Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian Read online

  Renegade

  Mallory McCartney

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part II

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Part III

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Untitled

  Renegade

  by Mallory McCartney

  Published by Clean Reads

  www.cleanreads.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  RENEGADE

  Copyright © 2018 MALLORY MCCARTNEY

  ISBN 978-1-62135-779-7

  Cover Art Designed by CORA GRAPHICS

  For everyone who has dared to fight for love,

  in all its forms.

  The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

  But I have promises to keep,

  And miles to go before I sleep,

  And miles to go before I sleep.

  -Robert Frost

  Prologue

  Twenty years earlier, Sarthaven (The Ruined City)

  The note shook so hard in her grasp, Nei couldn’t focus on the words splayed before her. With a racing pulse and sharp ringing coursing through her ears, she crumpled the paper beneath her white knuckles. Breathe. The words were branded like hot iron to her flesh, her entire being flowing with them. Her hope consumed by them.

  She sat at her desk like any other day. The afternoon light poured through the window catching the various objects scattered throughout, from the copious number of books to the overwhelming stack of lists and notes. A hard glint reflected off her favorite weapons that lay around the room. The office was one place of solace in a world of unrest.

  Golden hair spilled forward as she dropped her face into her hands, covering her eyes, and her senses were diluted and muffled, if only for a second. Her father’s voice filled Nei’s mind as clear as day in her reprieve, “You will not marry for love, my sweet girl, but you will sacrifice yourself wholeheartedly so this world may see a day where peace ensues and this war eases itself into the pages of our history.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. It had been one year since their arranged marriage. Their world had quaked and shook with the defiance of it. A wild woman from the Shattered Isles, betrothed to the prince. Reactions had been worse than expected. When Nei Runnard had been scuffling around with her sisters and sailing the coast, following her heart wherever adventure was, Roque Fae was being groomed in the politics of his court and in this country. Nei had almost laughed when her father sat her down and told her he had sealed her fate.

  One. Year.

  It was a strong union, she was told. One that would end her people’s suffering. Kiero could unite with the Shattered Isles to ensure the longevity in their trading companies and to turn a blind eye to the illegal pirating. So here she was, prettily packaged, trying to quell a full country’s fire. It had surprised her at first, how angry the people were. So, she was a rover, a pirate. More warrior than princess. But every day in this court proved just how deep-rooted the suffering went, everyday accusations of the government not providing the security and protection the people wanted, that they needed. Sighing, Nei Fae stood stretching, her joints popping. Beneath her simple garb, bruises peppered her body, reminding her with every step who she was. She had fiercely promised herself that.

  Her only friend in this forsaken court, Bresslin Stratton, took it upon herself to encourage evening walks together. Instead of dresses and gossip, they filled their time with clashing steel and aching muscles. Smirking at the thought, Nei reminded herself what her sisters had always said, that amongst them all she was born with the fury of the sea, with the resilience of the rocks the water crashed upon. She would not break beneath the pressures of being a hated queen, beneath the lies and the riots. Her sisters had been so sure she had what it took to be here. Their excitement, their hope of a better life, one that didn’t require constant fighting for survival, is what kept her from running away and disappearing into nothingness. Besides Bresslin, that’s what everyone here thought of her. That she wasn’t as cunning and didn’t have the potential to rule beside Roque.

  A sharp knock sliced through her thoughts, and she stood quickly, tucking the note flush against her wrist and out of sight. The door swung open to reveal Roque leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and mischief dancing in his cutting green eyes. Their outfits were matching, black loose pants and shirt, a deep plum cloak fastened at his throat.

  Swallowing hard, Nei bowed her head, rasping, “My King.”

  Three hundred and sixty-five days later, she was still not used to saying those two words. Two words that chained her, confined her. Lifting her dark gaze, she got a lifted brow in response as Roque stepped into her office. “Are you ready? They won’t wait forever, you know.”

  The council.

  And like every other day, Nei plastered that splintering grin, making her cheeks hurt. “Of course.”

  The note felt like flames dancing up her arms, a flare underneath Roque’s pinning gaze. His brows furrowed for a moment before he offered his arm to her, the gentleman he was dictated to be. She was grace and poise as she accepted his gesture, and they left behind her sanctuary.

  Sarthaven, the Capital of Kiero, the city beneath the stars, bustled outside the towering walls, the shouts and chaos a never ending senerade. She wanted to laugh at the acclaimed name. It was far from the truth. The people here came to seek a better quality of life and found more division. The only thing bred here were riots and death.

  Dread filled her core as they walked in silence down the winding hallway, the sunlight flickering as they passed each small window. Every footfall, every step, a reminder of what lay ahead, waiting for them in the shape of four council members. Nervously, she shifted her arm, trying to ease her roaring mind. Twenty more steps and at the end of the cavernous hallway, an oak door gleamed, two guards stationed by it. They wore silver shirts and pants, the material shimmering like stardust. They stood so still, at first glance they could pass as statues. She caught the flicker of their empty eyes, the rise and fall of their pale skin. As they drew closer, they bowed their heads, coppery hair falling forward and revealing two inky black sigils above their brow.

  Slaves.

  Nei’s heart hammered and her steps faltered. Three hundred and sixty-five days of sacrificing everything she was and this had not stopped. It was the only reason she had agreed to go through with this madness. Her people lived a content life on the Shattered Isles, one where they hadn’t rec
ognized a king in several decades, until Roque’s father deemed his son the one true king. Now the world was divided between a tyrant and a son. She was a pawn in this, a promise to her people that even though their abilities were different, that they were nurturers and healers, they wouldn’t be made to bow, they wouldn’t be penalized. As queen, she would break the preconceived idea that they were lesser in any way.

  And she was failing.

  Roque’s gaze was grim as he glanced down at her before pushing the door open and stepping in. The room was large, and a deep oak table was placed in the middle of the room. The bay window behind the four seated figures encompassed the world behind them. The sun flared in the sky, bathing the bustling city into life. Or burning. She gritted her teeth as she and Roque stopped and bowed low, their sweeping arms and submissive figures applying all the grandeur this life demanded. They rose, and Roque gently held her hand as they walked toward the council, his warmth encompassing her instantly.

  Two men and two women sat rigidly, their papery skin looking translucent in the sun. Their severe features let no emotions pass, and Nei’s gut twisted with nerves. Roque squeezed her clammy hand gently as if to say, don’t worry, this is the best way; don’t worry, you are one of us; they can’t hurt you. The ancient souls in front of her dictated their every move, political and personal. She sat rigid in the chair before her, Roque following suit, before Oren leaned forward, his watery eyes locking on her. “Your Highnesses, I must be blunt. We are curious as to why you called this meeting. We thought our demands were clear.”

  It took all her control not to unleash her fury right then and there. Their “demands” were for her and Roque to idly sit by while every day more of their people were slaughtered. While every day more of her people were enslaved. Sliding into that practiced mask of calm and poise, she batted her eyes at Roque, smiling sweetly. Let them play me for the fool.

  Leaning forward, his deep voice rumbled, “Esteemed council members, my queen and I come forward to you today with a proposition, one that will only strengthen our world and help end the suffering that is evident within our society. I must be equally blunt, being a new father has brought to light the flaws within my father’s arrangement. I will do what is best for my daughter’s future and my country.”

  Oren scoffed, “Please, no insult intended, my King, but—”

  Roques gaze darkened as he snapped, “As your king, you will not interrupt me, Oren. It’s time this council embraces the future, and I will not stand for it if it’s one bathed in blood.”

  Nei glanced at Roque, hiding her surprise beneath a blank mask. He was arrogant and entitled, but maybe her pleas had come through to him. She had begged him endlessly, their arguments flowing late into the night. He could not turn a blind eye anymore, even though he was afraid of what the world would think and say. But here he sat, powerful and determined, and for the briefest second, admiration flared within her.

  “Nei and I are ready to move forward in our lives, and we are sorry to say the council and my father will not be privy to our decisions anymore. It’s time for you all to step down.”

  The council’s voices rose in an uproar, accusations being thrown at them both.

  Oren’s voice cut right through the rest. “This is because of her. Roque, you have been poisoned by this, this witch, from those cursed Islands.”

  Spittle flew from Oren’s mouth as his pointed finger shook toward Nei’s chest. Slowly and surely, she focused on Oren, taking in the old man.

  I will end you, even if it means war. Nei swallowed down her thoughts and she was proud her voice was steady. “No, Oren. I am not a witch, only a healer. Only a woman who wants to see a world that is not trying to tear itself apart. Only a queen that has dreams for her king and her daughter and to ensure we will rule justly and not ravished in lies and corruption. Too long has this council pushed the idea that their one true king is one of triumph and power. When our people are taking this notion and abusing their abilities on my kinsmen and enslaving them. When they are hunting out desolates and killing them because they aren’t worthy of life.”

  Oren spat, “And what do you think they will do when the world finds out your husband is a desolate?”

  Roque slammed his fist down on the table, the wood shaking from the force. “It is time my people know the truth. I am a king that is barren of ability, but it takes more than might to rule. It is time to rebuild our world, and this will start with our new government.”

  Laughter danced around them, and Nei clenched her fist, her nails biting into flesh.

  Roque rolled his shoulders, bringing himself up to his full height. “The time of this monarchy is done. There will be consequences for slave traders and for the slaughter of desolates. It starts today with the expulsion of this council. You are all relieved of your duties and services.”

  Oren pushed his chair back, the wood screeching against the cement. He looked feral as he seethed. “And what exactly are you going to do?”

  The Roque she recognized flickered back through and he leaned forward, almost touching noses with Oren as he said, “Nei and I are building a sanctuary for all who want to learn how to control their abilities and harness them to be used for good and not for fueling the death tolls and riots. A place for desolates to take refuge. Most importantly, a place to build a government that will preserve our culture and uphold the rights of our people.”

  “A place that will never exist,” Oren said fuming.

  Nei chuckled. “Oren, you are already behind the times. A place that will exist and you are staring at its founders.”

  Roque leaned back. “I do believe we are done here.”

  Each of the council members flushed a deep shade of purple and left in an arrangement of glares and rolling anger.

  Oren stared at them both, collecting himself before saying, “I hope you are both prepared. We will not let this stand. And Roque, that you have chosen this... this woman over the dreams of your father…”

  He left, allowing his words to linger in the air, before snapping the door closed behind him.

  “We have to go. Now,” Roque whispered. She collected herself. The council would move fast, but they were faster. Bresslin was ready for them, with Emory and her husband, Cesan. They would leave this city behind and flee for their futures.

  Nei consumed the distance between them and, throwing her arms around his neck, whispered in a relieved sigh, “Thank you, truly.”

  Roque encompassed her, bowing his body into hers, into the push and pull of their energy.

  Nei broke away first, tucking a golden hair behind her ear. “They will probably try to kill us, you know.”

  “Oh, no doubt. And it will take years for people to accept this idea, this mad dream of ours.”

  “Let them try, Roque. We already broke the mold the day you married me. This is another step toward fighting for the life we want.”

  His crooked grin spread fast and wide across his face as he shook his head. “You are insane; you know that, right?”

  Her heart cracked as she replied, “Of course, why else would I ever agree to marry you?”

  His laughter chased at her heels as they left, racing toward freedom, toward their best friends and their daughter. The note in Nei’s sleeve felt like lead, anchoring her to her decisions. She was torn in two, a queen and a daughter loyal to her people. Their footfalls pounded around them, echoing in the hallway, and she summoned a flicker of energy, calling to her elements. Her skin burned, and the note ignited, quickly dissolving into ash, the remains soaring behind her, lost and unseen. No one would know. Not Roque, Emory, or Bresslin. Her father’s reply to her letter seared through her. “I will miss you, my sweet daughter. But know we will wait, and when you are ready, we will answer your call for war. May the winds be with you and your fierceness never falter.”

  She ran, her heart pounding. She dared Oren to come after them, to declare a threat to their peace. Because the Shattered Isles were ready, and they answered on
ly to her.

  Part 1

  The Lost Boys and the Royal

  1

  Fourteen Years Later, The Academy

  Brokk

  The afternoon sun soaked into his neck as Brokk Foster raised the bow, drawing the string back, his arrow nocked. The courtyard faded away in that second: his hawk-eyed teacher, Professor Iasan, standing to the side, arms crossed and face impassive, his fellow classmates, the looming structure of the Academy behind them. A strand of his golden hair tickled his forehead, as he exhaled, the taut bowstring almost grazing his cheek. It’s not real, just release the arrow, just release it.

  At the opposite end of the range, a stuffed dummy was slack and raised, a red emblazed target where a heart would be. Not real, not real, not real. His muscles screamed and sweat rolled down the middle of his back. He tried to empty his charged mind, tried to convince himself that the undiluted fear clutching his heart was unreasonable. With shaking arms, he released the arrow, listening as it cut through the air with a soft hiss. Laughter erupted behind him, making him cringe as he lowered the bow and saw the feathered end lodged in the ground not even close to the dummy.

  “Enough!” Professor Iasan’s booming voice cut off his classmate’s jeers. Brokk twisted away, before meeting the gaze of one of his best friends, Memphis Carter. His friend raised one eyebrow as his smooth voice filled Brokk’s consciousness, only for him to hear, “Well, what are you going to do this time, Foster?”