Rowan bit his lips shut.
I wanted to add something, but I couldn’t think of anything I could say that wouldn’t make it worse.
I liked Rowan a lot. He was easy to talk to and made me laugh. Yeah, he spent a lot of time complaining about Angela, but he also took responsibility for the situation. I almost felt bad for him; he really wanted to be part of her little group. Maybe that's why he was so loyal to the Architect. He got to be part of something.
But this is where I found myself stuck. Everyone else put the Architect on a pedestal of goodness and equality. Yet, my experience didn’t match up. Chancellor Morgen’s warnings didn’t help. Ezra was his second-in-command. I didn’t know if the man directly made my schedule, but he had to at least know I was too busy to think… and it started right after I revealed my gender.
Was he isolating me as Cayden said? The more I thought about it, the more Cayden’s observations rang true.
I sighed.
Maybe I did need to buy a castle and start over.
We pulled to a stop at the lowest point of the now very wide road. The husk of a massive, lighter-stone building sat on our right. A plastic banner, stuck under a chunk of masonry, had somehow survived.Between bits of moss and dirt, the words National Gallery were barely readable.
Behind it, a massive wall, made up of rubble and thick bands of metal, stretched in either direction. Two men stood on either side of a solid metal arch, dressed as if they’d raided the Mad Max wardrobe before hitting hair and makeup.
Finally, some true Hollywood inspiration.
“That’s one of the three main gates to Westwater territory,” Rowan pointed out. “And it’s the only one that leads directly to The Pit.”
My concept of the world grew. Rowan made fun of me for not knowing anything about the families, but to a large extent, I hadn’t really considered much beyond my own perception. I mean, it wasn’t real, so what was the point?
The Pit sounded like some overly dramatic story location. How was I supposed to take this seriously... oh Birt was a pit fighter. I assumed that was a job title, but maybe it was an actual location. My stomach growled. My burned TB smoked, and my possible future as a baby factory hit me all at once.
All of this was so much more than Miss Q messing with me; it had to be. And if I didn’t start taking my new life seriously, it would swallow me whole.
Rowan side-stepped his horse, so it was next to Cayden’s, and squeezed my arm. I met his cool white gaze and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Rowan led us to the other side of the wide road. Trees I recognized far too well, because I fell through them, ran along the base of the cliff side, leading up to The Mile and the Architect’s castle. Below us, a massive stretch of green grass, which had probably been a park in my time, hosted a little market. Unlike the packed tent-covered farmer's markets of my time, this one was sparse and spread out. Noone mingled, searching for free samples; they walked purposefully under the eyes of men clearly guarding the entrance to their various wares.
I was suddenly very glad I hadn’t made it here on my own.
A long metal pole had spots filled with water and a small tray at horse-nose level. Several beasts, including an adorable furry cow, were already tied up. The occasional motorcycle, covered in glowing tubes and strange metal parts, did not drink or snack but occupied the same space. A man, dressed in protective layers, sat on the ground behind each bike. Two of them had moved close enough to talk, but chains pulled at their ankles. A slender ring sat snug against each of their necks.
I rubbed above my collarbone, fighting to keep my memories from scenario three at bay. Although the feel of the cold metal against my skin made a shiver run down my spine, the man’s coal black eyes stayed away.
“They’re slaves,” Cayden said, noticing my focus. “It takes a lot of energy to make anything from BT work with magic. They only exist to power their master’s bike.”
I hadn’t seen a single motor vehicle, besides the train, inside or near the castle walls. Until now, the absence hadn’t felt out of place in this almost fantasy setting. “And that’s why there are no bikes or cars anywhere near the castle. The Architect doesn’t believe in slavery.”
“I made the same assumption.” Cayden put his hands on my hips and gently pressed me forward, further squishing my junction on something that was definitely not supposed to feel that good.
I bit my bottom lip and looked at anything but the slaves. Horny and introspective shouldn't go together.
My gaze locked on Rowan dismounting far stiffer than he had mounted. His bubble butt looked sinfully good in those tight leatherpants, and under the black tunic, the muscles in his back shifted and flexed with every slow inch he lowered himself from the towering draft horse.
I really didn’t want to start over.
“Earth to Quinn,” Cayden barked, already dismounted.
I jumped in surprise, nearly falling off the horse before regaining my balance and awkwardly climbing down. Cayden scowled at me as if I’d done something wrong, and I scowled right back. “Angela has seven suitors, and I don’t even have one. You cannot blame me for looking.”
Cayden wrinkled his nose, and Rowan laughed.
We took the stairs down to The Green, and my feet squelched into surprisingly wet and springy grass. It didn’t take us long to find a thick brown tent with the sign ‘Willow’s Weaving and More’ hanging over the flaps. The two guards let us through without question.
The inside was larger than I expected, and I didn’t recognize any of it. There were no racks of clothing, but pieces were displayed artfully on mannequins and floated in midair with no help at all.
