Glass Sword

by Victoria Aveyard

  She reacts before I can, grabbing my shoulders with agility no human should possess. But instead of breaking my neck or slitting my throat, she tosses me sideways, and something ruffles my hair. A curved, spinning blade, sharp as a razor, big as a dinner plate, flies past my face, centimeters from my nose. I hit the ground, gasping in shock, clutching at the head I almost lost. And above me, Ara Iral stands her ground, dodging every blade that sails over us. They’re coming from the opposite end of the hall, where another person from the past stands, forming metal disks from the plates of his familiar scale armor.

  “Didn’t your father ever teach you respect for your elders?” Ara crows at Ptolemus, stepping neatly under another blade. The next one she pulls out of the air, and tosses it back at him. An impressive but useless trick, as he waves it off with a curled smirk. “Well, Red, aren’t you going to do something?” she adds, toeing my leg.

  I stare at her, stunned for a moment. Then I clamber to my feet, forcing myself to stand. A little bit of my terror disappears. “With pleasure, my lady.”

  At the end of the corridor, Ptolemus’s grin widens. “Now to finish what my sister started in the arena,” he growls.

  “What your sister ran from,” I call back, directing a bolt at his head. He throws himself sideways, against the wall, and in the time it takes him to recover, Ara closes the distance between them and leaps, kicking off the tile wall. Using the momentum, she breaks Ptolemus’s jaw with her elbow.

  I follow and, judging by the pounding footsteps behind me, I’m not the only one.

  Fire and lightning. Mist and wind. Metal rain, curling darkness, explosions like tiny stars. And bullets, always bullets, close behind. We move forward through the battle storm, praying for an end to this prison, following the map we all did our best to memorize. It should be here, no here, no here. In the mist and shadows, it’s easy to get lost. And then there’s Gareth, always spinning the bounds of gravity, sometimes doing more harm than good. When we finally find the entrance hall, the room with red and silver and black doors, I’m bruised all over again, and my strength is fading fast. I don’t even want to think about the others, Julian and Sara, who could barely walk earlier. We need to get in the open. To the sky. To the lightning that can save us all.

  Outside, the sun has risen. Ara and Ptolemus continue their visceral dance as the Wash looms, a gray haze on the horizon. I only have eyes for the Blackrun and the other jet idling on the runway. A crowd swarms around the crafts, newblood and Silver alike, boarding everything within reach. Some disappear into the fields, hoping to escape on foot.

  “Shade, get him to the jet,” I yell, grabbing Cal by the collar as we run. Before he can protest, Shade does as instructed, and jumps him a hundred yards away. I can always count on Shade to understand; Cal is one of our only two pilots. He cannot die here, not when we’re so close to getting away. We need him to fly, and fly well. A split second later, Shade returns, wrapping his arms around Julian and Sara. They disappear with him, and I breathe a small sigh of relief.

  I call on everything I have left, down to the deepness of my bones. It makes me slow, makes me weak, taking my will, and turning it into something stronger. To my delight, the sky darkens.

  Kilorn stops next to me, his rifle tucked against his shoulder. He shoots with precision, picking off our pursuers one by one. Many men step in front of the queen, protecting her, whether by their own volition or hers. She’ll be within range soon, of both my ability—and her own. I have only one chance.

  It happens in slow motion. I glance at the two Silvers locked in battle between me and the jets. A long, thin blade, like a giant needle, cuts through Ara’s neck, spilling a silver fountain. Ptolemus spins with the momentum, directing it through her, at me. I move to duck, expecting what I think is the worst.

  I can’t possibly see what’s coming.

  Only one person could. Jon. He walked away from all this. He let this happen. He didn’t want to warn us. He didn’t care.

  Shade appears in front of me, intending to take me away from all this. Instead, he gets a cruel, gleaming needle through his heart. He doesn’t realize what’s happening. He doesn’t feel any pain. He dies before his knees hit the ground.

  I don’t remember anything else until we’re in the air. My face runs with tears but I can’t wipe them away. I stare at my hands, painted in both colors of blood.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  This is not the Blackrun.

  Instead, Cal pilots a massive cargo jet, built to carry heavy transports or machinery. Now the cargo bay holds over three hundred escaped prisoners, many injured, all shell-shocked. Most are newbloods, but there are also Silvers among them, keeping to themselves, biding their time. For today at least, they all look the same, cloaked in rags, exhaustion, and hunger. I don’t want to go down to them, so I stick to the upper level of the jet. At least it’s quiet in this section, separated from the bay by a narrow stairwell, and from the cockpit by a closed door. I can’t make myself move past the two bodies at my feet. One lies beneath a white sheet, stained only by the blossom of red blood over his pierced heart. Farley kneels over him, frozen, a hand under the sheet to clutch my brother’s cold, dead fingers. The other corpse I refuse to cover.

  Elara looks ugly in death. Lightning twisted her muscles, pulling her mouth into a sneer even she couldn’t muster while alive. Her simple uniform is cooked to her skin, and her ash-blond hair is almost gone, burned away until only stringy patches remain. The other bodies, her guards, were just as deformed. We left them rotting on the runway. But the queen is still unmistakable. Everyone will know this corpse. I’ll make sure of it.

  “You should go lie down.”

  The body unsettles Kilorn, that much is clear. I don’t know why. We should be dancing on her bones. “Let Sara check you out.”

  “Tell Cal to change course.”

  He blinks at me, perplexed. “Change course? What are you talking about? We’re going back to the Notch, back home—”

  Home. I scoff at such a childish word. “We’re going back to Tuck. Tell him, please.”

  “Mare.”

  “Please.”

  He doesn’t move. “Have you gone crazy? Do you remember what happened back there, what the Colonel will do to you if you come back?”

  Crazy. I wish. I wish my mind would snap from the torture my life has become. That would be such a relief, to simply go mad. “He can certainly try. But there are too many of us now, even for him. And when he sees what I bring him, I doubt he’ll refuse us this time.”

  “The body?” he breathes, visibly shaking. It’s not the corpse scaring him, I realize quietly. It’s me. “You’re going to show him the body?”

  “I’m going to show everyone.” Again, firmer. “Tell Cal to change course. He will understand.”

  The jab stings Kilorn, but I don’t care. He hardens, drawing back to do as I tell him. The cockpit door shuts behind him, but I barely notice. I’m preoccupied with more important things than petty insults. Who is he to question my orders? He’s no one. A fish boy with only good luck and my foolishness to protect him. Not like Shade, a teleporter, a newblood, a great man. How can he be dead? And he is not the only one. No, there are certainly others left to make the prison their tomb. We’ll only know when we land, and can see who else escaped on the Blackrun. And we will be landing on the island compound, not trekking to some lonely, backwoods cave.

  “Did your seer tell you about this?”

  The first words Farley’s spoken since we left Corros. She hasn’t wept yet, but her voice sounds hoarse, as if she spent the last few days screaming. Her eyes are horrible, ringed with red, the irises a vivid blue.

  “That fool, Jon, who told us to do this?” she continues, turning to face me. “Did he tell you Shade would die? Did he? I suppose that was an easy price for the lightning girl to pay, so long as it meant more newbloods for you to control. More soldiers in a war you have no idea how to fight. One measly brother for more followers to kiss yo
ur feet. Not a bad trade, was it? Especially with the queen thrown in. Who cares about a dead man no one knows, when you could have her corpse?”

  My slap sends her back a step, more in surprise than pain. She catches the sheet as she falls, pulling it sideways, revealing my brother’s pale face. At least his eyes are closed. He could be only sleeping. I move to tug the sheet back into place—I can’t look at him long—but she hits me with her shoulder, using her considerable height to drive me into the wall.

  The cockpit door bangs open, and the two boys rush out, drawn by the noise. In an instant, Cal takes Farley down, tapping the back of her knee so she stumbles. Kilorn is less fancy, simply wrapping both his arms around me, hoisting me clean off the ground.

  “He was my brother!” I yell at her.

  She screams her response. “He was far more than that!”

  Her words trigger a memory.

  When she doubts. Jon told me to tell her something. When she doubts. And Farley certainly doubts now.

  “Jon did tell me something,” I say, trying to push off Kilorn. “Something for you to hear.”

  She lunges, reaching, and Cal pushes her back down again. He gets an elbow to the face for the trouble, but doesn’t relinquish his firm hold on her shoulders. She isn’t going anywhere, yet she continues to struggle.

  Farley, you never know when to quit. I used to admire you for it. Now I only pity you.

  “He told me the answer to your question.”

  It stops her short, her breath coming in tiny, frightened puffs. She stares, wide-eyed. I can almost hear her heart beating.

  “He said yes.”

  I don’t know what that means, but it levels her. She slumps, falling on her hands, and bows her head behind a short curtain of blond hair. I see the tears anyway. She isn’t going to fight anymore.

  Cal knows it too, and backs away from her shaking form. He almost trips on Elara’s deformed arm, and shies away from it, flinching. “Give her space,” he murmurs, and seizes me by the arm in a bruising grip. He all but drags me away, despite my protests.

  I don’t want to leave her. Not Farley, but Elara. Despite her wounds, her burns, and her glassy eyes, I don’t trust her corpse to stay dead. A foolish worry, but I feel it all the same.

  “By my colors, what’s the matter with you?” he snarls, slamming the cockpit door behind us, shutting out Farley’s low sobs and Kilorn’s scowl. “You know what Shade was to her—”

  “You know what he was to me,” I reply. Being civil isn’t at the top of my list, but I try. My voice quivers anyway. My closest brother. I lost him before, and now again. This time he isn’t coming back. There’s no coming back. “You don’t see me screaming at people.”

  “You’re right. You just kill them.”

  Breath hisses between my teeth. Is that what this is about? I almost laugh at him. “At least one of us can.”

  I expect a screaming match at the very least. What I get is worse. Cal takes a step back, bumping against the instrument panel, trying to put as much distance as he can between us. Usually I’m the one to pull away, but not anymore. Something breaks behind his eyes, betraying the wounds he hides beneath his flaming skin. “What happened to you, Mare?” he whispers.

  What hasn’t happened to me? A single day without worry, that’s what. All to prepare me for this, for the fate I bought myself with the mutations of my blood—and the many mistakes I’ve chosen to make, Cal included. “My brother just died, Cal.”

  But he shakes his head, never looking away from me. His gaze burns. “You killed those men in the command center, you and Cameron, while they begged. Shade wasn’t dead then. Don’t blame this on him.”

  “They were Silver—”

  “I am Silver.”

  “I am Red. Don’t act like you haven’t killed hundreds of us.”

  “Not for me, not the way you kill. I was a soldier following orders, obeying my king. And they were just as innocent as I was when my father was alive.”

  Tears prick my eyes, begging to be spilled. Faces swim before me, murdered soldiers and officers, too many to count. “Why are you saying this to me?” I whisper. “I did what I had to, to stay alive, to save people—to save you, you stupid, stubborn prince of nothing. You of all people should know the burden I carry. How dare you try to make me feel guiltier than I already do?”

  “She wanted to turn you into a monster.” He nods toward the door, and the twisted body behind it. “I’m just trying to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Elara is dead.” The words taste sweet as wine. She’s gone, she can’t hurt me. “She can’t control anyone anymore.”

  “But still, you feel no remorse for the dead. You do whatever you can to forget them. You abandoned your family without a word. You can’t control yourself. Half the time you run away from leadership, and the other half you act like some untouchable martyr, crowned in guilt, the only person who’s really giving herself to the cause. Look around you, Mare Barrow. Shade’s not the only one who died in Corros. You are not the only one to make sacrifices. Farley betrayed her father. You forced Cameron to join us against her will, you chose to ignore everything but Julian’s list, and now you want to abandon the kids back at the Notch. For what? To step on the Colonel’s neck? To take a throne? To kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way?”

  I feel like a child being scolded, unable to speak, to argue, to do anything but keep from crying. It takes everything to keep my sparks contained.

  “And you still hold on to Maven, a person who doesn’t exist.”

  He might as well put a hand around my throat and squeeze. “You looked through my things?”

  “I’m not blind. I watched you take the notes off the bodies. I thought you’d rip them up. But when you didn’t—I suppose I wanted to see what you were going to do. Burn them, throw them away, send them back dipped in Silver blood—but not keep them. Not read them while I slept next to you.”

  “You said you missed him too. You said so,” I whisper. I have to refrain from stamping my foot like a frustrated child.

  “He’s my brother. I miss him in a very different way.”

  Something sharp scrapes my wrist, and I realize I’m scratching myself in my misery, creating a physical pain to mask the agony inside. He watches, conflicted.

  “Every single thing I did, you stood behind me,” I say. “If I’m turning into a monster, then so are you.”

  He drops his gaze. “Love blinds.”

  “If this is your idea of love—”

  “I don’t know if you love anyone at all,” he snaps, “if you see anything out there but tools and weapons. People to manipulate and control, to sacrifice.”

  There is no possible defense to such an accusation. How can I prove him wrong? How can I make him see what I’ve done, what I’m trying to do, what I’ve become to keep everyone I care about safe! How badly I’ve failed. How terrible I feel. How the scars and memories ache. How deeply he’s wounded me with such words. I cannot prove my love for him, or Kilorn, or my family. I cannot put such feelings into words, nor should I have to.

  So I don’t.

  “After the Archeon bombing, Farley and the Scarlet Guard used a Silver news broadcast to claim responsibility.” I speak slowly, methodic and calm in my explanation. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. “I’m going to do the same now, with the queen’s body. I’m going to show every single person in this kingdom the woman I killed, and the people she kept locked up, newblood and Silver. I am finished letting Maven control this game by spouting his lies to the kingdom. What we’ve done isn’t enough to bring him down. We need to let the country do it for us.”

  Cal’s mouth gapes open. “Civil war?”

  “House against house, Silver against Silver. Only Reds will stand united. And we will win because of it. Norta will fall, and we will rise, Red as the dawn.” A simple, costly, lethal plan on both sides. But a step we must take. They forced us down this road long ago. I am only doing what must be done.
“You can collect the Notch children after we land in Tuck. But I need the Colonel, and I need his resources to get this in motion. Do you understand that?”

  He barely nods.

  “And after, well, I will go north, to the Choke, to the ones I’ve so willingly abandoned. You can do as you like, Your Highness.”

  “Mare.” He grazes my arm and I flinch away, almost hitting the wall.

  “Don’t touch me anymore.”

  The words sound like a slamming door. I suppose they are.

  Tuck is quiet and disgustingly bright. No clouds, no wind, just brisk autumn and sunlight. Shade shouldn’t have died on such a beautiful day, but he did. Too many did.

  I am the first to step down from the cargo plane, with two covered stretchers close behind. Kilorn and Farley hover by one, each of them resting a hand on Shade. But the other stretcher is what I care about now. The men holding her up seem afraid of her body, just like I was. The last few hours of quiet reflection, staring at Elara’s cold corpse, have been a strange comfort. She is not going to wake up. Just like Cal will never speak to me again, not after everything we said to each other. I don’t know where he is in the line, or if he’s even coming down at all. I tell myself not to worry. Thinking about him is a waste.

  I have to shield my eyes to see the Colonel’s blockade across the runway. He perches atop a medical transport, surrounded by nurses in white shifts. Ada must have radioed ahead to tell him we would sorely need help. Her Blackrun is already here, the only dark shadow in sight. When the first of the prisoners hit the runway behind me, the familiar black ramp descends from the other jet. Fewer than I thought get out, following Ada. She begins the brisk march toward the wall of armed Lakelanders, stoic Guardsmen, and curious onlookers. Quietly, I curse myself. My family will be back there, waiting to see their children, but they’ll find only one of us.

  You don’t care about your family. Maybe Cal was right, because I certainly forget them more than any sane person should.

  “That’s far enough, Miss Barrow,” the Colonel barks, holding up a hand. I do as he asks, halting five yards away. From this close, I can see the guns pointed at us, but more important, the men behind the bullets. They’re alert, but not on edge. They have no kill orders, not yet. “Have you come to return what you’ve stolen?”