Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(14)

Because it was. He danced with Mareena, the lost princess, and Mareena is dead.

But her memories remain. When I walk past, my shoulder brushing one firm arm, I remember the feel and smell and taste of him. Heat and wood smoke and sunrise, but no longer. Cal smells like blood, his skin is ice, and I tell myself I don’t want to taste him ever again.

“They’ve been treating you well?” I speak first, reaching for an easy topic. One glance around his small yet clean compartment is answer enough, but I might as well fill the silence.

“Yes,” he says, still hovering by the open door. Debating whether or not to shut it.

My eyes land on a panel in the wall, pried back to reveal a tangle of wires and switches beneath. I can’t help but smile softly. Cal’s been tinkering.

“You think that’s smart? One wrong wire . . .”

That draws a weak but still comforting smile from him. “I’ve been fooling with circuitry for half my life. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Both of us ignore the double meaning, letting it slide past.

He finally decides to shut the door, though he leaves it unlocked.

One hand rests on the metal wall, fingers splayed, looking for something to hold on to. The flame-maker bracelet still winks on his wrist, bright silver against dull, hard gray. He notes my gaze and pulls down one stained sleeve; I guess no one thought to give him a change of clothes.

“As long as I stay out of sight, I don’t think anyone will bother with me,” he says, and goes back to fiddling with the open panel. “It’s kind of nice.” But the joke is hollow.

“I’ll make sure it stays that way. If that’s what you want,” I add quickly. In truth, I have no idea what Cal wants now. Beyond vengeance.

The one thing we still have in common.

He quirks an eyebrow at me, almost amused. “Oh, is the lightning girl in charge now?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond to the jibe, closing the distance between us in a single long step. “I get the feeling you’re just as cornered as me.” His eyes narrow. “Only you don’t seem to know it.”

I flush, feeling angry—and embarrassed. “Cornered? I’m not the one hiding in a closet.”

“No, you’re too busy being put on parade.” He leans forward, and the familiar heat between us returns. “Again.”

Part of me wants to slap him. “My brother would never—”

“I thought my brother would never, and look where that got us!” he thunders, throwing his arms wide. The tips of his fingers touch either wall, scraping up against the prison he’s found himself in. The prison I put him in. And he’s caged me in with him, whether he knows it or not.

Blazing heat flares from his body, and I have to step back a little.

He doesn’t miss the action and deflates, letting his eyes and arms drop.

“Sorry,” he bites out, brushing a lock of black hair off his forehead.

“Never apologize to me. I don’t deserve it.”

He glances at me sidelong, his eyes dark and wide, but he doesn’t argue.

Heaving a breath, I lean back against the far wall. The space between us gapes like open jaws. “What do you know about a place called Tuck?”

Grateful for the change in conversation, he pulls himself together, retreating into a prince’s persona. Even without a crown, he seems regal, with perfect posture and his hands folded behind his back. “Tuck?” he repeats, thinking hard. His brow furrows, forming a crease between his thick, dark brows. The longer it takes him to speak, the better I feel.

If he doesn’t know about the island, then few else will. “Is that where we’re going?”

“It is.” I think. A cold thought ripples through me, remembering Julian’s lessons hard learned in the court and the arena. Anyone can betray anyone. “According to Shade.”

Cal lets my uncertainty hang in the air, kind enough not to prod at it. “I think it’s an island,” he finally says. “One of several off the coast.

It’s not Nortan territory. Nothing to warrant a settlement or base, not even for defense. It’s just open ocean out there.”

A bit of the weight on my shoulders lifts. We’ll be safe for now.

“Good, good.”

“Your brother, he’s like you.” It’s not a question. “Different.”

“He is.” What else is there to say?

“And he’s all right? I remember he was injured.”

Even without an army, Cal is still a general, caring for the soldiers and the wounded. “He’s fine, thank you. Took a few bullets for me, but he’s recovering well.”

At the mention of bullets, Cal’s eyes flicker over me, finally allow-ing himself to look at me fully. He lingers on my scraped face and the dried blood around my ears. “And you?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Yes, we have.”

We lapse into silence, not daring to speak further. But we still con-tinue to stare at each other. Suddenly his presence is difficult to stand.

And yet I don’t want to go.

The mersive has other ideas.

Beneath my feet, the generator shudders, its pounding pulse chang-ing rhythm. “We’re almost there,” I mutter, sensing electricity flow or ebb to different parts of the craft.