Finding You

  Tam, I think, shaking my head clear. I need to find Tam. Books can wait.

  * * *

  Once I’m satisfied that Harlen is nowhere to be found in the fortress, I make my way back downhill, toward the rest of the camp. Does Alistair Swain keep that whole place for himself? Or is it unsafe to live in?

  I spy Phoebe sitting cross-legged against a tree, but she jumps to her feet when she sees me. “Marion’s getting some new clothes,” she says, coming toward me. “The others are going to find some food. Any luck?”

  “Not yet. I have to find someone called Harlen. I met a woman who told me where the barracks have been set up, so I’m going there now.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Phoebe says, falling into step beside me. I’m too nervous to talk as we make our way through the camp, past the farms, and deeper into the woods, to a place where more trees have been cleared and simple pavilions have been constructed. Hundreds of young men in brick-brown uniforms run laps or practice formations to shouted orders.

  We approach the nearest pavilion, where a burly, stressed-looking man sits at a table talking to a handful of soldiers. Their once-sharp uniforms are stained with mud and sweat; recent deserters, I’d guess. Tam isn’t among them.

  While we wait our turn, Phoebe shoots cryptic glances at me and I chew on my lip until I taste blood.

  “Looking to enlist?” drawls the man I assume to be Harlen with obvious annoyance when we approach.

  “Hardly,” Phoebe says curtly. “We’re looking for a soldier who may have joined your ranks.” She gives me a pointed look and I take a step closer.

  “Tam Lidwell?” My voice cracks a little. Harlen’s expression says I’m wasting both of our time, but he begins rifling through his papers, puffing out his cheeks in irritation.

  “I—I just want to be sure,” I say, and he crosses his arms, dismissing us.

  “Second unit, training far end of the field now,” he growls.

  “E-excuse me?” I stammer, blinking.

  “Thank you so much,” Phoebe says loudly, grabbing my arm and pulling me sideways.

  “Did he—”

  “Far end of the field,” she says, grinning. I hardly know how to walk; I feel like I’ve just been spinning in circles and the dizziness is twisting the world around under my feet. Phoebe pulls me after her along the side of the field, demanding to know if I’ll become one of “those giggly girls” when I find Tam. But I hardly hear her. I move faster and faster until I’m racing ahead. An ache begins under my ribs, but giddy certainty fuels me.

  At first there’s nothing different about the last group of soldiers on the field from any of the others; I’m too far away to see their faces, and they all move in synchronized steps. There must be thirty of them, mostly tall and broad-shouldered. But then I see him.

  I know his squared-off jaw, his perfect ears, the way his hands twitch a little with nervous energy even though he’s marching. It’s him. It’s really him. I can’t believe he’s here.

  “Well, which one is he?” asks Phoebe, nudging me in the ribs.

  “There,” I say, stretching on my toes and pointing. “One row in, third row back.”

  The man shouting orders calls for a halt, and the men shuffle into slightly uneven lines. I don’t take my eyes off Tam, standing with his head held high, his rifle against one shoulder. When his commander turns away for a moment, he quickly shoos the hair out of his eyes and then resumes his stance. The officer in charge is giving some sort of instruction for the use of the rifles, which he’s saying load differently from the type used by Nicholas Carr’s army, and I see Tam’s eyes wander aimlessly.

  I know he sees me because his eyes widen and he drops his gun.

  “Lidwell!” shouts the officer, and Tam fumbles to right his weapon. He stands straight again and looks back at me with his mouth open, blinking, while I stand perfectly still, grinning like a fool. “Once around, Lidwell,” snaps the officer, and Tam breaks away from the group, jogging toward me. Toward me. He’s coming over here. My heartbeat gets faster and faster, but then my gaze falls on his legs; he’s limping, favoring his right leg, though he’s trying to hide it.

  And then he’s in front of me, tall and real and sunny, the same as always.

  “Isla,” he says, his mouth still hanging open like a fish’s. The rifle slips in his hands again, and he scrambles to keep hold of it. “Wh-what—”

  “That’s not a lap, Lidwell!” comes the shout of his commander, but Tam just keeps staring at me.

  I don’t know what to say.

  “I have to go.” He casts a glance behind him and takes a step backward.

  “We need to talk!” My voice comes out higher than I expect.

  “Yeah,” he says with a laugh, shaking his head at me. “Yeah, we do.”

  He’s getting farther away from me. “There’s a library in the fortress; find me there, all right?” The words come out in a rush, but he’s nodding even as he jogs backward, away from me. As he starts his lap around the field, he grins over his shoulder.

  My cheeks are sore from smiling when Phoebe clears her throat and I remember she’s there. “Sorry,” I say, blushing, but I’m not. I’m giddy. Is he real? Is he really here? How did I ever take him for granted, all those years?

  I watch as Tam makes his way to the far side of the field, still glancing over at me every few seconds. His limp bothers me; the longer he jogs, the more pronounced it becomes. He slows down for a moment, and I notice the officer shaking his head before he looks my way disapprovingly. Phoebe grabs my hand and pulls me back the way we came.

  “Library?” she says. “You’re meeting him in a library?” I raise my chin. “That’s the least romantic thing I’ve heard in my life.”

  twenty

  Back at the infirmary, Des is sitting up, but he’s still pale. Valentina passes around bowls filled with stew that looks at least a little better than what Curram had to offer. “There’s a common fire,” she says by way of explanation. “And the nurse told me where we can stay tonight.”

  We eat in silence for a moment, but I can’t stop smiling. Tam’s here. The words ring over and over through my head. I wish I’d touched him, I think, replaying the moment he came toward me. Then I could be sure, absolutely sure, that he’s real and I’m not imagining him.

  “Are you all right?” I hear Valentina ask, and I look up to see that Marion is staring at her bowl, not eating.

  “I’m fine,” Marion snaps. She goes on in a quieter voice. “I knew I’d need time to adjust, but I didn’t figure they’d … my mother just cried when she saw me, and my father wouldn’t even look at me. They didn’t believe me that nothing happened. I told them I’m no different, but they wouldn’t even listen to what I was saying.”

  Valentina touches her knee. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I know that must be hard.”

  “Actually, you don’t know,” Marion says sharply, getting to her feet and thrusting her bowl into Phoebe’s hands. “I’m not hungry. I need to clear my head.”

  She leaves behind awkward silence, and Valentina looks at her lap. I’m about to say that Marion didn’t mean to be harsh, when Valentina speaks first.

  “In a way, we’re not really the same,” she says softly. “If I go back, I’m not telling anyone what happened. I don’t want them to look at me like damaged goods.” Before I know it, I’m tracing the X on my hand with one finger. Damaged goods. That isn’t what we are. We fought, we survived. We won.

  But there are violations I can’t forget, no matter how small they might be in comparison to others’ fates. I can’t shake Robbie’s rough kiss, or Eugenia’s bloody death in front of me. It’s impossible to forget Curram’s greedy glances, his hands slithering along my body, his weight on top of me.

  Even if I could forget, my hand is a constant reminder of everything that happened. The ugly, fleshy X, forcing me to accept the reality of what was done to me. In some ways I’ll never be the same again, never be able to go back. The person
I was before that hot day in the crowded city, that person is gone.

  “We’re trying to think of an exciting story for when people ask about the brand marks,” Jewel says, trying to lighten the mood.

  Phoebe ignores her, turning to me. “Was it hard, to see Tam after everything?”

  The others stare. “You found him?” Des demands.

  I nod, grinning despite the tension. “Actually it was perfect.”

  Val looks unconvinced. “And he didn’t act … strangely?”

  “Why would he?”

  “When you told him what happened, I mean.”

  “I didn’t have the chance. We barely spoke.”

  Phoebe stares me down. “But you will?”

  “Of course,” I say, nodding. We tell each other everything. But Valentina won’t look at me. “I actually have to go,” I say, shoveling the last bites of stew into my mouth. “We’re supposed to meet.”

  “And you don’t think you need a chaperone for that?” Des teases, but he looks strained, even just sitting up slightly in his bed.

  “I’ll see you all in the morning. Don’t forget that we’ve got to see—”

  “Got to see Swain first thing,” Phoebe cuts me off. “I’ll fill them in. They gave us a couple of tents by the common fire. You and I can share.”

  I nod and slip outside, heading uphill. When do the soldiers finish their drills? I wonder. Is he already there waiting for me? How long since I saw him, an hour?

  The fortress looks more dramatic than ever, framed by the afternoon sun. As I crest the hill, the wind picks up suddenly, climbing the cliffs behind the castle and pulling warm, briny air down the hill to weave between trees and toss my hair in my face. I smell the salt again and close my eyes, imagining I’m sitting on the pier with a paper bag of fried onions and clam bellies, with Tam next to me and the harbor before us. He would be naming the ships and their captains on their way to the sea, and I’d be telling him the names of the best knots and how rudder systems worked.

  Not long now, I tell myself. He’ll be with me soon.

  I take care not to go by way of the corridor where Alistair Swain’s secretary is stationed, and when I reach the library, it looks the same as I left it. I gather an armload of books and carry them to the bench beneath the window.

  The covers are coming unstitched, and the pages are yellowed with age and mildew, but most are still clear enough to read. Cultivation of Rocky and Difficult Soil reads the title of one, and another, The Language of the Fan; for Society’s Educated Woman. Though I’d never have chosen these at home, in this wilderness, written words are like gold. Still, I wish the books told tales of battles or espionage, instead of fans and farming. The old Isla mightn’t have minded, I think. But the new Isla is more easily bored. There’s a mathematics primer too; The—of Fishing in—Regions, some of the title rubbed away; and an eerie-looking gothic novel, by an author whose name I don’t recognize. Some of the books are so fragile they fall apart in my hands.

  I stack them in order of most interesting to least, and start with the novel, settling into the position that I’ve missed so much: my legs curled up to my chest, my arms tucked in tightly, and my head bent, letting the words suck me in as I read them.

  But the story that might have once held me captive with its twists and turns feels predictable now. The heroine’s unfeeling parents, arranging her marriage to a nobleman whose name is connected to a murder from years ago. Her chance meeting with a wounded knight in the woods, the screams she hears at night, and the secret compartment in a back room of her fiancé’s palace.

  I can’t focus. I stare out the window at the ocean, as gray as the day Pa and I saw it, though it looks colder here, and wonder when Tam will arrive. I pace back and forth, blowing dust off the windowpanes, straightening crooked shelves to little avail, fiddling with my hair and wishing I’d thought to have Caddy fix it again. At least my dress is clean. Mostly. The dust can’t be helped. I hope I don’t look too skinny, or that he doesn’t notice if I do. I hope I don’t act strangely around him. I probably will. No, I know I will.

  Eventually the sky begins to darken, orange on one side, and rich, deep blue on the other. I’m hungry again, but I ignore it, and the room grows cool.

  When I finally hear footsteps in the hall, I stop breathing.

  “Isla?” his voice calls softly.

  “In here!” I shout back, and then he’s there in the doorway, real as I am and squinting into the sunset behind me.

  He coughs nervously, rubs the back of his neck. “That is you, right?”

  I tear from the window seat and across the room to him, burying my face in his coat and breathing in the smell of him, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Not a dream! my thoughts scream at me. Not a dream, not a dream. I feel him laugh, slowly, and his arms slide around my back and hold me, like they should, like they always did, like they’ll never let go.

  He’s warm and broad and solid; something real to make up for the memories I’ve had to content myself with. I feel his long exhale of breath on the top of my head, shuddering a little through his chest as I hold on to him. I feel so small again, tucked into his shoulder where I belong.

  When he pulls back a little, I look up at him. “Did you miss me, then?” he says, pushing my hair out of my face, grinning in what’s still a confused way. I missed that. I missed his hands, which are so much bigger than mine and so gentle as he wipes a tear off my cheek that I didn’t realize had fallen. I missed the roundness of his voice, and the hint of a joke laced through all of his words, and the smile that makes me forget we’re supposed to be growing up now, because it’s still boyish.

  “So much,” I whisper, not sure I can manage anything else.

  When he lets me go, I feel exposed, cold again. “You seem different,” he says, like a question. Then amusement spreads across his features. “How’d you come to join a rebellion, Isla?”

  I love the sound of my name in his mouth; I hang on to it for a second.

  He’s here.

  But he asked a question. How did I come to be here?

  Memories come flooding in, in flashes of pictures and the sounds of screams. The hot, crowded city, the red panic as I was dragged away, the blackness of the confinement when I woke, the dankness of the cell. Do the smells still cling to me? The mildew of Curram’s prison, the stench of the hole that served as our toilet, and before that, burning flesh and the agony of the brand against my palm.

  I curl my fingers into a fist so Tam won’t see the X imprinted in my skin.

  “It’s too long a story for now,” I say, though the words crowd together in my mouth and want to escape. “I’ll explain, I promise.”

  Tam gives me a funny look, letting silence stretch between us. And then, “You look cold,” he says, like a reprimand. He sheds his coat and drapes it about my shoulders in one smooth gesture, and it’s heavy and still warm from his own body, and smells familiar.

  I want to ask how he came here himself, but when I meet his eyes, he’s watching me, and my thoughts stagger. He breaks into a grin again, slowly, and shakes his head. “Tell me what happened,” I finally manage, shaking my head back at him, my tongue heavy with disbelief.

  “Mine’s a long story, too,” he says. Watching his mouth makes me want to jump up on my toes and kiss it, so I look at my feet instead, trying to will my heart to calm down. “I’ve only been here a few days. I shouldn’t be surprised you found a library in the middle of a rebellion. You’re predictable, dear.” That word sounds as casual as it ever has, and the smallest of doubts pricks at my heart: Will everything be the same between us? Was the kiss an affectionate farewell, and not a mark of something more than friendship? I knock the thoughts aside. They don’t matter right now. There is no disappointment today.

  “There isn’t much here at all, though,” I say, smiling. “Books about soils and herbs and how to use a fan properly. Mostly boring.”

  “Exactly the sort of book I let you read for me,” he agrees,
nodding deeply. Then he pauses, watching me again. The watching happens every few seconds, like he can’t place me here. Like I don’t fit, or he doesn’t fit, or we don’t fit, together. “I’m sure you have a lot to tell me,” he says eventually. “And I’ve missed your rambling. Can we find something to eat while we talk?”

  I nod, slipping past him. I feel as if I have a prize to show off, and a beautiful secret that I want to keep all to myself, both at the same time.

  Tam.

  Tam is here.

  I found him.

  “How long has it been, since you left?” I ask when we reach the bottom of the stairs. He scans the ceiling for a moment, thinking. There are spiderwebs in the corners, and broken plaster lines the walls along the ground.

  “Almost a month, I guess?” He whistles through his teeth. “Seems longer.” I nod, my head spinning. So much longer. I don’t know how to begin.

  “When you left, I thought maybe I’d just sit around all summer with nothing to do but talk my pa’s ears off—”

  “Is he here? Did he come with you?” Tam looks around, as if my pa might come around the corner or appear behind me.

  “N-no—”

  He’s disappointed. “How is he? When did you leave? Did you see my family before you left? I don’t know how they’re doing, because nobody wrote back to me.”

  “You wrote?”

  He frowns. “Twice. I sent your letters with ones to my brothers so the postage wouldn’t be double. I thought you’d answer.” There’s a hint of hurt in his eyes that cuts me.

  “I—I never got them,” I stammer, feeling overwhelmed.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He touches my shoulder, casually, wonderfully. “I didn’t expect to see anyone from home for a while yet. How was my family, when you last saw them?”

  The hallway is empty, but I feel stifled.

  “The same as when you left,” I squeak. I can feel the words—about the kidnapping, the dark train car, the brand, the prison—trying to push their way past my lips. I bite them back, suddenly trepidatious.

  “Please tell me,” he goes on, rocking back on his heels, “how in the world Isla Powe, of all people, came to join a rebellion, so far from home and all alone?”