Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(80)
I’m not so gifted as the exile, and come to dread the morning and late-afternoon sessions. I want to blame my unease on exhaustion. Half my days are spent recruiting, traveling to the next name on our list, but that’s not it at all. I’m simply a poor instructor.
I work closest with Ketha, whose abilities are more physical and alike to my own. She can’t create electricity or any other element, but instead destroy. Like Silver oblivions, she can explode an object, blow-ing it apart in a concussive cloud of smoke and fire. But while typical oblivions are restricted to things they can actually touch, Ketha has no such limitation.
She waits patiently, eyeing the rock in my hand. I do my best not to shrink from her explosive gaze, knowing full well what it can do.
In the short week since we found her, she’s graduated from destroying clumps of paper, leaves, even branches, to solid stone. As with the other newbloods, all they need is a chance to reveal their true selves. The abilities respond in kind, like animals finally let out of their cages.
While the others give her training a wide berth, leaving us to the far end of the Notch clearing, I can do no such thing. “Control,” I say, and she nods.
I wish I had more to offer her, but my guidance is woefully poor.
I myself have only a month of ability training under my belt, much of it from Julian, who wasn’t even a proper trainer to begin with. What’s more, it’s incredibly personal to me, and I find it difficult to explain exactly what I intend to Ketha.
“Control,” she repeats.
Her eyes narrow, deepening her focus. Strange, her mud-brown eyes are unremarkable despite the power they hold. Like me, Ketha comes from a river village, and could pass for my much-older sister or aunt.
Her tanned skin and gray-tipped hair are firm reminders of our humble, unjust origins. According to her records, she was a schoolteacher.
When I heave the rock skyward, tossing it as far up as I can, I’m reminded of Instructor Arven and Training. He made us hit targets with our abilities, honing our aim and focus. And in the Bowl of Bones, I became his target. He nearly killed me, and yet here I am, copying his methods. It feels wrong—but effective.
The rock pulverizes into dust, as if a tiny bomb went off inside it.
Ketha claps for herself, and I force myself to do the same. I wonder if she’ll feel differently when her abilities are put to the test, against flesh instead of stone. I suppose I can have Kilorn catch us a rabbit so we can find out.
But he grows more distant with every passing day. He’s taken it upon himself to feed the camp, and spends most of his time fishing or hunting. If I were not so preoccupied with my own duties, recruiting and training, I would try and snap him out of it. But I barely have time to sleep, let alone coax Kilorn back into the fold.
By the first snowfall, there are twenty newbloods living at the camp, varying from old maids to twitching young boys. Luckily, the safe house is bigger than I first thought, stretching back into the hill in a maze of chambers and tunnels. A few have shafted windows, but most are dark, and we end up having to steal lanterns as well as newbloods from every place we visit. By the time the first snow falls, the Notch sleeps all twenty-six of us comfortably, with room for more. Food is plentiful, thanks to Kilorn and Farrah, who turns him into a silent, deadly hunter. Supplies come in with each wave of recruits, ranging from winter clothes to matches and even a bit of salt. Farley and Crance use their criminal ties to get us what we need, but sometimes we resort to good old-fashioned thievery. In a month’s time, we are a well-oiled, well-hidden machine.
Maven has not found us, and we keep tabs on him as best we can.
Signposts and newspapers make it easy. The King Visits Delphie, King Maven and Lady Evangeline Review Soldiers at Fort Lencasser, Coronation Tour Continues through the King State. The headlines pinpoint his location, and we know what each of them means. Dead newbloods in Delphie, in Lencasser, in every place he visits. His so-called coronation tour is just another shroud of secrecy, hiding a parade of executions.
Despite all our abilities and tricks, we are not fast enough to save everyone. For every newblood we discover and bring back to our camp, there are two more hanging from gallows, “missing,” or bleeding into gutters. A few bodies show the telltale signs of death by magnetron, skewered or strangled by iron rods. Ptolemus no doubt, though Evangeline might be there too, basking in the glow of a king. She’ll be queen soon enough, and will certainly do best to keep Maven close. Once, that would infuriate me, but now I feel nothing but pity for the magnetron girl. Maven is not Cal, and he will kill her if it suits him. Just like the newbloods, dead to keep his lies alive, to keep us on the run.
Dead, because Maven has miscalculated. He believes enough corpses will make me come back.
But I will not.
N I N ET E E N
After three days of finding nothing but dead newbloods, three days of failure, we travel to Templyn. A quiet town on the road to Delphie, mostly residential, consisting of vast Silver estates and cramped Red row houses along the river. Masters and servants. Templyn is tricky—it has no vast forest, tunnels, or crowded streets to hide in. Usually we’d use Shade to slip inside the walls, but he’s not with us today. He twisted his leg yesterday, aggravating a still-healing muscle, and I made him stay behind. Cal is missing too, having elected to teach, leaving Ada to man the Blackrun. She’s still there, cozy in her pilot’s seat, reading as she always does. I try to not be jumpy, to lead as Cal would, but I feel strangely bare without him and my brother. I’ve never been without both of them on a recruitment mission, and this is my proving ground.