Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(74)

“You’re asking me if I have a theory?”

“Yes, Roselle, what’s your theory?” He raises his cup to his lips, watching me over the rim.

I set down my cup. “The average secondborn Sword soldier is Transitioned by the age of twelve. Many of us go earlier, though, as young as ten. I was taught to fight since I could walk, by one of the most skilled assassins of our lifetime. By the time you stopped sucking your thumb, I knew a thousand ways to kill you with mine.” I hold my red-painted thumbnail out to him. Then I lift my spoon and pick delicately at my bird’s nest. “That’s not strength, that’s ingenuity, problem-solving, and training. The average secondborn Transition age for the other Fates is eighteen. No one fears them like they do us, because only secondborn Swords have to struggle every day to survive, with or without a Trial.”

Valdi sets his cup down on the table and holds out his palm to Clifton. “I’d like one of those rose pins, if you have one to spare.”

After we say our good-byes to Valdi, I check the time. It’s taken longer than I thought, and I’m anxious to leave. Clifton sits back in his chair, stirring his coffee. “I’m sorry about Pedar. That will never happen again, I promise you.”

“I wasn’t surprised.”

“You weren’t?” His golden eyebrow rises in a cunning arch.

“You named him Albatross for a reason.”

He chuckles. “You are insightful.”

“I can see why he was confused, Clifton. You weren’t just selling arms today—you were selling me and the Rose Garden Society.”

“I was garnering support for the cause.”

“That cause being keeping me alive?”

“That is my main concern.”

I set my napkin aside and rise. Clifton frowns. “You’re leaving so soon? I thought we could spend the evening in Copper Towne. We have another luncheon scheduled tomorrow. It will save you the trip back and forth.”

“That sounds lovely, but I can’t. I only have day-pass access codes. I have to be back on Base by lights out, unless you’ve cleared it with Tritium 101?”

Clifton sighs, annoyed. “Forgive me, I forget sometimes that you’re not . . .”

“One of you?” I ask.

“Precisely . . . you’re not one of us, and you’re not one of them. You’re something else entirely.” Whether he’s speaking of firstborns and secondborns, I’m not exactly sure. Clifton rises from his seat. “I will walk you out.”

He takes my arm, and we catch an elevator to the lobby. He kisses my cheek at the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Plan on staying in Copper Towne tomorrow night. I want to take you to a show.”

I cannot get to the Anthroscope fast enough. I plot a course to the address I have in Forge. On the way, I go over all the things I want to say to Hawthorne. My palms sweat as I enter Old Towne, the historic district in Forge. Goose bumps break out on my arms as my airship approaches the Sword Palace. I hadn’t recognized the address, but it is among the residences of the Sword aristocracy.

The sun has gone down by the time I find an available hoverpad about a block from the address. Gigantic old buildings line this street. They’re classic estate homes that have the feel of the Sword Palace in their stone and design. Old trees line the walk.

Pausing in front of a gray stone residence, the largest estate on the street, my stomach churns. The home takes up almost the entire block and the block behind it, with unimpeded airspace above. The flag above the frieze has an elaborate crest. Who are you, Hawthorne?

I move down the street and around the block. A high security wall encloses the back of the estate. If I attempt to scale it, it will likely trigger an alarm, and the last thing I need is to get caught in Forge stalking a firstborn. I walk back to my airship in the dark and retrieve my emergency bag from the storage unit in the back, where I have a training outfit, tools, and a half-dozen weapons. I quickly change into the midnight-blue outfit and boots. Disassembling the rifle’s scope, I bring the eyepiece with me, leaving everything else behind.

Returning to the estate, I climb a tree until I’m above the security wall. I lift my scope and place it to my eye. A part of me knows just how wrong this is, stalking my love at his home, but I’m way past talking myself out of it. What I see through the windows makes my heart squeeze painfully. Hawthorne is having a dinner party.

I lean forward on a branch. Soft lights shine through the windows of an elegant dining suite. Hawthorne is dressed in an exquisitely tailored black coat, laughing, a beautiful blond female seated next to him. He lifts a glass of wine from the table and takes a sip. She touches his other hand. My face floods with heat. I feel the burn of tears rising and force them down.

He’s not hurt! No one is preventing him from contacting me. He can visit me anytime he wants. He can accept my transmissions. He can do anything he pleases. He’s firstborn!

He flirts with the young women at his table. Jealousy devours my heart. Some of his friends look familiar, but I can’t place them. It doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that they’re all firstborn, and Hawthorne is one of them now. A part of me knows I should be happy for him. A part of me will try to be. The other part of me has to leave now if I plan on surviving this.

I jump out of the tree and storm all the way back to my Anthroscope. Wheeling the airship around, I break several safety laws as I blast out of the city. Somewhere between Forge and Iron, I wipe my wet cheeks with the back of my sleeve, vowing never to cry for another firstborn again.