“So what do we do about this, General Calore?” I ask, gesturing to the four walls holding us prisoner. Now I can see the slight outlines in the corners, the square blocks a bit darker than the rest, fixed right into the panels of the walls.
After a long moment, Cal pulls out of thoughts just as painful as mine. Glad for the distraction, he rights the other chair swiftly, pushing it against a corner. He steps up, almost banging his head on the ceiling, and runs a hand over the Silent Stone. It’s more dangerous to us than anything on this island, more damaging than any weapon.
“By my colors, how did they get this?” he mutters, his fingers trying to find an edge. But the stone lies flush, perfectly embedded. With a sigh, he jumps back down and faces the observation window. “Our best chance is breaking the glass. There’s no getting around these in here.”
“It’s weaker, though,” I say, staring at the Silent Stone. It stares right back. “In the Bowl of Bones, I felt like I was suffocating. This is nowhere near that bad.”
Cal shrugs. “Not as many blocks here. But still enough.”
“Stolen?”
“They have to be. There’s only so much Silent Stone and only the government can use it, for obvious reasons.”
“That’s true . . . in Norta.”
He tilts his head, perplexed. “You think these came from somewhere else?”
“There are smuggled shipments coming in from all over. Piedmont, the Lakelands, other places too. And haven’t you seen any soldiers down here? Their uniforms?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not since that red-eyed bastard marched me in yesterday.”
“They call him the Colonel, and he’s Farley’s father.”
“I’d feel sorry for her, but my family’s infinitely worse.”
I scoff, half-amused. “They’re Lakelanders, Cal. Farley, and the Colonel, and all his soldiers. Which means there’s more where they came from.”
Confusion clouds his face. “That—that can’t be. I’ve seen the battle lines myself; there’s no way through.” He looks at his hands, idly drawing a map in midair. It makes no sense to me, but he knows it intimately. “The lakes are blockaded on both shores; the Choke is out of the question completely. Moving goods and stores is one thing, but not people, not in this magnitude. They’d have to have wings to get across.”
My breath rushes inward, as fast as my realization. The concrete yard, the immense hangar at the end of the base, the wide road leading to nowhere.
Not a road.
A runway.
“I think they do.”
To my surprise, a wide, genuine grin breaks across Cal’s face. He turns to the window, peering out at the empty passage. “Their manners leave a lot to be desired, but the Scarlet Guard are going to cause my brother a lot of headaches.”
And then I’m smiling too. If this is how the Colonel treats his so-called allies, I’d love to see what he does to his enemies.
Dinnertime comes and goes, marked only by a grizzled old Lakelander carrying a tray of food. He motions for both of us to step back and face the far wall, so he can slide the tray through a slit in the door. Neither of us responds, stubbornly standing our ground by the window. After a long standoff, he marches away, eating our dinner with a grin. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I grew up hungry. I can handle a few hours without a meal. Cal, on the other hand, pales when the food saunters off, his eyes following the plate of gray fish.
“If you wanted to eat, you should’ve told me,” I grumble, taking my seat again. “You’re no use if you’re starving.”
“That’s what they’re supposed to think,” he replies, a bit of a glint in his eye. “I figure I’ll faint after breakfast tomorrow, and see how well their medics take a punch.”
It’s a shaky plan at best, and I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“No,” I say, sullen.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Hmph.”
The Silent Stone has a strange effect on both of us. In taking away what we rely on most, our abilities, the cell forces us to become someone else. For Cal, that means being smarter, more calculating. He can’t lean on infernos, so he turns to his mind instead. Although, judging by the fainting idea, he’s not the sharpest blade in the armory.
The change in me is not so evident. After all, I lived seventeen years in silence, not knowing what power lingered within me. Now I’m remembering that girl again, the heartless, selfish girl who would do anything to save her own skin. If the Lakelander returns with another tray, he better be ready to feel my hands around his throat and, if we manage to get out of this cell, my lightning in his bones.
“Julian’s alive.” I don’t know where the words come from, but suddenly they’re hanging in the air, fragile as snowflakes.
Cal’s head jerks up, his eyes suddenly bright. The prospect of his uncle still breathing cheers him almost as much as freedom. “Who told you that?”
“The Colonel.”
Now it’s Cal’s turn to “hmph.”
“I think I believe him.” That earns a disparaging glare, but I press on. “The Colonel thinks Julian was part of Maven’s trap, another Silver to betray me. It’s why he doesn’t believe in the list.”
Cal nods, his eyes faraway. “The ones like you.”
“Farley calls them—us—newbloods.”
“Well,” he sighs, “the only thing they’ll be called is dead if you don’t get out of here soon. Maven will hunt them all.”
Blunt but true. “For revenge?”
To my surprise, he shakes his head. “He’s a new king following a murdered father. Not the most stable place to start his reign. The High Houses, Samos and Iral especially, would leap at a chance to weaken him. And the discovery of newbloods, after he publicly denounced you, would certainly do that.”
Though Cal was raised to be a soldier, trained in the barracks of a living war, he was also born to be a king. He might not be so conniving as Maven, but he understands statecraft better than most.
“So every person we save will hurt him, not just on the battlefield, but on the throne.”
He smirks crookedly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re throwing ‘we’ around quite a bit.”
“Does that bother you?” I ask, testing the waters. If I can rope Cal into tracking down the newbloods with me, we might actually have a chance of outpacing Maven.
A muscle in his cheek twitches, the only indication of his indecision. He doesn’t get a chance to answer before the now familiar march of boots cuts him off. Cal groans to himself, annoyed at the Colonel’s return. When he starts to rise, my hand shoots out, pushing him back into his seat.
“Don’t stand for him,” I mutter, leaning back in my own chair.
Cal does as he’s told and settles in, arms crossed over his broad chest. Now instead of beating against the window and tossing tables at the walls, he looks stoic, serene, a boulder of flesh waiting to crush whoever comes too close. If only he could. But for the Silent Stone, he would be a blazing inferno, burning hotter and brighter than the sun. And I would be a storm. Instead, we’re reduced to our bones, to two teenagers grumbling in a cage.
I do my best to keep still when the Colonel appears in the window. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my anger, but when Kilorn appears at his shoulder, his expression cold and stern, my body jolts. Now it’s Cal’s turn to hold me back, his hand a slight pressure on my thigh, keeping me seated.
The Colonel stares for a moment, as if memorizing the sight of the prince and the lightning girl imprisoned. I’m seized by the urge to spit on the bloodstained glass but refrain. Then he turns away from us, gesturing with long, crooked fingers. They twitch once, twice, beckoning for someone to step forward. Or be brought forth.
She fights like a lion, forcing the Colonel’s bodyguards to hold her clean off the ground. Farley’s fist catches one of them in the jaw, sending him sprawling, breaking his grip on h
er arm. She slams the other into the passage wall, crushing his neck between her elbow and the window of another cell. Her blows are brutal, meant to inflict as much damage as she can, and I can see purple bruises already blooming on her captors. But the bodyguards are careful not to hurt her, doing their best to keep her merely restrained.
Colonel’s orders, I suppose. He’ll give his daughter a cell, but not bruises.
To my dismay, Kilorn doesn’t stand idle. When the guards get her up against a wall, each one bracing a shoulder and leg, the Colonel gestures to the fish boy. With shaking hands, he pulls out a dull gray box. Syringes gleam within.
I can’t hear her voice through the glass, but it’s easy to read her lips. No. Don’t.
“Kilorn, stop it!” The window is suddenly cold and smooth beneath my hand. I beat against it, trying to catch his attention. “Kilorn!”
But he squares his shoulders, turning his back so I can’t see his face. The Colonel does the opposite, staring at me instead of the syringe plunging into his daughter’s neck. Something strange flickers deep in his good eye—regret, maybe? No, this is not a man with doubts. He’ll do whatever he must, to whoever he must.
Kilorn pulls back after doing the deed, the empty syringe sharp in his hand. He waits, watching Farley thrash against her captors. But her movements slow and her eyelids droop as the drugs take hold. Finally she sags against the Lakelander guards, unconscious, and they drag her to the cell across from mine. They lay her down before locking the door, shutting her in just like Cal—just like me.
When her door clangs shut, the lock in mine clicks open.
“Redecorating?” the Colonel says with a sniff, eyeing the dented table as he enters. Kilorn follows, tucking the box of syringes back into his coat, in warning. For you, if you step out of line. He avoids my stare, busying himself with the box while the door locks behind them, leaving the two guards to man the passage on the other side.
Cal glares from his seat, his expression murderous. I don’t doubt he’s thinking about all the ways he could kill the Colonel, and which would hurt the most. The Colonel knows that too, and draws a short but lethal pistol from its holster. It idles in his hand, a coiled snake waiting to strike.
“Please sit, Miss Barrow,” he says, gesturing with the gun.
Obeying his command feels like surrender, but I have no other choice. I take my seat, letting Kilorn and the Colonel stand over us. If not for the gun and the guards in the hall, watching closely, we might have a chance. The Colonel is tall, but older, and Cal’s hands would fit nicely around his throat. I would have to take Kilorn myself, relying on my knowledge of his still-healing wounds to bring the traitor down. But once we bested them, the door would still be locked, the guards still watching. Our fight would accomplish nothing at all.
The Colonel smirks, as if reading my thoughts. “Best stay in your chair.”
“You need a gun to keep two children in line?” I scoff back at him, angling my chin at the pistol in his hand. There isn’t a soul on earth who would dare call Cal a child, even without his abilities. His military training alone makes him deadly, something the Colonel knows well enough.
He ignores the insult and plants his feet in front of me, so his bloody eye bores into mine. “You know, you’re lucky I’m a progressive man. There aren’t many who would let him live”—he nods toward Cal, before sweeping back to me—“and a few who would kill you as well.”
I glance at Kilorn, hoping he realizes what side he’s on. He fidgets like a little boy. If we were children again, still the same size, I would punch him squarely in the stomach.
“You’re not keeping me around for the pleasure of my company,” Cal says, cutting right through the Colonel’s dramatics. “So what are you going to trade me for?”
The Colonel’s reaction is the only confirmation I need. His jaw clenches, tightening in anger. He wanted to say the words himself, but Cal’s taken the wind out of his sails.
“Trade,” I murmur, though it comes out more like a hiss. “You’re going to trade away one of the best weapons you’ve got? How stupid are you?”
“Not stupid enough to think he’ll fight for us,” the Colonel replies. “No, I leave that foolish hope to you, lightning girl.”
Don’t rise to the bait. It’s what he wants. Still, it takes everything in me to stare straight ahead, and keep my eyes from Cal. Truthfully, I don’t know where his loyalties lie, or who he fights for. I only know who he’ll fight against—Maven. Some would think that puts us on the same side. But I know better. Life and war are not so simple as that.
“Very well, Colonel Farley.” He flinches when I use his last name. His head turns slightly, resisting the urge to look back at his daughter unconscious in her cell. There’s pain there, I note, filing it away for later use.
But the Colonel responds to my jab in kind. “The king has put forth a bargain,” he says, his words pressing like a knife on the verge of drawing blood. “In exchange for the exiled prince, King Maven has agreed to reinstate the traditional age of conscription. Back to eighteen, instead of fifteen years old.” He lowers his eyes, his voice dropping with them. For a brief, splintering moment, I catch a glimpse of the father beneath the brutal exterior. His mind wanders to the children sent to die. “It’s a good deal.”
“Too good,” I say quickly, my tone hard and strong enough to hide the fear beneath. “Maven will never honor such a trade. Never.”
To my left, Cal exhales slowly. He draws his hands together, fingers steepled, displaying the many cuts and bruises he’s earned over the last few days. They twitch in succession, one after the other. A distraction from whatever truth he’s trying to avoid.
“But you have no choice,” Cal says, his hands finally still. “Turning down the deal dooms them all.”
The Colonel nods. “Indeed. Take heart, Tiberias. Your death will save thousands of innocent children. They are the only reason you’re still breathing.”
Thousands. Certainly they’re worth Cal, certainly. But deep in my heart, in the twisted, cold part of myself I’m starting to know all too well, something disagrees. Cal is a fighter, a leader, a killer, a hunter. And you need him.
In more ways than one.
Something glitters in Cal’s eye. If not for the Silent Stone, I know his hands would shudder with flame. He leans forward slightly, lips pulling back against his even, white teeth. It’s so aggressive and animalistic I expect to see fangs.
“I am your rightful king, Silver-born for centuries,” he replies, seething. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I can’t burn the oxygen from this room.”
I’ve never heard such a threat from Cal, so visceral it cuts my insides. And the Colonel, usually calm and stoic, feels it as well. He pulls back too quickly, almost stumbling into Kilorn. Like Farley, he’s embarrassed by his fear. For a moment, his complexion matches his bloody eye, making him look like a tomato with limbs. But the Colonel is made of sterner stuff, and chases away his fear in a single, collected moment. He smooths back his white-blond hair, pressing it flat to his skull, and holsters his gun with a satisfied sigh.
“Your boat leaves tonight, Your Royal Highness,” he says with a crack of his neck. “I advise you to say good-bye to Miss Barrow. I doubt you’ll see her ever again.”
My hand closes around the seat of my chair, digging into the cold, rough metal. If only my name was Evangeline Samos. Then I would wrap this chair around the Colonel’s throat until he tasted iron and saw blood in both eyes.
“What about Mare?”
Even now, on the heels of his own death sentence, how is Cal stupid enough to worry about me?
“She’ll be watched,” Kilorn butts in, speaking for the first time since he entered my cage. His voice quivers, as it should. The coward has everything to be afraid of, including me. “Guarded. But not hurt.”
Distaste flickers across the Colonel’s face. I suppose he wants me dead too. Who could overrule him, I don’t know. Farley’s mysterious
Command, perhaps, whoever they are.
“Is that what you’ll do to people like me?” I spit, feeling myself rise from my seat. “The newbloods? Are you going to bring Shade down here next and put him in a cage like some sort of pet? Until we learn to obey?”
“That depends on him,” the Colonel replies evenly, each word a cold kick in the gut. “He’s been a good soldier. So far. Just like your friend here,” he adds, putting one flat hand on Kilorn’s shoulder. He reeks of fatherly pride, something Kilorn’s been without. After so long an orphan, even a father as horrible as the Colonel must feel good. “Without him, I would’ve never had the excuse, or the opportunity, to lock you up.”
I can only glare at Kilorn, hoping my gaze hurts him as much as he’s hurt me. “How proud you must be.”
“Not yet,” the fish boy replies.
If not for our years in the Stilts, our many hours thieving and slinking like alley rats, I would’ve never seen it. But Kilorn is easy to read, for me at least. When he angles his body, simultaneously arching his back and shrugging his hips, it looks natural. But there’s nothing natural about what he’s trying to do. The bottom of his jacket sags, outlining the box holding the syringes. It slips dangerously, sliding between the fabric and stomach, faster and faster.
“Oh—” he chokes out, jumping from the Colonel’s grasp when the box springs free. It bursts open in midair, spitting needles as it falls. They hit the floor, shattering and spilling fluid across our toes. Most would think them all broken, but my quick eyes notice one syringe still intact, half-hidden by Kilorn’s curling fist.
“Dammit, boy,” the Colonel says, stooping without a thought. He reaches for the box, hoping to salvage something, but gets a needle in the neck for his trouble.
The surprise of it gives Kilorn the second he needs to squeeze, emptying the syringe into the Colonel’s veins. Like Farley, he fights, cracking Kilorn across the face. He goes flying, colliding with the far wall.
Before the Colonel can take another step, Cal explodes out of his chair and slams him against the observation window. The Lakelander soldiers look on helplessly from the other side of the glass, their guns ready but useless. After all, they can’t open the door. They can’t risk letting the monsters out of their cage.
Glass Sword Page 10
