Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(11)

“Hold still,” the soldier orders.

“I’m not hurt. Please let go of me.” I try again to shrug away.

“Are you in shock?” he asks in a rush. “Who is the Clarity of Virtues? Do you know what fatedom we’re in?” He runs his hand over my stomach, worry creasing his brow when his gloved hand comes away with more blood.

I stare at his handsome face, my heartbeat racing uncomfortably. “I’m not in shock, Fabian Bowie is Clarity, and we’re in Swords. Let go.”

He won’t let go, and I’m not used to being touched, least of all by a domineering soldier whose face makes me feel like my heart is too big for my chest. I drive my elbow into his nose, not hard enough to break it, but enough to let him know he needs to let me go.

He does. He wipes his bloody nose with the back of his gloved hand. “You just struck a superior—”

I move back. “Technically, I’m still an unregistered secondborn until I’m processed. You’re not my superior anything. I’m not in shock, I’m not injured, and you don’t get to touch me unless I say you can.”

I feel a rifle muzzle tap the back of my skull. I still. “You need some help, Hawthorne?”

The soldier’s scowl deepens. He reaches out and pulls me behind him, knocking the gun away. “Gilad, don’t point your weapon at her!”

Before the second soldier can comply, he’s disarmed by Dune, who detaches the fusion charge from beneath the grip of the rifle, rendering it useless. Dune pockets the charge before handing the weapon back to the young combatant. “Have any of the Gates of Dawn soldiers been apprehended yet?”

The overconfident one with the incredible eyes stands at attention, giving Dune the respect owed to him by his firstborn rank. “I’m unaware of any prisoners being taken, Patr?n.”

“What’s your name?” Dune asks.

“Hawthorne Sword, Patr?n, 11-171971.” He gives only his first name, his Fate, and his number. His last name was taken from him when he was processed. He’s now required to identify with his Fate, to which he’s sworn his loyalty, rather than with his family.

“And you?” Dune’s gaze rests on the one who put the muzzle to my head.

The soldier’s visor ticks back. He doesn’t look much older than me, but he has white scars on his brow, nose, and both cheeks. “Gilad Sword, 25-135472.”

“How old are you?” Dune studies them.

“Nineteen, Patr?n,” they answer in unison.

More soldiers climb over the embankment of smoldering rubble surrounding us. “And how long have you been wards of the Fate?”

“I was Transitioned when I was ten, Patr?n,” Hawthorne answers.

“I was ten, also, Patr?n,” Gilad replies.

Dune’s lips twist in a sneer. “Secondborn soldiers keep getting younger and younger. Are all of your families afraid of you?”

The question was rhetorical, but Gilad answers anyway. “Well, yeah.” He smirks, showing imperfect teeth. “We’re scary monsters, Patr?n.”

Hawthorne glances away, listening to his headset. His eyes shift back to Dune’s. “A transport is en route to intercept you here and take you directly to the Fate of Virtues at the order of Clarity Bowie.”

“I will accompany Roselle to processing. She is to make her speech—”

Hawthorne raises his palm. “Negative, Patr?n. You’re to leave immediately for Virtues. Those are orders. A secondborn transport is en route to intercept Roselle St. Sismode.”

Two ships emerge above us and rapidly descend. Doors open from the top and form ramps leading into the bellies of the aircraft. Gilad tucks his rifle to his chest and walks toward one of the vessels. Hawthorne touches my elbow but pulls his hand away when my eyes shift to it. “We need to go, Roselle.”

“Wait!” My bleak eyes fly to Dune.

“Can you give us a moment?” Dune asks. Hawthorne nods and walks away, just out of earshot.

Dune gathers me into a hug. I smell sandalwood, even through the dust covering us. I cannot remember ever being hugged by him before. I close my eyes, trying not to cry. In a hushed voice, he asks, “Do you remember the name I told you?”

“Yes.”

He squeezes me tighter. “Roselle, there’s something you need to know,” he says, so low that only I can hear him. “Walther is not just my secondborn brother—he’s my older brother.” My eyes widen, and I loosen my grip on him. “Now you know my secret. Find me, should you need me. I will be there for you.” Too shocked to speak, I hardly react when he kisses my forehead. Dune straightens and looks past my shoulder. The handsome soldier approaches us. “Hawthorne, should anything happen to her, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“I understand, Patr?n. I’ll make sure she gets to where she’s supposed to be.”

I cling to Dune for a moment longer, my head on his shoulder, and then I let him go, taking a shaky step back, and then another. My vision blurs. Hawthorne walks beside me, his rifle in hand, scanning for any sign of the enemy as we move to the waiting troopship.

Near the ramp, Gilad is surrounded by a squad of soldiers, all about my age, with the glowering stares of thousand-year-old souls. Hawthorne raises his voice over the hum of the aircraft. “You’re in charge of the unit until I get back, Gilad.”