Glass Sword (13 page)

“If you want to kill him, you’ll have to go through me,” I reply. “I won’t put a newblood to death for refusing to join up. Besides, if he wants to tell an officer I was here, he’ll have to explain why. And that’s as good as a death sentence for Mr. Marsten.”

The prince’s lip curls. He fights the urge to snarl. But arguing with me will get him nowhere, not now. He’s obviously not used to taking any orders but his own. “Do we tell him about Maven? That he’ll die if he stays? That
others
will die if Maven tracks you down?”

I dip my head, nodding. “We tell him everything we can, and then we let him decide who and what he wants to be. As for Maven, well . . .” I search for the right thing to say, but those words are scarcer with every passing moment. “We stay ahead of him. I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Why?” Kilorn pipes in. “Why give him a choice at all? You said yourself, we need everyone we can get. If this Nix guy is half of what you are, we can’t afford to let him go.”

The answer is so simple, and it cuts me to bone.

“Because no one ever gave me a choice.”

I tell myself that I would still walk this path if I knew the consequences—save Kilorn from conscription, discover my ability, join the Guard, tear lives apart, fight, kill. Become the lightning girl. But I don’t know if that’s true. I honestly don’t know.

Maybe an hour passes in heavy, tense silence. It suits me just fine, giving me time to think, and Cal revels in the quiet. After the past few days, he’s just as hungry for rest as I am. Not even Kilorn dares to joke. Instead, he’s content to sit on a gnarled root, weaving strands of tall grass into a brittle, useless net. He smiles faintly, enjoying the old, familiar knots.

I think of Nix down in the village, probably pulled from his bed, maybe gagged, definitely ensnared in a net of my own making. Would Farley threaten his wife, his children, to make him come? Or would Shade simply grab his wrist and
jump
, sending them both hurtling through the sickening vise of teleportation until they land in the grove?
Born 12/20/271.
Nix is almost forty-nine, my father’s age. Will Nix be like him, wounded and broken? Or is he whole, waiting for us to break him?

Before I can fall into a spiral of dark and damning questions, the tall grass stirs.
Someone is coming.

It’s like flipping a switch in Cal. He pushes off his tree, every muscle taut and ready for whatever might step out of the grass. I half expect to see fire on his fingertips, but after long years of military training, Cal knows better. In the darkness, his flame would be like the watchtower beacon, alerting every officer to our presence. To my surprise, Kilorn looks just as vigilant as the prince. He drops his grass net, crushing it underfoot as he stands. He even pulls a hidden dagger from his
boot, a sharp, thick little blade he once used to gut fish. The sight of it sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know when the knife became a weapon, or when he started carrying it in his shoe.
Probably around the time people started shooting at him.

I’m not without my own weapons. The low thrum in my blood is all I need, sharper than any blade, more brutal than any bullet. Sparks vein beneath my skin, ready if I need them. My ability has a subtlety that Cal’s lacks.

A birdcall splits the night, hooting through the grass. Kilorn responds in kind, whistling out a low tune. He sounds like the thrushes that nest in the stilt houses at home. “Farley,” he murmurs under his breath, pointing at the tall grass.

She is the first to step out of the shadows, but not the last. Two figures follow: one is my brother leaning on his crutch, and the other is squat, with muscled limbs and the round belly men gain with age.
Nix.

Cal’s hand closes around my upper arm, exerting a slight pressure. He pulls gently, moving me back into the deeper shadows of the grove. I go without hesitation, knowing that we can’t be too careful. Dimly, I wish for a scrap of scarlet, to mask my face as we did in Naercey.

“Did you have any trouble?” Kilorn says, stepping up to Farley and Shade. He sounds older somehow, more in control than I’m used to. He keeps his eyes on Nix, following every twitch of the round little newblood’s fingers.

Farley waves off the question like an annoyance. “Simple. Even with this one limping around,” she adds, jabbing a thumb at Shade. Then she turns to Nix. “He didn’t put up a fight.”

Despite the darkness, I see a deep red blush creep across Nix’s face. “Well, I’m not stupid, am I?” He speaks gruffly, directly. A man with no use for secrets.
Though his blood hides the greatest secret of all.
“You’re
that Scarlet Guard. The officers would string me up for having you in my house. Even uninvited.”

“Good to know,” Shade mutters under his breath. His bright eyes dim a little as he cuts a meaningful look my way.
Our very presence could doom this man.
“Now, Mr. Marsten—”

“Nix,” he grumbles. Something glimmers in his eye and he follows Shade’s gaze. He finds me in the shadows and squints, trying to see my face. “But I think you already knew that.”

Kilorn steps lightly, shifting so he blocks me from view. The motion seems innocent, but Nix’s brow furrows as he understands the deeper meaning. He bristles, standing toe to toe with Kilorn. The younger boy towers over him, but Nix doesn’t show an inch of fear. He raises one ruddy finger, pointing at Kilorn’s chest. “You pulled me out here after curfew. That’s a hanging offense. Now you tell me what for, or else I’ll wander on home and try not to die on the way.”

“You’re different, Nix.” My voice sounds too high, too young.
How do I explain? How do I tell him what I wish someone told me? What I don’t even truly understand?
“You know there’s something about you, something you can’t explain. You might even think there’s something . . . wrong with you.”

My last words find home like arrows. The gruff little man flinches as they land; bits of his anger melt away. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Yes,” he says.

I don’t move from my place deep in the grove, but instead gesture for Kilorn to step aside. He does as asked, letting Nix walk past him. As he approaches, joining me in the shadows, my heartbeat quickens. It pounds in my ears, a nervous, eager drum. This man is a newblood, like me, like Shade. Another who understands.

Nix Marsten looks nothing like my father, but they have the same
eyes. Not in color, not in shape, but still, they are the same. They share the hollow look that speaks of emptiness, a loss time cannot heal. To my horror, Nix’s hurt runs deeper even than Dad’s, a man who can barely breathe, let alone walk. I see it in the droop of his shoulders, in the neglect of his gray hair and clothing. Were I still a thief, a rat, I wouldn’t bother to steal from this man. He has nothing left to give.

He returns my stare, eyes flickering over my face and body. They widen when he realizes who I am. “The Lighting Girl.” But when he recognizes Cal at my shoulder, his shock quickly gives way to rage.

For an almost fifty-year-old man, Nix is surprisingly fast. In the shadows, I barely see him drop a shoulder and charge, catching Cal around the middle. Though he’s half the prince’s size, he takes him down like a bull, smashing them both into a sturdy tree trunk. It
crack
s loudly beneath the blow, shaking from roots to branches. After half a heartbeat, I realize that I should probably step in. Cal is Cal, but we have no idea who Nix is, or what he can do.

Nix gets in one bruising punch, hitting Cal’s jaw so hard I fear it might be broken, before I manage to get my arms around his neck. “Don’t make me, Nix,” I rumble in his ear. “Don’t make me.”

“Do your worst,” Nix spits back, trying to elbow me off. But I hold firm, squeezing his neck. The flesh feels rock hard beneath my touch.
Very well.

I push enough power through me to stun Nix into submission. The jolt should set his hair on end. My purple sparks hit his skin, and I expect him to drop back, maybe shake a little, and come to his senses. But he doesn’t seem to feel my lightning at all. It only annoys him, like a fly would a horse. I shock him again, stronger this time, and again, nothing. In my surprise, he manages to throw me off and I land hard, my back against a tree.

Cal does better, dodging and catching as many punches as he can. But he hisses in pain at the contact, even the blows that glance off his arm. Finally the flame-maker bracelet at his wrist sparks, forming a fireball in his hand. It breaks against Nix’s shoulder like water on rock, burning the clothes but leaving the flesh unharmed.

Stoneskin
echoes in my head, but this man is no such thing. His skin is still ruddy and smooth, not gray or stony. It is simply
impenetrable.

“Stop this!” I growl, trying to keep my voice low. But the scuffle, or should I say butchery, continues on. Silver blood pours from Cal’s mouth, staining Nix’s knuckles black in the shadows.

Kilorn and Farley rush past me, their hurried footsteps pounding in time. I don’t know how much use they’ll be against this human wrecking ball, and I hold out a hand to stop them. But Shade reaches Nix before they do, jumping into position behind him. He grabs Nix by the neck, like I did, and then they’re both gone. They appear ten feet away a split second later, and Nix falls to the ground, his face vaguely green. He tries to get up, but Shade braces his crutch against his neck, pinning him.

“Move and I’ll do it again,” he says, his eyes alive and dangerous.

Nix raises one silver-stained hand in surrender. The other clutches his stomach, still flipping from the surprise and sensation of being squeezed through thin air. I know it all too well.

“Enough,” he pants. A sheen of sweat glints across his forehead, betraying the exhaustion setting in.
Impenetrable, but not unstoppable.

Kilorn plops back down on his root, snatching up the remnants of his net. He smiles to himself, almost laughing at the sight of Cal beaten and bleeding. “I like this one,” he says. “I like him very much.”

I fight to my feet, ignoring the old aches setting off across my bones. “The prince is
with us
, Nix. He’s here to help, same as me.”

That does nothing to assuage him. Nix sits back on his heels, baring yellow teeth. His breath sounds ragged and visceral. “Help?” he scoffs. “That Silver bastard helped my daughters into an early grave.”

Cal does his best to look polite, despite the blood dripping down his chin. “Sir—”

“Dara Marsten. Jenny Marsten,” Nix hisses in reply. His glare goes right through me, a knife in the darkness. “The Hammer Legion. Battle of the Falls. They were nineteen years old.”

Died in the war
. A tragedy, if not a crime, but how is it Cal’s fault?

Judging by the look of pure shame crossing his face, Cal agrees with Nix. When he speaks, his voice is thick, choked with emotion. “We won,” he murmurs, unable to look Nix in the eye. “We won.”

Nix clenches a single fist, but resists the urge to charge. “
You
won.
They
drowned in the river, and their bodies went over Maiden Falls. The grave diggers couldn’t even find their shoes. What was it the letter said?” he presses on, and Cal winces. “Ah yes, that my girls ‘died for victory.’ To ‘defend the kingdom.’ And there were some very nice signatures at the bottom. From the dead king, the general of the Hammer, and the tactical genius who decided an entire legion should march across the river.”

Every eye turns to Cal, and he burns under our gaze. His face goes white, flushed with blood and disgrace. I remember his room back in the Hall of the Sun, the books and manuals filled to the brim with notes and tactics. They made me sick then and they make me sick now, with Cal
and
myself. Because I’ve forgotten who he truly is. Not just a prince, not just a soldier, but a murderer. In another life it could’ve been me he marched to death, or my brothers, or Kilorn.

“I’m sorry,” Cal breathes. He forces himself to look up, to meet the eyes of an angry, grieving father. I suppose he was trained to do it.
“I know my words mean nothing. Your daughters—
all
the soldiers—deserved to live. And so do you, sir.”

Nix’s knees crack when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Is that a threat, boy?”

“A warning,” Cal replies, shaking his head. “You’re like Mare, like Shade.” He gestures to us in turn. “Different. What we call a newblood. Red
and
Silver.”

“Don’t you ever call me Silver,” Nix says through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t stop Cal from continuing, rising to his feet. “My brother will be hunting people like you. He plans to kill you all, and pretend you never existed. He plans to erase you from history.”

Something sticks in Nix’s throat and confusion clouds his eyes. He glances to me, looking for support. “There are . . . others?”

“Many others, Nix.” This time when I touch his skin, I have no intention of shocking him. “Girls, boys, old and young. All over the country, waiting to be found.”

“And when you find them . . . us? What then?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
I haven’t thought that far ahead.

Farley steps forward when I can’t, extending a hand. She holds a red scarf, ragged but clean. “The Scarlet Guard will protect them, hide them. And train them if they want to be trained.”

I almost balk at her words, thinking back to the Colonel. The last thing he seems to want is newbloods around, but Farley sounds so sure, so convincing. Like always, I’m sure she has something else up her sleeve, something I shouldn’t question. Yet.

Slowly, Nix takes the scarf from her, turning it over in his stained hands. “And if I refuse?” he asks lightly, but I hear the steel beneath.

“Then Shade will put you right back in bed, and you’ll never hear
from us again,” I tell him. “But Maven
will
come. If you don’t want to stick with us, you’re better off in the wild.”

His grip tightens on the scarlet fabric. “Not much of a choice.”

“But you
do
have a choice.” I hope he knows I mean it. I hope it for my own sake, for my own soul. “You can choose to stay, or come. You know better than anyone how much has been lost—but you can help us regain something too.”