Glass Sword
Page 105
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“This is worth the cost,” he says again, his voice louder than before. “We’re doing the right thing.”
I know that. As afraid as I am for myself and those closest to me, I know that Corros is the right choice. Even without Jon’s assurance, I believe in our path. How could we not? Newbloods cannot be left to Elara’s whispering, to be killed or made into hollow, soulless shells to follow her orders. This is what we must do to stop a more horrible world than the one we live in now.
Still, Shade’s assurance is a warm blanket of comfort. “Thank you,” I mutter back, putting a hand over his.
He smiles in reply, a crescent of white to reflect the waning moon. In the darkness, he looks so much like our father. Without age, without the wheelchair, without the burdens of a life come undone. But they share the same intelligence, the same slanting suspicion that kept them both alive on the war front, and now keeps Shade alive on a very different battlefield. He pats me on the cheek, a familiar gesture that makes me feel like a child, but I don’t dislike it. It’s a reminder of the blood we share. Not in mutation, but birth. Something deeper and stronger than any ability.
On my right, Cal marches on, and I pretend not to feel his gaze. I know he’s thinking about his own brother and his own bonds of blood now torn apart. And behind him is Kilorn, clutching his hunting rifle, scanning the woods for any and all shadows. For all their differences, the two boys share a startling connection. They are both orphans, both abandoned, with no one but me to anchor them.
Time passes too quickly for my taste. It seems like we’re on the Blackrun and soaring through the air in moments. Every second moves faster than the last as we hurtle toward the dark cliff before us all. This is worth the cost, I tell myself, repeating Shade’s words over and over. I must keep calm, for the jet. I must not look afraid, for the others. But my heart thrums in my chest, so loud I fear everyone can hear it.
To combat the harried beat, I press myself against the flight helmet in my lap, curling my arms around the smooth, cool shape. I stare at the polished metal, examining my reflection. The girl I see is both familiar and foreign, Mare, Mareena, the lightning girl, the Red Queen, and no one at all. She does not look afraid. She looks carved of stone, with severe features, hair braided tight to her head, and a tangle of scars on her neck. She is not seventeen, but ageless, Silver but not, Red but not, human—but not. A banner of the Scarlet Guard, a face on a wanted poster, a prince’s downfall, a thief . . . a killer. A doll who can take any form but her own.
The extra flight suits from the jet stores are black and silver, providing us with a ragtag kind of uniform that will also serve as our disguises. The others fuss over their suits, making adjustments where they must to fit into them. As always, Kilorn fiddles with his collar, trying to loosen the stiff fabric a little. Nix’s barely zips over his belly, and looks liable to rip open at any moment. In contrast, Nanny is practically swimming in hers but doesn’t bother to roll her sleeves or pant legs like I have to. She’ll take a different form when the jet lands, a form that turns my stomach and makes my heart race with too many emotions to count.
Luckily, the Blackrun was built for transport, and holds all eleven of us with room to spare. I expect the extra weight to slow us down, but judging by the control panel, we’re cruising along at the same speed as always. Maybe even a little faster. Cal pushes the craft as best as he can, keeping us out of the moonlight and safely hidden in the autumn clouds rolling along the Nortan coast.
He glares out the window, eyes flitting between the clouds and the many blinking instruments before him. I still don’t understand what any of them mean, despite my many weeks sitting next to him in the cockpit. I was a poor student in the Stilts and that has not changed. I simply don’t have a mind like he does. I know only shortcuts, how to cheat, how to lie, how to steal, and I know how to see what people hide. And right now, Cal is certainly hiding something. I would be afraid of anyone else’s secrets, but I know what Cal keeps close cannot hurt me. He’s trying to bury his own weakness, his own fear. He was raised to believe in strength and power and nothing else. To falter was the ultimate mistake. I told him before that I was afraid too, but a few whispered words are not enough to break years of belief. Just like me, Cal puts up a mask, and he won’t even let me see behind it.
It’s for the best, the practical side of me thinks. The other part, the one that cares too much for the exiled prince, worries terribly. I know the physical danger of this mission, but the emotional never crossed my mind until this afternoon. What will Cal become in Corros? Will he leave the same way he went in? Will he leave at all?
Farley checks our cache of weapons for the twelfth time. Shade tries to help and she bats him away, but there’s little force behind the action. Once, I catch a smirk pass between them, and she finally allows him to count out bullets from a packet marked Corvium. Another stolen shipment, Crance’s doing most likely. Together with Farley’s contacts, he managed to smuggle us more guns, blades, and various other weapons than I could have imagined possible. Everyone will be armed, with their ability and whatever else they choose. I myself want nothing but my lightning, but the others are more eager, claiming daggers or pistols or, in Nix’s case, the brutal, collapsible spear he’s favored these past few weeks. He hugs it close, running his fingers along the sharpened steel with abandon. Another would have cut himself open by now, but Nix’s flesh is tougher than most. The other invulnerable newblood, Darmian, follows his lead and lays a thick, cleaver-like blade across his knobbly knees. The edge gleams, begging to cut through bone.
I know that. As afraid as I am for myself and those closest to me, I know that Corros is the right choice. Even without Jon’s assurance, I believe in our path. How could we not? Newbloods cannot be left to Elara’s whispering, to be killed or made into hollow, soulless shells to follow her orders. This is what we must do to stop a more horrible world than the one we live in now.
Still, Shade’s assurance is a warm blanket of comfort. “Thank you,” I mutter back, putting a hand over his.
He smiles in reply, a crescent of white to reflect the waning moon. In the darkness, he looks so much like our father. Without age, without the wheelchair, without the burdens of a life come undone. But they share the same intelligence, the same slanting suspicion that kept them both alive on the war front, and now keeps Shade alive on a very different battlefield. He pats me on the cheek, a familiar gesture that makes me feel like a child, but I don’t dislike it. It’s a reminder of the blood we share. Not in mutation, but birth. Something deeper and stronger than any ability.
On my right, Cal marches on, and I pretend not to feel his gaze. I know he’s thinking about his own brother and his own bonds of blood now torn apart. And behind him is Kilorn, clutching his hunting rifle, scanning the woods for any and all shadows. For all their differences, the two boys share a startling connection. They are both orphans, both abandoned, with no one but me to anchor them.
Time passes too quickly for my taste. It seems like we’re on the Blackrun and soaring through the air in moments. Every second moves faster than the last as we hurtle toward the dark cliff before us all. This is worth the cost, I tell myself, repeating Shade’s words over and over. I must keep calm, for the jet. I must not look afraid, for the others. But my heart thrums in my chest, so loud I fear everyone can hear it.
To combat the harried beat, I press myself against the flight helmet in my lap, curling my arms around the smooth, cool shape. I stare at the polished metal, examining my reflection. The girl I see is both familiar and foreign, Mare, Mareena, the lightning girl, the Red Queen, and no one at all. She does not look afraid. She looks carved of stone, with severe features, hair braided tight to her head, and a tangle of scars on her neck. She is not seventeen, but ageless, Silver but not, Red but not, human—but not. A banner of the Scarlet Guard, a face on a wanted poster, a prince’s downfall, a thief . . . a killer. A doll who can take any form but her own.
The extra flight suits from the jet stores are black and silver, providing us with a ragtag kind of uniform that will also serve as our disguises. The others fuss over their suits, making adjustments where they must to fit into them. As always, Kilorn fiddles with his collar, trying to loosen the stiff fabric a little. Nix’s barely zips over his belly, and looks liable to rip open at any moment. In contrast, Nanny is practically swimming in hers but doesn’t bother to roll her sleeves or pant legs like I have to. She’ll take a different form when the jet lands, a form that turns my stomach and makes my heart race with too many emotions to count.
Luckily, the Blackrun was built for transport, and holds all eleven of us with room to spare. I expect the extra weight to slow us down, but judging by the control panel, we’re cruising along at the same speed as always. Maybe even a little faster. Cal pushes the craft as best as he can, keeping us out of the moonlight and safely hidden in the autumn clouds rolling along the Nortan coast.
He glares out the window, eyes flitting between the clouds and the many blinking instruments before him. I still don’t understand what any of them mean, despite my many weeks sitting next to him in the cockpit. I was a poor student in the Stilts and that has not changed. I simply don’t have a mind like he does. I know only shortcuts, how to cheat, how to lie, how to steal, and I know how to see what people hide. And right now, Cal is certainly hiding something. I would be afraid of anyone else’s secrets, but I know what Cal keeps close cannot hurt me. He’s trying to bury his own weakness, his own fear. He was raised to believe in strength and power and nothing else. To falter was the ultimate mistake. I told him before that I was afraid too, but a few whispered words are not enough to break years of belief. Just like me, Cal puts up a mask, and he won’t even let me see behind it.
It’s for the best, the practical side of me thinks. The other part, the one that cares too much for the exiled prince, worries terribly. I know the physical danger of this mission, but the emotional never crossed my mind until this afternoon. What will Cal become in Corros? Will he leave the same way he went in? Will he leave at all?
Farley checks our cache of weapons for the twelfth time. Shade tries to help and she bats him away, but there’s little force behind the action. Once, I catch a smirk pass between them, and she finally allows him to count out bullets from a packet marked Corvium. Another stolen shipment, Crance’s doing most likely. Together with Farley’s contacts, he managed to smuggle us more guns, blades, and various other weapons than I could have imagined possible. Everyone will be armed, with their ability and whatever else they choose. I myself want nothing but my lightning, but the others are more eager, claiming daggers or pistols or, in Nix’s case, the brutal, collapsible spear he’s favored these past few weeks. He hugs it close, running his fingers along the sharpened steel with abandon. Another would have cut himself open by now, but Nix’s flesh is tougher than most. The other invulnerable newblood, Darmian, follows his lead and lays a thick, cleaver-like blade across his knobbly knees. The edge gleams, begging to cut through bone.
