“Where are the other dash-packs?” Marisol asked. They were the first thing she looked for when she returned to the B and B with Attie and Keegan. She picked up the two burlap bags that were sitting on the kitchen counter, eventually glancing to where Iris and Roman were cleaning off the table.
Roman paused. “They should all be there, Marisol. I laid out four of them.”
“That’s odd,” Marisol said with a frown. “Because there are only two.”
Iris watched as Marisol searched the rest of the kitchen, her pulse dropping. “Marisol? I think someone must have stolen them.”
“Stolen them?” Marisol echoed, as if the thought of stealing in Avalon Bluff was unheard of. “What makes you think that, Iris?”
“Because there were footprints in the garden, leading into the house.”
“Garden?” Keegan said, glancing at her wife. “Did you actually plant one, Mari?”
“Of course I did! I told you I would. But it wouldn’t have happened with quite a bit of help.”
“Show me.”
Attie was closest to the doors; she led the way into the afternoon light. It was strange, how quiet the world felt now. Even the wind had abated, Iris noticed as she followed the others out onto the terrace.
Keegan let out a low whistle. “It looks nice. You remembered to water it this time, Marisol.”
Marisol playfully nudged Keegan’s arm. “Yes, well, it wouldn’t have happened without Iris and Attie.”
“Indeed. And I see what you were talking about, Iris.” Keegan walked to one of the rows, crouching down to trace the lump in the soil. “You covered up their trail?”
“Yes, because I wanted the garden to look nice for you,” Iris explained in a rush. “But I have a perfect imprint of the boot.” She brought the dirt-marked paper to Keegan.
Keegan studied it with a frown. “A soldier’s boot, then. They must have come into the house during the evacuation and taken two of the dash-packs. I’m surprised. My company knows better. They never steal from civilians.”
“It’s fine,” Marisol said. “Whoever it was must have needed resources, and I’m glad to have given to someone in need. I can easily make three more bags. In fact, I’ll do that right now.”
“Three more?” Keegan said, gently grasping Marisol’s arm to stop her. “You only need to make two, darling.”
“Yes, and one for you as well,” Marisol replied with a smile. “Since you’re here with us now.”
“Of course.” Keegan loosened her grip and Marisol retreated to the kitchen. But Iris saw the sadness that flickered through the captain’s eyes as she glanced at the garden again. As if she sensed this might be the last time she would enjoy it.
Everything was changing.
Iris could taste it in the air, as if the season had crumbled like an ancient page, skipping summer and autumn to usher in the creeping chill of winter. Soldiers were stationed everywhere in their olive-green uniforms and helmets, preparing the town for the imminent battle. Barricades now sat in the streets, made of sandbags, mismatched furniture salvaged from residents’ homes, and anything else that could grant coverage.
The town no longer felt like a haven but like a snare, as if they were waiting to catch a monster.
As if Dacre himself might walk into the Bluff.
And what if he did? What did his face look like? Would Iris know him if their paths crossed?
She thought of Enva and her harp. The power of her music, deep in the earth.
Enva, where are you? Will you help us?
Iris made herself useful to Marisol, who was in the kitchen preparing meals for the platoons, and assisted with Keegan’s quest to create as many strategic barricades as possible in the streets, but there was a quiet moment when Iris remembered her mother and her ashes that were held in a jar upstairs on her desk.
If I die tomorrow, my mother’s ashes will never have found a resting place.
The words were serrated, making every passing minute feel dire. More than anything, Iris wanted to see her mother set free.
She took the jar and approached Keegan, because her soldiers had set up a watch around the town and no one could get in or out without special permission.
“How much longer do we have?” Iris asked the captain. “Before Dacre arrives?”
Keegan was quiet, staring into the west. “He’ll take the rest of today to fully sack Clover Hill. I predict he’ll march for the Bluff by tomorrow morning.”
Iris released a tremulous breath. One final day to do the things she wanted, she needed, she longed to accomplish. It was wild to imagine it—the remaining span of golden hours. She decided she would do everything she could, filling this last day to the brim.
Surprised by the lapse into silence, Keegan at last glanced at Iris, noticing the jar she held in her hands. “Why do you ask, Iris?”
“I would like to spread my mother’s ashes before then.”
“Then you should do so, now. But take your boy with you,” Keegan said.
Iris asked Roman and Attie to accompany her to the golden field.
A slight breeze stirred, blowing from the east.
Iris closed her eyes.
Not so long ago, she had arrived at this place, full of grief and guilt and fear. And while those things still dwelled in her, they were not as sharp as they had been.
I hope you see me, Mum. I hope you’re proud of me.
She opened the lid and overturned the jar.
She watched as her mother’s ashes were carried by the wind, into the golden dance of the grass.
“Do either of you know how to drive a lorry?” Keegan asked half an hour later.
Iris and Attie exchanged a dubious look. They had just finished carrying a table from Peter’s house out into the street.
“No,” Iris said, wiping sweat from her brow.
“All right, well, come on then. I’m going to teach you both.”
Iris glanced over her shoulder at the B and B, where Marisol was still cooking in the kitchen. Roman had been assigned to help her, and Iris was grateful, knowing Marisol had him peeling potatoes at the kitchen table.
He probably was stewing about it, but he needed to rest his leg.
Iris followed Attie and Keegan around the barricades to the eastern edge of the town, where lorry after lorry was parked. Keegan chose a truck that was situated at the front of the lot, with a clear path to the eastern road.
“Who wants to go first?” Keegan asked, opening the driver’s door.
“I will,” Attie said, before Iris could even draw a breath. She climbed up into the driver’s seat while Iris and Keegan crammed into the other side of the cab. A few soldiers stationed on this side of town had to open a makeshift gate, but then there was nothing but wide-open road before them.
“Turn on the ignition,” Keegan said.
Iris watched as Attie cranked the engine. The lorry roared to life.
“Now, do you know how a clutch operates?”
“Yes.” Attie sounded a bit hesitant, but her hands were on the steering wheel and her eyes were taking quick inventory of the dash and the levers.
“Good. Put your foot on that pedal. Push it in.”
Iris watched as Attie heeded Keegan’s instructions. Soon they were bouncing along the road, Avalon Bluff nothing more than a cloud of dust behind them. First, second, third gear. Attie was able to shift seamlessly between them, and when they were traveling so fast that Iris’s teeth were rattling, Attie let out a triumphant whoop.
“Very good. Now gear back down to neutral and park it,” Keegan said.
Attie did so, and then it was Iris’s turn.
Her palms were damp as she took the steering wheel. Her foot could barely reach the gas pedal, let alone the clutch she had to push to the floorboard.
It was … disastrous.
She nearly ran the lorry off the road twice, killed the engine at least four times, and was spouting off a stream of curses by the time Keegan took over.
“A little more practice, and you’ll be fine,” the captain said. “You get the general idea, and that’s all that matters.”
Iris slid into the passenger seat with Attie, and they were quiet as Keegan drove them back into town. The makeshift gate closed behind them, and soon the lorry was parked where it had been before, its nose pointing to the east.
Keegan turned off the engine, but she didn’t move. She stared out the dust-streaked windshield and said, “If things go badly here, I want to the two of you to take Marisol and that Kitt of yours and flee in this lorry. If you have to drive through this gate to get out, don’t hesitate to run over it. And you don’t stop for anything. You drive east until you’re safe.” She paused, setting her dark gaze on the girls. “Marisol has a sister who lives in a small town called River Down, about fifty kilometers west of Oath. Go there first. You stay together and you prepare for the worst. But you have to get Marisol out of here for me. Do you swear it?”
Iris’s mouth was suddenly dry. She stared at the captain—at the hard edges of her face and the scars on her hands—and she hated this war. She hated that it was dragging good people early to their graves, that it was tearing people’s lives and dreams apart.
But she nodded and spoke in unison with Attie.
“I swear it.”
They were delegated as runners after that.
Attie and Iris ran through the winding streets of Avalon Bluff, delivering meals and messages and anything else that either Marisol or Keegan needed. Iris had come to know this town like the lines on her palm, and she often ran the same routes she had with Roman when he had been training her. When they had run with the dawn. She was pleased to discover how much her stamina had improved since that first jog.
She only wished he could run beside her now.
The platoon stationed on the bluff needed a meal, and Iris and Attie ran to deliver it to them. Afternoon clouds were beginning to swell, blocking the sunlight, and Iris could smell a hint of smoke on the wind. She knew why when she reached the crest of the summit.
In the distance, Clover Hill was burning.
She delivered the baskets of food to the soldiers, studying each of their faces just in case Forest was among them. He wasn’t, but her hope remained like iron within her, even when she stood and watched the smoke rise in the distance. She wondered if there had been any survivors in Clover Hill, or if Dacre had slaughtered them all.
“How much longer until Dacre comes for us, do you think?” Attie asked, coming to a stop beside her. The land that sprawled between them and Clover Hill was peaceful, idyllic. Its innocence was deceiving.
“Keegan said he would come tomorrow morning,” Iris replied. They still had four hours of sunlight remaining in the day, and then night would come. Beyond that, Iris could only imagine.
In some ways, this quiet stretch of waiting was more difficult to bear. Hour after hour of wondering and preparing and anticipating. Who would die? Who would live? Would they be able to successfully hold the town? Would Dacre burn it to the ground, like Clover Hill?
“If things go bad and we have to uphold our vow to Keegan,” Attie began. “I’ll grab Marisol. You grab Roman. We’ll meet at the lorry.”
“How do we know when things are bad enough?” Iris asked, licking her lips. She could taste the salt of her sweat. “At what point do we know when to flee?” She had wanted to pose this question to Keegan but had swiftly swallowed it, worried that the captain would think it unnecessary. Shouldn’t you know when things are bad enough?
“I’m not sure, Iris,” Attie replied grimly. “But I think in the moment … we’ll just know.”
Iris felt something brush her ankle. She startled as she heard a sorrowful meow, and she glanced down to see a calico cat rubbing against her legs.
“Why, look here!” Attie cried, delightedly scooping up the cat. “A good luck charm!”
“I didn’t realize cats brought favor,” Iris said, but she smiled as she watched Attie coo over the feline.
“Who do you think she belongs to?” Attie asked. “A stray, do you think?”
“I think she’s one of the O’Briens’ cats. They had about seven. I’m guessing this one was left behind when they evacuated.” It looked suspiciously like the very cat that had been curled up in Roman’s lap the day before. Iris reached out and scratched behind its ears, craving to touch something soft and gentle.
“Well, she’s coming home with me. Aren’t you, Lilac?” Attie began to walk down the hill, purring cat in her arms.
“Lilac?” Iris echoed, following. She passed the O’Briens’ yard. The crate where she had appointed Roman to wait for her was long gone, harvested for the barricades. It felt so strange, to realize how much could change in a day.
“Yes. My favorite flower,” Attie said, glancing back at Iris. “Second only to an iris, of course.”
Iris smiled, shaking her head. But her happiness dimmed as she continued along the path back to the B and B, around barricades and chains of soldiers. As she watched Attie speak affectionately to the cat.
It was just one more thing they would need to grab if things fell apart.
“You brought a cat back with you?” Roman exclaimed. He was sitting at the kitchen table, peeling a mountain of potatoes. His eyes flickered from Attie to the cat to finally rest on Iris, his gaze rushing up and down her body, as if he was searching for a new scratch on her.
Iris flushed when she realized she was doing the same to him—searching his every bend and line to ensure he was all right. She felt heat crackle through her when their gazes united.
“Yes,” Attie said, her embrace tightening around Lilac. The cat emitted a plaintive meow. “The poor thing was on the hill all alone.”
“In case you didn’t know, I’m allergic to cats,” Roman drawled.
“I’ll keep Lilac in my room. I promise.”
“And if her fur gets on your jumpsuit, I’ll wash it for you,” Iris offered. If cats truly were good luck charms, they were going to need it.
“Then I’d have nothing to wear,” Roman said, returning his attention to the potato in his hand. “Because my second jumpsuit is missing.”
“What?” Iris breathed. “What do you mean, Kitt?”
“I mean it was hanging in my wardrobe this morning, and now it’s gone.”
She continued to study him, realizing his dark hair was damp, slicked back like in the old days at the office. His face was freshly shaven, his nails scrubbed clean. She could smell a faint trace of his cologne, and her heart quickened.
“Did you just take a shower, Kitt?” It was the most ridiculous thing she could’ve asked, but it felt so strange to her. That he would wash in the middle of the day, when things were about to collapse. Although perhaps it shouldn’t take her by surprise. He had always liked to look his best. Why should the end of the world change that?
Roman met her gaze. He didn’t say anything, but a flush was creeping across his cheeks, and before Iris could say anything further about it, Marisol strode through the kitchen and set a heavy basket of carrots in her hands. “Peel and chop these for me, please, Iris.”
That ended the deliveries and building barricades and running through the streets and imagining Roman Kitt in the shower. As the sun began to set, they all worked together to make several pots of vegetable soup and fresh bread for the soldiers.
Iris’s stomach was growling by the time Marisol said, “Attie? Why don’t you see if Iris can help you with that particular matter upstairs.”
“Right,” Attie said, jumping up from her chair. “Come on, Iris.”
Iris frowned but rose. “What do you need my help with?”
“It’s hard to explain, so just follow me,” Attie said, waving her hands. But she glanced over Iris’s shoulder and widened her eyes, and Iris turned just in time to see Roman drop his gaze.
“What’s going on, Attie?” Iris asked, trailing her up the stairs. It was almost dusk.
“In here,” Attie said, stepping into the lavatory.
Iris stood on the threshold, confounded, as Attie turned on the faucet. “Why don’t you shower while I go and find—”
“Shower?” Iris demanded. “Why would I shower at a time like this?”
“Because you’ve been running up and down a hill all day and cutting up carrots and parsnips and onions and your jumpsuit smells like lorry exhaust,” Attie said. “Trust me, Iris. Use the fresh shampoo there, in that tin.”
She shut the door, leaving Iris in the steamy room.
Iris shed her jumpsuit and stepped into the shower. She would go quickly, because there was still so much left to do. But then she studied the dirt beneath her nails and thought of Roman. A curious feeling stole over her, inspiring a shiver.
She took her time washing, until every trace of onion and exhaust and sweat and dirt was gone, and she smelled like gardenias with a hint of lavender. She was drying her hair when Attie knocked.
“I have a clean jumpsuit for you.”
Iris opened the door to find Attie standing with a pressed jumpsuit in one hand, a crown of flowers in the other.
“All right,” Iris said, her gaze hanging on the flowers. “What’s going on?”
“Here, get dressed. I need to braid your hair.” Attie stepped into the lavatory, shutting the door behind her.
Iris intended to protest until Attie arched her brow. Iris meekly drew on the jumpsuit and fastened the buttons up the front. She sat on a stool so Attie could tame her hair into two thick braids, which she clipped up to crown her head with pearl-tipped pins. It was similar to how Marisol wore her hair, and Iris thought she looked older when she caught her reflection in the mirror.
“Now for the best part,” Attie said, gathering the flowers. They were freshly cut, woven together. Daisies and dandelions and violets. Flowers that grew wild in the garden.
Iris held her breath as Attie set the flowers over her braids.
“There. You look beautiful, Iris.”
“Attie, what’s happening?”
Attie smiled, squeezing Iris’s hands. “He asked for my approval. At first I said I wasn’t sure if I could grant it, because you were falling in love with a boy named Carver who wrote you enchanting, soul-stirring letters, and how on earth could Kitt even compare to that? Upon which he informed me that he is Carver and showed me proof. And what else could I say but yes, you have my approval, a hundred times over.”
Iris breathed, slow and deep. But her heart was dancing, stirring a heady song in her blood.
“When?” she panted. “When did he ask you?”
“When we were delivering food earlier today. You ran out ahead of me at one point, remember? And yes, he’s already asked for Marisol’s permission. Even Keegan’s. He’s very thorough, that Kitt of yours.”
Iris closed her eyes, hardly able to believe it. “You don’t think this is foolish, do you? With Dacre on his way? For me to be celebrating when death is coming?”
“Iris,” Attie said, “it only makes this all the more beautiful. The two of you have found each other against great odds. And if this is your one and only night with him, then savor it.”
Iris met Attie’s gaze. “Are you telling me…”
Attie smiled, tugging on her hand. “I’m telling you that Roman Carver Kitt is in the garden, waiting to marry you.”
