Shadows (Ashes Trilogy 2)

“Chris,” Kincaid said. “Don’t—”

“I’ll handle this, Doctor, thank you.” Yeager’s bird-bright eyes never wavered from Chris’s face. “Watch your language, young man. Don’t presume to challenge us.”

“I’m not,” Chris said. Oh, he wanted to, though. Blame the concussion or losing Alex and now Peter, but he was suddenly sick to death of these old men. “I just don’t get what you’re driving at. I would never hurt Peter, ever.”

“Fine.” His grandfather glided from his chair on a whisper of black robes. He extended his hands, palms up. “Then all you have to do is answer our questions.”

Chris hesitated for the briefest of moments, then told his first lie. “Sure, I have nothing to hide,” he said, and then slid his hands onto his grandfather’s palms. The old man’s flesh felt artificial, like slick plastic, and the hairs on Chris’s neck prickled. “What do you want?”

“First, I want you to sit down,” Yeager said.

“No.” He saw the old man’s face crease with surprise. Good. If he could keep his grandfather off-balance, do the unexpected, maybe he had a chance. Whatever I say next has to be the truth. “I’d rather stand.”

“I see.” As if to reassert his authority, Yeager looked at the guard hovering by Kincaid’s shoulder. “I think it’s time the doctor and the others waited in the kitchen.”

“No,” Chris said again. He aimed a quick glance over his shoulder. His eyes brushed over Lena’s pale face, but she was still as a sphinx. He turned back to the Council. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Do you?”

“That’s not how things are done, young man.” Prigge’s lips puckered like a prissy schoolteacher’s. “We decide, not you.”

“This isn’t a trial. What are you going to do? Shoot them or me? Are you that afraid of what I’m going to say?” When Prigge didn’t reply, Chris’s eyes shifted back to Yeager. “Go on, what do you want to know?”

His grandfather’s expression hadn’t changed, and his face, almost waxy, was blank as a mannequin’s. Only his eyes showed any sign of life, and they were glittery now, like those of a vulture eyeing roadkill. “Did you have anything to do with the ambush?”

“No.”

“But you did advise Peter to take Dead Man’s Alley,” Ernst said.

“I already said I don’t remember.”

“Even if Chris did, that’s not a crime,” Kincaid put in.

“We’re aware of that,” said Prigge.

“Then stop accusing him.” Chris recognized Lena’s voice. “You have no right.”

“Be quiet, girl.” Yeager waited a beat, then asked Chris, “Why did you bypass Oren and head for the Amish settlement?”

His heart sank. The only way his grandfather could know that was if he’d talked to Greg or one of the others. They would’ve told, too, because they had no reason to lie. If he could just keep his answers brief . . . “We heard there might be Spared.”

“But how did you know where to look?” Ernst said. “The others said you went from farm to farm but never into any of the outbuildings—until you came to a specific barn.”

The air squeezed from his lungs. The adrenaline burst was tailing off, and Chris’s mouth tasted of crushed metal and fear. “I can’t tell you that.”

Someone gasped. He felt Kincaid tense, and he saw the other guards toss looks he couldn’t read. Nathan’s eyes were slits.

Yeager’s grip shifted as if checking Chris’s pulse. “Why not?”

Keep it short, keep it sweet, but make it the truth. “Because I promised.”

“Your promise is to me,” Yeager suddenly spat. “I took you in, and I can just as easily put you out. You will answer.”

Chris said nothing.

“Better say, boy,” Born warned. “Truth will out.”

“Stop.” It was Lena again. “Leave him alone. This isn’t his fault!”

“Be quiet, girl.” His grandfather’s fingers tightened to wires. “Answer me.”

Chris throttled back the impulse to wrench his hands free. If he did, he’d start whaling on the old man, and might not stop—and that was the truth, too. He said nothing.

Yeager said, “Why did you stay a full day after Greg and the others left? Was it to see if there were others? Did you find them? Who told you where to look?”

Can’t say. Yes. No. Hey, you tell me; then we’ll both know. The silence thickened. His pulse banged so loudly he thought everyone in the room had to hear it, but he still said nothing.

“All right.” Yeager peered up at Chris. “Do you care for Alex?”

The abrupt turn threw him. He felt the heat rush all the way to his scalp, and the answer—the truth—came out before he could call it back. “You know I do,” he said, hoarsely.

“But she lied, boy.” Born gave his dog’s laugh. “She used you.”

“No.” Not true, not true. We kissed, and I felt what she felt. That was no lie. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Of course it was. She wouldn’t be the first girl here to manipulate a boy to get her way.”

“That’s not fair,” Lena said. She suddenly started forward, ducking to avoid the guard. “It’s not the same at all. Don’t poison this for him.”

“You, girl.” Hammerbach lumbered after her, but she was an old woman who had once been very large and was now much too slow. “Come back. This is not your place.”

“Screw you,” Lena said, and then she was standing on Chris’s right, the guard a step behind. “You have no idea what happened. Maybe Alex thought she didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course she did,” Yeager snapped. “You, Lena, of all people, ought to understand that. You’re an expert where betrayal’s concerned.”

“Leave her out of this,” Chris said. “We’re talking about Alex and me.”

“So we are,” Yeager said. “Alex is just a girl, and yet the guards said she had a shotgun and supplies. So who gave those to her? Who helped her?”

That was a very good question. “I don’t know,” Chris said. “Ask the guards.”

“Don’t think we haven’t,” Ernst rumbled.