Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(15)
Cal doesn’t feel it yet, unable to, but he doesn’t question my instincts.
He knows my abilities firsthand, better than anyone on the ship. Better than my own family. For now, at least. Mom, Dad, Gisa, the boys, they’re waiting for me on the island. I’ll see them soon. They’re here.
They’re safe.
But how long I’ll be with them, I don’t know. I won’t be able to stay on the island, not if I want to do something for the newbloods. I’ll have to go back to Norta, use whatever and whoever Farley can give me, to try and find them. It already seems impossible. I don’t even want to think about it. And yet my mind buzzes, trying to form a plan.
An alarm sounds overhead, synchronizing with a yellow light that starts to flash over Cal’s door. “Amazing,” I hear him mutter, dis-tracted for a moment by the great machine all around us. I don’t doubt he wanted to explore, but there’s no room for the inquisitive prince here. The boy who buried himself in manuals and built cycles from scratch has no place in this world. I kil ed him, just as I kil ed Mareena.
Despite Cal’s mechanically inclined mind and my own electrical sense, we have no idea what comes next. When the mersive angles, nos-ing up out of the depths of the ocean, the whole room tips. The surprise of it knocks us both off our feet. We collide with the wall and each other. Our wounds bang together, drawing pained hisses from us both.
4 8 v i c t o r i a a v e y a r d
The feel of him hurts more than anything else, a deep stab of memory, and I scramble away quickly.
Wincing, I rub one of my many bruises. “Where’s Sara Skonos when you need her,” I grumble, wishing for the skin healer who could mend us both. She could chase away the aches with a single touch, returning us both to fighting form.
More pain crosses Cal’s face, but not from his injuries. Well done, Mare. Wonderful job, bringing up the woman who knew his mother was murdered by the queen. The woman no one believed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He waves me off and finds his feet, one arm pressed against the wall for balance. “It’s fine. She’s—” The words are thick, stilted. “I chose not to listen to her. I didn’t want to listen. That was my fault.”
I met Sara Skonos only once, when Evangeline almost exposed me to our entire training session. Julian summoned her—Julian, who loved her—and watched as she mended my bloody face and bruised back.
Her eyes were sad, her cheeks hollow, her tongue missing entirely.
Taken for words spoken against the queen, for a truth no one believed.
Elara kil ed Cal’s mother, Coriane the Singer Queen. Julian’s own sister, Sara’s best friend. And no one seemed to mind. It was so much easier to look away.
Maven was there too, hating Sara with every breath. I know now that was a crack in his shield, revealing who he truly was beneath prac-ticed words and gentle smiles. Like Cal, I didn’t see what was right in front of me.
Like Julian, she is probably dead already.
Suddenly the metal walls and the noise and the popping of my ears are too much.
“I need to get off this thing.”
Despite the strange angle of the room and the persistent ringing in my head, my feet know what to do. They have not forgotten the mud of the Stilts, the nights spent in alleys, or the obstacle courses of Training. I wrench the door open, gasping for breath like a girl drowned.
But the stale, filtered air of the mersive offers me no respite. I need the smell of trees, water, spring rains, even summer heat or winter snow.
Something to remind me of the world beyond this suffocating tin can.
Cal gives me a head start before following, his footsteps heavy and slow behind me. He’s not trying to catch up, but give me space. If only Kilorn could do the same.
He approaches from farther down the corridor, using handholds and wheel locks to ease himself down the angled craft. His smile fades at the sight of Cal, replaced not by a scowl but by cold indifference. I suppose he thinks ignoring the prince will anger him more than outright hos-tility. Or perhaps Kilorn doesn’t want to test a human flamethrower in such close quarters.
“We’re surfacing,” he says, reaching my side.
I tighten my grip on a nearby grate, using it to steady myself. “You don’t say?”
Kilorn grins, leaning against the wall in front of me. He plants his feet on either side of mine, a challenge if there ever was one. I feel Cal’s heat behind me, but the prince seems to be taking the indifferent path as well, and says nothing.
I won’t be a piece in whatever game they’re playing. I’ve done that enough for a lifetime. “How’s what’s-her-name? Lena?”
The name hits Kilorn like a slap. His grin slackens, one side of his mouth drooping. “She’s fine, I guess.”
“That’s good, Kilorn.” I give him a friendly, if condescending, pat on the shoulder. The deflection works perfectly. “We should be making friends.”
The mersive levels out beneath us, but no one stumbles. Not even Cal, who has nowhere near my balance or Kilorn’s sea legs, hard earned on a fishing boat. He’s taut as a wire, waiting for me to take the lead. It should make me laugh, the thought of a prince deferring to me, but I’m too cold and worn to do much of anything but carry on.
So I do. Down the corridor, with Cal and Kilorn in tow, to the throng of Guardsmen waiting by the ladder that brought us down here in the first place. The wounded go first, tied onto makeshift stretchers and hoisted up into the open night. Farley supervises, her shift even bloodier than before. She makes for a grim sight, tightening bandages with a syringe between her teeth. A few of the worse off get shots as they pass, medication to help with the pain of being moved up the narrow tube. Shade is the last of the injured, leaning heavily on the two Guardsmen who teased Kilorn about the nurse. I would push through to him, but the crowd is too tight, and I don’t want any more atten-tion today. Still too weak to teleport, he has to fumble on one leg and blushes furiously when Farley straps him into a stretcher. I can’t hear what she says to him, but it calms him somewhat. He even waves off her syringe, instead gritting his teeth against the jarring pain of being hoisted up the ladder. Once Shade is safely carried up, the process goes much faster. One after the other, Guardsmen follow each other up the ladder, slowly clearing the corridor. Many of them are nurses, men and women marked by white shifts with varying degrees of bloodstains.