Glass Sword (12 page)

Kilorn’s gaze lingers on the green earring, the one that matches his eyes. The sight of it softens him, wearing down the hard edge he’s gained over the last few months.

“Of course,” I reply. “These will be with me to my grave.”

“Let’s keep the grave talk to a minimum, especially at the moment,” Kilorn mutters, eyeing his restraints again.

From this angle, I get a closer look at his bruised face. One black eye from the Colonel, one purpling cheek from me. “Sorry about that,” I say, apologizing for both my words and the injury.

“You’ve given me worse.” Kilorn laughs, smiling. He’s not wrong.

The harsh, grating hiss of radio static shatters the peaceful moment. I turn to see Cal leaning forward, one hand on the steering instrument, the other clutching the radio mouthpiece.

“Fort Patriot Control, this is BR one eight dash seven two. Origin Delphie, destination Fort Lencasser.”

His calm, flat tone echoes down the jet. Nothing about his voice sounds amiss or even slightly interesting. Hopefully Fort Patriot agrees. He repeats the call sign twice more, even sounding bored by the time he finishes. But his body is all nerves and he chews his lip worriedly, waiting for a response.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours as we listen, hearing nothing
but the hiss of static on the other end of the radio. Next to me, Kilorn tightens his belts, preparing for the worst. I quietly do the same.

When the radio crackles, heralding a response, my hands clutch the edge of my seat. I might have faith in Cal’s flying abilities, but that doesn’t mean I want to see them put to the test outrunning an attack squadron.

“Received, BR one eight dash seven two,” a stern, authoritative voice finally replies. “Next call in will be Cancorda Control. Received?”

Cal exhales slowly, unable to stop a grin from spreading. “Received, Patriot Control.”

But before I can relax, the radio continues hissing, making Cal’s jaw clench. His hands stray to the steering instrument, fingers tightening around each prong with steady focus. That action alone is enough to frighten us all, even Farley. In the chair next to him, she watches with wide eyes and parted lips, as if she can taste the words to come. Shade does the same, staring at the radio on the panel, his crutch tucked close.

“Storms over Lencasser, proceed with caution,” the voice says after a long, heart-pounding moment. It’s bored, dutiful, and completely uninterested in us. “Received?”

This time, Cal’s head drops, his eyes half-shut in relief. I can barely stop myself from doing the same. “Received,” he repeats into the radio. The hiss of static dies with a satisfying click, signaling the end of the transmission.
That’s it. We’re beyond suspicion.

No one speaks until Cal does, turning over his shoulder to flash a crooked grin. “No sweat,” he says, before carefully wiping away the thin sheen on his forehead.

I can’t help but laugh aloud at the sight—a fire prince, sweating. Cal doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin widens before he turns back to
the controls. Even Farley allows herself the ghost of a smile and Kilorn shakes his head, disentangling his hand from mine.

“Well done, Your Highness,” Shade says, and while Kilorn uses the title like a curse, it sounds entirely respectful in my brother’s mouth.

I suppose that’s why the prince smiles, shaking his head. “My name is Cal, and that’s all.”

Kilorn scoffs deep in his throat, low enough for only me to hear, and I dig an elbow into his ribs. “Would it kill you to be a little polite?”

He angles away from me, avoiding yet another bruise. “I’m not willing to risk it,” he whispers back. And then, louder, to Cal, “I take it we don’t call in at Cancorda,
Your Highness
?”

This time I bring my heel down on his foot, earning a satisfying yelp.

Twenty minutes later, the sun has set and we’re beyond Harbor Bay and the slums of New Town, flying lower by the second. Farley can barely stay in her seat, craning her neck to see as much as she can. It’s only trees below us now, thickening into the massive forest that occupies most of Norta. It almost looks like home out there, as if the Stilts wait just over the next hill. But home is to the west, more than a hundred miles away. The rivers here are unfamiliar, the roads strange, and I don’t know any of the villages huddled against the waterways. The newblood Nix Marsten lives in one of them, not knowing what he is or what kind of danger he’s in.
If he’s still living.

I should wonder about a trap but I don’t. I can’t. The only thing pushing me forward is the thought of finding other newbloods. Not just for the cause but for
me
, to prove I’m not alone in my mutation, with only my brother by my side.

My trust in Maven was misplaced, but not my trust in Julian Jacos. I know him better than most, and so does Cal. Like me, he knows the
list of names is real and if the others disagree, they certainly don’t show it. Because I think they want to believe, too. The list gives them hope of a weapon, an opportunity, a way to fight a war. The list is an anchor for us all, giving each of us something to hold on to.

When the jet angles toward the forest, I focus on the map in hand to distract myself, but still I feel my stomach drop.

“I’ll be damned,” Cal mutters, staring out the window at what I assume are the ruins turned runway. He flips another switch and the panels beneath my feet vibrate, coinciding with a distinct
whirr
that echoes through the body of the airjet
.
“Brace for landing.”

“And that means what exactly?” I ask through clenched teeth, turning to see not sky out the window but treetops.

The entire jet shudders before Cal can respond, smacking against something solid. We bounce in our seats, fingers clenched around our belts, as the momentum of the jet sways us back and forth. Shade’s crutch goes flying, hitting the back of Farley’s chair. She doesn’t seem to notice, her knuckles bone white on the arms of her seat. But her eyes are wide, open, and unblinking.

“We’re down,” she breathes, almost inaudible over the deafening roar of engines.

Night falls quietly over the so-called ruin, broken by distant birdsong and the low whine of the airjet. Its engines spin slower and slower, shutting down after our journey north. The shocking blue tinge of electricity beneath each wing fades, until the only light comes from inside the jet and the stars above.

We wait, silent, in the hope that our landing has gone unnoticed.

It smells like autumn, the air perfumed by dying leaves and the damp of distant rainstorms. I breathe it deeply at the bottom of the
ramp. The silence is punctuated only by Kilorn’s distant snores as he catches a few much-needed moments of sleep. Farley has already disappeared, a gun in hand, to scout out the rest of the hidden runway. She took Shade with her, just in case. For the first time in weeks, months even, I’m not under guard or closely watched. I belong to myself again.

Of course, that doesn’t last long.

Cal hastens down the ramp, a rifle over his shoulder, a pistol on his hip, and a pack dangling from his hand. With his black hair and dark jumpsuit, he could be made of shadow, something I’m sure he plans to use to his advantage.

“And what are you doing?” I ask, deftly catching his arm. He could break my grip in a second, but doesn’t.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t take much,” he says, gesturing to the pack. “I can steal most of what I need anyway.”

“You? Steal?” I scoff at the thought of a prince, and a brute of all things, doing anything of the sort. “At best you’ll lose your fingers. At worst, your head.”

He shrugs, trying not to look concerned. “And that matters to you?”

“It does,” I tell him quietly. I do my best to keep the pain from my voice. “We need you here, you know that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but not to smile. “And that matters to
me
?”

I want to beat some sense into him, but Cal is not Kilorn. He’d take my fist with a smile and keep on walking. The prince must be reasoned with, convinced.
Manipulated.

“You said yourself, every newblood we save is another strike against Maven. That’s still true, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue either. He’s listening, at least.

“You know what I can do, what Shade can do. And Nix might be even stronger,
better
, than both of us. Right?”

More silence.

“I know you want him dead.”

Despite the darkness, a strange light glimmers in Cal’s eyes.

“I want that too,” I tell him. “I want to feel my hands around his throat. I want to see him bleed for what he’s done, for every person he’s killed.” It feels so good to say it out loud, to admit what scares me most of all, to the only person who understands.
I want to hurt him in the worst way. I want to make his bones sing with lightning, until he can’t even scream.
I want to destroy the monster that Maven is now.

But when I think about killing him, part of my mind wanders back to the boy I believed him to be. I keep telling myself he wasn’t real. The Maven I knew and cared for was a fantasy, tailored specifically for me. Elara twisted her son into a person I would love, and she did her job so well. Somehow, the person who never existed haunts me, worse than the rest of my ghosts.

“He’s beyond our reach,” I say, both for Cal and for my own benefit. “If we go after him now, he’ll bury us both. You
know
this.”

Once a general and still a great warrior, Cal understands battle. And despite his rage, despite every fiber of him begging for revenge, he knows this isn’t a battle he can win.
Yet.

“I’m not part of your revolution,” he whispers, his voice almost lost in the night. “I’m not Scarlet Guard. I’m
not
part of this.”

I almost expect him to stamp his foot in exasperation.

“Then what
are you
, Cal?”

He opens his mouth, expecting an answer to tumble out. Nothing does.

I understand his confusion, even if I don’t like it. Cal was raised to
be everything I’m fighting against. He doesn’t know how to be anything else, even now, alongside Reds, hunted by his own, betrayed by his blood.

After a long, terrible moment, he turns around, retreating into the jet. He casts off his pack and his guns and his resolve. I exhale quietly, relieved by his decision. He’ll stay.

But for how much longer, I don’t know.

A
ccording to the map,
Coraunt is four miles northeast, sitting at the intersection of Regent’s River and the extensive Port Road. It doesn’t look like more than a trading outpost, and one of the last villages before the Port Road turns inland, weaving around the flooded, impassable marshlands on its journey to the northern border. Of the four great byways of Norta, the Port Road is the most traveled, connecting Delphie, Archeon, and Harbor Bay. That makes it the most dangerous, even this far north. Any number of Silvers, military or otherwise, could be passing through—and even if they aren’t actively hunting us, there isn’t a Silver in the kingdom who wouldn’t recognize Cal. Most would try to arrest him; some would certainly try to kill him on sight.

And they could
, I tell myself. It should frighten me to know this, but instead I feel invigorated. Maven, Elara, Evangeline and Ptolemus Samos—despite all their power and abilities, all of them are vulnerable. They
can
be defeated. We only need the proper weapons.

The thought makes it easy to ignore the pain of the last few days. My shoulder doesn’t ache so badly, and in the quiet of the forest, I
realize the ringing in my head has lessened. A few more days and I won’t remember the banshee’s scream at all. Even my knuckles, bruised from striking Kilorn’s cheekbone today, barely hurt anymore.

Shade jumps among the trees, his form flickering in and out of being like starlight through clouds. He keeps close, never appearing out of eyesight, and is careful to pace his teleporting. Once or twice he whispers, pointing out a twist in the deer trail or a hidden ravine, mostly for Cal’s benefit. While Kilorn, Shade, and I were raised in the woods, he grew up in palaces and military barracks. Neither prepared him for traversing a forest at night, as evidenced by the loud snapping of branches and his occasional stumbling. He’s used to burning a path, forcing his way through obstacles and enemies with strength and strength alone.

Kilorn’s teeth gleam every time the prince trips, forming a pointed smile.

“Careful there,” he says, yanking Cal away from a boulder hidden in shadow. Cal easily wrenches out of the fish boy’s grip, but that’s all he does, thankfully. Until we reach the stream.

Branches arc overhead from the trees on either bank, their leaves brushing against one another across the gap of water. Starlight winks through, illuminating the stream as it winds through the forest to join the Regent. It’s narrow, but there’s no telling how deep it might be. At least the current looks gentle.

Kilorn is probably more comfortable on water than land, and jumps nimbly into the shallows. He tosses a single stone into the middle of the stream, listening to the
plop
of rock on water. “Six feet, maybe seven,” he says after a moment. Well over my head. “Should we make you a raft?” he adds, grinning my way.

I first swam the Capital, a true river more than three times as deep
and ten times as wide, when I was fourteen. So it’s nothing to plunge right into the stream, dipping my head beneath the dark, cold water. This close to the ocean, it tastes faintly of salt.

Kilorn follows without question, his long-practiced strokes taking him across the stream in seconds. I’m surprised he doesn’t show off more, turning flips or holding his breath for minutes at a time. When I reach the opposite shore, I realize why.

Shade and Farley perch on the distant bank, eyeing the water below. Both their faces twitch, fighting smirks or smiles as they watch the prince in the shallows. The stream breaks neatly around Cal’s ankles, gentle as a mother’s touch, but his face goes pale in the moonlight. He rapidly crosses his arms, trying to hide his shaking hands.

“Cal?” I ask aloud, careful to keep my voice low. “What’s wrong?”

Already lounging against a tree trunk, Kilorn snorts in the darkness. He zips off his jacket, ringing out the waterlogged material with practiced efficiency. “Come on, Calore, you can fly a jet but you can’t swim?” he says.

“I
can
swim,” Cal replies hotly. He forces another step into the stream, now up to his knees. “I just don’t care for it.”

Of course he wouldn’t.
Cal is a burner, a controller of flame, and nothing weakens him more than water. It makes him helpless, powerless, everything he’s been taught to hate, fear, and fight. I remember him in the arena, how he almost died. Trapped by Lord Osanos, surrounded by a floating orb of water even he could not burn away. It must have felt like a coffin, a watery grave.

I wonder if he thinks of it too, if the memory makes the quiet stream look more like a churning, endless ocean.

My first instinct is to swim back, to help him across with my own two hands, but that would send Kilorn into a laughing fit even Cal
wouldn’t be able to stomach. And a brawl in the middle of the woods is the last thing we need.

“In through the nose, Cal.” When he looks up, our eyes locking across the stream, I give him a tiny, supporting nod.
Out through the mouth.
It’s just his own advice repeated back, but it soothes him all the same.

He takes another step forward, then another and another, chest heaving with each steadying breath. And then he’s swimming, paddling across the stream like a massive dog. Kilorn shakes with silent laughter, one hand over his mouth. I toss a few stones his way. It shuts him up long enough for Cal to reach the shallows again, and he eagerly sprints out of the water. A bit of steam rises from his skin, driven by the heat of his own embarrassment.

“S’cold,” he mumbles, shaking his head so he doesn’t have to look at us. His black hair sticks, plastered to one side of his silver-flushed face. Without thought, I brush it away, smoothing his hair back into a more dignified style. He holds my gaze all the while, looking pleasantly surprised by the action.

Then it’s my turn to blush.
We said no distractions.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of water too?” Kilorn calls across the stream, his voice too loud and gruff. Farley only laughs in reply, grabbing my brother’s wrist. A split second later, they stand next to us, smirking and dry.

They jumped. Of course.

Shade scoffs, squeezing my tail of wet hair. “Idiots,” he says kindly.

But for the crutch, I’d push him squarely into the stream.

My hair has almost dried by the time we reach the rise above Coraunt. Clouds roll in, covering the moon and stars, but the lights of the village
are enough to see by. From our vantage point, Coraunt looks like the Stilts, built at the mouth of the Regent’s River, centered on a crossroads. One, neatly paved and slightly raised above the salt marsh, is clearly the Port Road. The other runs east to west, and turns into a packed dirt road beyond the village. A watchtower on the riverbank points toward the sky, its crown illuminated by a revolving beacon of light. I flinch when it passes over us.

“Think he’s down there?” Kilorn breathes, meaning Nix. He eyes the number of squat houses below, huddled in the shadow of the watchtower.

“‘Nix Marsten. Living. Male. Born 12/20/271 in Coraunt, Marsh Coast, Regent State, Norta. Current residence: Same as birth.’ That’s all the list said,” I repeat from memory, seeing the words in my mind. I leave out the last part, the one that sears like a brand.
Blood type: not applicable. Gene mutation, strain unknown.
It follows every name on the list, including my own. It’s the marker Julian said he used to find these people in the bloodbase, matching my blood to theirs. Now it’s up to me to use that information—and hope that I’m not too late.

I squint against the darkness, trying to see through the night. Fortunately the Regent looks quiet, a black and calm river, and the roads are empty. Even the ocean looks still as glass. Curfew is in full effect, as commanded by the wretched Measures still in place. “No navy ships that I can see. And no traffic on the Port Road.”

Cal nods, agreeing, and my heart swells. Surely Maven’s hunters would not travel without an entourage of soldiers, making them easy to spot. That leaves two possibilities: they haven’t come for Nix yet, or they’re long gone.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, even with the curfew.” Farley’s eyes flash over the village, taking in every roof and street corner. I get the feeling
she’s done this before. “Lazy town, lazy officers. Ten coppers says they don’t even bother to secure the town records.”

“I’ll take you on that,” Shade replies, nudging her shoulder.

“We’ll meet you over there,” Cal says. He points at a grove of trees half a mile away. It’s hard to see in the darkness, surrounded by marsh and tall grass. Perfect cover, but I shake my head.

“We’re not splitting up.”

“You’d rather traipse in there together, with you and me leading the charge? Why don’t I just blow up the Security outpost, and you can fry any officer who comes your way?” Cal replies. He does his best to keep calm, but sounds more and more like an exasperated teacher.
Like his uncle Julian.

“Of course not—”

“Neither of us can set foot in that village, Mare. Not unless you intend to kill every person who sees our faces.
Every person.
”

His eyes bore into mine, willing me to understand. Every
person.
Not just Security, not just soldiers, not even Silver civilians.
Everyone
. Any whisper of us, any rumor, and Maven will come running. With Sentinels, soldiers,
legions
, everyone and everything in his power. Our only defense is staying hidden, and staying ahead. We can’t do either if we leave a trail.

“Okay.” My voice sounds as small as I feel. “But Kilorn stays with us.”

Kilorn’s eyes flicker, dancing between me and Cal. “This will go a lot faster if you don’t keep nannying me, Mare.”

Nanny.
I suppose that’s what I’m being, even now when he can think, fight, and provide for himself. If only he wasn’t so foolish, so dedicated to refusing my protection.

“Maven knows your name,” I tell him. “We’d be stupid to think
your ID photo hasn’t been sent to every officer and outpost in the country.”

His lips twist into a scowl. “What about Farley—”

“I’m Lakelander, boy,” Farley answers for me. At least we’re on the same page.

“Boy?” Kilorn says with a scowl. “You’re barely older than me.”

“Four years older, to be precise,” Shade answers smoothly.

Farley only rolls her eyes at both of them. “Your king has no claim over my records, and he doesn’t know my true name.”

“I’m only going because everyone thinks I’m dead,” Shade pipes in, leaning on his crutch. He puts a calming hand on Kilorn’s shoulder, but he shrugs him off.

“Fine,” he grumbles under his breath. Without so much as a backward glance, he starts marching toward the grove, quick and quiet as a field mouse.

Cal glares after him, a corner of his mouth twitching in distaste. “Any chance we can lose him?”

“Don’t be cruel, Cal,” I reply sharply, heading after Kilorn. I make sure to hit the prince as I pass, bumping him with my good shoulder. Not to harm, but to communicate.
Leave him alone.

He follows me closely, dropping his voice to a whisper. Warm fingers brush my arm, trying to soothe me. “I’m only joking.”

But I know that’s not true. That’s not true at all. And worst of all, I wonder if he’s right. Kilorn isn’t a soldier, or a scholar, or a scientist. He can weave a net faster than anyone I know, but what good is that when we’re catching
people
, not fish? I don’t know what kind of training he received in the Guard, but it’s little more than a month’s worth. He survived the Hall of the Sun because of me, and outlived the massacre of Caesar’s Square because of luck. With no ability, little training, and
less sense, how can he do anything but slow us down?

I saved him from conscription, but not for this. Not for another war. Part of me wishes I could send him home, back to the Stilts, our river, and the life we knew. He would live poor, overworked, unwanted, but he would
live.
That future, tucked between the woods and the riverbank, is no longer possible for me. But it could be for him. I want it for him.

Is it mad to let him stay here?

But how do I let him go?

I have no answer for either question, and push away all thoughts of Kilorn. They can wait. When I look back, meaning to say good-bye to Shade and Farley, I realize they’re already gone. A shiver of fear runs down my spine as I imagine an ambush down in Coraunt. Gunfire echoes in my head, still close in my memory.
No.
With Shade’s ability and Farley’s experience, nothing can stop them tonight. And without me, without the lightning girl to hide, no one will have to die.

Kilorn is a shadow through the tall grass, parting green stalks with able hands. He hardly leaves a trail, not that it matters. With Cal crashing along behind me, his broad bulk trampling everything in his path, there’s no point in masking our presence. And we’ll be gone long before morning, hopefully with Nix in tow. If we’re lucky, no one will notice a missing Red, allowing us time to get ahead of Maven once he figures out what we’re doing.

What is that, exactly?
The voice in my head turns strange, a combination of Julian, Kilorn, Cal, and a little bit of Gisa. It needles, poking at what I’m too afraid to admit.
The list is only the first step. Tracking down newbloods—but then what do we do with them? What do
I
do?

Frustration makes me walk faster, until I outstrip Kilorn. I barely notice him slowing to let me pass, knowing I want to lead alone. The
grove gets closer by the second, shrouded in darkness, and I wish I
was
alone. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since I woke up alone in the mersive. But even that was fleeting, my silence broken apart by Kilorn. I was glad to see him then, but now, now I wish I had that time to myself. Time to think, to plan, to grieve. To wrap myself around what my life has become.

“We give him a choice.” I speak aloud, knowing neither Cal nor Kilorn would stray beyond earshot. “He comes with us or he stays here.”

Cal leans against a nearby tree, his body relaxed, but his eyes stay fixed on the horizon. Nothing escapes his gaze. “Do we tell him the consequences of this
choice
?”