Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(130)
The last time I left my parents, there was no warning. Somehow, that was easier than this. Saying good-bye to them is so hard I almost run to the Blackrun and its familiar safety. But I force myself to hug them both, to give them whatever small comfort I can, even if it might be a lie.
“I’ll keep them safe,” I whisper, tucking my head against Mom’s shoulder. Her fingers run through my hair, braiding it quickly. The gray ends have spread, almost reaching to my shoulders. “Bree and Tramy.”
“And you,” she whispers back. “Protect yourself too, Mare. Please.”
I nod against her, not wanting to move.
Dad’s hand finds my wrist, giving it a gentle tug. Despite his out-burst earlier, he’s the one to remind me I must go. His eyes linger over my shoulder, at the Blackrun behind us. The others have already boarded, leaving only the Barrows on the runway. I suppose they want to give me some semblance of privacy, though I have no use for such a thing. I’ve spent the last few months living in a hole, and before that, a palace crawling with cameras and guards. I don’t care about spectators.
“For you,” Gisa blurts, holding out her good hand. She dangles a scrap of black silk. It feels cool and slick in my hand, like woven oil.
“From before.”
Red and gold flowers decorate the fabric, embroidered with the skill of a master. “I remember,” I murmur, running a finger over the impossible perfection. She sewed this so long ago, the night before an officer broke her hand. It is unfinished, just like her old fate. Just like Shade. Shaking, I tie it around my wrist. “Thank you, Gisa.”
I reach into my pocket. “And I have something for you, my girl.”
A trinket, cheaply made. The single earring matches the winter ocean around us.
Her breath catches as she takes it. Tears quickly follow, but I can’t watch them. I turn away from them all and board the Blackrun. The ramp closes behind me, and by the time my heart stops racing, we’re in the sky, soaring high above the sea.
My soldiers are few compared to the many following the Colonel into the Lakelands. After all, I could only take people who looked young enough to play the part of the Little Legion, and preferably those who had served, who knew how to act like soldiers. Eighteen Guardsmen fit the bill, and have joined us in the sky. Kilorn sits with them, doing his best to acclimatize them to our close-knit group. Ada isn’t with us, and neither are Darmian and Harrick. Unable to pass for teenagers, they went with the Colonel, to aid our cause however they can. Nanny is not so restricted, despite her advanced age. Her appearance flickers, fluttering between different iterations of young faces.
Of course Cameron has joined us—this was truly her idea in the first place, and she all but bounces with adrenaline. She’s thinking of her brother, the one she lost to the legion. I find myself envying her. She still has a chance to save him.
Cal and my brothers will be the hardest to disguise. Bree has a young face, but he’s larger than any fifteen-year-old should be. Tramy is too tall, Cal too recognizable. But their value lies in not their appearance or even their strength but their knowledge of the trench lines. Without them, we’ll have no one to navigate such a maze, and enter the night-mare wasteland of the Choke. I’ve only seen the Choke in photographs, news bulletins, and my dreams. After my ability was discovered, I thought I’d never have to go there. I thought I escaped that fate. How wrong I am.
“Three hours to Corvium,” Cal barks, not looking up from his instruments. The seat next to him is conspicuously empty, reserved for me. But I won’t join him, not after he abandoned me to face Shade’s funeral alone.
“Rise, Red as the dawn.” The Guardsmen speak in unison, banging the butts of their guns on the floor. It takes us all by surprise, though Cal does his best not to react. Still, I see distaste pull at the corner of his mouth. I’m not part of your revolution, he said once. Wel , you sure look like it, Your Highness.
“Rise, Red as the dawn,” I say, quiet but sure.
Cal scowls openly, glaring out the window. The expression makes him look like his father, and I think of who he could have been. A thoughtful warrior prince, married to the viper Evangeline. Maven said he would not have lived past the coronation night, but I don’t truly believe that. Metal is forged in flame, not the other way around. He would have lived, and ruled. To do what though, I cannot say. Once I thought I knew Cal’s heart, but now I realize that is impossible. No heart can ever be truly understood. Not even your own.
Time passes in suffocating silence. Within the jet, we are still, but on the ground, things are in motion. My message blares on video screens all over the kingdom.
I wish I were in Archeon, standing in the middle of the commer-cial sector, watching the world as it changes. Will the Silvers react as I hope? Will they see Maven’s betrayal for what it is? Or will they look away?
“Fires in Corvium.”
Cal leans against the cockpit glass, his mouth agape. “In the city center, and the River Town slums.” He runs a hand through his hair, at a loss. “Rioting.”
My heart leaps, then plunges. War has begun. And we have no idea what the cost may be.
The rest of the jet erupts in cheers, clapping, and too many hand-shakes to stomach. I almost stumble out of my seat, my feet tripping over themselves. I never trip. Never. But I barely make it to the back of the plane in one piece. I feel dizzy and sick, ready to lose the dinner I never ate all over the wall. One hand finds the metal, letting the cool-ness calm me. It works a little, but my head still spins. You wanted this.