Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(73)

“I might have said something like that.”

“Something like that, or exactly that?”

“Exactly that.”

“He’s terrified of you, Roselle. He just got out of that hellhole!”

“Ransom has nothing to fear from me if he doesn’t put an implant in your head. If he does, well, he won’t live long.”

“Who do you think you are? That’s my choice, not yours.” Blue fire snaps in his narrowing eyes.

“You’re an idiot. I can’t take my implant out, and you want to put one in? I can’t even deal with your stupidity.” I gather my training bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Are we done here? Because I have to go train.” I start to move past him, but his hand latches on to my elbow.

“I want you to apologize to Ransom,” he says in a low growl.

“No,” I reply, and I wrench my elbow from his grip. His eyes widen, a little surprised that I’m that strong. He has no idea. I could crush him.

I take a step toward the large opening in the wall that leads to an outdoor patio. The fake sun indicates it’s midafternoon. I want to get some training hours in before I sleep tonight.

“Who are you training with?” he asks.

“No one.”

“If you wait for me, I can train with you.”

“No, you can’t. I could hurt you.”

He scoffs. “You’ve never beaten me before.”

“I’m different now, Reykin. I don’t even know how powerful I am. I won’t let you get anywhere near me until I do—until I know I can control it. Where did Clifton put you? I’ll come find you when I’m done, if there’s time before dinner.”

“Cherno has the room next to mine, on the other side of the ‘temple,’” he replies, calling out the house for what it is—an elegant shrine to a wealthy god. “My bed doesn’t look like yours.”

My eyebrow arches. “No?”

“No.”

“Huh.” I try to hide my smile at his provocation. “I was thinking of asking Clifton for a bigger one myself. I’m not sure I’ll have enough room in this one. You know how I do battle in my sleep.”

A grudging smile flickers across his sublime lips—lovely, and gone in seconds. “I do know. You talk a lot in your sleep, too.”

“I recall you telling me that. You should warn Clifton, too. He might not want his room so close to mine.”

“Would it bother you if I said that to your fiancé?”

“I told Clifton he isn’t my fiancé.”

“Did you? Because I don’t think he got the message.”

“He’s a god. I don’t think people tell him no very often. He’ll figure it out.”

“If you don’t want me to train with you, I’ll contact Edgerton. We need his ship here at our disposal. As soon as we work out a plan, I’ll be going to the Fate of Seas.”

You’re not going anywhere without me.

“Will you get my puppy and my mechadome for me?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“When are we meeting to discuss strategy?”

“We start plans tonight—after dinner.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, then.” I make a move to leave.

“Consider that apology to my brother. Threats of violence are no way to build a family.”

“It worked in mine.”

“Did it?” he asks. “You were close to them, were you?”

His sarcasm isn’t lost on me. “Okay, you make a strong point. I’ll think about it.”

“And also, consider that it isn’t the technology that’s fearsome. It’s the individual wielding it.”

“I’ll consider it, if you’ll consider that the technology could wield you.”

I duck out the door, leaving him behind. I search the grounds for a suitable place to train and choose a lea overlooking a small pond. It’s deserted except for a pair of gray cranes. A cherry-blossom grove and a stone wall conceal it from the rest of the city.

I set my training bag down by a mossy tree trunk. From it, I retrieve three drill instructor devices: a silver one, a blue one, and a red one. Manufactured by Salloway Munitions, the autonomous hexagonal drones have the size and weight of a grapefruit.

I pitch the first one into the air, and above my head it hovers, twirling and scanning the terrain. The next two do the same, finding angles around me to best mount an attack. I withdraw two Dual-Blade X-Ultras from their sheaths. They’re the newest versions of advanced Salloway weapons, created by Clifton at some point while I was a monster for Crow. Holding each fusionblade in one hand, I ignite them at the same time. Sizzling energy erupts from the strike ports.

“Initiate warm-up program,” I command.

The drones swarm me with their fusionblades ignited in training mode. If I’m struck, it will burn, but I won’t lose a limb. At first I use both blades together, swaying them like a rolling wave, a tide to defend the assault from three different angles. The familiar sound of the weapons clashing calms me, and I fall into a rhythm, able to predict the next few moves from each pivoting device.

Frowning at the simplicity of their moves, I give another command: “Initiate advanced sparring program—highest-level assault, multiple weapons.” The three devices careen, whirl, and come at me all at once, a barrage of fusionblades and fusionmag pulses at low-energy training levels. I can hardly move without being burned somewhere on my body. It motivates me to move quicker. I blur, sliding and tumbling over the grassy hill, pursuing the bots.