Free Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1) by Lindsey Stell Page A

furniture is a narrow double bed, dresser, and a chair by the window. Grayson scans the room quickly, before pointing down the hall to the bathroom. With a curt nod he is out of the room, heading back downstairs to join his men. Talk about blowing hot and cold!
    I use the bathroom quickly, trying to avoid an awkward run-in with one of the soldiers, and close myself back in my room. I am hungry, but also exhausted, sore, and eager for a little time to myself. Although perfectly nice boys, they are a little on the rowdy side and I could use a break after a full day of riding with them.
    Tucked away in the tiny bedroom, I curl up in the chair beside the window, moving the curtains slightly to sneak a glance outside. Several soldiers are milling around in the yard while Grayson ties up the last of the horses. I watch him cross the yard, seeking out the soldier who claimed I had been with rebels. Their conversation seems heated, but neither of them are yelling. The soldier shakes his head, talking fast and using his hands in dramatic gestures. While Grayson still looks upset, he nods in agreement, patting the soldier on the back.
    Letting the curtain fall back as I sink further into the armchair, I recall Grayson's disapproving look when the soldier mentioned the rebels. Was that why they were arguing? If I was with rebels, and they knew about it, why wouldn't he want me to know?
    I move to the bed, longing for another dreamless night. It's not that I don't enjoy my dreams; it's just that they leave me so conflicted. On one hand, I relish feeling a connection with my past; even if it is just something my damaged brain is creating. But on the other hand, I am at odds about my feelings for the young man who stars in them. While dreaming, I am so in love with him I feel like I could burst, but when I wake up, the feelings disappear. I know it is absurd, but even after my intense feelings for him fade, being attracted to Grayson feels like a betrayal. Why should I feel so loyal to a man who drugged and then abandoned me?
    My mind runs around in circles for hours, and I lay awake long after the house grows quiet. I hear the last of the men walking up the stairs, their heavy steps echoing as they make their way down the hall, pulling shut creaking doors. The house settles then, morphing from an active military post to vintage farmhouse. Without the noise from the soldiers I can hear every pop and groan as the tin roof and ancient wood frame start to cool after a long day in the hot sun.
    Hours after I hear the last human sounds, I decide to risk a quick trip to the bathroom. Throwing the covers back, I climb out of bed, tip toeing across the cold floor. Turning the knob as quietly as I can, I ease the door open, cringing at every squeak. I am stunned, but pleased, when I find Grayson by the door, sprawled out in an armchair. He is dead asleep and snoring softly, his long legs stretched out, nearly touching the other side of the hallway. His elbow is propped on the arm of the chair, his handsome face squished against his hand. He looks so young this way. Boyish even. I wonder how old he is, and I realize I don't even know how old I am.
    Making my trip to the restroom in record time, I sneak back into my room with minimal door creaks. Huddled under the blankets, I spend more time than I should thinking about Grayson, memorizing his voice and the feel of his strong hands; comparing him to the young man in the clearing. What's wrong with me? How can it be so hard to stay focused on the bigger picture? I don't know who I am. I am heading to a place I have never seen at the request of a General I have never met; yet I am unable to get these boys out of my head. I fall asleep conflicted and confused.
    I dream of blood. I am surrounded by it. Ripped from the arms of those I love, I'm thrown aside and forced to watch as they are carved up and gutted like animals. I can't see their faces but they are a part of me, and I die with every cut and