The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

us all out—” He rotated his shoulder with a wince, and I noticed the edge of a bandage under his shirt, my eyes flicking back up to his with questioning concern.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I’m going to have a pretty cool scar though.” He held up a bandaged hand and looked chagrined. “And one here too,” he added.

“That you got from jumping off a roof you were trying to blow up with crap gloves and not enough rope!” Owen barked, his voice rueful. I looked over at him, and he shook his head at me. “Your husband is insane.”

The corner of Viggo’s mouth quirked up and then dropped, and I could understand. Our hearts were heavy—too heavy to enjoy our usual banter, even with Owen’s joking words or with the realization that we’d ended up together again after everything. Elena was dead, her plan thwarted, as far as we knew. Presumably Viggo had done something to stop the boys, but that didn’t mean anything. We had no idea what was going to happen now, who was going to be in charge… or who the population was going to believe.

As it turned out… right now, nothing was going to happen. Or later. Or even later. We kept waiting for someone to come down and explain what was happening or tell us we were being convicted of regicide, but the only person we ever saw was a portly woman who delivered our food. She wasn’t a warden; or at least, she wasn’t wearing the uniform.

She was a good deterrent against our escaping while she served us. She was older, her hair streaking white, and walked laboriously with the rolling food cart. There was no way we would attack an elderly woman to escape, which meant our options weren’t good. The beds were welded together, as were the hinges. Owen, Viggo, and Logan spent the first two days halfheartedly trying to figure out a way to break through the door, but never succeeded.

In truth, maybe we just didn’t have the energy to break out. The women who had tormented us and hunted us were dead, but so were two of our closest allies and friends, with others back home in uncertain conditions. All of us were exhausted and heartsick and tired of fighting. Maybe, since we were together for once, able to keep tabs on our closest family, we all knew in our hearts that we would just have to wait and see what fate had in store for us.

For three days we were confined to our cells, going stir crazy, just waiting. The woman never answered our questions. I was beginning to think she was hard of hearing, or even mute, because she never said a word. The only solace we had was in each other, so we talked. We talked about all sorts of things—speculating what was happening with our group of rebels, the boys, Morgan and Sierra, Matrus. Then we talked about all the things we had to do when we got back to Patrus. Then the cycle began again.

At night, Viggo and I would lie next to each other with only the bars to separate us, and talk about what we would do if we got out of here. Nothing to do with the war or the rebuilding—we talked about where we could put our home, what we wanted it to look like, what kind of motorcycle Viggo had been hoping to buy, whether I could start a self-defense center for women in the hills of Patrus… There was even the slightest mention of children. Our children. The speculation, cut off from all politics and current events, helped, even if it was bittersweet. It was tantalizing to think about this whole thing in terms of being done and over with. To think about the life we might have, if none of this were burdening us anymore.

On the morning of the fourth day, I woke up and saw the old woman standing on the other side of my cell door, looking at me intently.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up, then reached my hands through the bars to wake Viggo.

“Yes?” I asked, my voice cracking with a yawn. “What is it?”

The woman smiled kindly and waved her hand at me.

“You and your friends are to accompany me.”

She nodded and took a step back as two wardens appeared and unlocked our cells. They held open the doors, and I saw Amber and Logan peering at us through the bars of their own cells, looking groggy.

Tim snored on, oblivious to the change in our status, while Owen watched warily from his own cell. I exchanged a look with Viggo and then stood, stepping out into the hallway. Viggo did as well, and after a long pause, I moved over to him and took his hand.

“Who are you?” I asked the older woman, and she clasped her hands behind her back.

“Edith Carmichael,” she replied. “Warden High Commander, retired now, of course. Edi for short. You and your people will be escorted to some better rooms, where food and fresh clothes await you. Would you like a moment to prepare before you meet the queen?” As she spoke, the two wardens began unlocking the others’ cells, releasing them.

“It depends,” Viggo said cautiously. “Who’s the queen now?”

Edi just smiled and slowly turned away, lapsing back into her staunch silence and moving down the hall at a sedate pace. The wardens opened the other cell doors, letting everyone emerge as Viggo and I moved hand in hand down the hallway.

The older woman led us through the control room for the prisons and up a flight of stairs, and I could hear hammering and sounds of construction coming from the doors.

“The palace has suffered quite a bit of damage,” Edi said dryly. “But most of it was superficial.”

I thought of Ms. Dale going over the side of the building and the explosion that had followed, and leaned into Viggo. We continued to follow Edi, and she continued to