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For me? Or for others in the forges? I’m scared to ask. “Wes.”
“I’ve seen the atrocities they commit, Tessa. I’ve heard the stories.” His eyes meet mine again, but now they’ve shuttered and gone dark. “I saw what happened by the gates. That’s mild compared to what they’ll do next.”
I’ve seen the same atrocities. Heard the same stories. My heart flutters in my chest. I think of Mistress Kendall and all she lost. I think of the dozens of other families we bring medicine to, of all the people who will die without the medicine we bring. “We can’t stop, Wes. People . . . ?people count on us.”
His eyes close. “I’m not talking about forever. But perhaps—”
“No!”
“Tessa—”
“We can’t!” I say fiercely. “We’d be sentencing them to death ourselves! We—”
Heuses the treble hook to jerk me forward, and his hand slaps over my mouth. “You are aware they’ve doubled the night patrol, yes?”
I nod at him, wide-eyed. He lowers his hand.
“We can’t stop,” I whisper, though my voice is no less adamant. “We can’t.”
“We can.” His eyes blaze into mine. “We can’t help anyone if we’re dead. Rebellion won’t stop the fevers.”
I swallow and think of my parents. My father did everything he could to make sure everyone had access to medicine. It led to their deaths, so maybe that should be a warning to me.
It’s not. It’s a legacy. “If you don’t want to go, then stay here.” I jerk my treble hook out of his hand. “I have people to help.”
“Tessa!” he hisses behind me, but I don’t stop.
My throat is tight with so much emotion. Anger. Fear. Worry.
Disappointment.
I hear nothing, but he suddenly appears at my side, as quick and agile as a cat. “You’re going to get us both killed,” he says under his breath.
“If you’re so scared, go home.”
“I am not scared.” He catches my arm and hauls me to a stop.
I look up into his eyes, flecked with sparks from the starlight. “When there are calls for revolution,” I say to him, “we should be riding at the front, not hiding in the shadows.”
His voice is so rough. “All we do is hide, Tessa.”
“Maybe it’s time we stopped. We don’t know who these Benefactors are . . . ?but maybe they’re onto something good. Something right.”
He’s so silent, so still, his eyes intent on mine.
“Maybe it’s time to make a difference another way,” I whisper, because everything feels so dangerous to say aloud.
When he says nothing, I lift a hand to touch the edge of his mask. He’s so still, especially when the tip of my finger slides under the edge.
Just when I think he’s going to let me tug it free, his eyes flick open and he ducks his face away. His voice is low and rough when he says, “Go back to the workshop. Heat the water. I’ll make the run.”
“Wes—”
“I’m faster. Don’t look at me like that. You know I am.” He pulls a small pack from his bag and presses it into my hand. “Here. There’s a bit left from yesterday. I found some extra roseseed oil, too. Start the water and measure what you can. If we’re quick, we can bottle the elixirs and make our rounds before daybreak.”
His eyes are boring into mine, so I nod quickly.
I close my fingers around the pack and take a step back. I can’t tell if he’s angry or determined or we’re both just fooling ourselves into thinking we can make a difference.
