Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(39)

“I was following my father.” I realize that I might have been able to save Kennet if I hadn’t been distracted by Hawthorne.

He reads my face. “I’m glad I stopped you. They might have killed you, too.”

“Did you see Dune or Clifton during the mayhem in the ballroom?”

“No. I was only watching you,” he replies. A grudging tone of admiration enters his voice. “You destroyed them all, Roselle. They didn’t even stand a chance. I could hardly take my eyes off you.”

“Even when I temporarily blinded everyone?”

“I was on the gallery level. Your red cloud didn’t make it up there to the end of the gallery. I watched you shoot every single target. Then you stopped my heart, throwing yourself on the grenade. After the glass blew in from the explosion, I saw you fall. I ran along the balcony and dove through a window after you.”

“That was brave of you,” I murmur.

“Brave.” Hawthorne laughs self-effacingly. “It was self-preservation, Roselle. I’m lost without you.” I reach my hand out to his. He takes it and holds it. “I’ve been to the Halo Palace a handful of times, hoping you were there, demanding they let me see you.”

My eyes widen. “No one told me.”

“I figured as much when your mentor informed me that I should move on with my life.”

“Dune said that?” I shift in my seat. My side aches, making it hard to breathe. I can’t find a comfortable position.

“Yeah. He said, ‘Secondborns don’t have the luxury of friends,’ as if I have no clue what it’s like to be secondborn. As if I don’t understand the dehumanization and subjugation, being treated like a piece of meat! Then he gave orders not to let me back in the Halo Palace without an invitation.”

Anger swells in my heart. All this time, I’ve been worrying that Hawthorne was dead. Dune could’ve easily assuaged my fear, but that didn’t fit into his agenda.

No longer surrounded by skyscrapers and the bright lights of the city, I wonder for the first time where Hawthorne is taking me. The night travels by. I don’t care where we go. I just want to keep flying and never look back. I wonder if there’s any place in the world to hide with Hawthorne. It’s too hard to be without him, every night lonesome and long.

The aircraft slows and descends, passing over a tall wall that has a fusion-powered security dome. As we near the energy field, a hole develops, allowing Hawthorne’s airship to enter before it closes behind us. We circle a sprawling estate centered amid pastoral grounds. The house itself is old and majestic, made of stone and glass with cathedral peaks. “You live here?” I ask.

The airship sets down on a hoverpad adjacent to the formal entrance of the mansion. “It’s my family home in Virtues. This is Lenity; we’re just outside of Purity.” An illuminated path leads through a formal garden to the stone steps of the house.

Lenity is the sister city of Purity, but I don’t see a city. I just see land and lakes in every direction. Hawthorne powers down the engines. My mouth hangs open a little in awe. “This is quite a change from the air-barracks. It must keep you busy.”

“The secondborn staff runs the place. I have very little to do.” Opening his door, he climbs out, pulls his armor from his chest, and sets it aside on the ground. He closes his door and walks around to my side, unlatching my door and offering me his hand. I take it. As he pulls me up, I wince. My ribs feel cracked. My hand goes to my side. “Are you okay?” Hawthorne asks, concern etched in the lines on his face.

“One of the Death Gods slammed me into the railing. I think I cracked a rib—hitting the water like a brick didn’t help.”

“Can you walk?”

I nod. “Yes. It just hurts.” I limp forward. My boots squish with water.

“Hold on.” Hawthorne bends down and pulls my boots off, leaving them on the ground. The powerful muscles of his side look a little like shark gills. He straightens, and I get to see him in just a leather war skirt and sandals. My heart beats harder. My cheeks feel flushed. “Better?” he asks. I nod. He takes my arm gingerly, hugging me to his side with his arm around my waist for support.

We follow the illuminated path through the gardens. “Tell me about your house,” I urge, trying to think about anything other than the ache in my side.

“The original house was a gift to my great, great—I don’t even know how many ‘greats’—grandfather, from The Virtue of a few hundred years ago for some act of bravery. My father went on and on about it when I told him I was coming here to get away from Forge for a while.”

“What act of bravery?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t listening.”

“Hawthorne,” I chide him.

Hawthorne’s expression turns stormy. “My father didn’t care what happened to me for the past ten years, and now he wants my attention?” His jaw tightens. “Now he wants me to care how we got a pile of stone and mortar—like it means something? It doesn’t. It’s all just stuff—possessions. You and I never needed any of this—we had each other.”

All this time that I’ve been struggling with the loss of him, he’s been doing the same and trying to adjust to a life and a family that never wanted him. “You’re right. They can have only what you want to give them and nothing more.” We take a few more steps. “But”—Hawthorne slows—“I’m not sure they’re entirely to blame. They didn’t make the laws.”