Page 82 of Born for Lace

“Who?” I ask, gripping the passenger handle. Two huge tanks appear on the highway, and our truck vibrates as The Cradle quakes beneath the colossal vehicles.

We watch them pass.

I hold my breath.

One after the other.

Three armoured tanks.

Tomar says, “Not the military, huh?”

“No.” Lagos shakes his head, fierce eyes assessing the red waste. “The Guard.”

The Guard? The special military personnel that protect royalty, lords, Trade officials, and the like?

“Are they gone?” Tomar darts around, surveying the road behind us for more encroaching vehicles. “Do you think they saw us?”

Lagos sighs roughly, his black eyes meeting mine. “That bird doesn’t miss a damn thing.”

“What?” I breathe. “What. Bird?”

“Why aren’t they stopping, then?” Tomar asks, a thread of deep discomfort in his tone, reminding me of the dangers we face out here.

“Because”—Lagos swings the car around, heading back toward the now empty highway— “That was the king.”

I stammer. “Like… Rome.TheRome. Like, Rome of The Strait?”

Nerves rush through me.

The Cradle’s Monarch, Rome of The Strait, has legendary status throughout the land, being ruthless, unbeaten in combat, and sworn to fiercely protect The Cradle and ensure each Trade citizen has the chance for Meaningful Purpose.

He is a deity.

There is a screen in each building in the Half-tower, and we used to congregate around it once a week to watch the Trade updates—invasions, rescues, and celebrations. Rome is featured in almost every update. And we are required to watch them—all Trade-aligned citizens, but then…

I’m no longer one of them.

I’m… I don’t know. Trade girls say, Fur Born. As in, girls who live in their fur. Not for Purpose but as animals. It is a derogatory term that I will not accept.

“The one and only,” Tomar answers, his bright blue eyes sweeping over me as Lagos continues down the road slower than before. “Rome the Heartless. Are you okay? Is Spero okay?”

“Yes.” I tuck the tiny assassin back into his nest on the seat, but he’s awake now. Wide-eyed and staring at a spot on the ceiling. “So, that was the king… King of The Cradle? How do you know?”

Tomar drags his hand down his face, exhaling heavily. “That screech must have been his eagle, Odio. It never leaves his side. Which means he was inside one of those tanks.” Tomar looks at Lagos. “And he must have more important things to do than check our vehicle.”

Lagos’ jaw pulses. “They’ll be back for us. They know where we are. We have to take a different route.”

I place my hand over my heart, feeling the racing organ beneath my palm. “Luckily we got off the road when we did.” Clearly shaken by what just happened, my mind ticks over blank thoughts as Lagos turns onto the highway and into a red abyss.

My breath catches to behold the endless red nothing in front of us. Being dependent on them is difficult and easy for the exact opposite reasons.

I worry my lower lip. I trust them to know what to do, to get us there safely no matter what obstacles we hit head on— My brows furrow… But we didn’t hit this one, did we? We avoided it.

Howdidwe avoid it?

I lift my head and stare at Lagos in the tiny mirror, dread creeping in on suspicion’s heels. “How did you know they were coming, Lagos?”

Tomar’s eyes shift to Lagos, and the lingering pause has a pulse of its own, sending icy fear down my spine.

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