Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(48)

Kilorn and Farley rush past me, their hurried footsteps pounding in time. I don’t know how much use they’ll be against this human wreck-ing ball, and I hold out a hand to stop them. But Shade reaches Nix before they do, jumping into position behind him. He grabs Nix by the neck, like I did, and then they’re both gone. They appear ten feet away a split second later, and Nix falls to the ground, his face vaguely green. He tries to get up, but Shade braces his crutch against his neck, pinning him.

“Move and I’ll do it again,” he says, his eyes alive and dangerous.

Nix raises one silver-stained hand in surrender. The other clutches his stomach, still flipping from the surprise and sensation of being squeezed through thin air. I know it all too well.

“Enough,” he pants. A sheen of sweat glints across his forehead, betraying the exhaustion setting in. Impenetrable, but not unstoppable.

Kilorn plops back down on his root, snatching up the remnants of his net. He smiles to himself, almost laughing at the sight of Cal beaten and bleeding. “I like this one,” he says. “I like him very much.”

I fight to my feet, ignoring the old aches setting off across my bones.

“The prince is with us, Nix. He’s here to help, same as me.”

That does nothing to assuage him. Nix sits back on his heels, baring yellow teeth. His breath sounds ragged and visceral. “Help?” he scoffs.

“That Silver bastard helped my daughters into an early grave.”

Cal does his best to look polite, despite the blood dripping down his chin. “Sir—”

“Dara Marsten. Jenny Marsten,” Nix hisses in reply. His glare goes right through me, a knife in the darkness. “The Hammer Legion. Bat-tle of the Falls. They were nineteen years old.”

Died in the war. A tragedy, if not a crime, but how is it Cal’s fault?

Judging by the look of pure shame crossing his face, Cal agrees with Nix. When he speaks, his voice is thick, choked with emotion. “We won,” he murmurs, unable to look Nix in the eye. “We won.”

Nix clenches a single fist, but resists the urge to charge. “You won.

They drowned in the river, and their bodies went over Maiden Falls.

The grave diggers couldn’t even find their shoes. What was it the letter said?” he presses on, and Cal winces. “Ah yes, that my girls ‘died for victory.’ To ‘defend the kingdom.’ And there were some very nice signatures at the bottom. From the dead king, the general of the Hammer, and the tactical genius who decided an entire legion should march across the river.”

Every eye turns to Cal, and he burns under our gaze. His face goes white, flushed with blood and disgrace. I remember his room back in the Hall of the Sun, the books and manuals filled to the brim with notes and tactics. They made me sick then and they make me sick now, with Cal and myself. Because I’ve forgotten who he truly is. Not just a prince, not just a soldier, but a murderer. In another life it could’ve been me he marched to death, or my brothers, or Kilorn.

“I’m sorry,” Cal breathes. He forces himself to look up, to meet the eyes of an angry, grieving father. I suppose he was trained to do it.

“I know my words mean nothing. Your daughters— all the soldiers— deserved to live. And so do you, sir.”

Nix’s knees crack when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Is that a threat, boy?”

“A warning,” Cal replies, shaking his head. “You’re like Mare, like Shade.” He gestures to us in turn. “Different. What we call a newblood. Red and Silver.”

“Don’t you ever call me Silver,” Nix says through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t stop Cal from continuing, rising to his feet. “My brother will be hunting people like you. He plans to kill you all, and pretend you never existed. He plans to erase you from history.”

Something sticks in Nix’s throat and confusion clouds his eyes. He glances to me, looking for support. “There are . . . others?”

“Many others, Nix.” This time when I touch his skin, I have no intention of shocking him. “Girls, boys, old and young. All over the country, waiting to be found.”

“And when you find them . . . us? What then?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I haven’t thought that far ahead.

Farley steps forward when I can’t, extending a hand. She holds a red scarf, ragged but clean. “The Scarlet Guard will protect them, hide them. And train them if they want to be trained.”

I almost balk at her words, thinking back to the Colonel. The last thing he seems to want is newbloods around, but Farley sounds so sure, so convincing. Like always, I’m sure she has something else up her sleeve, something I shouldn’t question. Yet.

Slowly, Nix takes the scarf from her, turning it over in his stained hands. “And if I refuse?” he asks lightly, but I hear the steel beneath.

“Then Shade will put you right back in bed, and you’ll never hear from us again,” I tell him. “But Maven will come. If you don’t want to stick with us, you’re better off in the wild.”

His grip tightens on the scarlet fabric. “Not much of a choice.”

“But you do have a choice.” I hope he knows I mean it. I hope it for my own sake, for my own soul. “You can choose to stay, or come. You know better than anyone how much has been lost—but you can help us regain something too.”