The Glass Arrow(14)

I feel my brows draw together and ignore the guilt I feel for putting her out of my mind.

After I’m sure the Watcher’s bored with watching me drag my chain through the dirt, I walk back around the other side of the office, beyond where he can see. When I pause to listen I can tell he hasn’t got up to follow. Good.

Behind the back wall I see something that surprises me.

A man leading a tired bay mare in a red halter. He’s tall for a Driver; his outstretched arm rests on the mare’s withers without having to reach up. His lanky body fills the typical garb of his people: scuffed leather boots, rawhide pants, a dirt-streaked tunic, and a faded maroon handkerchief rolled around his neck. His hair is messy and ragged, but as golden as the sun in the mountains, and his face has been darkened by a lifetime of outdoor work.

My next thought is that he must be new, because he’s about to do something incredibly stupid—something I’ve never seen another Driver try in their time here.

Thirty paces away, he’s leading the mare through a break in the fence towards the narrow runoff stream. He clearly doesn’t realize that it flows from the pond in the rec yard, where it’s been treated with chemicals to keep it looking clean. It’s poisonous. If I hadn’t heard the girls whispering about it the first time I’d been sent here, I would have tried to drink it.

Just like this boy’s about to let his horse do.

I don’t think about what I do next. I don’t consider that he’s a Driver and dangerous, maybe even lethal. I don’t think about how the Watcher will react when he hears me. I’m thinking about that horse and how her stupid owner’s about to get her killed.

“Stop!” I shout, waving my free arm and running towards the stream.

The Driver sees me a second later, and before I can take another breath, he whips a gleaming dagger from his belt and hurls it directly at my chest.





CHAPTER 4

I’M STRETCHED OUT ON the ground, where I threw myself after I saw the weapon. I roll over, and my hands fly over my chest, my stomach, making sure I’m still in one piece. There’s no knife, and when I turn my head I see it planted in the plaster wall behind me. I’m breathing hard, and my body is already humming with the need to get up and run. But I can’t go far. The chain has made sure of that.

I’m stuck here. A stone’s throw away from a boy who just tried to kill me.

Scrambling up, I run for the knife. I have to work it back and forth to pull it free, but I never take my eyes off the Driver. When the grip is in my hand I start edging sideways, towards the Watcher office, whipping the chain after me so I don’t trip.

I take a closer look at my attacker. He’s got wide, shocked eyes, high cheekbones, and his mouth is hanging slack. He must be surprised I’m not dead. He’s young—the youngest Driver I’ve ever seen. He can’t be more than a few years older than me. But it’s hard to say exactly? because his face is smeared with dirt.

His spooked horse is bucking behind him, and though he holds the lead tightly in both hands, be barely turns to calm her. Now that the shock has passed, I can see the horror in his face.

“That’s right,” I say, trying to puff myself up. “They’ll hang you for that. I’m Unpromised.” I’ve never used this as a shield before, but I do now. I wish I had my earrings to prove it.

His look remains unchanged, and I remember that Drivers don’t speak the common tongue. They don’t speak at all actually—they’re mute.

“Unpromised!” I yell slowly. As if this will make him understand.

A few seconds later, the Watcher comes careening around the side of the building. The metal handle of the wire is ready in his hand and his black eyes are narrowed. I try to hide the knife up my sleeve, but he’s seen it. His thumb presses down on the wire, and with a click, a glowing green rope inches out. The electric whirring sound makes my blood run cold.

He doesn’t even look at the Driver. He’s only looking at me. As always, everyone thinks that I’m the biggest threat around.

“Wait,” I say. “Wait, it was him.” I point across the poisoned stream.

The Watcher is suddenly before me—he moves so fast a short scream bursts from my throat. I drop the knife and hold up one hand. The other, weighed down by the chain, is out to my side. I’m shaking, and the links rattle together.

I might be scared, but I’m not stupid. Even with a blade I’m no match for a Watcher. He’d break my neck before I could take my next breath. But even though I know this, I hate that I’m not stronger.

He picks up the knife from the ground, then presses a button which retracts the wire, and replaces it in his chest strap. Then, right in front of my face, he breaks the knife in half with just his hands. His face shows nothing. No emotion at all.

Only now does he glance at the Driver.

The boy’s done. There’s no way the Watcher will let him live. Much as I hate being trapped here, I’m worth a lot, and for the first time I’m glad about that. But the Watcher only tosses the hilt of the broken knife across the stream, where it lands at the Driver’s feet. The boy is shocked too; he doesn’t even pick it up.

“Don’t kill her,” my guard says in a flat, bored voice.

That’s all he says.

And the Driver probably doesn’t even understand anyway.