The Reformation Read online

  “You’re an imp.”

  Her too-sweet-and-wholesome-for-the-world façade dropped, a new threat creeping into her voice. “Is that the best you got? Because I thought that even you would be a little more challenging.”

  Sighing while rubbing her temples, Celine darted ahead of the two, aware of where she should place her feet, due to countless pointers from Jan. She was nowhere close to the almost silent footsteps of the 18-year old, but she was making good progress, unlike Fey. Grudgingly, Celine had to admit that January was right; Fey was being obnoxiously loud and slow which was doing nothing to help them out. But she knew that it was Fey being stubborn to what Jan was trying to teach her, but only because she had caught the girl practicing on her own time, attempting to run shadow to shadow in the palace stealthily.

  After she got out of earshot of all of their arguing, she tentatively turned on the comm, hoping that this was safer than the prototype that Z made that had exploded. Despite all of his reassurances, she was still nervous, but to her relief, nothing sparked or combusted. Instead, there was an odd dull humming in the silences, but after a bit, she got accustomed to it.

  “Z?” Celine tested out.

  The mechanic’s voice was clear, hued with its usual amusement. “Roger.”

  “Wait, what? Who’s ‘Roger’?”

  “No, it’s just,” Celine could tell the face that he was making right now; disappointment and exasperation, the same face he wore every single time one of the crew had no idea what Second Era lingo he had just said. “Forget it. What’s up Hollingworth?”

  “I’m not sure. How does the sky of hell look like again?”

  “I’m offended that you think that I know,” she could hear his smirk. “Arguing?”

  “Arguing,” she confirmed, straightening her ponytail. “I swear to god, if I make it out alive, I will kill them both.”

  “Why not now? I promise to turn a blind ear to their comms of desperation.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I regretfully need them. Both,” she added, as she swore she heard a noise of disappointment from Z. “Just keep me occupied, please.”

  “Want to hear a rather scandalous story that I’ve heard from one of the maids, as of late?”

  “Well that depends. How much scandal are we talking about here?”

  “One concerning a missing blade and a late rendezvous.”

  “And how the hell are the two connected?”

  “Well…”

  “I’m probably going to regret this, aren’t I?” He made a sound vaguely similar to ‘well..’, yet again, and she felt an eyebrow raise, despite the fact that Z wasn’t there to see it. “I’m not going to regret this, because you’re not going to tell me.”

  Z let out a huff on the other end. “Well then, Hollingsworth; you entertain me.”

  “I’m in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Entertaining is going to be quite hard.”

  “Would you rather I prattle off about what the maids were talking about? Or the scrumptious details of what I had for lunch?”

  “Firstly, I would like to retain my sanity, so no. And secondly, I’m starving, so no.”

  “Oh, I know what to talk about! The king has been awfully desolated without you, you know?”

  “God Z, can you give up your failing matchmaking endeavors for a day?”

  “No. It’s destiny.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he confirmed, sounding teasing and confident, all in one. “The sooner you marry into royalty, the sooner I can be the most famous maid of honour ever to have lived.”

  She scoffed, though finding some amusement in his tale, but Z didn’t need to know that part. “Maid of honour? What gives you the impression that I would let you be my maid of honour?”

  “I’m hurt, Celine.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m thinking summer wedding?”

  “Z!”

  “Stars, no need to get touchy Celine. If you really want it, you can have an autumn wedding, I don’t mind,” He added as an afterthought, “Actually, no spring wedding. Your gown trial will get stuck in the mud.”

  “Z! You’re- you’re-”

  “Amazing? No need to thank me.” Celine took a deep breath in, knowing how much Z was relishing in the fact that she was becoming flustered.

  “Whatever, Z. Sleep with one eye open,” she warned, to which Z laughed.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “What? I’m not the queen- Z,” her voice dropped in warning, and Z laughed even harder. Just as she was about to open her mouth to retort, she heard the deep voice of Jan and the feminine voice of Fey, and she relented. “I’m not done with you, Z. I have to go, I’m back on babysitting duty.”

  “Of course. Stay safe?”

  “Always am.”

  “You realize that you not once denied the plausible wedding between you and a certain king?”

  Celine snapped back to attention, starting another threat, but she heard the humming cease, symbolizing Z dropping his end of the line. “Lucky bugger,” she muttered under her breath, toying with the straps of her gun holster, annoyed.

  The two were still bickering, and as much as Celine was tempted to leave them again, she knew that they must have been fast approaching the base; it seemed that the deep forest was clearing up, which Celine took as a warning to start watching her step.

  “Could you guys just shut up, for a few minutes?” They didn’t hear her. “Shut up, guys!”

  This time, they appeared to register her words, even turning to look at her. But after a whole 3 peaceful seconds, they started right back up again.

  “I’m following all of your god-forsaken rules, you figjam!” Jan raised one of his eyebrows, to which Fey promptly responded: “Manaroan slang.”

  “You sound like an obese cow trampling over a pile of raked leaves,” Jan deadpanned.

  “I do not!”

  “Celine!” they shouted in unison, which induced the blonde to only groan at their ability to act so childish.

  “Leave me out of the old married couple arguments, would you?” Celine said, beyond tired of their antics.

  That left Fey exclaiming with a look of smug delight at Jan, “We’d be a photogenic couple, don’t you think Hollingsworth?” and Jan sputtering, trying to form a cogent sentence.

  Finally stopping, Celine rested her hands on her hips, hoping to look as serious as she could. “Okay, Jan, Fey. We’re approaching base soon, so I would appreciate it if you both would stop trying to kill each other, eh? Jan, you look like a tomato. It was just an innocent comment, alright? —unless, of course, there’s a complicated past marriage scandal that you would like to tell me about?” Jan glared at her, which she took as her answer. “Good, because that would have just been awkward. And wipe that smug look off your face, Fey.”

  “Jeez, you both need to loosen up,” Fey commented, with a look that set Celine completely over the edge. It was so dismissive, so god-stop-overreacting.

  Celine unfurled her clenched fists at her sides. “We need to loosen up? Are you kidding me, Downcley? We’re right by a rebel base and can be caught. Field missions are dangerous and not your playground to mess with Jan.”

  Fey looked miffed, arms crossed, and Jan took the opportunity to speak up. “I guess I should thank you, Holling-”

  “Can it, Jan.” The light on his eyes dimmed ever so slightly, so there was only the stone-cold glow of his grey eyes. Fey muttered something under her breath, and Celine felt her temper rise again. “What was that, Downcley?”

  Fey smiled mirthlessly at her project leader. “What? Did I say something, Hollingsworth?”

  “You-” Celine stopped herself, reminding herself that Fey wanted this. She wanted a rise, but she wasn’t going to get one. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Never mind. Let’s just get a move on, yeah?”

  Fey opened her mouth to shot something back, but Jan shushed her before a word could get out. “Don’t. Suddenly. Move,” he spat through gritted
teeth. “I think they might’ve tightened security on the forest.”

  “Wouldn’t have happened if Celine could manage her temper,” Fey sighed, looking slightly annoyed. The look of her pissed off eyes, and scowl, immediately lifted Celine’s spirits.

  “Wouldn’t have happened if Fey could shut her mouth,” she retorted, and she saw Fey’s mouth quirk up.

  “Ah, Hollingsworth has backbone,” Fey mused, looking relatively surprised.

  Celine just drew her gun, relaxing her stiff posture after Jan started to quickly search their surroundings, lightly treading the ground to see if there were any enemy officers in the area. “If they’re tightening security, then we’re close. Remember, shooting’s allowed, but no deaths unless absolutely necessary.”

  “No deaths?” Fey curiously asked.

  Jan piped in as he appeared beside the two girls. “Hollingsworth here, has a certain passion for human rights.”

  Celine felt her muscles go rigid again, her jaw locking to prevent her from making any unnecessary comments. “Well January,” Fey started icily. “Some people maybe find that quality admirable.”

  Celine gave Fey a quick smile, hopefully conveying her appreciation, but there were other matters on hand. “Try not to attract attention. We don’t need any extra eyes on us.”

  “We attract attention wherever we go, Celine,” Fey jested, playing with her knives. “Come on, when has any mission ended up badly?”

  “Yeah. Something tells me that this mission won’t end up so good,” And weapons drawn, the three began their hushed trek further into plain view, closer to the rebel stronghold, praying that things went according to plan.

  Eighteen

  Z WAS getting ready to kill them. All three of them.

  It had been at least an hour since Celine had commed him last, and none of them had made any contact with base since. It was so damned irritating.

  At first, he didn’t think much of it. They were probably infiltrating a stronghold right now, but they were supposed to comm in when they reached the control room, and it shouldn’t have taken them an hour to reach a god forsaken control room.

  He was frustrated and lonely and hungry. But he didn’t dare move from his spot to go to the kitchen and grab something, or even to call a maid (because hey! —he was in the palace and he intended to take full advantage of it), but he did dare to dart out of his Cave of No Return (which is what they dubbed the room cramped up with the bright computer screens and monitors, lining the walls), to grab the 3D model map of NNR that he was building. Jax might have brought up the whole idea of a cover-up story as a joke, but Z was taking it quite literally.

  He had a whole pile of documents strewn across the main area in the meeting room (it wasn’t all just haphazard, contrary to popular belief), and he made dozens of models and plans for rebuilding NNR; their front for their secret-mission. And while no one else on the team noticed, he made sure to lock away any important documents during the night—he could never be too careful—and even managed to keep his most important constructing, rebuilding, and updating projects in secret. He was surprised at the fact that he had managed to finish 2 laptops and refurbishing a truck without raising any suspicion.

  But now he was half-assing the model, adding pieces absentmindedly, wishing that he could do something more productive with his life, rather than sitting around, playing with building blocks and figurines that were way too detailed.

  He was getting worried, not about their mission, but about them. He knew that the three of them were quite adept with a gun, but he also knew how on ends all three of them were. And Z only realized how concerned he was when he managed to knock over an entire Region, deep in thought, and deemed it best—for him and the model—that he tried to contact the three of them again. Shoving the headphones over his unruly hair, and tried comming in.

  “Cel? Jan? January? Fey? God, can’t one of you please answer your goddamn comm? It’s not stopping a goddamn bomb!” Z pushed himself away from his table, throwing the headset on the chair next to him. He scowled, angry at himself for trying again, angry at his habit of swearing when frustrated, and angry at the screen, with its bright dancing line taunting him—wait. Dancing line?

  Suddenly re-engaged with newfound excitement, Z drew himself back towards the computer, grabbing his headset once again. “Z? Z-I-don’t-have-anything-threatening-to-add, you better start talking if you know what’s good for you-”

  He would’ve died of relief if he wasn’t so irritated.

  “I’m here, Fey. What’s up?”

  “Misfortune. Send me a list of the symptoms of Scorchen.”

  His heart leaped up to his throat. “Why?”

  “Celine, she-” Fey took in an audible breath, and her voice came out in a strain. “Just send me the list before I become the first person to murder tech support over a comm.”

  Celine? Z wanted to ask more questions, as he felt that recently decreased worry rise up again, but he knew that tone of voice. Fey was getting ready to snap someone’s head off, and Z did not want to be that person.

  “Chill,” He pushed himself away from the computer he was at, to get to a different computer, ready with the private royal browser loaded up. He searched up what the side effects of the disease was, praying for Celine as his fingers flew over the keys and sent the list to Fey as quickly as possible. “I sent it.”

  “Alright,” Z waited for a few seconds, the silence—the wait—killing him. “Okay, I got it. Jan?” Z heard a muffled yeah in the background. “Check her pulse.”

  60 more agonizing seconds. “240/ minute, which I doubt is healthy,” Jan said.

  “Her skin?” Fey asked, and Z could hear the concern in her voice.

  “She’s burning up, Downcley. And-” there was rustling in the background. “There’s a rash-like thing on her calf. Don’t think that was there before.”

  “She’s shivering, Z. And she had a coughing fit before she passed out.” She sounded nervous. “Z, this can’t be good.”

  “Five symptoms in a week are bad chances. Five within an hour, is really, really bad. Send me a blood sample,” The blood in his ears was roaring, and he struggled to keep his head level. Celine, Celine, Celine, Celine.

  “A blood sample? How on earth am I supposed to do tha-”

  “They’re gaining. We have to go, now.” Jan shouted in the distance.

  “But if she has Scorchen-” Z started.

  “Z’s right, Jan. That’s really risky.”

  “I thought you were all about risk, Downcley? Look, it’s dangerous, but we have to do it. Which would you rather, the chance of getting Scorchen or having bullet holes covering every square inch of your skin?” Jan asked. There was silence, which Z could only infer as consideration. “Exactly. Now get in the truck and start it up. I’ll get Celine.”

  “Fey, you can’t possibly-”

  “Screen us upon our arrival and arrange something for Celine. Until then-” A gunshot shattered the connection momentarily. “Bye Z.”

  The line was cut, but Z kept his headset on, hoping that he could know more of what was happening, or better yet—have Fey come on and tell him that it was all a practical joke. Anxiety kept his leg fidgeting, waiting for it all to unfurl before him.

  Still obstinate and keeping the headset on his head, Z started to make the plans for Celine’s arrangement and the screening tests as soon as the group arrived. How will it turn out?

  An unsettling feeling at the bottom of his gut and a thickness in his throat, told him that, chances were, it wouldn’t be pretty.

  At all.

  Nineteen

  THEY were gaining. Jan had picked Celine up, and placed her as gently as possible in the back seat, pushing back resurfacing memories of two figures with blooming bruises, lying still. Where are they Aun-

  “January! Get your ass in; I think they dispatched a group after us.”

  Clenching his fists, he opened the door further, climbing in. Slamming the door shut, he yel
led: “I’m in, Downcley. Now floor it,”

  “What do mean-” She craned her head and sighed in exasperation. “Are you insane? Scorchen is contagious you know.”

  “I am fully aware,” he spat from behind gritted teeth, “Now hurry the hell up.”

  She let out a resigned sigh that sounded almost as frustrated as Jan felt, and slammed the acceleration, launching Jan into the seat in front of him.

  “Trying to kill someone?” he asked irritably.

  “I recall a certain someone,” she swerved dangerously, “requesting me to floor it.”

  “I didn’t mean that literally,” he muttered. Locking in his jaw as to prevent him from shooting anymore retorts back at Fey, he concentrated on getting Celine into a comfortable position, where the belt wouldn’t be cutting into her skin, or where she wouldn’t be launched through the windshield due to Fey’s reckless driving. But after Jan’s head hit against the roof of the truck with a headache-inducing force, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you even know how to drive?”

  “Honestly?” She asked, looking at him through the mirror. “I’ve only driven motorcycles, but you have to start somewhere.”

  January let out a string of colourful language, giving Celine a once-over before climbing into the passenger seat. “What the hell, Downcley?”

  “They were gaining. And you’re not dead yet, are you?”

  “I’m pretty close,” He reached towards his holster to pull out his gun, only to realize that it got tossed into the fire as he struggled to get a man off of him, annoyance rising up within him. “How far are they?”

  Fey quickly glanced in her mirror and clicked her tongue. “We have some time, but they’re still following us.”

  “Try not to crash,” Jan warned her.

  Fey looked extremely confused. “What do you mea- what the hell January?” He was reaching out across her lap, flipping open the holster on her belt to grab her gun, when she swerved suddenly to the left.

  “I said-” he grunted, twisted at an odd angle because of the last turn, trying to sit back up, “Try not to crash.”

  “Why don’t you just use your own gun?”