Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(78)

Why do I push away the people I love? What is so very wrong with me?

I don’t know.

And I don’t know how to make it stop.

Gathering an army is the easy part. The records from Harbor Bay lead us to newbloods in towns and villages across the Beacon region, from Cancorda to Taurus to the half-flooded ports of the Bahrn Islands.

Julian’s own list helps us expand out, until every part of Norta is within our grasp. Even Delphie, the southernmost city in the kingdom, is just a few hours away by jet.

Every population center, no matter how small, has a new garrison of Silver officers meant to catch us and turn us over to the king. But they can’t guard every target at all times, and Maven is not yet strong enough in his reign to kidnap hundreds overnight. We strike randomly, without pattern, and we usually catch them off balance. Sometimes we get lucky, and they don’t even know we’re there at all. Shade proves his use time and again, as do Ada and Nix. Her abilities help us find our way around city walls—his help us go right through them.

But it always comes down to me. I am always the one to confront each newblood, to explain what they are and what kind of danger they pose to the king. Then they are given a choice, and they always choose to live. They always choose us. We give safe passage to their families, directing the ones left behind to the various sanctuaries and bases operated by the Scarlet Guard. To Command, as Farley says, her words more cryptic every time. A few are even sent to Tuck Island, to seek the safety of the Colonel. He might hate newbloods, but Farley assures me he won’t turn away true Reds.

The newbloods we find are afraid, some angry, but a few are surprised, usually the children. For the most part, they don’t know what they are. But some do, and they are already haunted by the mutations of our blood.

On the outskirts of the city of Haven, we meet Luther Carver. A young boy of eight with wispy black hair, small for his age, the son of a carpenter. We find him in his father’s workshop, excused from school to learn the trade. It takes very little convincing to get Mr. Carver to let us in, though he eyes Cal and even Nix with suspicion. And the boy refuses to look me in the eye, his tiny fingers twitching with nerves. He trembles when I speak to him, and insists on calling me lightning girl.

“Your name is on this list because you are special, because you are different,” I tell him. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

The boy shakes his head violently, his long bangs swiping to and fro. But his aptly named father stands like a guardian at his back. Sol-emnly, slowly, he nods his head.

“It’s all right, Luther, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I reach across the table, past intricate designs that are certainly Carver’s handiwork.

But Luther’s fingers ghost away from my touch and he pulls his hands into his lap, squirming out of my reach.

“It’s nothing personal,” Carver says, putting a soothing hand on his son’s shoulder. “Luther’s not—he just doesn’t want to cause you any harm. It comes and goes—it’s getting worse, you see. But you’re going to help him, aren’t you?” The poor man sounds pained, his voice crack-ing. My heart goes out to him, and I wonder what my father would be like in such a position. Faced by people who understand your child, who can help—but must take him away from you. “You know why he is this way?”

It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times, a question almost every newblood asks of me. But still I have no answer. “I’m sorry but I don’t, sir. We only know that our abilities come from a mutation, something in our blood that can’t be explained.”

I think of Julian and his books, his research. He never got to teach me about the Divide, the ancient moment when silver blood split from red, only that it happened and resulted in the world now. I suppose a new Divide has begun, in blood like mine. He was studying me before his capture, trying to figure out the answer to this exact question. But he never got the chance.

Cal shifts at my side, and when he rounds the table, I expect to see the intimidating mask he keeps so close. Instead, he smiles kindly, so wide it almost reaches his eyes. Then he bends, kneeling down so he can look Luther in the eye. The boy is transfixed by the sight, over-whelmed not just by the presence of a prince but by his undivided attention.

“Your Highness,” he squeaks, even trying to salute. At his back, his father is not so proper, and his brow furrows. Silver princes are not his favorite guests.

Still, Cal’s grin deepens, and his eyes remain on the boy. “Please, call me Cal,” he says, and extends his hand. Again, Luther pulls away, but Cal doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I’ll wager he expected it.

Luther flushes, his cheeks pulsing a dark and lovely red. “Sorry.”

“Not at all,” Cal replies. “In fact, I used to do the same thing when I was little. A bit younger than you, but then, I had very, very many teachers. I needed them, too,” he adds, winking. In spite of his fear, the boy smiles a little. “But you just have your dad, don’t you?”

The boy swallows, his tiny throat bobbing. Then he nods.

“I try—” Carver says, again gripping his son’s shoulder.

“We understand, sir,” I tell him. “More than anyone.”

Luther nudges Cal with his shoe, his curiosity overcoming all else.

“What could make you afraid?”