Glass Sword
Page 73

“We dabbled with sounders on the lakes a few years ago. They spit out radio waves, and wreaked havoc with the Lakelander ships. Made it impossible for them to communicate with each other, but it did the same to us. Everyone had to sail blind.” His fingers trail lower, following one gnarled branch of scar tissue across my shoulder blade. “I suppose this one throws off electrical waves, or static, in great magnitude. Enough to incapacitate you, to make you blind, and turn your lightning against you.”
“They built it so quickly. It’s only been a few days since the Bowl of Bones,” I murmur back. Anything louder than a whisper might shatter this fragile peace.
Cal’s hand stills, his palm flat against my bare skin. “Maven turned against you long before the Bowl of Bones.”
I know that now. I know it with every bleeding breath. Something releases in me, breaking, bending my back so I can bury my face in my hands. Whatever wall I put up to keep the memories out is steadily crumbling into dust. But I can’t let it bury me. I can’t let the mistakes I’ve made bury me. When Cal’s warmth wraps around me, his arms around my shoulders, his head tucked against my neck, I lean into him. I let him protect me, though we swore we wouldn’t do this back in the cells of Tuck. We are nothing more than distractions for each other, and distractions get you killed. But my hands close over his, our fingers lacing, until our bones are woven together. The fire is dying, flames reduced to embers. But Cal is still here. He will never leave me.
“What did he say to you?” he whispers.
I draw back a little, so he can see. With a shaking hand, I pull on the collar of my shirt, showing him what Maven did. His eyes widen when they land on the brand. A ragged M burned into my skin. For a long time, he stares, and I fear his anger might set me on fire again.
“He said he was a man of his word,” I tell him. The words are enough to draw his gaze away from my newest scar. “That he would always find me—and save me.” I bark out an empty laugh. The only person Maven has to save me from is himself.
With gentle hands, Cal pulls my shirt back into place, hiding his brother’s mark. “We knew that already. At least now we truly know why.”
“Hmm?”
“Maven lies as easily as he breathes, and his mother holds his leash, but not his heart.” Cal’s eyes widen, imploring me to understand. “He’s hunting newbloods not to protect his throne but to hurt you. To find you. To make you come back to him.” His fist clenches on his thigh. “Maven wants you more than anything else on this earth.”
Would that Maven were here now, so I could rip out his horrible, haunting eyes. “Well, he can’t have me.” I realize the consequences of this, and so does Cal.
“Not even if it stops the killing? Not for the newbloods?”
Tears bite my eyes. “I won’t go back. For anyone.”
I expect his judgment, but instead he smiles and ducks his head. Ashamed of his own reaction, as I am of mine.
“I thought we would lose you.” His words are deliberately chosen, carefully made. So I lean forward, putting a hand on his fist. It’s all the assurance he needs to press on. “I thought I was going to lose you. So many times.”
“But I’m still here,” I say.
He takes my neck in his hands like he doesn’t believe me. I’m dimly reminded of Maven’s grip, but fight the urge to flinch. I don’t want Cal to pull away.
I have been running for so long. Since before all this even started. Even back in the Stilts, I was a runner. Avoiding my family, my fate, anything I didn’t want to feel. And I am still racing now. From those who would kill me—and those who would love me.
I want so badly to stop. I want to stand still without killing myself or someone else. But that is not possible. I must keep going, I must hurt myself to save myself, hurt others to save others. Hurt Kilorn, hurt Cal, hurt Shade and Farley and Nix and everyone stupid enough to follow me. I’m making them runners too.
“So we fight him.” Cal’s lips move closer, hot with each word. His grip tightens, like any second someone is going to come and take me from him. “That’s what we set out to do, so we do it. We build an army. And we kill him. Him and his mother both.”
Killing a king will change nothing. Another will take his place. But it is a start. If we cannot outrun Maven, we must stop him cold. For the newbloods. For Cal. For me.
I am a weapon made of flesh, a sword covered in skin. I was born to kill a king, to end a reign of terror before it can truly begin. Fire and lightning raised Maven up, and fire and lightning will bring him down.
“I won’t let him hurt you again.”
His breath makes me shiver. A strange sensation, when surrounded with such blazing warmth. “I believe you,” I tell him, lying.
Because I am weak, I turn in his arms. Because I am weak, I press my lips to his, searching for something to make me stop running, to make me forget. We are both weak, it seems.
As his hands run over my skin, I feel a different sort of pain. Worse than Maven’s machine, deeper than my nerves. It aches like a hollow, like an empty weight. I am a sword, born of lightning, of this fire—and of Maven’s. One already betrayed me, and the other might leave at any moment. But I do not fear a broken heart. I do not fear pain.
I cling to Cal, Kilorn, Shade, to saving all the newbloods I can, because I am afraid of waking up to emptiness, to a place where my friends and family are gone and I am nothing but a single bolt of lightning in the blackness of a lonely storm.