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“I don’t…” I shake my head, trying to clear away the jumble of thoughts crowding my mind. “I don’t understand what he’s doing here.”
“Who is he?” Ash asks, kneeling down beside me. Her eyes are round with worry, skipping between Caleb and me.
“Bishop Lattimer,” Caleb says. I ignore the startled sounds from the people gathered around us, the heated murmurs. “Right?” Caleb asks me. His voice sounds like the old Caleb, the one who didn’t want me here. The one who wasn’t sure I was worth saving.
I nod, my gaze returning to Bishop’s beaten face. I take my sleeve and wipe away the blood that’s oozing from a gash in his cheekbone. His upper lip is split open, his nostrils ringed with blood. More blood, dark and thick, is matted in his hair. All I want to do is lie down beside him and weep, bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until my lungs are so full there’s no room for anything else.
“But you said you didn’t know him,” Ash says. “You said…” Her voice trails off, and I can’t look at her. I know what I’ll see: the eyes of someone who understands they’ve been deceived. The same look Bishop gave me when he realized I couldn’t be trusted. I know that look and it hurts too much; I can’t bear to see it again.
“I think she should kill him,” Mark says conversationally. I rock back on my heels like he’s slapped me. “You’ve got that knife in your belt, always so quick to put your hand on it.” He gestures at Bishop. “He’s a Lattimer. He’s nothing to you.” Mark’s eyes dare me to contradict him. “So kill him. Make a statement.”
“I’m not… I can’t…” My lips are numb, my tongue stumbling over the words. Behind me a few people are taking up Mark’s suggestion, the quiet rumble of their voices turning into a rising chorus of vengeance.
“Come on, Ivy,” Mark taunts. “Now’s your chance to get back at President Lattimer for what’s he’s done to you.” His gaze leaves mine and moves to the larger group. “To all of us.”
Someone behind me gives a yell of agreement, and I can feel the press of bodies moving forward. Soon the mob mentality will take over, and if I don’t do the job, they’ll be happy to step into the void. “No,” I cry out, bending over Bishop. And now my hand is on my knife, ready to use it on anyone who comes near him.
“Stop it!” Caleb’s voice rings out. He shoulders Mark back, away from Bishop. “No one’s killing anyone.”
“But—”
“I said stop!” Caleb shouts at Mark. “Enough!” He scrubs at his face with one hand, and the firelight illuminates the cuts on his bruised knuckles, injuries he got beating Bishop. My stomach heaves. “We’re not killing him.” He speaks to the whole group, but his eyes are on Mark.
“You don’t get to decide for everyone,” Mark says. “You’re not in charge here. Right?” he calls out. “I think this guy”—he kicks Bishop’s leg—“needs to pay for what his father’s done.”
There’s a collective roar behind me, and I know Caleb and I aren’t going to be enough to hold them off for much longer. I stand up, careful to keep my body between the crowd and Bishop. The darkness and fading firelight throw uneven shadows across everyone’s faces, turning these people I’ve lived with the past weeks into strangers. A mob with blood on their minds.
“Please,” I say. “He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good person.”
“He’s a Lattimer!” someone yells.
“But he’s not President Lattimer!” I yell back.
Someone separates from the crowd, and I raise my knife. “But you were put out because you wouldn’t marry him,” Elizabeth says. She looks more confused than angry. “Why are you defending him?”
I glance over my shoulder at Caleb, his gaze serious on mine. I look back at Elizabeth. “I did marry him,” I tell her, fighting to keep my voice even. “He’s my husband.” A ripple of shock goes through the crowd, although I can’t tell if my admission makes their anger stronger or weaker. “It wasn’t my choice, but he was always good to me. He never hurt me.”
“It doesn’t matter!” a voice yells from the back of the crowd. “He’s still a Lattimer.”
“Wait!” another voice cries. An older man pushes toward the front. “I know him. I remember him. When I was put out, he came to the fence. He brought me food and water. Told me which way to go to find the river. He saved my life.”
“Mine, too,” a woman’s voice calls.
“You can’t kill him,” I say, looking at the older man. “You can’t.” I turn my attention to the crowd. “You’ll have to kill me, too.”
Behind me I hear movement, and Caleb shoves Mark out of the way to come stand beside me. “We’re done here,” he says, voice firm. “I’m vouching for him. He’s not a threat to us. We aren’t animals.
We aren’t going to kill him. You’ll have to go through me to do it.”
There’s some grumbling from the crowd, but people slowly begin to move back. “Come on,” Caleb says, voice low. “Let’s get him into a tent.”
“Don’t look at me,” Mark says. “I’m not helping.” He gives me one last glance before turning and fading into the darkness.
“The three of us can carry him,” Ash says.
Caleb takes Bishop’s shoulders, and Ash and I each grab a leg. It’s awkward moving him; he’s so tall, and his lifeless limbs keep slipping from our grasp. No one else offers to help, but they don’t interfere, either.
“We can take him to our tent,” Ash says. Caleb opens his mouth to protest, but Ash just gives him a quick, tight-lipped shake of her head.
