The Glass Arrow(86)

“Maybe. Probably not.”

“I keep thinking I should try to stop you.”

I take a deep breath, wishing I could say something to make her feel better, but knowing anything I said now wouldn’t be true.

“You can’t stop me, Daphne.”

“I figured that.”

Kiran whistles, but before the three of us can make our way down the mountain towards the Witch Camps, I rest my hand on Daphne’s shoulder and say a quick, silent prayer for her protection.

*

WE STOP IN THE last bit of forest shelter before the field of discarded machines. There Lorcan takes the reins of both horses, and Kiran motions me through the trees.

It’s quiet here, so quiet I can hear him breathe. We haven’t been alone since he came back to find me. He’s tried once or twice, but I’ve always been able to pull Daphne along, or stay near Lorcan. It’s hard to think when it’s just the two of us, and I can’t be losing my head, not with everything we’ve been preparing for, and not after what happened with the other Drivers.

Definitely not when I know Kyna is somewhere waiting.

When I realize he’s stopped, I stop too. He’s staring at me, and the intensity in his gaze makes my heart stutter. His eyes are bright and sad and fearful, and as I stare back I feel everything he does, like an echo. For a flash of a moment I think, This is exactly why I can’t be alone with you, but then the thought vanishes, and all I can do is focus on keeping my legs under me.

It’s hard to believe there was a time I used to look at him and wonder what he was thinking. Now it feels like I’ve always known.

He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. There are calluses across his palm and the pads of his fingers and they make my hands feel soft and small. Soon they’ll be strong again like his, but I don’t worry about that now, because when he touches me like this it makes me think we’re going to make it. We’re going to be all right.

“You ready for this, Aya?” The way he says my name makes me calm and nervous all at the same time and I force myself to swallow because even though it’s stupid, it feels like he’s not talking about the city.

“I’m ready.”

He watches my mouth as I say the words, and that makes me look at his mouth and think about how I’ve never kissed anybody—never wanted to—which makes me wonder if I’m weak for wanting to now, and if thoughts like these change a person into the type whose only goal is pleasing her master.

“Nobody’s ever going to own me again, Kiran.”

He says nothing. His expression doesn’t even change. The only sign I have that he’s heard me at all is that he gives my hand a small squeeze. I think he must know I need to get this out.

“But,” I say, wetting my lips, “but if trust was a thing you could hold in your hand, I would give mine to you. I’d let you have it forever and never ask for it back.”

I take my hand out of his before he can say anything. My face is glowing, but I needed to tell him that, just in case this goes bad today. There were lots of things I wish I’d told my family before we were separated.

“Any last advice?” I ask.

He gives his head a quick shake and clears his throat.

“Just remember to be silent. If you think it, swallow it.”

I nod and absently adjust my hair. It’s tightly bound into a folded knot behind my head, just like the girl Driver I’d thought was a boy.

“And don’t do that,” he warns. I drop my hand and frown. The longer we stand here, the more aware I am of the bandages smothering my breasts. Daphne’s tied them so tightly I can barely breathe. At least I don’t look like a girl in these baggy clothes.

Without another word, Kiran pulls me down to the mud at our feet and smears my face with dirt. We cover our clothing, our necks, our hair. He even grabs a fistful of horse dung and smears it across my pants. I wish it made me invisible.

“Talk to you later,” he says grimly. I nod. And we continue on.

*

IN THE WITCH CAMPS I don’t even have to pretend I’m skittish. My memories from our last trek down this alley are still fresh and my eyes bounce from one side of the road to the other, searching for any of the defective Watchers we saw before. By the time we cross the wooden bridge—the last barrier between the mountains and the camps—I’m spooking at just about everything.

I wish I had Brax with me. I always feel safer with him.

Lorcan takes the lead, pulling the palomino by a grimy leather headstall. Two enormous sacks of pelts are strapped over the animal’s barrel-shaped body. Kiran holds steady the right side, I’m on the left. The smell is enough to make me gag. With such little time to tan the hides, they still reek of rot and the brine we used to cure them. Between that and the way I smell, I can barely breathe.

We pass the tower of rusted cars, an ancient sculpture in the gray light, and I swear I feel eyes—seeing or not—on me.

A line of townsfolk from the outlying villages has formed outside the city gates. Most are dressed in patched-up city clothes and are carrying baskets or pushing carts. A few have been denied entry and are standing off to the side while a Watcher rifles through their items. Fear tightens in my belly. We can’t be searched. If they get too close they’ll know something’s off. They’ll see right through me. They’ll know I’m a girl, maybe that I’m a runaway, maybe that I killed one of their own. And then I’ll never even have a chance to find my family.