The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) by Bella Forrest (read novel full TXT) 📗

through the little cabin’s windows, with some food in me and at least a few hours’ sleep—more than I’d had in the last few days—it was easy to think that we were safe here. But I knew that safety was an illusion that could crack at any moment.

I thought about the plumes of smoke we’d seen marring the night sky, the fires, whole chunks of city blacked out. I had no doubt that Desmond—and through her, Queen Elena—was behind them, but just how many teams of Liberators had Desmond sent out on false premises? How long had this been in the works? How bad was it out there? With the tickers down, I could only imagine what was happening in the streets. I thought about Cad and my aunt and uncle, wondering if Alejandro had been able to get to them in time.

I pushed the useless old ticker aside and looked back at the table.

“There is a war going on,” the king said insistently. “I need to be there for my people!”

I rolled my eyes and hid a smirk behind my hand when I noticed that Viggo’s fists were clenched beneath the table.

Just then I heard the ticker click to life behind me, and I turned around, ripping off the old slip of paper as two more clicks sounded, one right after the other. This was normal, indicating the system was being reset. I took a deep breath and waited. After a long moment, a soft, rapid clicking began as the paper tape was slowly pushed through.

I began reading as it came out, and frowned, my mind digesting the words in growing horror. The tape spewed out for at least a minute, half of which was spent printing warning messages for people to stay in their homes for safety during these dark and troubled times.

I ripped off the tape and turned back to the table, staring at the king and Viggo, who were oblivious to me, too deep into their argument.

Clearing my throat, I stepped up to the table and handed the tape to Viggo, who frowned as he read it.

“What is it?” Maxen demanded, his goatee practically bristling with indignation that I had handed the tape to Viggo first.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Viggo said slowly, “but apparently, they think you’re dead—you must have died in the terrorist bombings that hit…” Viggo’s brow furrowed, and I remembered that this country was where he had grown up, spent all of his life until now. “The state house at the city center, the warehouse district, the docks… the downtown business center… the military training base and several wardens’ stations, several key officials’ houses and offices…”

By this time, we were all leaning in to hear the news. It sounded more horrible when Viggo read it aloud.

“They say a terrorist cell of rogue Patrian women called the ‘True Daughters of Patrus’ has taken responsibility for the bombings, claiming they could no longer abide the king’s—your—‘shoddily covered-up attempt to assassinate the Matrian queen.’”

“Upstart women! How dare they!” the king growled.

“Your Majesty,” Viggo said incredulously, his jaw clenching, “there are no ‘True Daughters of Patrus’. This must be propaganda. The Matrians have started their plot to take over Patrus. They would’ve had you assassinated if Violet and I hadn’t stopped them. I heard the queen talking about the plot myself.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” the king replied, “then surely my people will see this for the ruse it is.”

“Your people are scared, and they think you’re dead,” I snapped. “They don’t want anything, except to feel safe and secure. Right now they don’t.”

“Which is why you have to let me go,” he retorted, and I felt some very small satisfaction that he’d at least moved on from pretending I hadn’t spoken at all. “My people need to see that I’m all right.”

“Elena has been planning this for a long time,” Viggo replied, leaning back. “The instant you show your face is the instant she has an assassin take you out. For the time being, you’re better off with us.”

“This is preposterous… At least get a message out to my guards. Have them meet you here!”

I shook my head. “We know they’re tapping the guards’ radios. If they have the news, then the Matrians will have it too. The only safe form of communication is through the special handhelds that our colleague Thomas modified. They… well… they can’t be intercepted. And before you ask, we can’t send one to your guards, because it can and will be detected. Your guards will lead them right here.”

Maxen fell silent.

“There’s more on this ticker,” Viggo said wearily. “Want to hear it, or are you just going to argue with everything?”

The king frowned, but managed, “Well, since I can’t very well leave...”

Viggo read, “‘The king’s chancellor, Dobin, has been in discussions with officials from the Matrian palace since early this morning. As Matrus has offered to send supplies, disaster relief workers, and wardens to help keep the peace, Dobin has also accepted the Matrians’ help concerning the successor to the throne of Patrus. There are rumors that one of the Matrian princesses is even involved.’”

As I blinked, wondering why the name Dobin rang a bell, the king banged his fist against the table again. “Dobin,” he said. “He won’t let those Matrians trample all over him.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” I interjected, because suddenly I remembered where I’d heard that name before. “Dobin visited Desmond when I was in the facility in The Green. I remember because everybody was excited that such a powerful man would be visiting.” I also remembered the hard, unsettling look the man had given me as I’d gone in to have my own meeting with Desmond, and the memory didn’t make the situation we faced look any better.

The king stared at me, his eyes bulging. Viggo had explained to him, or attempted to explain, the longer story of how he’d found me, and the facility in The Green, then how we’d stopped the