Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(25)

The Exo team leader walks forward, pointing his fusion rifle down and away from the heir to the Fate. “We have orders to stay with the secondborn Sword and keep her safe.”

“Safe from what?” I ask. “What’s happening?”

Grisholm scowls in derision, scoffing at my ignorance. “Didn’t you hear? Rasmussen Keating was found dead.” Grisholm snorts rudely. “You don’t know who the Keatings are, do you, Roselle?”

“They’re the Second Family of Virtues,” I reply. “Firstborn Rasmussen Keating is third in line to the title of The Virtue, just behind you and Balmora. I just . . . How did he die?”

“He was murdered,” Grisholm replies. “Why do you think there are guards everywhere?”

His disdain eats at me a little, and my pulse leaps. “How? By whom?”

“If we knew that, none of us would be on lockdown—we’d be out at the Secondborn Trials training camps, evaluating the stock.”

His crudeness makes me want to cut his lips off with my sword. I don’t touch the hilt of it, lest I’m tempted to follow through with the urge. I mutter, “How tedious for you.”

Grisholm stares at the guards. “You’ll leave this hall—secure the baths from outside. We don’t need you hovering.”

The jaw of the Exos’ leader tightens. “I’m under orders to remain with Secondborn Roselle Sword.”

“Whose orders?”

“Commander Kodaline’s.”

“Ah, what a surprise,” Grisholm says. “She’ll be fine. She can probably slaughter all of us.” His eyes drift to Reykin. “Not him, though.” Grisholm points at the Star across the table. “He can cut her into a pile of flesh in less than sixty seconds.”

I want to refute that claim, but I remain silent. I haven’t sparred with Reykin. We have no way of knowing who is better.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Reykin retorts with a pirate smile, holding up his hands in a show of humorous surrender. “I might fix her a drink, though.”

“Wait outside!” Grisholm orders the Exos between gritted teeth. When they don’t move immediately, he roars, “Now!” I turn to go with them, but Grisholm growls, “You stay.” The lead Exo and his armed men retreat from the sweltering hall.

The scrawny, ferret-faced firstborn next to Reykin punches him in the arm. Reykin doesn’t seem to notice, but the other firstborn immediately regrets it, rubbing his knuckles with his other hand. “How come your parents let you train in weapons with a mentor? Didn’t they like you?” the weaseling man asks.

Reykin’s smile never falters, but his eyes turn cold. “You forget, Simont. My parents had more than one backup for me. I think they loved my thirdborn brother best.” The bitterness in his tone is thick. Radix was really fifthborn, and Reykin loved him.

“They got theirs, ol’ man,” Grisholm says in a soft, conciliatory tone. “Census brought justice and gave you back your dignity.”

The aqua light in Reykin’s eyes dims. There’s darkness, and then there are the things that inhabit darkness. Reykin’s one of those things. I know how he really feels about his murdered brother and parents. It led him to the battlefield in Stars—to slaughter as many Swords as he could until they took his life. But he didn’t die, because I wouldn’t let him. His anger toward his family is a mask he wears to keep his posi