The Glass Arrow(29)

Two girls are chosen—two who have been here longer than me. Neither of them put up a fight as they’re ushered into the building by Pips.

Before Mercer leaves, he lifts his hand and waves. It’s not until the other girls turn their heads that I realize he’s waving at me. Even at this distance I can hear his laughter as I scram around the backside of the office.

I bite my nails to nothing waiting for him to come get me, too, but he doesn’t show up. Someone else does, though. Another Driver, to work at the barn with Kiran. I recognize his silver hair and skinny, warped stature. He used to run the rental barn before Kiran came. He mostly stays out of view, but in the early evening, I catch a glimpse of his ferrety face as he leads a string of sweaty horses back to the barn. I think he must be delivering the animals to the rich city people. He leaves at sundown that night, and in the nights following as well. I don’t tell Kiran this relieves me, because now he can keep sneaking over.

I do tell Kiran all sorts of things, though.

I tell him about my capture and Bian’s sculptures. About Straw Hair and my anger at Daphne for standing by. About my family. I tell Kiran things I would never admit to anyone else because Kiran is safe to me. A trap for my feelings and words.

I stop being afraid of him sometime after our first week of night talks. I gradually stop thinking about where my weapons are or how fast I need to run to escape. Sometimes we play ball, sometimes we just sit together. Sometimes while I talk he stretches out on the grass and looks up at where the stars should be if the sky weren’t so muddied by haze. Sometimes I lie beside him.

But not too close.

I begin to learn each expression of his face, even the slightest ones, and what his gestures say. A raised brow means he’s interested. A tightening around the corner of his mouth means something’s bothered him. His shoulders hunch more when he’s tired. His eyes never lose their gleam.

Sometimes I swear he knows what I’ve said. He’ll nod at just the right time, or open his mouth and then close it again. Or almost smile. But then other times he does these same behaviors for no reason at all. I think they just must be a part of how he listens.

Sometimes I think he’s frustrated that he can’t understand me, and to be honest, I am too. I want so much to hear the sound of his voice; not just the deep flat tone that I’ve created in my head, but his real voice, if he has one. One night I tried to teach him to speak. We must have looked like fools—me showing him how to stick his tongue out and say “ahhh,” him mirroring me in silence. We both ended up in fits of laughter.

His stayed silent, of course.

It’ll be hard not having him to talk to when I get out of here, but the twins and I won’t be able to risk any communication with the outside. Not even the people in the outliers. If we’re going to stay alive, we don’t need to give anyone any reason to come looking for us.

Sort of like the Drivers, now that I think about it.

*

ON MY TWENTY-FIFTH NIGHT I wait for Kiran, as I have every night since his first visit. When I see him emerge from the darkness of the barn, I wait expectantly. Just like every night before this one, he shrugs and shows me his empty hands. His plan for getting me out is failing. He leaps over the stream, hesitating like he always does to check for the Watcher, and joins me behind the office wall.

Something’s on his mind. His brows are knitted together, and his lips are drawn in a straight line. Usually he’s more relaxed, more confident, at night. Like a mountain lion, I think. Lazing out on the grass, stalking around his turf.

“What is it?” I ask him, holding my arms out questioningly.

He points to a small pile of stones beside the wall. I’ve placed one there each night so that I know how long it will be until the Pips come back to get me for auction. I figure I’ve got twenty-eight or so days in here. About that time they’ll need to begin prepping me for the meat market.

I count out the stones. Twenty five. My throat grows tight. I hold up all my fingers twice, then once more. “I’ve been here twenty-five days,” I tell him. I’m glad my ma taught me how to count.

He points to the main facility of the Garden and holds his hands out.

How many days before you go back? I hear him say in my mind.

“Three.” I hold out three fingers. If Kiran can’t get me out by then, I’ll be taken back with the others.

Now I can barely swallow.

He slouches on the ground, resting his forearms on his knees and looking irritable. After a moment he points to me, then over the Garden towards the heart of the city. He mimes the snooty look of a Magnate typing on a messagebox as he pretends to look me over. At least, I think he’s pretending. His typing fingers slow, and his eyes linger somewhere around my waist before popping back up.

The auction?

“Yes,” I manage, nodding. Somehow, I’ve managed not to think about the auction in several days. He picks up a pebble and flings it across the yard towards the barn. I hear it clap against the wooden siding.

“Your plan to get me out won’t work?” I gesture so he understands.

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” I wish I knew what he wanted to do, then maybe I could help him. We could work together. As it is, I’m stuck trusting him blindly.

He’s still shaking his head. I groan quietly. Breaking me out would have been dangerous, probably even impossible. I know this, but I still can’t help but feel like Kiran’s not trying hard enough.