Page 138 of Beyond The Maples
Slowly I turn to Deacon, ready for him to jump in with his own confusion, to counter with a more logical explanation. But his face is oddly blank, cold.
"What...?"
"Deacon is aninformant, Maple. He's the man who sold his putrid soul to the Council, along with everyone else in his family," she pauses, a look of sympathy softening her eyes. "Any valuable information he's ever gotten, he relays directly to them. Selling everyone out. He was giving the government intelligence before he had facial hair... He was the one who incriminated your dad."
I'm still shaking my head as I look between them. Pleading for Deacon to deny it; to fight her, to tell her it's not true. Instead, he stands there, staring blankly.
"Deacon... tell her that isn't true," I beg him.
I recognize that I sound pathetic, pleading with my best friend to tell me he didn't ruin my life.
He won't look at me. His copper eyes are locked on Hollis as panic creeps its way up my body. Puzzle pieces that I've refused to place all these years start settling into their rightful spots. The dots I've refused to connect out of sheer stubbornness.Slowly, Deacon turns to looks at me—there's no regret, no pleading for forgiveness or remorse on his face.
"I did what I had to do to keep everyone safe. To keepyousafe," his voice falters with his declaration.
Memories flash through my mind. A clock ticking backwards with every time I had felt that tug in my gut that something wasn't right, and ignored it.
His family suddenly ostracizing me when we were children.
Tick.
My dad vanishing.
Tick.
Our dorm room being sacked—Farra being interrogated.
Tick.
Captain Kethlers timely arrival when we opened the door to the artillery.
Tick.
Deacon's hesitation, his easy submission to them.
Tick.
Berkley.
Boom.
The remaining walls keeping the neatly packed parcels of darkness inside me, all crumble down. There are no barriers to keep it in anymore. All I feel is a gaping hole, and I let it implode.
I'm nails, and teeth, and fury. I don't even see who pulls me off Deacon. They catch one of my elbows on the side of the head, but I can't stop and I don't hear what anyone says.
I'm left heaving on the ground; nausea mixing with unrelenting memories and a fury I can't tame. Fresh blood sits under my fingernails. Tears blur my eyes as a dark figure hovers in front of me. I don't fight him when he slips his arm under my knees and my back—effortlessly scooping me up off the ground.
Tane's scent washes over me, soothing me slightly, and I take my first full breath in minutes, maybe my first full breath since I left that hall. I'm aware I'm crying, tears mixing with blood, dust, and despair. Tane carries me far enough away that we can't seeor hear the others. I should run to warn the rest of the crew, or save Tarius, orsomething,but I can't bring myself to do anything.
He places me on the ground, with such gentleness it makes my heart ache. He kneels silently to my level, opening his canteen and pours some water on my hands. He then rips the arm off his shirt, wetting the material. He motions to my hands, a silent question, and I nod.
Slowly, almost reverently, he washes away some of the grime on my skin. My hands, my face, my neck.
"Deacon is an informant. Along with his father and several other family members. Hollis was placed there to watch them, and you–– the Treows in general, actually, became her objective," he explains as he wipes the grime off me, speaking gently. "Hollis is part of my Legion, so technically, the Council placed her in the region."
I must frown, because he goes on.
"Rebels, Maple. We were working with your dad—or technically, the people your dad worked with—there's a network," he continues.
