Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(93)

In the gray downpour, my lightning seems to spark twice as brightly. Purple-white, hissing in the rain, it twists between my fingers and sends shivers of pleasure up my spine.

Again, Jon smiles. “I know you can, and I know you won’t. But take heart, Miss Barrow. We will meet again.” He tips his head, thinking. “Yes, yes, we will.”

I’m only doing what I promised. I’m giving him a choice. Still, it takes all I have not to drag him onto the jet. “We need you, Jon!”

But he’s already begun to back away. Every step makes him harder to see. “Trust me when I say you don’t! I leave with you these instruc-tions—fly to the outskirts of Siracas, to Little Sword Lake. Protect what you find there, or your imprisoned friends are as good as dead.”

Siracas, Little Sword Lake. I repeat the words until they commit to memory.

“Not tomorrow, not tonight, but now. You must fly now.”

The roar of the jet expands, until the air itself vibrates with strain.

“What are we looking for?” I shout over the din, putting up one hand to shield my face from the spinning rain. It stings but I squint through it, if only to see the last silhouette of the gray man.

“You’ll know!” comes out of the rain. “And tell Diana, when she doubts. Tell her the answer to her question is yes. ”

“What question?” But he ticks a finger, almost scolding.

“Attend to your own fate, Mare Barrow.”

“And that is?”

“To rise. And rise alone.” It echoes like the howl of a wolf. “I see you as you could become, no longer the lightning, but the storm. The storm that will swallow the world entire.”

For a split second, it looks like his eyes are glowing. Red against gray, burning through me, to look into every future. His lips curve into that maddening smile, letting his teeth gleam in the silver light.

And then he’s gone.

When I stomp aboard the jet alone, Cal has the good sense to let me simmer in my anger. Only despair drowns out my rage. Rise alone.

Alone. I dig my nails into my palm, trying to chase the sadness with pain. Fates can change.

Farley is not so tactful as Cal. She looks up from bandaging Gareth’s leg, her fingers sticky with scarlet blood, and sneers. “Good, we didn’t need the old loon anyways.”

“That old loon could’ve won this war outright.” Shade cuffs her lightly on the shoulder, earning a dark glare. “Think of what he can do with his ability.”

From the pilot’s seat, Cal glowers. “He’s done enough.” He watches me take the chair next to him, seething all the while. “You really want to storm a secret prison built for people like us?”

“Would you rather let Julian die?” No answer but for a low hiss.

“That’s what I thought.”

“All right, then,” he sighs, easing the jet into a crawl. The wheels bump beneath us, rolling over uneven road. “We have to regroup, get a plan together. Anyone who wants to come is welcome, but no kids.”

“No kids,” I agree. My mind flashes to Luther and the other newblood children back at the Notch. Too young to fight, but not young enough to be spared from Maven’s hunt. They won’t like being left behind, but I know how Cal cares for them. He won’t allow any of them to see the wrong side of a gun.

“Whatever you’re talking about, I’m in.” Gareth looks at us around Farley, his teeth gritted against the pain in his leg. “Though I’d like to know what it is I’m signing up for.”

Scoffing, Nanny swats at him one bony hand. “Just because you’re shot in the leg doesn’t mean you can stop paying attention. It’s a prison break.”

“Too right, Nan,” Farley agrees. “And a goose chase if you ask me.

Going on the word of a madman.”

That stills even Nanny’s jokes. She fixes me with a stare only a grandmother could summon. “Is that true, Mare?”

“Madman’s a bit harsh,” Shade mutters, but he doesn’t deny what they’re all thinking. I’m the only one who believes Jon, and they trust me enough to follow that faith. “He was right about Pitarus, and everything else he said. Why would he lie about the jail?”

Rise and rise alone.

“He didn’t lie!”

My shout silences them all, until there’s only the rumble of jet engines. They rise to a familiar dull roar that shudders through the craft, and soon the pavement beneath us falls away. Rain spatters against the windows, making it impossible to see, but Cal’s too good to let us drop. After a few moments, we burst through the gunmetal clouds and into bright midday sun. It’s like throwing off an iron weight.

“Take us to Little Sword Lake,” I murmur. “Jon said we would find something there, something that will help.”

I expect more arguments, but no one dares cross me. It’s not wise to annoy a lightning girl when you’re flying in a metal tube.

Thunder rolls beneath us, in the clouds below, a harbinger of the lightning churning in the rainstorm. Great bolts strike the land, and I feel each one as an extension of myself. Fluid but sharp as glass, burning through everything in their way. The Little Sword is not far, on the northern edge of the storm, and it reflects the steadily clearing sky like a mirror. Cal circles once, high enough and deep enough in the clouds to hide our presence, before he spots a runway half-buried in the forested hills around the lake. When we touch down, I all but leap from my seat, though I have no idea what I’m looking for.