Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(17)

“Bree, what is this?!” I yell, rounding on my brother with a visceral snarl. Instead, he takes my hands in his, and not gently. He holds me firm, using his superior strength to keep me from pulling away. If he were anyone else, I would shock him good. But this is my brother. I can’t do that to him, I won’t.

“Bree, let me go!”

“We won’t hurt him,” he says, repeating it over and over. “We’re not going to hurt him, I promise you.”

So this isn’t my cage. But that doesn’t calm me at all. If anything, it makes me more angry and desperate.

When I look back, Cal’s fists are aflame, his arms stretched wide to face the blood-eyed man. “Well?” he growls in challenge, sounding more like an animal than a man. A cornered animal.

Too many guns, even for Cal. They’ll shoot him if they must. It might even be what they want. An excuse to kill the fallen prince. Part of me, most of me, knows they would be justified in this. Cal was a hunter of the Scarlet Guard, essentially guaranteeing Tristan’s death, Walsh’s suicide, and Farley’s torture. Soldiers killed at his orders, wiping out most of Farley’s rebel force. And who knows how many he’s sent to die on the war front, trading Red soldiers for a few measly miles of the Lakelands. He owes no allegiance to the cause. He is a danger to the Scarlet Guard.

But he is a weapon as well as I am, one we can use in the days to come. For the newbloods, against Maven, a torch to help lift the darkness.

“He can’t fight out of this, Mare.” That’s Kilorn, choosing the worst of moments to sidle back. He whispers in my ear, acting like his closeness can influence me. “He’ll die if he tries.”

His logic is hard to ignore.

“On your knees, Tiberias,” the blood-eyed man says, taking bold steps toward the flaming prince. Steam rises from his fire, as if the storm is trying to stamp him out. “Hands behind your head.”

Cal does neither, and he flinches at the mention of his birth name.

He stands firm, strong, proud, though he knows the battle is lost.

Once he might have surrendered, trying to save his own skin. Now he believes that skin worthless. Only I seem to think otherwise.

“Cal, do as he says.”

The wind carries my voice so that the whole hangar hears. I’m afraid they can hear my heart too, hammering like a drum in my chest.

“Cal.”

Slowly, reluctantly, a statue crumbling to dust, Cal sinks to his knees and his fire sputters out. He did the same thing yesterday, kneel-ing next to his father’s decapitated corpse.

The blood-eyed man grins, his teeth gleaming and straight. He stands over Cal with relish, enjoying the sight of a prince at his feet.

Enjoying the power it gives him.

But I am the lightning girl, and he knows nothing of true power.





F I V E


They try to convince me it’s for the best, but their poor excuses fall on unsympathetic ears. Kilorn and Bree quickly use every argument they’ve been told to say.

He’s dangerous, even to you. But I know better than any that Cal would never hurt me. Even when he had reason to, I feared nothing from him.

He’s one of them. We can’t trust him. After what Maven’s done to his legacy and reputation, Cal has nothing and no one but us now, even if he refuses to admit it.

He is valuable. A general, a prince of Norta, and the most wanted man in the kingdom. That one gives me pause, and strikes a chord of fear deep down. If the blood-eyed man decides to use Cal as leverage against Maven, to trade him or sacrifice him, it will take all I have to stop him.

All my influence, all my power—and I don’t know if it will be enough.

So I do nothing but nod along with them, slowly at first, pretend-ing to agree. Pretending to be controlled. Pretending to be weak. I was right. Shade was warning me before. Once again, he saw the turn of the tide long before it rolled in. Cal is power, fire made flesh, something to be feared and defeated. And I am lightning. What will they try to do to me if I don’t play my part?

I have not stepped into another jail, not yet, but I can feel the key in the lock, threatening to turn. Luckily I have experience in this kind of thing.

The blood-eyed man and his soldiers march Cal into the hangar, not stupid enough to try and bind his hands. But they never lower their guns or their guard, careful to keep their distance lest one of them be burned for their boldness. I can only watch, eyes wide but mouth shut, when the hangar door slides closed again, separating the two of us.

They won’t kill him, not until he gives them a reason. I can only hope Cal behaves.

“Go easy on him,” I whisper, leaning into Bree’s warmth. Even in the cold autumn rain, he feels like a furnace. Long years fighting on the northern front have made him immune to wet and cold. I think back to Dad’s old saying. The war never leaves. Now I know it firsthand, though my war is very different from his.

Bree pretends not to hear me, hurrying us both from the docks.

Kilorn follows close behind, his boots catching my heels once or twice.

I resist the urge to kick him, and focus on climbing the wooden steps leading to the barracks on the hill above. The steps are worn down, beaten by too many feet to count. How many came this way? I wonder.

How many are here now?

We crest the hill and the island stretches out before us, revealing a military base larger than I expected. The barracks on the ridge was one of at least a dozen I see now, organized in two even rows separated by a long, concrete yard. It’s flat and well-maintained, not like the steps or the dock. There’s a white line painted down the middle of the yard, perfectly straight, leading away into the stormy night. What it goes to, I have no idea.