The Glass Arrow(24)

After a minute the boy stands upright and swallows a deep breath. He takes a step towards me, now just an arm’s length away. I grip the knife. He points a finger at me, then he points at the Watcher’s office. And then he shakes his head and slices both hands through the air as if to say no.

“What?” I say, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. “You think I started it?”

He completes the same series of gestures, this time bigger and faster.

“Well what am I supposed to do?” I ask, throwing my hands up. I’ve forgotten about the weapons I’m holding. “I can’t stay here forever. I’ve got to do something.”

He leans closer, but I’m no longer afraid of what he’ll do. Maybe that’s unwise of me, but I don’t care. I’m too frustrated.

He’s closing in on me slowly, like I’m a fallen bird with a broken wing, and that irritates me even more because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s fragile. When he’s close enough he raises his hand as though he’s going to touch my face again, but I jerk away. Instead, he points at my cheek, and then he mimics a choke hold on himself, and then he taps his nose, right where I know mine is still bruised from my run-in with Sweetpea. He slices another no through the air with his arms.

It’s as if he’s telling me not to fight anymore.

“It’s the only way,” I explain, not knowing why I feel the need to explain anything to him. “I need the key.” I tap my bracelet, and point to the office, which has become our sign for Watcher. “So I can get out of here. Go home. Home.” I point beyond the city walls to my mountains, and the worry sinks its claws into me again. Are Tam and Nina safe? Is Salma taking care of them?

He repeats the same series of gestures, now adding a point outside the city. I can almost hear a voice, his voice, in a clear, steady tone, telling me, “Your freedom’s not worth your life.” I’m probably making it up—I know he doesn’t use my words—but I can’t help feeling like we’re getting through to each other.

“You know what they’ll do. I’ll be auctioned off, and some rich Magnate will lock me up in his fancy house and…” I can’t say it. “I’ll be his broodmare, you understand that? I’ll be made to make him babies. And if they’re girls, they’ll just be sent to auction like me, and if they’re boys, they’ll be just like him, buying people like property! And me, I’ll just keep coming back here again and again, till I’m all used up and no one wants me, and then I’ll be shunned.” I’m so worked up I’m almost shouting. I drop the rock and jab him hard in the chest with my finger, making the links of the heavy chain weighing down my arm clink together.

It can’t happen. I’ve got Nina and Tam and Salma to look out for. I don’t even know if they’ve gotten food or shelter for the winter. I don’t know if they’ve been captured. I don’t know what’s happened to them.

My chest is so tight I drop the knife handle too and begin to rub a trembling fist across my collar. My skin is damp, and I’m surprised by the tears streaming down my face. Suddenly realizing what I’ve just said, I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and try my hardest to will the heat in my cheeks to cool off. At least the Watcher hasn’t heard; the office door has yet to open.

I’ve never confessed so much to anyone, not even Metea. Thanks be to Mother Hawk that the Driver doesn’t know what I’m saying, and even if he gets some of it, can’t repeat it. Still, I wish I could shove all those words back inside my mouth.

He straightens so that I have to lift my chin to see his face. He pushes his hands down his hips, like he’s trying to stick them in pockets, but his pants don’t have pockets, so instead he weaves his fingers behind his neck. His jaw is twitching, as though he’s chewing on anger.

And his eyes are gleaming. River silt and copper.

It strikes me that they look just like the stones my ma and I would gather to make jewelry. Kiran, we called them, for the copper streaks that reflect the light. We found them in the streambeds, worn smooth by water and sand. Silent Lorcan always traded more for any piece with a kiran stone because they were so rare.

This Driver’s eyes are like kiran, and once again, I’m missing home so badly the pain feels like a living thing inside of me.

He raises his hands and mimes pushing down slowly on something very heavy. I again hear his made-up voice inside my head.

Calm down. Don’t bait him.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap. “You don’t own me. Nobody owns me.”

One of his eyebrows cocks up, and I can’t tell if he’s surprised by my tone or that I seem to be answering his gestures as though we’re really speaking. Fine. Let him think I’m cracked, just like all the others here. I don’t care what he thinks.

The sliding whoosh of the automatic door breaks my concentration, and a moment later I hear the Watcher’s heavy boot crunch into the gravel right outside the office.

My breath catches. He’s back.

At the sound, the Driver sinks an inch or two, bending his knees as though the ground’s shaking. All the long, lean muscles in his arms and chest contract, and I notice for the first time that he’s not just tall, but strong as well.

For some reason, the same shredding fear I feel when I think Brax might be caught rips through me.