Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Thirty-Three

"What is this place?" Zelle asked when we were on the train. "Where we're going?"

"It's a place for people who don't want to participate in the war," I said, not knowing what else to call it. "It's a camp."

"In the City of Clouds?" She wrinkled her nose.

"That's right," I said, laughing at her expression.

"And there are savages there?"

"Why did you come, if you didn't want to be around savages?"

I cocked my head to the side and squinted at her. Her eyes looked greener than ever, clearer somehow. She looked away, out the window.

"Because you're going to rescue Gunnar," she said, her voice small. "And it's my fault he was taken from you. And if there's any chance he might be alive—" Her voice broke, the sound of guilt itself, but she quickly recovered and went on, "I've changed my mind. I've decided I don't want you to lose your soldier like I did mine."

"I forgive you," I said.

She looked at me then. "I don't know why you would."

...

It was dark by the time we reached camp. The guards let us through—the whole place was guarded now—and I could tell Zelle was nervous, but I had other things on my mind. I got her settled in one of the houses, and then asked to see Bjorn.

"Pretty sure he turned in, miss," one of the guards told me at his front door.

"Well, wake him up," I said. "And let me in."

They didn't argue, although they assessed me openly, picked me apart, their eyes full of suspicions. A lot of people were still uncertain of me, and there was a conflict in loyalty around here these days. There was still a great attachment to Bjorn, but at the same time, no one couldn't deny what I was—what I had done by bringing us all here.

Not that I cared about things like that. I was more than happy to let Bjorn take the lead, as long as he listened and didn't stand in my way.

It was long minutes before Bjorn came downstairs to find me sitting on his couch. A couch he couldn't have had if it weren't for me. The man—the whole camp—had been living in rough wilderness.

They wouldn't have come this far without me. Bjorn must have known that. It's the reason he hated me so much now.

"Olya," he said as he walked in, not looking me in the face.

He hadn't bothered to put a shirt on, and his thick chest was matted with coarse hairs, his cheek had the imprint from the pillow. There's something strikingly vulnerable about someone who is fresh out of bed, sleep clinging to their eyelids, but despite this Bjorn still managed to look arrogant as he shuffled across the floor to sit in the chair furthest from me. He sank into the leather with a tired sigh, then pinched his face into a false smile.

"I thought you'd be at home, with Wolfe," he said. "I thought he would have explained everything to your satisfaction."

"He didn't."

He huffed and looked away. "What's the problem?"

"I want to send Bastian to the City of Roses with a message."

"That can wait. We want to shut off their access to—"

"We want to shut off their access to the factories first, yes, I know. It was my plan, remember?"

He narrowed his eyes at me across the space dividing us. "I don't know why you've come here like this, Olya."

"Don't you?"