The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

middle-aged Patrian man we had… coerced into helping Henrik, who had been shot during the battle at Ashabee’s with the Matrian wardens. Dr. Arlan was tall and lanky, with a thick brown beard and brown eyes. He kept his brown hair cut close to his head, so you could barely see the thick waves in it.

Amber’s eyes flicked to Violet in a silent query.

“She’s sleeping again,” I said as I stood up.

“I guess that’s good,” Amber said, though her expression remained dark and weary. “People have been asking about her ever since you guys got back. Jay. Ms. Dale. What’s-his-face… her cousin. At least now I have a good excuse to keep them out of here.”

I nodded appreciatively. “Yes… It might not be safe to bring a whole bunch of people in here just yet. We still don’t know… We don’t know…”

I trailed off with the words if she’s going to make it hovering at the tip of my tongue.

Dr. Arlen seemed to take that as his cue, and stepped into the room, moving over to the bed. He pulled out a penlight and shined it into her eyes, pulling them open one at a time. Violet groaned and twitched at the intrusion but, worryingly, didn’t wake.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the desk, waiting and watching closely as the man took her pulse, then pressed his fingers against her skull, probing gently. After he finished his examination, he stood up and turned toward me, his expression stoic.

“She needs to go to a hospital,” he said. He had been saying that since his first examination.

“We’re working on it,” I replied with a tight nod.

Dr. Arlan’s expression shifted from neutral to disapproving. “Stop working on it and do it. Or else this young lady will die. She has a severe concussion—that’s why her pupils are uneven, though it looks like there’s no major damage to her eyes. Her ribs are probably bruised, but they don’t look broken—that horse doctor you talked about wrapped up her wrist pretty good. The worst thing is, her skull is fractured, which means there’s likely bleeding into the brain. Depending on how fast the bleed is, her condition could deteriorate very gradually—she may lose functions slowly—or it could be over in only a few days. She needs surgery, and I don’t have the tools or the space to do it here.”

I held back my frustrated reply, one full of colorful language, and nodded. “We’re working on it,” I repeated.

He huffed, but didn’t say anything. His glare spoke volumes. I met his gaze, and eventually he looked away. “Whatever it is you plan to do, be sure to do it fast,” he said, striding to the door.

I exhaled slowly, fighting for calm, and cracked my neck, releasing the tension there. I met Amber’s gaze as I straightened and moved toward the door. She backed up into the hall, allowing me to step out and close the door. I left it open a crack, just in case Violet cried out in her sleep, and started to move past Amber.

Her arm shot out, her hand hitting the wall with a thump, blocking my path. I took a step back and arched an eyebrow.

“You need to let us go to the Liberators,” she said, crossing her arms.

I sighed—mostly out of exhaustion—and shook my head. “We’ve been over this. It’s too risky.” Which was true. Amber had been bothering me about this since she’d picked us up from the rendezvous point, and I’d thought it was a bad idea the whole time. Not only did the Liberators believe Violet and I were spies for our respective governments, but Desmond had likely informed them that Amber, Owen, Henrik, Quinn, and Thomas were all defectors, betraying their cause for ours. Granted, the Liberators had no idea Desmond was a treacherous snake who had been recruiting them for years, playing off most of their desires to rescue their lost sons, or, in the case of those like Amber, their desire to see meaningful change in the prescribed gender roles that separated the two countries. I doubted the group would look kindly on an unexpected visit from us. And they would probably show their displeasure by trying to kill anyone we sent up there.

“Too risky?” Amber retorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “As opposed to trying to get Violet into the city and to a hospital, without her being seen?”

I swallowed hard, trying to calm myself. Amber meant well. She was just as worried as the rest of us. Not just for Violet, but also for Quinn and Henrik, her two injured team members. I glanced at the room next to Violet’s, where the two men were sleeping on twin beds, and then back at her.

“What makes you think it will work?” I asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

Amber’s eyes lit up and she smiled eagerly. “Well, for one thing, we have the video.” I cringed as she mentioned it, my stomach roiling in disgust at what I had seen there. Namely, Violet, running for her life, bravely talking to Tabitha, getting her to reveal herself for what she truly was and confirming aspects of Elena’s plan.

Not that the Patrians needed confirmation. Before they could even get to the stage of confirmation, they needed to be informed. In the eyes of the Patrians, Queen Elena had ridden in on a white horse to save her neighbors in spite of their ideological differences. She had sent in soldiers to help put out fires, doctors with medicine, and aid workers with food, water, and blankets. No one knew she was behind the fires that had ravaged a third of the city. Or that she was quietly having sixty percent of the male population exterminated.

“There’s no guarantee the video will sway them,” I replied. “And, if Desmond is there, you’d be walking into a trap.”

Amber waved her hand as if chasing away the thought. “Desmond’s not there,” she retorted. “I got new information from Thomas when