Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(33)
“Trade,” I murmur, though it comes out more like a hiss. “You’re going to trade away one of the best weapons you’ve got? How stupid are you?”
“Not stupid enough to think he’ll fight for us,” the Colonel replies.
“No, I leave that foolish hope to you, lightning girl.”
Don’t rise to the bait. It’s what he wants. Still, it takes everything in me to stare straight ahead, and keep my eyes from Cal. Truthfully, I don’t know where his loyalties lie, or who he fights for. I only know who he’ll fight against— Maven. Some would think that puts us on the same side. But I know better. Life and war are not so simple as that.
“Very well, Colonel Farley.” He flinches when I use his last name.
His head turns slightly, resisting the urge to look back at his daughter unconscious in her cell. There’s pain there, I note, filing it away for later use.
But the Colonel responds to my jab in kind. “The king has put forth a bargain,” he says, his words pressing like a knife on the verge of drawing blood. “In exchange for the exiled prince, King Maven has agreed to reinstate the traditional age of conscription. Back to eighteen, instead of fifteen years old.” He lowers his eyes, his voice dropping with them. For a brief, splintering moment, I catch a glimpse of the father beneath the brutal exterior. His mind wanders to the children sent to die. “It’s a good deal.”
“Too good,” I say quickly, my tone hard and strong enough to hide the fear beneath. “Maven will never honor such a trade. Never.”
To my left, Cal exhales slowly. He draws his hands together, fingers steepled, displaying the many cuts and bruises he’s earned over the last few days. They twitch in succession, one after the other. A distraction from whatever truth he’s trying to avoid.
“But you have no choice,” Cal says, his hands finally still. “Turning down the deal dooms them all.”
The Colonel nods. “Indeed. Take heart, Tiberias. Your death will save thousands of innocent children. They are the only reason you’re still breathing.”
Thousands. Certainly they’re worth Cal, certainly. But deep in my heart, in the twisted, cold part of myself I’m starting to know all too well, something disagrees. Cal is a fighter, a leader, a kil er, a hunter. And you need him.
In more ways than one.
Something glitters in Cal’s eye. If not for the Silent Stone, I know his hands would shudder with flame. He leans forward slightly, lips pulling back against his even, white teeth. It’s so aggressive and animalistic I expect to see fangs.
“I am your rightful king, Silver-born for centuries,” he replies, seething. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I can’t burn the oxygen from this room.”
I’ve never heard such a threat from Cal, so visceral it cuts my insides.
And the Colonel, usually calm and stoic, feels it as well. He pulls back too quickly, almost stumbling into Kilorn. Like Farley, he’s embar-rassed by his fear. For a moment, his complexion matches his bloody eye, making him look like a tomato with limbs. But the Colonel is made of sterner stuff, and chases away his fear in a single, collected moment. He smooths back his white-blond hair, pressing it flat to his skull, and holsters his gun with a satisfied sigh.
“Your boat leaves tonight, Your Royal Highness,” he says with a crack of his neck. “I advise you to say good-bye to Miss Barrow. I doubt you’ll see her ever again.”
My hand closes around the seat of my chair, digging into the cold, rough metal. If only my name was Evangeline Samos. Then I would wrap this chair around the Colonel’s throat until he tasted iron and saw blood in both eyes.
“What about Mare?”
Even now, on the heels of his own death sentence, how is Cal stupid enough to worry about me?
“She’ll be watched,” Kilorn butts in, speaking for the first time since he entered my cage. His voice quivers, as it should. The coward has everything to be afraid of, including me. “Guarded. But not hurt.”
Distaste flickers across the Colonel’s face. I suppose he wants me dead too. Who could overrule him, I don’t know. Farley’s mysterious Command, perhaps, whoever they are.
“Is that what you’ll do to people like me?” I spit, feeling myself rise from my seat. “The newbloods? Are you going to bring Shade down here next and put him in a cage like some sort of pet? Until we learn to obey?”
“That depends on him,” the Colonel replies evenly, each word a cold kick in the gut. “He’s been a good soldier. So far. Just like your friend here,” he adds, putting one flat hand on Kilorn’s shoulder. He reeks of fatherly pride, something Kilorn’s been without. After so long an orphan, even a father so horrible as the Colonel must feel good.
“Without him, I would’ve never had the excuse, or the opportunity, to lock you up.”
I can only glare at Kilorn, hoping my gaze hurts him as much as he’s hurt me. “How proud you must be.”
“Not yet,” the fish boy replies.
If not for our years in the Stilts, our many hours thieving and slinking like alley rats, I would’ve never seen it. But Kilorn is easy to read, for me at least. When he angles his body, simultaneously arching his back and shrugging his hips, it looks natural. But there’s nothing natural about what he’s trying to do. The bottom of his jacket sags, outlining the box holding the syringes. It slips dangerously, sliding between the fabric and stomach, faster and faster.