I think of Easton. Of the way his face looked lit by the lights of the machines keeping him alive. But not forever. The machines will only last so long. If I die, Easton will too. “Not for me,” I tell him, staring up at him with wide eyes.
I’m terrified—of him, of my journey, of succeeding and seeing my parents after so many years—but it all pales in comparison to the terror of losing the only person in this world who truly knows me.
I take in my surroundings surreptitiously. We are in an outcropping of rocks, surrounded by forest in either direction. The trees here are older, three times as wide as the ones in the forest that borders Similis. Roots snake under the ground, the size of small trees themselves, roiling under the soil like large snakes. We must be much deeper into the forest. Though how we got here, I don’t think I want to know.
“What do you want from me?” I ask him, sounding braver than I feel.
The Dark Worlder stares at me a moment longer, his gaze oddly hungry, before his face relaxes and he smiles. The effect so wholly transforms his features that for an absurd moment, I feel like smiling back. “Relax, Lemming,” he tells me, and I wonder why he thinks that’s my name. “If I wanted you dead, why would I have gone to the trouble of rescuing you?”
I’m not entirely sure Ihavebeen rescued, but it seems silly to point this out. I glance around the clearing, suddenly remembering the man’s two companions, but we appear entirely alone. I don’t know whether to be comforted or terrified.
“Please just tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything, but I have to be on my way as soon as possible.” I bite my lip to keep from saying anything further. I doubt pleading will get me very far in the Dark World, and certainly not with someone capable of taking out five armed men single handedly.
The Dark Worlder narrows his eyes and tilts his head slightly, a raven piece of hair falling haphazardly over his forehead. The tendril reminds me of the silk of a bird’s wing and for one wildly inappropriate moment, I wonder what it would feel like if I ran it between my fingers. Ridiculous. I shake the thought away quickly.
“You really shouldn’t be promising someone you don’t know whatever they want. What if I want your kidneys? Are you going to give them to me?” he asks blithely.
I swallow roughly. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Want my kidneys?”
The man waves me off impatiently. “Of course not! I have two of my own that work perfectly, thank you very much. I was just pointing out it was a stupid thing to say.”
My fear slowly dissolves into something closer to annoyance. Though I should be practiced at hiding such things, my voice reflects my irritation. “Just tell me what you want,” I demand loudly. If I were home, I would correct myself. Use a lower voice and utter a humble apology.
But I’m not home. And I have no time for a boy who amuses himself at my expense.
He ignores my demand completely. “Why is it so important that I not only refrain from killing you but also let you go?”
“What does the reason matter to you? If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.” I almost rear back at my own voice. It does not sound like a girl that hides behind corners to keep from having to speak. It sounds like one who isn’t afraid of speaking or anything else.
“You’re right,” he agrees cheerfully, “but I did go to an awful lot of trouble to save you to not receive some sort of payment.”
Trepidation clutches at my throat. I should have known he’d want something even if he did save me. No one in the Dark World does anything that isn’t in their own self-interest.
I stand up and abruptly wish I hadn’t. My head swirls and my throat aches as if the Boundary hunter’s fingers are still stretched around it. I ignore the pain, focusing instead on the trees behind the man. If I can only figure out how far we’ve traveled, I might stand a chance at guessing which direction I need to run.
I’ve seen what he’s capable of and I’ll have no hope of overpowering him. But maybe, if I move fast enough, I can disappear into the dark before he can find me.
“I have nothing to give you,” I tell him primly. My hands clutch at my neck, and I breathe an audible sigh of relief when my fingers touch the cool cotton of the makeshift coin necklace.
The man’s eyes follow my movements with an unsettling pervasiveness. “Oh, there’s always something to be bartered with, Lemming.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? It’s not my name.” It’s an obvious way to stall, to buy time to find a way out of this situation. The man seems more humane than the Boundary hunters, perhaps he will let me leave freely?
He rolls his eyes. “Well, obviously it’s not your actual name, but it is what you are, isn’t it?”
“I’m a small, arctic rodent?”
He breathes a loud, impatient sigh and his eyes flick skyward. “I guess it’s true that Similians take everything literally,” he says offhandedly, but as his eyes settle on me, my urge to run grows exponentially. That gaze misses nothing. He knows exactly what I am. “Lemmings are what we call those living behind the Boundary.”
Sweat coats my palms. I’ve learned quickly, thanks to the Boundary hunters, that Similian is a dangerous thing to be in the Dark World.
The man still studies me, his face an unreadable block of stone. I don’t have much practice at reading emotions, as outward displays are so rare at home, but even if I did, his angled features give nothing away. If he is planning on capturing and selling me, he is certainly taking his time about it.
“You’re the first one I’ve ever met,” he remarks levelly. I wonder briefly what he thinks of this. What he thinks ofme.
