Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(123)

They don’t need to speak to show they agree. I turn on my heel.

“I’m done.”

The Colonel follows me, dogging my steps even when I push my way out of the hangar. “Barrow, I didn’t say we were finished—” he growls, but when I stop short, so does he. I don’t need lightning to frighten people. Not anymore.

“Make me turn around, Colonel.” I extend my arm, daring him to pull. Daring him to test me. “Go on.”

Once, this man put Cal in a cell. He leads who knows how many soldiers, and killed however many more men. I don’t know how many battles he’s seen, or how many times he’s cheated death.

He has no right to be afraid of a girl like me, but he is. I returned to Tuck his equal, better than his equal, and he knows it.

I spin to face him slowly, and only because it now suits me to do so.

“What changed you, Colonel? Because I know it wasn’t your own good sense, or even the orders of your Command.”

After a long, drawn-out moment, he nods. “Follow me. They’ve been asking to meet you.”

T W E N T Y-E IGH T

Tuck seems smal er than I remember, with the three hundred from Corros as well as the Colonel’s own reinforcements clustering all over the island. He leads me past them all, setting a pace I must struggle to match. Many of the new soldiers are Lakelanders, smuggled from the far north like the guns and food streaming in from the docks, but there are a good number of Nortans as well. Farmers, servants, deserters, even some tattooed techies drill in the open space between barracks.

Many have come over the last few months. They are the first of many outrunning the Measures, and more will certainly follow. I would smile at the thought, but smiling comes too hard these days. It hurts my scars and my head. Back on the runway, a familiar jet roars, and the Blackrun climbs into the sky. Headed for the Notch, I’ll bet, with Cal at the controls. All the better. I don’t need him skulking around, watching and judging my every move.

Barracks 1. Last time I entered in secret. Now I enter in broad daylight, with the Colonel at my side. We walk through the narrow passages of the underwater bunker, and his Lakelanders step aside to let me pass every juncture. I’m acutely aware of this place—once I was its prisoner—but I no longer fear anything down here. We follow the piping in the ceiling, toward the pulsing heart of the barracks and the entire island. The control room is small, but crowded, filled with screens, radio equipment, and maps on every flat surface. I expect to see Farley barking orders, but she’s nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a healthy mix of Lakelander blue and Guard red. Two men are different, wearing thick, faded green uniforms with black detailing. I have no idea what country or kingdom they stand for.

“Clear the room,” the Colonel murmurs. He has no reason to shout; they obey him quickly.

Except for the pair in green. I get the feeling they’ve been waiting for this. They move in strange unison, turning toward us in perfect sync. Both wear badges on their uniforms, a white circle with a dark green triangle inside. The same marks I saw on smuggled crates the last time I was here.

The men are twins, the unsettling kind. Identical, but somehow more than that. Both have curly black hair, tight like a cap, mud-colored eyes, brown skin, and immaculate beards. A scar is the only difference between them—one has a jagged line on the right cheek, the other the left. To distinguish them. With a cold shudder, I realize they even blink at the same time.

“Miss Barrow, a pleasure to meet you at last.” Right Scar extends his hand, but I’m loath to take it. He doesn’t seem to mind, and presses on. “My name is Rash, and my brother—”

“Tahir, at your service,” the other cuts in. They bow their heads gracefully, again in startling unison. “We have traveled far to find you and yours. And waited—”

“—for what feels like even longer,” Rash finishes for him. He eyes the Colonel, and I catch a flicker of distaste deep in his eyes. “We bring you a message, and an offer.”

“From whom?” I feel breathless, almost dizzy. Surely these men are newbloods—their bond is not a natural one—and they are neither Nortan nor Lakelander. Traveled far, they said. From where?

They speak in melodic chorus. “The Free Republic of Montfort.”

Suddenly I wish Julian were at my side, to help me remember his lessons, and the maps he kept so close. Montfort, a mountain nation, so far away it could be the other side of the world. But Julian told me it was like Piedmont to the south, ruled by a collection of princes, all of them Silver. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither did Colonel Farley—” says Tahir.

Rash cuts in. “—for the Republic is well guarded, hidden by mountains—”

“—snows—”

“—walls—”

“—and by design.”

This is very annoying.

“My apologies,” Rash adds, noting my discomfort. “Our mutation links our brains. It can be quite—”

“Unsettling,” I finish for him, drawing a smile from them both.

But the Colonel continues to scowl, his red eye gleaming. “So you’re newbloods too? Like me?”

A double nod. “In Montfort, we are called the Ardents, but it differs from nation to nation. No one can agree on what to call the Red-and-Silver ones,” Tahir says. “There are many of us, all over this world.