Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(30)

Kilorn is long gone, having left with his new friend the Colonel.

And I am revealed for exactly what I am—a particularly stupid fish, constantly moving from hook to hook, never learning my lesson.

But next to the Hall of the Sun, Archeon, and the Bowl of Bones, this might as well be a vacation, and the Colonel is nothing compared to the queen or a line of executioners.

“You should sit,” I tell Cal, finally growing tired of his vengeful intensity. “Unless you plan on wearing your way through the floor?”

He scowls, annoyed, but stops moving all the same. Instead of pulling up a chair, he leans against the wall in a childish act of defiance.

“I’m starting to think you like prisons,” he says, idling knocking his knuckles against the wall. “And that you have the worst taste in men.”

That stings more than I’d like it to. Yes, I cared for Maven, cared for him far more than I want to admit, and Kilorn is my closest friend.

They are betrayers both.

“You’re not too good at choosing friends either,” I fire back, but it glances off him harmlessly. “And I don’t have”—the words jumble, coming out wrong and stilted—“any taste in men. This has nothing to do with that.”

“Nothing.” He chuckles, almost amused. “Who were the last two people to lock us in a cell?” When I don’t reply, shamed, he presses on.

“Admit it, you’ve got a hard time keeping your heart and your head separated.”

I stand so fast the chair falls backward, clanging against the floor.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love Maven. Like you didn’t let your heart make decisions where he was concerned.”

“He is my brother! Of course I was blind to him! Of course I didn’t think he would kill our—our father.” His voice breaks at the memory, letting me glimpse the ragged and broken child beneath the facade of a warrior. “I made mistakes because of him. And,” he adds quietly, “I made mistakes because of you.”

So did I. The worst was when I put my hand in his, letting him pull me from my bedroom, into a dance and a downward spiral. I let the Guard kill innocents for Cal, to keep him from going to war. To keep him close to me.

My selfishness had a horrible cost.

“We can’t do that anymore. Make mistakes for each other,” I 1 0 0 v i c t o r i a a v e y a r d whisper, skirting around what I really mean. What I’ve been trying to tell myself for days now. Cal is not a path I should choose or want. Cal is simply a weapon, something for me to use—or something for others to use against me. I must prepare for both.

After a long moment, he nods. I get the feeling he sees me in the same way.

The damp of the barracks sets in, joining the cold still deep in my bones. Normally I would shiver, but I’m getting used to this feeling. I suppose I should get used to being alone too.

Not in the world, but in here. In my heart.

Part of me wants to laugh at our predicament. Again, I am side by side with Cal in a cell, waiting for whatever fate has in store for us. But this time, my fear is tempered by anger. It won’t be Maven coming to gloat, but the Colonel, and for that I’m terribly thankful. Maven’s taunts are not ones I ever want to suffer again. Even the thought of him hurts.

The Bowl of Bones was dark, empty, a deeper prison than this.

Maven stood out sharply, his skin pale, eyes bright, his hands reaching for mine. In the poisoned memory, they flicker between soft fingers and ragged claws. Both want to make me bleed.

I told you to hide your heart once. You should have listened.

They were his last words to me, before he sentenced us to execution. I wish it hadn’t been such good advice.

Slowly, I exhale, hoping to expel the memories with my breath. It doesn’t work.

“So what do we do about this, General Calore?” I ask, gesturing to the four walls holding us prisoner. Now I can see the slight outlines in the corners, the square blocks a bit darker than the rest, fixed right into the panels of the walls.

After a long moment, Cal pulls out of thoughts just as painful as mine. Glad for the distraction, he rights the other chair swiftly, pushing it against a corner. He steps up, almost banging his head on the ceiling, and runs a hand over the Silent Stone. It’s more dangerous to us than anything on this island, more damaging than any weapon.

“By my colors, how did they get this?” he mutters, his fingers trying to find an edge. But the stone lies flush, perfectly embedded. With a sigh, he jumps back down and faces the observation window. “Our best chance is breaking the glass. There’s no getting around these in here.”

“It’s weaker, though,” I say, staring at the Silent Stone. It stares right back. “In the Bowl of Bones, I felt like I was suffocating. This is nowhere near that bad.”

Cal shrugs. “Not as many blocks here. But still enough.”

“Stolen?”

“They have to be. There’s only so much Silent Stone and only the government can use it, for obvious reasons.”

“That’s true . . . in Norta.”

He tilts his head, perplexed. “You think these came from some-where else?”

“There are smuggled shipments coming in from all over. Piedmont, the Lakelands, other places too. And haven’t you seen any soldiers down here? Their uniforms?”