Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(32)

“Don’t stand for him,” I mutter, leaning back in my own chair.

Cal does as he’s told and settles in, arms crossed over his broad chest. Now instead of beating against the window and tossing tables at the walls, he looks stoic, serene, a boulder of flesh waiting to crush whoever comes too close. If only he could. But for the Silent Stone, he would be a blazing inferno, burning hotter and brighter than the sun.

And I would be a storm. Instead we’re reduced to our bones, to two teenagers grumbling in a cage.

I do my best to keep still when the Colonel appears in the window.

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my anger, but when Kilorn appears at his shoulder, his expression cold and stern, my body jolts.

Now it’s Cal’s turn to hold me back, his hand a slight pressure on my thigh, keeping me seated.

The Colonel stares for a moment, as if memorizing the sight of the prince and the lightning girl imprisoned. I’m seized by the urge to spit on the bloodstained glass, but refrain. Then he turns away from us, gesturing with long, crooked fingers. They twitch once, twice, beckoning for someone to step forward. Or be brought forth.

She fights like a lion, forcing the Colonel’s bodyguards to hold her clean off the ground. Farley’s fist catches one of them in the jaw, send-ing him sprawling, breaking his grip on her arm. She slams the other into the passage wall, crushing his neck between her elbow and the window of another cell. Her blows are brutal, meant to inflict as much damage as she can, and I can see purple bruises already blooming on her captors. But the bodyguards are careful not to hurt her, doing their best to keep her merely restrained.

Colonel’s orders, I suppose. He’ll give his daughter a cell, but not bruises.

To my dismay, Kilorn doesn’t stand idle. When the guards get her up against a wall, each one bracing a shoulder and leg, the Colonel gestures to the fish boy. With shaking hands, he pulls out a dull gray box.

Syringes gleam within.

I can’t hear her voice through the glass, but it’s easy to read her lips.

No. Don’t.

“Kilorn, stop it!” The window is suddenly cold and smooth beneath my hand. I beat against it, trying to catch his attention. “Kilorn!”

But instead of listening, he squares his shoulders, turning his back so I can’t see his face. The Colonel does the opposite, staring at me instead of the syringe plunging into his daughter’s neck. Something strange flickers deep in his good eye—regret, maybe? No, this is not a man with doubts. He’ll do whatever he must, to whoever he must.

Kilorn pulls back after doing the deed, the empty syringe sharp in his hand. He waits, watching Farley thrash against her captors. But her movements slow and her eyelids droop as the drugs take hold. Finally she sags against the Lakelander guards, unconscious, and they drag her to the cell across from mine. They lay her down before locking the door, shutting her in just like Cal—just like me.

When her door clangs shut, the lock in mine clicks open.

“Redecorating?” the Colonel says with a sniff, eyeing the dented table as he enters. Kilorn follows, tucking the box of syringes back into his coat, in warning. For you, if you step out of line. He avoids my stare, busying himself with the box while the door locks behind them, leaving the two guards to man the passage on the other side.

Cal glares from his seat, his expression murderous. I don’t doubt he’s thinking about all the ways he could kill the Colonel, and which would hurt the most. The Colonel knows that too, and draws a short but lethal pistol from its holster. It idles in his hand, a coiled snake waiting to strike.

“Please sit, Miss Barrow,” he says, gesturing with the gun.

Obeying his command feels like surrender, but I have no other choice. I take my seat, letting Kilorn and the Colonel stand over us. If not for the gun and the guards in the hall, watching closely, we might have a chance. The Colonel is tall, but older, and Cal’s hands would fit nicely around his throat. I would have to take Kilorn myself, rely-ing on my knowledge of his still-healing wounds to bring the traitor down. But once we bested them, the door would still be locked, the guards still watching. Our fight would accomplish nothing at all.

The Colonel smirks, as if reading my thoughts. “Best stay in your chair.”

“You need a gun to keep two children in line?” I scoff back at him, angling my chin at the pistol in his hand. There isn’t a soul on earth who would dare call Cal a child, even without his abilities. His military training alone makes him deadly, something the Colonel knows well enough.

He ignores the insult and plants his feet in front of me, so his bloody eye bores into mine. “You know, you’re lucky I’m a progressive man.

There aren’t many who would let him live”—he nods toward Cal, before sweeping back to me—“and a few who would kill you as well.”

I glance at Kilorn, hoping he realizes what side he’s on. He fidgets like a little boy. If we were children again, still the same size, I would punch him squarely in the stomach.

“You’re not keeping me around for the pleasure of my company,”

Cal says, cutting right through the Colonel’s dramatics. “So what are you going to trade me for?”

The Colonel’s reaction is the only confirmation I need. His jaw clenches, tightening in anger. He wanted to say the words himself, but Cal’s taken the wind out of his sails.