Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(46)

“No,” I reply.

Reykin hovers near us. “She’ll take a sweater, slippers, some water, and a chet.”

“No, she won’t,” I growl.

“Yes, she will. Have you got all that, Glisten?” Reykin’s smile is devastatingly handsome. It annoys me.

Glisten is absolutely enthralled. “Of course. What size slippers?”

I glower at her.

“Right,” she says, backing away with her finger pointing behind her. “I’ll just go look it up.” Glisten hurries away to do Reykin’s bidding.

“If she only knew the real you, Reykin, and not your playboy persona, she’d run away.”

“Only you know the real me,” he replies.

“What are we waiting for?”

“I heard someone say Grisholm is on his way up.”

“Why are you still here?” I ask.

“I’m required to be here. And anyway, you’re my slave for the day, remember? We firstborns take that power very seriously.”

“‘Slave for a day’ only counts when it’s firstborn to firstborn. I’m secondborn. I’m a slave all the time.”

“Finally,” he whispers. “Get mad, Roselle. Let the rage and injustice of what they’ve made you sink in. Together, we’ll destroy them all.”

“Oh, it’s sinking in. Just like my claws in your face if you don’t leave me alone.” I’m too exhausted to be tactful.

“What’s this about claws?” Grisholm asks behind us. The firstborn golden boy is swathed in light from the window. Reykin turns to greet him.

“Roselle is angry at me,” Reykin says, “because I won’t let her out of being my slave for a day. I might have to postpone it, though, otherwise I’ll feel cheated. She’s restricted to the Palace for the briefing and she has to see a physician.”

Grisholm grunts. “I’m not allowed out right now either. I don’t understand why we can’t just go to the trial grounds and watch the secondborn training camps. Roselle already decimated the attackers.” He looks at me with surprising admiration.

Reykin snorts in agreement, playing along. “Is it true they didn’t have monikers?” he asks.

“I didn’t see any monikers,” I reply. “Some of it is a blur.”

Glisten returns with an armload of items. “I have a few choices for sweaters,” she says, holding them up. Reykin reaches out and takes a long cream-colored one. Shaking it out, he holds it for me. It’s more like a coat that clasps in the front, sensor-controlled with a small apparatus on the sleeve to regulate the temperature.

Surprised by Reykin’s gesture, I pause for a moment. Slowly, I turn and thread my arms through the sleeves. Reykin’s nearness floods my senses. His scent surrounds me. I turn back, and he’s already reaching for the clasps, securing the ones to cover my abdomen and leaving the ones below my waist undone. I touch my hair, smoothing it, self-conscious about what I must look like.

Glisten hands me matching slippers. I drop them and shove my feet into them without bending down. The fit is perfect, and that annoys me, too. These people know entirely too much about me. That’s part of their strength—information is the key to their power. Their data scientists are as lethal with information as I am with a sword.

“Water,” the assistant says, passing me the glass with ice. “And chets.” She holds up a packet with maybe twenty inside. The value of this in my air-barracks back on the Base would be stunning.

“Thank you.” I accept the chets, resisting the urge to take a whole one now, and drop them in the pocket of my sweater for later, when I can better afford to be dull. Right now, I need my wits.

Clifton’s deep voice greets the liaison at the entrance to the reception area. He looks immediately to me, cuts off the man in front of him with his hand, and walks in my direction. “Roselle.” He says my name with such relief that I feel as if he cares. Large hands reach out for me and hug me. It’s shocking that he’s embracing me in a setting like this. He’s firstborn. I’m secondborn. The intimacy is taboo. It’s also causing excruciating pain in my ribs.

“Clifton,” I whimper and exhale.

Reykin puts his hand on Clifton’s shoulder and shoves him away from me. “Don’t touch her.” Clifton looks at the hand on his shoulder, then their eyes lock. The arms dealer isn’t used to anyone coming between us, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. “She’s injured,” Reykin adds.

Clifton throws Reykin a murderous glare. It was a trying night for him. Many of his friends and associates were murdered. He’s probably still adjusting to the shock.

“I’ll be better in a day,” I explain gently.

Clifton’s expression softens. “I’m sorry. I’ve been worried about you. I thought you died last night.” Real sorrow shines in his eyes. I want to fall back into his arms. He’s not emotionally bereft like all the other people here. It makes me almost forget he’s dangerous. Almost.

Clifton still has an agenda, and I’m a huge part of it.

“Excuse me, sir,” a Star assistant interrupts Clifton. “I was told that you have the surveillance footage?”

Clifton nods. He lifts his hand and unlocks his sword-shaped moniker. His eyes open menus made of holographic energy. “Where do I send it?” The man indicates his moniker. Clifton nods and initiates the transfer. Dropping his arm, he says to me, “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”