The Glass Arrow(83)

“It’s just your father.”

It takes a moment to sink in. I’m not used to thinking of anyone, much less Lorcan, as bearing that title.

I lower the arrow. “He’s not my father.”

“Just because you don’t want it to be true, doesn’t mean it’s not,” he says.

I turn away, but he grabs my arm. I jerk it out of his grasp.

“Why are you following me?”

He’s close enough that I can see the flash of his copper eyes.

“I ran into Lorcan in the woods. In not-so-many words he told me your people are in the city.”

“I don’t have people,” I say bitterly. “I’m just a half-breed.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Better than being a full-blooded Driver I suppose.”

His words hang between us for several long beats. Kiran’s message is crystal clear: He thinks I’m angry not because of who my father is, but what he is. As if I haven’t always been an outcast, regardless of bloodline.

“I don’t care that I’m part Driva,” I say.

He laughs, clearly not believing me.

“It’s better than being half Magnate, isn’t it?”

He hesitates at this.

“Besides,” I say. “I need to be more than part Driver to get back in the city.”

It takes him a moment to realize I’ve already planned my disguise, and when he does, his eyes go round.

“You’re not going into that city by yourself,” he finally blurts.

I straighten. “I’m not one of your fragile women needing protection.”

Again with his I-don’t-believe-you laugh. I cross my arms.

“And that’s all that matters, is it?” he asks. “Believe it or not, Aya, your family isn’t the only one in danger here. Do you realize the harm you could do going into that city? What if you speak? What if that temper runs away with you and you pick a fight? You’re not an auction girl anymore, you’re a lowlife. A Watcher can kill you without thinking twice. And anyone that sees will only remember that a Driver overstepped his boundaries. In the best case we’ll lose business, in the worst, we’ll all be hunted.”

I step closer. “Just like I was?”

He steps closer. “Yeah, but this time if you get caught, they don’t set you up at a high-security resort. They get rid of you, right there.”

How dare he act like my life’s been easy? I lift my arm to punch him, but he catches my wrist with his good hand.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

I shove away from him. “You’re picking fights on purpose.”

“You think they won’t? You walk through those gates and you’re nothing.” His voice grows heavy, and I know that his own city experiences are filtering through.

“I’m not nothing,” I say. I’m a cousin and a mother and a father and a sister all in one. “Even if you see nothing but a half-breed.…”

“Aya, you are a half-breed,” he says.

The word lashes out like a whip.

He moves closer, gaze holding mine, hands beneath my elbows. “Half girl, half bird. Always trying to fly away.” His mouth quirks in a tiny smile. “Once I dreamed you had wings.”

I can see his temper settling in his eyes, just like I used to, before I knew he could talk. Mine is falling too, and in its place, a strange, nervous feeling forms in the base of my stomach.

Half girl, half bird. I wonder if this is a compliment. I’m not sure what to think after he humiliated me in front of his friends.

“It’s not the first time someone’s called me names.” I do my best to hold my chin up. “I’m not crying about it. I just thought you were different.”

A twisted, hurt look pinches his brows. He takes a step back, and smooths out the front of his shirt.

“You really don’t care?” he says, bewildered. “You don’t care who you are? Who I am? That doesn’t bother you?”

I shake my head.

“I told them because I thought it would protect you,” he says softly. “My people can be … strict about the rules. I never meant to hurt you.”

I search his eyes for truth and find it. I wish I could tell him he didn’t hurt me, that they’re just words and my skin’s thick enough that they just roll off, but these would be lies. The girls at the Garden couldn’t knock me down, neither could the Governess. But Kiran’s harsh words are like knives.

“Would you have told me?”

He runs his knuckles over his chin. “There’s a lot I wanted to tell you.”

“So tell me.”

His mouth opens, but not a sound comes out. It reminds me of all the times I tried to make him talk to me in the solitary yard. I was okay with him being mute then. Now I’m not.

“That’s a lot, you’re right,” I say.

For a moment he chews his bottom lip, running a hand through his hair. Then he says, “I’m coming with you into the city. Do me a favor and don’t get sore about it.”

This is probably the only apology I’m going to get. I should object, but I don’t, because when it comes down to it, I don’t want him to leave.

“Great, I need someone holding my hand,” I say.