Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(80)

Daltrey gives me a genuine smile. “Dune will be so proud. What are your demands?”

“My friends each get a new moniker and new lives as firstborns—someplace near the sea where they can live without the constant threat of war. You protect them with everything you have. I’ll provide currency for them to live on. We will make arrangements for the transfer when I’m back in my Fate.”

“You have money?” he asks. He doesn’t seem at all surprised.

“I’m a spokesperson for a weapons dealer during a civil war. Money is not hard to come by.”

“How will you convince your Fate that you were the victim of circumstance here? You look guilty—flying in here with your friends and landing in enemy territory.”

“It’s not going to be easy. I might not be able to convince a certain Census agent, who wants me as his personal punching bag, that I’m innocent. He might have to die.”

“That can be a problem for you. Maybe you should rethink your options and remain with us.”

“That would be bad for you. You need me to go back. You just let me win our argument—you want me to think I’m not being controlled, but I’m really doing exactly what you want me to do. All this, this war, it’s an exercise in futility.”

His stare sharpens, and he sits up straighter, waiting for me to explain.

“This has all been a lesson so that when you make me The Sword, I do things differently—so that when I have true power, power you’ve given me, I change things.”

He tries to suppress a smile, but it’s there, in his eyes. He’s impressed that I’ve figured it out. “You know what it’s like to be a Transitioned secondborn, Roselle. The one person you’ve loved your entire life is a thirdborn. Your moniker was disabled before you were processed. You were exposed to the lawlessness of Census, hunted by an agent who subjected you to his unwavering cruelty. You’ve been embroiled in a war where no one wins—where you’re expected to slaughter wounded soldiers.” He gazes at Reykin before looking back at me. “Many people have died to show you just how bad things are in our world, and you alone will be in a position to change things.”

I was only guessing, but it really is true. “If I become The Sword, I’ll have Fabian Bowie and his son Grisholm as my constant adversaries. One word from either of them and my position of power would vanish in the wind.”

“Your charisma and your mind far exceed theirs. They are pure entitlement, but you will win the hearts of your people. I have faith in you, Roselle. You have not disappointed me once since you were born. You are the Crown of Swords.”

“There’s just one thing—I love my brother.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It changes nothing in your eyes, does it?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“I need to go back to my airship. I’d like to leave by tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s the best option. You’ll leave the airship here. They won’t be able to check the logs and your ruse of a malfunction won’t be discovered. We’ll get you passage back to Swords on a watercraft. Reykin can make the arrangements. He’ll also provide the self-replicating malware that will allow us to penetrate their industrial control systems. You’ll simply have to find a way to deliver it. And since you and Reykin have an affinity for each other that goes deeper than with anyone else I could assign, he’ll be your contact. It’s best to have a natural connection, and he’s smarter than he seems. With the exception of your scar, he rarely makes a mistake. And he’s a bit more ruthless than most, which has its uses. I trained him myself to fight—I also trained Dune, so you’re well matched.” Daltrey rises from his seat. “If you need me, get a message to me through Reykin.” He glances at the younger man. “Make sure her scar is removed before she returns to Swords.”

“It’ll be done,” Reykin agrees, then he stands and walks Daltrey to the door.

“Hawthorne . . . Hawthorne Trugrave,” I call after them. “Was he ever a part of this?”

Daltrey looks back. “No,” he replies. “He was never one of us.”

“Did you kill his brother Flint to separate us?”

“No, we liked the secondborn Sword. He made you happy. I believe it was your other ally who killed his brother—your arms dealer.”

And there it is. The thing I feared since asking Clifton to take Hawthorne out of the infantry. I showed Clifton how to hurt me.

“The Gates of Dawn are interested in change, Roselle,” Daltrey continues. “Your other allies—the Rose Garden Society—they’re committed to the status quo, the preservation of the firstborn hierarchy. Don’t confuse us. We only overlap when it comes to your welfare.”

The door closes behind Daltrey. I stare at the ceiling. My head pounds. I can’t find a comfortable position. Everything hurts. “What would you do if someone killed your brother, Reykin?”

Reykin is quiet. He walks to the window. Standing in the sunlight, he resembles a sculpted god. “I’d take my fusionblade to the battlefield and kill as many of my enemy as I could find until I was cut down, and then saved by a little Sword soldier.” He pulls something from his pocket. It’s my penlight. He studies it. “I’d return this, but I’ve grown rather attached to it.”