The Glass Arrow(97)

He turns away, head down, and kicks a rock into a tree with a dull thunk.

“You … could kill me,” I repeat slowly.

He spins back. “What?”

“You can kill me!” I push myself back up, and though now he seems to be purposefully staying back, I close the space between us and grab his biceps. “I know what to do!”

“You’re kidding, right?” His chin lowers until he can glare right into my eyes.

I shake my head, trying to work out the details. It’s perfect. Well, perfect enough. Either way, it’s all I’ve got left.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” he says between his teeth.

“Shoot me.”

“You’re not getting it.”

“With an arrow,” I roll on. “That way they’ll know it was a Driver that did it. A Driver that saw me dressing up and pretending to be your kind.”

“Aya, you are my kind!”

“Just listen!” My voice smacks off the trees. The volume makes him wince, and his eyes dart around the woods.

Before he can say anything, I continue.

“I’ll be no use to them dead. They don’t want to bring me back just to hang me, they want to bring me back to own me. They’ll leave my body out here to rot, just like the others.”

“They’re not idiots. They’ll know if you’re faking.”

“They might not.” I take a deep breath. The prospect of this plan is making me a little lightheaded. “When you were sick, I gave you bloodroot tea. It knocked you out, but not just that, it slowed your heart.”

He releases my arms, a worried look on his face.

“What?” I say.

“Kyna told me she thought I was dead. My heart wasn’t beating.”

My heart twitches at the name. “It was beating. Just very, very slowly. You would have woken out of it after a while, but the medicine she gave you seemed to speed up the healing.”

“I’ve … I’ve got that medicine,” he says. “Kyna gave me too much of hers, so I was going to replace it. She needs it. For her legs.”

I remember the green bottle Kiran stole from the pharmacy, wrapped up inside his saddlebag.

“You could give me some,” I say.

His hands fist in his hair. “It doesn’t matter if I could or I couldn’t because your plan won’t work. We’re going to keep moving. We’ll hide you, and this whole thing will blow over.”

“It won’t. Not until they find me,” I say.

He’s digging his heel into the ground, not even realizing—or caring—that he’s leaving a new mark for the Trackers.

“So you’re going to make some kind of tea and then lay on the ground and hope they think you’re dead. By what, poison?”

“You’re going to shoot me. With an arrow.”

“Forget it. Get on the horse. We’re going.” I can practically hear his jaw grinding.

“Do it,” I say. “Or I’m going to do it myself.” Before he can stop me, I snatch an arrow from the quiver tethered to the back of his saddle. The point is sharp enough to break skin, but though my voice is fierce, I’m not sure I can actually do it. I don’t know if I’m strong enough or brave enough to jam it in far enough.

“The bloodroot numbs the pain anyway,” I add, hoping I sound convincing. Hoping he doesn’t see right through me.

“Aya, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll die.”

“The bloodroot slows my heart. It’ll slow the bleeding. You’ll hit me in the shoulder, here.” I mark the spot with my hand, hoping Kiran’s got good aim. “Far enough away from my heart, right in the muscle, and make sure they’re close enough to find me quickly. Then when they leave, you’ll come back and wait for me to wake up.”

He’s considering it. I can see the plan working through his mind.

“Please,” I beg. “They won’t stop until they find me. And if I keep hiding, they’ll keep looking. I’ll never be able to see the twins again.”

He’s shaking his head. But his words don’t match the gesture.

“Fine,” he says. “Make the tea. I’ll start a fire. They’ll see the smoke. We’ll find some way to injure you.…” he hesitates. “And then when you wake up this’ll be done.”

“Yes,” I say. But the fear has already set in. By the end of today I’ll either be free or dead.

*

WE WORK FAST. KIRAN builds a small fire beside a nearby brook—not enough to bring the Trackers this way yet, but enough to heat a tin cup of water from his pack. I take the remaining stalks of dried bloodroot from my solitary-yard plastic bottle and grind them to a powder between two rocks. When the water is steaming, I sift the contents in.

Kiran’s taken the arrow and tucked it in his belt. He’s agreed to shoot me himself, though he hardly seems thrilled at the opportunity. I don’t blame him. I’m not looking forward to it either.

The unspoken truth lies between us. If Kiran’s aim is off, the arrow could pierce something vital and kill me on the spot. The Trackers could do any number of things to my body to assure I’m dead. And even if everything goes as planned and they do leave me, I might never wake up again.