To his credit, Grayson puts up very little fuss when we usher him from the smoky room and down to the stables. He stumbles in an opium haze, sniffling and averting his gaze, following Will meekly while I trail behind, keeping a weather eye on his movements.

We meet Suze near the front entrance of the estate. She appears rightfully surprised to see us escorting the bleary-eyed and red-faced Grayson but her questions are placated when Will explains that her former Lord will be spending some time in the City in preparation for our Wasteland war.

Our horses are saddled readily and we clamber up, turning our backs on the estate and heading into the crowded streets. I stifle a groan at the feeling of Ladybird's unforgiving saddle beneath my thighs, wishing fervently that we could have had a longer rest before returning to the desert.

The sun is just beginning its descent by the time we clear the final crumbling building and enter the Wastelands. Grayson has calmed somewhat and seems resigned to his fate, riding between Will and I with his shoulders slumped and head lowered.

I give Ladybird a little kick and draw her up next to Grayson's horse, studying him intently. He deliberately avoids my gaze, shivering slightly in the cooling air.

I make an attempt at being conversational. "Tell me something, Lynal, because there is a part of this story that I still don't fully understand."

He doesn't respond but I assume he is listening and press on.

"I see how both you and the Madam could stand to benefit from your little arrangement. She receives a neverending supply of innocent people to do with whatever she sees fit, and you get to rule over the City and reinstate the Courtiers. Makes sense, seems fair. Do you follow me so far?" To get his attention I kick his shin, connecting solidly with the toe of my boot.

He lets out a choked sound, his face growing red. Reluctantly he rolls his head to look over at me. I keep my face impassive, waiting. Will rides on ahead but I have no doubt that he is hanging on to every word.

"I've got it right so far, haven't I?" I demand.

"Yes." He hisses.

"Good. Now, stay with me. You used Rowan as a pawn in order to kill Meg. Unsurprising, really. I just assumed that you and your friends were too cowardly to do the dirty work yourselves."

His face darkens further. "What's your point?"

"I'm getting to it." I narrow my eyes. "It's your connection to Rowan that confuses me. How did you come to know her?"

"We were introduced."

"By whom?"

"I don't know his name." He breaks eye contact and looks blankly out into the desert.

"He works for the Madam?"

"Yes, obviously." That familiar sneer returns and I fight the urge to give him another, harder kick.

"And he just what, showed up out of thin air? Appeared one day on your doorstep? Said, 'Hey, I have a handy Waster that you can use to solve that pesky Queen problem you've been having.'?" My impatience is getting the better of me. Luckily, I no longer have to be polite.

I'm surprised that he has enough grace to appear slightly embarrassed. "In so many words, yes."

Will looks back at me and we exchange a look. I furrow my brow and bite the inside of my lip, thinking, directing another question at Grayson. "You had never met him before? Never heard of the Madam?"

"I had never met him before." He deliberately avoids acknowledging my second statement.

"So you did know about her." He stays silent, not denying anything. "How?"

"The King." Will cuts us both off. He tugs on the reigns, drawing back and flanking Grayson's other side. "The King was working with her, wasn't she?"

My eyes widen when Grayson doesn't reply. He ducks his head and Will and I exchange another look, silently sorting through the information.

"Wait." Something tugs painfully at my chest when I arrive at the conclusion. I half-expect Will to meet my gaze with his usual calm understanding, but for once he appears just as distraught and angry as I feel.

"The King has been sending her our own people." When I say the words they come out as barely a whisper but still manage to carry unmistakably in the still desert air. "When he fell from power the Madam turned to Grayson to continue the arrangement."

We both look to Grayson at the same time. He is hunched and shaking, his fists gripping the reigns of his horse so tightly that the knuckles blaze white.

"It was a good system." Grayson's voice is hollow. "We could send Commoners into the desert to fight the Wastelanders and when they disappeared, it was easy to say that they perished bravely."

Will reacts so quickly that I almost miss it. Suddenly, he has Grayson off his horse and tackled to the ground, the two men slamming together heavily in a swirl of choking sand.

I pull Ladybird to a stop abruptly and drop onto the ground, grabbing her harness and the reins of the other stamping horses, pulling them out of the way. Will has the collar of Grayson's shirt bunched up near his throat, effectively choking off the other man's high-pitched shrieks. Will is unrecognizable, seething with his sand-streaked shoulders bunched up tightly

"Easy, Will." I say, keeping my voice calm despite feeling completely on-edge. I have never seen him lose control this way.

His shoulders droop ever so-slightly but his grip doesn't slacken. "You used the war as a distraction so that this woman could capture people."

Grayson's eyes bug out of his head as beads of salty water streak down his face, coating the sand there and smearing unattractively.

"I didn't do anything!" He manages to choke out, rolling his eyes over to me. "The King told me about the arrangement, that is the only reason I know about it. I swear!"

"Be that as it may, you were more than willing to carry on the tradition." I call over.

He swallows heavily and darts his gaze back to Will. Will positively towers over him, appearing as though he could snap the other man in half like a twig. He has regained some semblance of control but still only manages to speak through his teeth.

"I saw people die out there." He snarls. "Every day, for two years I battled beside them. We fought because we believed that the Wasters threatened us, but they were never the real enemy."

"It was all her idea!" With Will's grip loosened Grayson is able to shriek. "I don't know why she wants all those people, but she paid well and with the war going on, no one would know any different."

"Money. That's all it took?" Will throws Grayson's head back down, disgusted. The other man grips his throat and coughs dramatically, attempting to crawl away but Will keeps his knee pressed down on his shin, pinning Grayson in place.

"Not just money. Food, as well. Water." Grayson draws another raspy breath, his eyes darting wildly. "You didn't really think that we could feed an entire City with just the oasis', did you?"

Something lurches inside of me. How could we not have enough food and water to sustain ourselves? Were we dependant on this sick woman? Something tugs at my memory; I recall Meg's worried look as she glanced towards the unusually sparse meal being served in the Hall. Her remark over the scarcity of food as of late. I had brushed her off, citing a slow season.

"She fed us?" Will's tone is disbelieving as he stares at me. "Why?"

"To keep us alive. To keep us healthy." I match his eyeline. "To keep us from thinking anything was amiss."

He looks ill. "The Wasteland battles were never over resources. Those were already being supplied." His grey eyes move back to Grayson. "By her. In exchange for us."

My voice is hollow. "She uses our ships to kidnap the Wasters so that they would fight us. We were mutual distractions used to cover what was really going on." My legs suddenly feel incredibly weak and I compensate by sitting down heavily, collapsing onto a heap of sand.

"The Madam never approached Meg with this arrangement." The sound of Will's voice draws my head back upright.

"King Frances didn't want Megra to know any part of this." Grayson says. "He thought she wouldn't be able to handle the taste of it."

"You mean, perhaps Meg is a decent human being and the very idea of fabricating a war so that innocent people could be stolen would be entirely repulsive to her?" I spit. "Did the King suppose that his daughter might speak out about it?" I kick my leg out, spraying sand into Grayson's gaping mouth, causing him to cough anew. "Why don't you try the taste of that?"

Will runs his hands over his face. "This is sick."

My own stomach churns and I swallow the bile clawing its way up my throat. "We have to end this."

"Kay, all those people." Will's voice breaks slightly before he brings himself back under control.

I feel my heart tug anew at his loss. "I know." I tell him. "It's..." I stumble on the last word. "Unforgivable." My traitor mind flips back to the friends and family I lost over the years. The people shipped out to a pointless war by their trusted King who hadn't a care for where they ended up, whether it be captured, maimed or dead.

Frye.

I look towards the sniveling and sand-encrusted former lord and my fingers twitch near my boot. There is a sudden ache to grip the familiar hilt of my father's dagger, to shove the blade into the soft tissue of Grayson's chest, to look into his eyes as his cruel and pointless life leaks out of them.

The impulse startles me and I draw my hand back abruptly, burying it instead in my tangled hair. At the same time Will squeezes his eyes shut and draws a steadying breath, his fingers curling into the sand beneath us.

After a time he opens his eyes again, reaching forward and gripping Grayson's torn yellow vest. He pulls the sullen man to his feet and shoves him back towards the horses, indicating that he should mount. I accept Will's hand when he offers it to me, pulling me to my feet with more gentleness than he showed Grayson.

We set off once again in silence, this time with Grayson's reins tied to the back of Will's horse. The sun sets fully at our back, throwing long shadows over the stretch of land in front of us. I keep my head trained blankly ahead, focusing on the growing pinpoint of light on the horizon that represents the City. My mind churns with the new information, cruelly replaying the truth over and over in phantom incantations of my lost friends and Will's anguished outburst. I spend the remainder of the journey agonizing over what this will mean to Meg and the future of our City.

Finally, we pass through the gates near the patched hole in the Wall and reenter the familiar network of City streets. The roads are nearly empty at this hour; most people are nestled securely in either their beds or a flagon of ale. The tired plodding of our horses hoofs echo off of the tightly-packed buildings as we spiral closer and closer to the centre of the City.

The streets widen gradually as we pass through the former Court and enter the Palace grounds. A groom appears to take our horses and we slide down off our mounts, each of us more than a little weak in the legs. A couple of Will's soldiers approach, eyeing Grayson with trepidation.

"Put him in the gaol." Will orders tiredly, barely sparing a glance for Grayson's shocked expression as he strides towards the glass doors.

"Now, really, there's no need..." Grayson sputters as his arms are gripped firmly.

I let Will walk ahead, stopping in my tracks and regarding the disgraced former Courtier. Grayson's fine clothes are torn and coated in dust and his normally coiffed hair is tangled into a style resembling a tumble weed. He appears nothing like the self-important, haughty lord he believes himself to be.

"Please." His eyes glisten as a high colour rises to his stained cheeks. I feel my lip curl upwards at his pathetic blubbering. There are a million miserable fates that this excuse for a man is worthy of. A night in the gaol is the most forgiving I can imagine.

"You should not be shedding tears for your own, worthless self, Lynal." I say, coldly. "Perhaps a stay below ground can teach you a touch of empathy."

Without another word I spin on my heel and walk away, not sparing one more thought for him. Will is waiting for me near the door, watching carefully as I draw up next to him.

"We need to tell Jaron and Meg." He says. He is clearly exhausted, with slumped shoulders and shadowed eyes.

"Right." I give my own weary eyes a rub, sighing heavily. "It just never ends, does it?"

He doesn't respond immediately, leaving nothing but the sound of the guards dragging Grayson away hanging between us. I blink my eyes to clear them, concentrating as he swims back into view. He looks the same as he always does, calm and ready but for something hiding behind his steely gaze. For the millionth time I fight the urge to pull myself to him, to wrap him in my arms and absorb even a fraction of his pain.

The sudden ache to return to simpler days is alarming in its ferocity. For a moment, I want nothing more than to be ensconced back in Will's apartment, reciting from memory an endless list of Courtiers. Then, he was nothing but a Palace physician and I was nothing more than a thief. There were no demands made of us except those we placed on ourselves. There was nothing keeping us apart.

Every day since then has increased our responsibilities. Our burdens and complications have only ever grown. After the Rebellion we foolishly allowed ourselves to believe that we were finally truly free, but now it is abundantly clear that single, brief, shining moment was never anything more than an illusion. We will never be free; not so long as the Madam controls our resources and manipulates us like her personal puppets.

If it were simple, then it wouldn't be worth it. The memory of Will's words in the alley behind The Beacon, when he last kissed me shock me back to the present. I find myself once again staring into his steely eyes, at his unreadable expression.

"Come on." He inclines his head towards the door. "This will be easier if we do it together."

* * * * *

It is approaching the small hours of the morning. Will, Meg, Jaron, Luca, Cade and I are all gathered in one of the Palace parlours. A low fire burns in the hearth, emitting the only source of light. It could use another log but no one bothers to get up to feed the flames, each lost in our own thoughts.

Meg sits slumped forward, her head in her hands. Her robe has slipped from her shoulder, revealing a heavy white bandage. I am sitting on the floor with Luca, flexing my knee absently and watching Will as he paces in front of the fire. Jaron and Cade sit on the low couch across from Meg. Jaron's leg bounces up and down, echoing his younger brother's own nervous energy. Only Cade remains impassive, calmly absorbing the information as Will and I relayed it.

Several hours have passed and we have discussed Grayson, the King, the war and the Madam, approaching each topic from every possible angle with an exhausting thoroughness. We have been through phases of calm, anger and denial and now sit strewn about the war-torn room, exhausted.

"I suppose that settles it." Meg finally speaks, her voice muffled by her hands. Her dark head pops up and she looks at each of us in turn. "We have to fight."

Something sparks inside of me, invigorating a grain of energy. "If we have any leverage, it's that she doesn't know that both Rowan and Grayson have both confessed their part in this."

"I hope you are right about that." Will sounds uncertain, his voice still carrying the heavy note of uncertainty he has borne since his scuffle with Grayson.

"It does seem that all traces of our actions have been covered." Jaron says thoughtfully. "Rowan has been kept under guard here and Grayson left the Outer City without speaking to anyone."

"We must use the element of surprise to our advantage." Luca loosens and re-ties his dark hair securely. "When we go to find her, we must keep up this pretense."

"You are right." Jaron agrees with his brother and Luca looks up, startled. "We cannot let their ships see our warriors coming for them."

"How can we attack? We don't even know where to find them." I sigh, leaning my head back against the couch behind me, letting my eyes drift closed momentarily.

"We should send out a scouting party to locate their base." I hear Will's voice, a trace of the old sureness returning.

"Can you do that without the ships knowing you are looking for her?" Meg asks.

"We can use the tube tunnels." Jaron says definitively. "There are several Waster camps posted along the line. I will speak with the tribes as we move underground, spreading the word and expanding our force."

"A handful of us should remain on the surface." I hear myself say. Opening my eyes. "A small group of Wasters travelling through the desert won't look suspicious and if we see a ship passing above we can alert the rest of the scouting party at the next station stop."

Will's eyes dart to me and I know that he hasn't missed my use of the word 'we'.

"And what will you do if you can spot a ship?" Meg presses on, straightening in her seat.

"We attack."

"We track it."

Jaron and Luca speak at the same time, exchanging an identical look of annoyance as they glare at one another.

"This is the time for patience, Luca." Jaron's tone is firm, bordering on scolding. "We must be clever and bide for time now so that we may fight with wisdom later."

Luca's jaw flexes but he doesn't say anything, looking down at where his hands clench in his lap.

"I agree with Jaron." Will cuts in, running his fingers over the scruff on his chin, lengthened from the day on the road and the long night. "A small scouting party aboveground can track a ship from a distance and alert the rest of us in the tunnels as to the direction."

No one says anything for a time. We glance around at each other, each silently turning the tentative plan over in our heads.

"What do you think, Cade?" Meg breaks the silence, directing our attention towards the one person who hasn't spoken. The older man sits calmly, his hands clasped elegantly in his lap.

He studies her for a moment before answering. "I think it is a good idea." He says eventually. "Dangerous, yes. However, I can't help but feel that we must act before she gets wind of how much we know. What worries me is that this stranger seems to have her hand in everything we do already."

A shiver runs down my spine and I bite down hard on my lip, tasting blood. How long has she been watching us? Manipulating us? Feeding us?

Meg nods slowly. She turns to Will and Jaron, appearing somber. "Whoever you choose to go with you, you must be certain that they are one hundred percent trustworthy. We can't afford to have any more...slips." She stumbles on the last word, grimacing.

Jaron shifts in his seat and I know that he has felt Meg's pointed jab. "None of my people will be made aware of what we are doing unless I am certain that they are completely loyal."

"The same goes for me." Will exchanges a look with the Waster chief, an unspoken agreement passing between the two men.

"Let me be completely clear." Meg's voice has grown stronger, demanding command of the room. "This is to be a scouting mission only. You are to avoid engaging in confrontation at all costs and report back to the City as soon as you learn of the enemy's base. Is that understood?"

Even broad, argumentative Jaron has the humility to look respectful. "Agreed."

"Then it is decided." The last time I saw Meg look so grim was when she stood over the body of her slain father. "I suggest that you take tomorrow to rest and prepare. It would be best if you were to set out at first light on the following day."

There is a muffled shuffling as we all rise tiredly to our feet. Jaron moves towards Meg, speaking quietly with her in low tones while Luca and Cade slip through the heavy door and towards their respective rooms. Luca's face is still slightly red as he exits, clearly he is still fuming from his brother's chastising.

I sense Will near my elbow before I see him and crane my neck up at his familiar height. In my exhausted state I assume that he will be escorting to my room and briefly anticipate curling up next to his warmth in my soft bed. The impulse fades and I shake my head to clear it, forcing myself to focus.

"You wish to travel aboveground." It is a statement, not a question.

I nod. "I will travel aboveground."

For once he doesn't argue. "Is it still difficult for you to be in the dark?"

I start, taken aback by his statement. "That isn't the point."

"It was only a question."

"I can handle the darkness just fine, but I would prefer to be outside." Is the most honest response I can manage.

After a moment he nods. "All right."

I don't know whether it was our experiences together in the Outer City, our weighted separation or the new developments that have caused such a ready resolution but regardless, I am grateful to be spared an argument.

We part ways at the door and head to our separate bedchambers; him turning towards the barracks while I spiral up to the third floor servant's quarters. I am acutely aware of my feet treading heavily against the polished staircase but I am barely able to pay enough mind to raise them above each step.

The confusion of the day's events continue to cycle through my mind when I finally collapse fully-clothed on top of my bed. I shut my eyes tightly, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over my face, muffling a scream of frustration.

When the nightmares return for me that night they are nearly a welcome relief. At least the phantoms of physical pain and isolation is a distraction from the web of lies and secrecy that my world has become. Compared to the disaster of my waking life, the nightmares are reprieve.