The Glass Arrow(30)

It’s warmer tonight, and I’m sitting on one of the wool blankets. I don’t offer the other to Kiran. If he wants it, he can take it. We’ve worked out that much over our past three weeks together.

My bare feet, now hard with calluses, stretch out in front of me. My straight legs are about as long as Kiran’s bent, and our toes are very close. Almost close enough to touch.

He’s looking at my feet, and this makes me look at my feet. I feel the need to cover them, so I try to pull the slinky dress down, but he stops my arm with his large hand. His nails are caked with dirt and when he sees me looking at them his cheeks get a little darker.

“I don’t mind,” I say.

He hasn’t touched me since that day the Watcher slapped me. My skin feels like ice next to his, even through the fabric of my dress. But I’m not cold, he’s just so warm.

Then he leans forward very slowly and traces his finger very lightly along the twisting scar around my right calf. It’s at least a half inch thick and always lighter than the rest of my skin. Like a tattoo of a white snake.

The tickle of his fingertip on my leg sends a bolt of heat right into my belly, and I gasp before I can stop myself. My hand snaps up to cover my lips. The blush burns my face. And then I hold as still as I possibly can, like this will erase everything that just happened.

My voice is a little higher than normal when I finally speak.

“It’s from a wire. The Trackers that caught me had one.” I can still remember the freezing cold, then the burn. The way the metal tightened, tearing into my skin and flesh. “They gave me surgery for it at the infirmary, but they couldn’t get rid of the scar. The Governess doesn’t care. It disappears with concealing powder.”

Kiran’s still staring at my leg. I jerk both knees into my chest and hide them in my skirt.

“I know about doing it,” I say.

Something has caught Kiran’s attention and he’s looking the opposite way. I look over his shoulder to see what he’s staring at, but I don’t see anything. When he turns back, his face is mild. He’s not even irritated anymore.

“I mean, Salma told me. I’ve never … you know. I don’t see how anybody would want to. All the jabbing and slobbering and grabbing. I don’t know why all the girls at the Garden are so set on getting Promised.”

A renewed desire to sabotage the upcoming auction fills me. Kiran’s looking up at the sky now, and his hands are clasped together over his knees. I gaze for a moment at his wavy hair, silver in the moonlight, and then pick a fistful of grass just to busy my hands before I do something stupid like reach over and touch it.

“A few years ago I followed Salma down to the edge of Marhallow, to the farms outside of town. She met a boy in the woods, and they … Well. They didn’t know I was there, but I saw them. So I know how it works.”

I don’t know why I just told Kiran this story. I don’t know why I’m talking out loud about these things at all. I don’t normally even think about them. But Kiran’s hand on my leg did something to me, and now I’m thinking about all kinds of crazy things.

He’s very still for a long time. And so am I. As if waking from a dream, he points to me, and then towards the city gates, with a heaviness in his eyes.

“Why don’t I leave?” I ask him, puzzled. He mimics the same gestures.

“You know why I can’t leave.” I point to the Watcher, then to my heavy metal bracelet and the invisible wall surrounding us.

He reaches slowly for my elbow, cupping one hand beneath it, and slides another finger between my metal cuff and my arm. He’s very close to me, and I can see how his skin grows lighter from his neck to his collar, where the sun is blocked by his Driver shirt.

He begins to pull at the bracelet.

First he’s gentle. Then he begins to tug, trying to pry the contraption off my arm. Beads of sweat appear at his brow, and he climbs to his knees for more leverage. There’s a determined gleam in his eye, almost frantic. I want so badly to believe this thing can be torn off that I try to help him. I try to jerk my hand out, and can feel the bones of my wrist bend and crunch together until they nearly break.

I grind my teeth together, and keep trying.

Please, I pray. Please let this work.

We can do this. We can get it off. And then we can run through the barn towards the city gates and pretend that we’re both Drivers. We can … cut all my hair off, and Kiran can dress me as a boy. It’s too dark for the gatekeepers to tell the difference, and too late for them to ask too many questions. We can do this.

The pain from the metal bites at my skin. The tears stream from my eyes, but I don’t stop. Kiran doesn’t either. He’s pulling as hard as he can, until finally the breath bursts from my throat, and I know our efforts are wasted.

My dreams, that had come so quickly, are smashed into the dirt.

“It’s not working,” I say, already trying to put myself back together. I won’t let myself cry. I refuse to. But the look in his eyes is so full of resolve that it’s hard not to break down and weep. He tries one last time, before I find myself pushing him back, shoving him away from me so he’ll stop.

“Kiran, it hurts!” I say. “You have to stop! Please!”

He falls back on his heels. I feel a trickle of blood slide around my wrist, and pinch my eyes closed to fight the burning in my arm. In my eyes. In my chest.