“She’s the High General’s daughter,” Knox says. “Your father must owe the old man a favor.”
I grunt.
Orson Warrick and my father are more reluctant allies than friends; both of them are curt and detached. And in my opinion, far too similar to breed any goodwill.
“You think she’ll like you?” Knox asks. “You’re not exactly warm and fuzzy.”
“We are not required to like each other,” I say. “Obligation comes before sentiment.”
Knox leans out the window, grinning.
“Sounds like you’re quoting the Code.”
The next checkpoint is 120 miles away. In a matter of a few hours, we’ll put this entire dreadful business behind us.
Knox sighs theatrically when I don’t respond, before he finally goes quiet.
By the time my truck rolls into the High General’s driveway, I am raw with irritation. I storm out of the vehicle and rap my fist against the door.
“You should’ve brought flowers,” Knox says.
I glare at him.
“Girls like them,” he adds defensively.
The door opens. The housekeeper’s eyes widen in alarm at the sight of me. He presses his fist to his chest, doing the customary greeting intended for high-ranking officers.
I step inside, boots tracking dirt across the white floor. There was no time to change out of my black fatigues, but it doesn’t matter; I’m not here to impress anyone.
“I don’t have much time,” I say. “Where is the girl?”
“I will summon Ms. Warrick right away,” he assures.
Orson Warrick descends the stairs in a midnight-blue suit. His lips ease into a practiced smile under his mustache. Silver speckles thread his raven hair at the temples. I’ve seen him before, years ago, at one of my father’s dinners. He’s grown a name for himself in the army. He earned his rank in Division Seven when the Resistance had made its first appearance. They had hacked our servers and spoken to the public, faces covered in masks, spreading their vitriol to the masses.
Warrick had hung the corpses of the accused on the watchtowers, and they floated there for seven days and nights. The crows had picked at their entrails, drawing their intestines out like rope.
“You’ve grown,” Warrick comments.
I’m taller than him. I don’t think he likes that.
“Impatient,” I end. “Where is the girl?”
He blinks before an unexpected laugh escapes him. He claps a jovial hand on my back and guides me into the sitting room.
“How was the journey?” he asks.
“Uneventful. This is my second-in-command, Knox Fraser.”
“Welcome,” Warrick says briefly, before turning back to me. “You must be excited to meet my daughter. Haven can hardly contain herself.”
“How delightful,” I say flatly.
Knox snorts, then covers it up with a cough when Warrick glances at him.
“Since you’ll be returning to the Forge, my other daughter, Mercy, was conscripted,” Warrick adds. “I was hoping you could take her with you. Since you live near the Forge and are heading to North Mire.”
My patience thins. I don’t want to ride in a vehicle with the bride herself. What makes him think I want to be saddled with a second girl?
