The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 39

I am unsure of how many hours have passed. Perhaps it's already been a day; perhaps it's been two.

I remain curled on my side on the floor facing the door, occupying myself with drifting intermittently in and out of consciousness. There is nothing for my eyes to focus on but the small point of light coming through the barred window. I lie with my cheek pressed against stone, staring at the weak flicker.

My stomach growls angrily, jerking me back to the present. I shift, groaning as the blood rushes back into my hip, awareness returning to my body. I settle back into an equally uncomfortable position, pushing away my discomfort and returning to the festering darkness within.

This is it. This is where it is all going to end. How stupid was I to think that I could go up against the King, to think that I could succeed where my father had failed? Who am I to have such an ego? What right did I have to believe that the City could ever be anything but a cruel, hierarchical system? Everyone warned me that the risk was too great, but I didn't listen. My only accomplishment is making a complete and utter fool of myself and, in the process, risking the life of a true friend.

Meg is out there, somewhere, alone and scared. She put her faith in me and I lied to her. I am a senseless fraud, the same as Lara or Will.

Will.

My eyes screw closed tightly. I don't know why I should even care about shedding a tear, here about as far from the rest of the world as anyone could be. I suppose old habits die hard.

He was everything. I was so blinded by my belief in his rebellion—in him—that I shouldn't be surprised to discover where my recklessness has led. Against my better judgment, I trusted a courtier, allowed myself to be persuaded by a pair of pretty grey eyes. I let down my guard and gave myself over to him completely, opening myself up in ways that I had never dared with anyone else.

The guards who stormed our home five years ago were once faceless drones, soulless incantations of the King's will. Now, when I shut my eyes all I can see is Will's handsome face, anguished but unflinching.

Over and over I berate myself for my stupidity and short-sightedness while the hours or days pass overhead. I approach Will's betrayal from every possible angle, the hurt turning unbearable each time I recall the feeling of his arms wrapped around me or his heartbeat pressing into my back as we slept. The pain sustains me and helps to keep me from grasping onto that one nagging impossibility.

Maybe he's coming for me.

He isn't. It's been made crystal clear to me that his focus will always remain on his rebellion. Locked away in this dank corner of the eternal Burn, I'm of no further use, and so he'll have resolved himself to press forward. I find some comfort in knowing that he's keeping Meg safe and vow to do the same, though I am sure that my small efforts will make no difference in the grand scheme. After all, even if by some crazy miracle we managed to start an uprising, somewhere down the line the need for power would corrupt and the ugliness of humanity would overrule. The world is made up of people stepping over the weak as they claw for greater riches.

I'm no better than any of them. I pretended to be someone I wasn't, manipulating one of the only people to offer me a genuine friendship. Meg was willing to abandon everything she had ever known to follow me into a madcap rebellion, casting aside a world of riches and privilege for the life of a traitor. As far as I can tell, the Princess is the only person in this whole, sordid mess who showed real courage.

The torch outside my door continues to spew a weak light. I watch the dappled patterns as I turn these thoughts over and over in my mind, unable to distract myself with anything except my own misery. I think about shouting for some food and water but dismiss it; there are worse fates than starving to death. I sit back against the wall and re-tie the grimy bandage on my knee, securing it as tightly as I can with shaking fingers.