, or had I been long forgotten in the flight from Crescent Beach with the rest of her kind? Surely there’d be no reason for a soldier of St. George to cross her mind; she was free, she was with her own, and I was part of the Order. I was still the enemy of her people. Though it made me sick to think of it now, the number that had died by my hand. Ember should hate me. I deserved nothing less.
But I still hoped she thought of me sometimes. And as the minutes of my life continued to slip away, I found myself thinking more and more of the moments we’d shared. Wondering what would’ve happened…had we both been normal. I knew that wishing was wasted energy, and regret changed nothing, but for perhaps the first time in my life, I wished we’d had more time. If I’d known what would happen, I would have spent every moment I could with her. I would have done a lot of things differently, but it was too late now. Ember was gone, and in a few hours, I was going to die. Nothing would change that, but at least her face would be the last thing on my mind before I left this world.
I hope you’re happy, Ember, wherever you are. I hope…you’ll always be free.
Five hours till dawn.
“Wake up, Firebrand.” Riley’s voice was soft and deep, and my dragon stirred to life at his touch. “It’s 2:00 a.m. Fifteen minutes till go time.”
I lifted my head from the pillow, fighting the grogginess pulling me down. The room was dark; only one lamp had been left on, and outside the