Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Dakota

Dakota trembled wildly as she walked beside James, her anxiety barely restrained. She hoped the click of her heels against the cobblestone path portrayed a confidence she didn’t feel. The clouds covered the sun that morning, casting long shadows against the neatly curated gardens lining the walkway. The air overlooking the city was fresh and floral, some of Dakota’s favorite scents, and she would have enjoyed it and the view in any other scenario.

“Are you sure that you’re feeling okay?” James asked for the third time in twenty minutes when they reached the towering gold-trimmed front doors.

Smiling tightly, Dakota peeled her lips apart long enough to say, “Absolutely. I’m just nervous. Being able to tour the Fieldhouse has been a dream of mine for years now.” Then she clamped her mouth shut out of fear that the vomit would finally find its way up the back of her throat.

James nodded as a member of the Iron Guard reached for a long golden handle and pulled the door open with an ease that seemed out of place with its size. The door glided along the cobblestone paths, and a blast of cool air met Dakota, instantly chilling the sheen of sweat coating her exposed skin.

“Don’t be nervous,” James went on as he stepped into the airlock and began to unload the contents of his pockets into the basket on the security table. “It’s just another part of your training. I’ve never had an associate as ambitious as you. Most don’t care one way or the other where the plants are housed.”

Dakota swallowed. It wasn’t going into the Fieldhouse that was a worry. It was getting back out. She placed her purse and jacket on the table in front of the Iron Guard, who immediately picked up the coat with gloved hands and searched the pockets. “I’m just curious what the inside of the Greenery looks like.”

“It is quite magnificent, I must admit,” James beamed.

The Iron Guard returned Dakota’s purse and jacket before placing his badge against the reader beside the second series of doors. With a hiss and a click, the glass doors unlocked and slid open. A second blast of cool air pushed Dakota’s blonde locks over her shoulders.

Daunting white pillars stood erect over the lobby, intricate floral patterns carved into the thick stone. The same white granite continued onto the floor, ending at the base of the wall of windows that seemed to leer over the lobby. The windows extended far above the entrance, allowing the Fieldhouse's upper floors and offices to enjoy the view of the city beyond the hill.

“Incredibly designed,” James said as he gently guided her past the smiling woman manning the reception desk, who nodded at them in greeting. “They remodeled the interior about ten years ago.”

Dakota was sure the Fieldhouse was meant to be warm and welcoming, with the tall windows granting the sun access to the lobby. But even with the soft trickle from the rainwater fountain and the ferns that lined the base of the window wall, it still seemed sterile and cold. It could have been the constant presence of the Iron Guard, their hands resting casually on their automatic rifles. It may have even been the employees who power-walked through the lobby, each keeping their heads down and refusing to acknowledge anyone.

James led her up the sweeping staircase beyond the reception desk, each step inset with gold detailing in the same delicate pattern on the pillars. The second floor was nearly as grand, though the marble floor had given way to a slate blue tile that shimmered like the sea as it crashed over a reef.

“Hey, Bill!” James called out to a balding man who exited an office with a pile of papers clutched in his meaty hand.

“James!” Bill said kindly as he tucked the papers under his arm to shake James’s hand. “How are the kids?”

“Doing very well. Bill, this is Dakota Montgomery. She’s one of my associates for the remainder of the year. Dakota, Bill Leeder is the Treasurer of the Fieldhouse. He oversees the finances.”

Bill turned a keen, interested eye on Dakota. “Montgomery? Any relation to John Montgomery?”

Dakota smiled, hoping it wasn’t too discernibly tight at the corners. “He’s my father.”

“Fascinating,” Bill murmured as he stuck out his hand for Dakota to shake. She firmly grasped it. “I haven’t heard much about you in the years I’ve worked with John.”

“I was in Blackdon for over ten years.” It was no surprise that her father didn’t talk about her. To him, she was an endless well of disappointment. “I came back after the riots began.”

Bill huffed a laugh. “I don’t blame you. Less of a riot these days, more like a bloody civil war.” Dakota had to agree with him on that.

“Keeps things close to the sleeve, doesn’t he?” James chortled. “Luckily for all of us, as I’m sure John would admit, Dakota takes after her mother. She’s an excellent associate.”

Dakota was sure her father would rather take on a dozen rabid raccoons with one hand tied behind his back than admit that, but her cheeks still flushed at the compliment.

Bill nodded his approval. “Well, we are all excited to have you back in Norwich. We'll need a good alchemist when this old man retires.” He clopped a heavy hand on James’s shoulder. “Only a few months to go, isn’t that right?”

“It certainly is. I remain firmly committed to the craft until that day comes.”

“Ah, we know you are, James,” Bill said with a shake of his head. He pulled the papers from under his arm. “I’ve worked with you for too long to think otherwise. Listen, I’ve got to take these papers up to Susan in marketing before she has my head. Give your wife my best. Maybe we’ll see you at the sailing club this weekend?”

“We’ll be there,” James replied, steering Dakota further down the hallway. He stopped at a bank of three elevators, each lit with a number in neon red. “Bill and I graduated school together back in the day. He began working in the greenery inventory department before climbing the ladder.”

“He seems nice,” Dakota answered dutifully as James jabbed a finger into the center call button. The elevator whirred, the posted number counting down as it descended in the shaft.

“He is. Enough about him, though. You came to see the greenery!” The elevator doors pulled apart, revealing a car with metal walls, bright overhead lights, and a poster for a Distillation Anonymous class. “We’ll go up to the eighth floor and look at it from the catwalks. They won't allow you to walk the field.”

“Understood,” Dakota said, though her heart sunk at the news. How was she supposed to get the seeds if she wasn’t going to be around them? Did Callum and Dylan plan for that? Her stomach clenched as the elevator began to rise, and this time, she thought she would be sick.

The bell dinged their arrival when the car jolted to a halt, and the doors slid open with a loud hydraulic hiss. They stepped from the elevator onto a balcony overlooking a massive meadow stretching further back than she could have imagined. Though the balcony skirted the circumference of the Greenery, multiple bridges, each with a grated floor and waist-high railings, were connected by a circular structure hung by thickly coiled galvanized steel ropes the size of Dakota’s forearm.

Until then, she didn’t know why people compared the Fieldhouse to a prison. Now she did.

Metal walls surrounded the Greenery, the bolts at the seams so obscenely large that Dakota could only speculate they were several inches thick. Sunlight streamed in from the ceiling, made entirely from impenetrable glass. It was a hot and sticky mausoleum, a mere memoriam to the beauty the meadow once had been.

“Ranger Harrison,” James said as they reached the railing, “I didn’t know you were on guard today.”

Dylan Harrison stood against the railing, a soldier-styled rifle held tightly in his hands. At second glance, Dakota spotted a guard stationed every few feet around the balcony, each keeping a watchful eye on the opening below.

“Alchemist,” Dylan replied, taking one hand off the rifle to shake James’s hand. “I switched shifts with Marcus. He needed the weekend, and I didn’t mind.” He replaced his hand on the barrel of the gun. “And someone needs to keep these goons in line.”

The guard closest to them chuckled.

“Dakota here—you know Dakota, don’t you?” James started.

Dylan nodded. “Dakota and I graduated school together. We’ve been acquainted since we were kids.”

“Excellent. Dakota wanted to see how the Greenery worked, so I brought her along to learn about it while I was at the meeting. I expected Marcus to show her around, but you will do an excellent job.” James motioned for her to join Dylan at the balcony’s edge. “My meeting won’t take long. I’ll meet you here when I finish.”

Dakota waved goodbye and toe-walked toward the railing, careful that her heels didn’t stick in the grates. She would have worn better shoes if she knew .

“Is it hot in here?” Dakota asked quietly as she plucked at the front of her shirt. “It’s hot in here.”

“Of course, it’s hot in here. We’re in a greenhouse. Just relax,” Dylan murmured. “Act natural.”

Dakota rubbed the back of her neck, her hand slicking over the sweat that had reappeared since she clambered from the elevator. She could do this. It wasn’t like she secretly planned on betraying James’s trust by working with the Brotherhood and the Ranger Dylan Harrison to steal seeds. This was just another day.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t built for this.

“You came to see the Greenery, so let’s just start there,” Dylan said, eyeing her like he could visualize the streams of anxiety that radiated from every pore in her body.

Workers in white uniforms tromped through the long grass, where bushy flowers and trees bloomed beneath her. Some carried baskets to collect the harvested plants, while others had scythes to chop them down. She recognized the cattails in a marshy corner, the sweeping willow trees, the white yarrow flowers blanketing the meadow, and the bunches of rose hip growing amongst the rose bushes. The Fieldhouse had been built to surround the battlefield, but its vastness was still intimidating.

“They try to keep it as close to the outside world as possible,” Dylan started. He tilted his head to the nearest bridge and gestured for her to follow. “Ample sunlight, bees for pollination, the semblance of an ecosystem, sprinklers set according to the weather patterns.”

Dakota kept a hand clamped on the railing as they walked onto the bridge. Wildflowers lined the bank of a small brook, which flowed through a fortified drain built into the metal wall. The eddying water rippled where frogs leaped from mossy rocks.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” Dakota noted. A worker propped a basket filled with yarrow blooms onto his shoulder and began the long trek to the barred door. Even that looked like it belonged in a prison. “Do they take the plants to be processed from here?”

“There's a distillery on the other side of the Fieldhouse. That worker will weigh the basket at the exit with the foreman. Armed guards will escort him to the alchemist, who will weigh the basket again to ensure none of it was skimmed off the top. The alchemist will take the plants to be prepped and distilled.”

Impressive. And far more controlled than the Guildhall, though she assumed that was due to the minuscule amount of product in comparison.

“And yours?” Dakota asked quietly as they reached the hanging circular structure. Sunlight poured in through the fogged glass, baking the tops of her shoulders. The thick humidity only amplified the scent of creek water and grass.

“In my pocket. The Brotherhood employs a handful of workers,” Dylan replied. “Some seed pods are ready for distillation, and the others are ready for planting. Kane knows which is which.”

Dakota blew out a breath, hoping it would calm her thunderous heart. It didn’t.

“You’ll take the package directly to Kane and Callum. Do not stop anywhere, not for a coffee, not to change your clothes. They’re expecting you at the club.”

Dakota nodded. The branches of one of the willow trees swayed as another worker brushed through. It squeezed her chest, reminding her of the beaded curtains hanging from the doorways in Lyra’s house.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Dylan said, slowly venturing back onto the bridge. Dakota followed. “We sneak out seeds often enough.”

That was enough to wrench her from her thoughts. “Why?”

Dylan smirked. “The soil and the seeds here work together to keep the distillations effective. Except—“

“Without this specific soil, the plants are only effective enough for a harvest or two.” Something else occurred, something Dakota didn't like at all. “Do I have to keep doing this? Find reasons to come to the Fieldhouse with my boss to sneak out seeds?”

Dylan’s smirk widened as he sent her a sidelong glance. “No, I don’t think that’ll be the case. If you want my honest opinion—“ He paused long enough to help Dakota off the grates. “—I think Callum wanted to see how far you were willing to go for Lyra.”

She grimaced but said nothing. She was sure he was right—it sounded exactly like something Callum Reynolds would do.

“I wanted to talk to you about one more thing,” Dylan said, his tone hardening. “It’s about Ethan.”

Dakota groaned. “Ugh, Dylan. Not you, too. I get it enough from my dad, and—“

“It’s not about that,” Dylan cut her off quickly. He sighed, sliding his gaze to the nearest set of guards. They were chatting off-handedly, not paying any attention to what was happening between her and the Ranger. “Ethan appeared at the clubhouse after you left. Looking for you.”

He surveyed her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing to the flush on her cheeks.

“He—he’s been persistent,” Dakota finally said. Considering his ties to Callum, mentioning Ethan's late-night drive to Lyra’s house would be a mistake. She hesitated before glancing at him, noting the white-knuckled grip on the rifle's barrel. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I believe that,” Dylan replied with a nod. He took a step closer and removed a hand from his gun, resting it on her shoulder. “But the moment you feel uncomfortable, you let me know. I’ll take care of it for you.” His hand fell to her side, and Dakota felt a new weight in the folds of her purse. Clever. “That wasn’t part of the ruse. I mean it.”

He must have read the accusation in her eyes.

“Thank you. I'll keep it in mind.”

Dakota had no idea how he would take care of it. With his connection to the Brotherhood, perhaps she didn’t want to. Dylan opened his mouth when the bell from the elevator dinged behind her, and whatever he was going to say twisted into a whispered curse.

Glancing over her shoulder, Dakota watched James exit the elevator. Who he was with, though, made her stomach bottom out. Vincent Drake, the Governor of Norwich.

Though he technically shared the title in name with the two governors of Blackdon and Penham, this Governor had sole and complete control of the Fieldhouse and Distillery—making him the most powerful man in the country. And Vincent Drake was rumored to defend that power with every cell in his weasely body.

“Ah, Dakota!” James said as he spotted the two near the railing. “I have someone I want you to meet. Governor, this is Dakota Montgomery. She’s the associate I spoke highly of the last time we met.”

The Governor swept his unnaturally light eyes over Dakota and Dylan, piercing her so thoroughly that she was certain he could see the seed pods tucked in her purse. He was shorter than she imagined, thinner too, with a slickness about him that reminded Dakota of a snake slithering through an underbrush.

“Dakota,” Vincent stated as he stepped forward, holding out his hand, “it’s nice to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard marvelous things about your work.”

Dakota slyly wiped her slick palm on her jacket before shaking the Governor’s hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dylan go stark straight at Vincent’s appearance.

“Thank you, sir,” Dakota managed to reply against the dryness of her throat. She pushed back her instinct to fidget or pick at her cuticles, instead threading her fingers into a tight knot at her waist. “I’m happy to be at the Guildhall with Alchemist Ashborne. He’s an excellent mentor.”

“He’s a tough mentor, to be sure, but he does produce some of the best alchemists this city has ever seen.” Vincent’s scrutinizing stare was nearly unbearable, but she forced herself to withstand it. “Have you decided what your course of study will be?”

“I appreciate bedside, but I prefer research."

The seed pods were burning a hole through her purse, scalding the underside of her arm. It was only a matter of time before he asked to look in her bag.

The governor nodded, staring at her with an interest she couldn’t decipher. “And you’re the daughter of John Montgomery, is that what I hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He considered her further, a small frown pulling down the corners of his lips, before turning his attention toward James. “Can she be trusted?”

“Implicitly,” James answered immediately, much to Vincent’s satisfaction.

Dakota couldn’t help her eyes flicking between them, curiosity edging out the anxiety rippling through her veins.

“Excellent. Bring her to the prison when you come at the end of the week.”

Dylan shifted beside her, the movement nearly imperceptible except for how close he stood to her back.

“Will do, sir,” James replied.

The governor turned on the heels of his overly-shined black shoes, the heels tapping against the metal flooring as he made his way to the elevator. He pressed the button with a ring-clad finger before glancing back toward the three still on the balcony. “Dylan, please personally see my guests out of the Fieldhouse when they’re ready to depart. No need to have them stand in the security line.”

Dylan nodded. “Was already planning on it, sir.”

“Excellent.” The bell from the elevator dinged, and Vincent disappeared into the car.