Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(89)

“Notice his sword, Roselle?”

I peer at the small hologram, which plays in a seven-second loop. “It’s an X16. That means nothing. He probably likes the dual-blade design.”

“You’re the face of the design. They all buy it because you use it.”

“He knows a lot more than you give him credit for, Clifton.”

We walk together around the pool and up a short staircase to the veranda. The glass doors slide open to reveal an open floor plan with a 360-degree view. An elegant seating area with a bar looks over the skyline of Forge. Standing at the thick windows, I can just make out the Salloway Munitions headquarters and the hilt of the other sword—Gabriel and the Heritage Council’s fortress. Putting me up here feels like a declaration of war, or at least a shot fired across his bow. Gabriel could see it as an implied threat.

We take the spiral staircase up to the next level. An extravagant master bedroom makes up the tip of the sword. The silver-tinted windows peak in a dagger point at the rooftop high above my head where a magnificent chandelier hangs, its crystals crafted in the shape of swords ringed by crowns.

“My room?” I ask, running my hand over the bright white blankets of an extremely large bed.

He nods. “Your room. You’ll have a lot of security personnel around. They’ll stay in the apartments below the penthouse, so you’ll have privacy. I had clothing made up for you. You’ll find the wardrobes and closets there.” He points to an empty space.

“Where?” I ask. He laughs and touches the air of a holographic console near the door. Wardrobes rise from the floor, unmasking rows of clothes in every beautiful fabric imaginable.

“Oh,” I say breathlessly when I near a wardrobe and find clothing that Othala would envy. I can’t resist the impulse to run my hand over the luscious fabrics. “These are breathtaking.”

“I’m tired of seeing you in rags, and you need clothing that reflects your station as a Salloway spokesperson.”

“So this is all for me?”

“All for you, Roselle.”

“Where will you stay?” I ask over my shoulder, trying to keep the note of suspicion from my voice.

“I’ll be at my apartment at Salloway headquarters.” He points in the direction of his office building. “It’s imperative now that we maintain the utmost impression of propriety. We cannot give anyone any reason to call your conduct into question.”

“Thank you, Clifton.”

“You’re welcome.” He glances down at his moniker’s timekeeper. “I’ll let you settle in. I have an important meeting in an hour.”

“You’re leaving?” My smile falters.

He looks up at me. “I’ve rescheduled this particular client several times so that I could be at someone’s bedside.” Disappointment must show on my face because Clifton chuckles. “I’ll return tomorrow to escort you to the Sword Palace.”

“Promise?” I’m surprised by just how pouty I sound.

“I promise.”

Clifton leaves and I play with the console. Glass walls rise out of the floor to hide the teacup-shaped tub from the bed. Another option frosts the glass wall of the bathroom. I can configure the walls in the bedroom into any floor plan I desire. A fireplace rises from the floor. A vent opens in an exterior window.

I reconfigure the room to my taste, then change into a tiny red bathing suit with sword-shaped metal buckles that rest on my hips. The weather is much warmer here today than it was earlier in the week in the Fate of Stars. I hang my clothing in the closet, hiding the star-shaped malware device that Reykin gave me in my boot that I stuff onto one of the shoe shelves. I spend the day by the pool.

By nightfall, I’m feeling restless. It seems unnatural now to be alone. I walk outside onto the terrace in my pajamas. Going to the railing, I gaze down at the ocean, inhaling the scent of the sea. It’s so quiet here. Not since the Sword Palace have I known this kind of solitude. My stomach starts to hurt—my hands tremble. Impulsively, I climb up on the thin glass railing, teetering on its edge. The fall to the shore below would take some time. One misstep and I’ll never have to worry about being alone again.

I walk the handrail like it’s a tightrope. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making me feel alive again. My hands stop shaking. My eyebrows draw together. Something’s wrong with me; I know that. This isn’t normal. I shouldn’t need to do this in order to breathe. Climbing down from the railing, I hug my arms around me.

Later, in bed, I stare up at the chandelier. The stars glow through the glass ceiling.

I awake sometime before dawn with a scream caught in my throat. A nightmarish version of the beating I took in Stars has left me panting. I touch my forehead and find it slick with sweat. I close my eyes, remembering the brutality of my dream. An angry mob was gathered around me, stalking, but the person who stumbled forward to hit me the hardest was Hawthorne.



Emmitt and Clara arrive to help me prepare for the medal ceremony this evening. Clara styles my hair, piling it high and decorating it with golden star pins. She applies a dark, smoky eye shadow to my eyelids and a light dusting of golden glitter to my cheeks. I wonder if she knows what I’m to do this evening. When she’s finished, she excuses herself and leaves.

Emmitt helps me dress in a clingy night-sky-inspired gown. It has a daringly low neckline and a leg-hugging hem that flows into a small train. Black stiletto heels with a thick ankle strap complete the ensemble. Appraising myself in the mirror, I exude a risqué air of defiance.