Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(57)

I untangle myself from her and hurry to the door, past the attendant, and through the sunroom made of glass. My stingers trail me. In the hallway, everyone who lives and works in the Sea Fortress seems to be standing around and gossiping. They fall silent when I appear. “Where is Firstborn Salloway?” I ask. An elderly secondborn with a white roiling wave moniker on her hand points.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, continuing outside and across the courtyard.

Clifton leans against the portico with his arms folded over his chest, glowering at the Exo guards and death drones hovering nearby. When he sees me, he straightens. My unshed tears blur his features, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I want to say his name, but my throat tightens. When I reach him, he catches me in his arms, hugging me.

“Roselle,” he says softly, like he’s addressing a tiny kitten. “I came as soon as I could.” He takes off his jacket, wraps it around my shoulders, and hugs me again.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Bribes,” he whispers.

I laugh and choke on tears at the same time. His arms shift from my back to my waist. We turn toward the shore. The tide has come in, and the sandbar is covered with water. Clifton’s Verringer undulates in the nearby cove, resembling a beautiful swan with its wings up. “I brought an extra pair of hoverdiscs for you, but you don’t have shoes. No matter. I’ll carry you.” He reaches under my knees and lifts me with almost no effort. My arms circle his neck, and I lay my head on his shoulder. The stingers don’t react at all.

Clifton treads out onto the water, walking just above the surface. “Why were you at Balmora’s?” he asks calmly. I shrug and bury my face against his neck. If I speak, I’ll sob. He seems to understand. “I need to talk to you, but you don’t have to say anything, just listen. I’m going to take you to my airship, all right?”

I nod. The breeze mists us. Fish swim beneath the surface, some with tiger stripes, some speckled gray and white. The hum of the airship keeps the birds away. I stare toward the shore. Exo guards gather there, pointing at us. The stingers aren’t reacting, though. They trail us like faithful hounds.

The door opens upward as we near the Verringer. “Stinger R0517 and R6492, remain where you are,” Clifton orders.

To my surprise, they heed his order, halting and hovering above the waves. He carries me over the threshold, and the door closes behind us. Clifton finally sets me down near a fat lounge chair in the airship’s great room. He takes a seat and leans toward me.

“Do you know what just happened?” he asks, concern etched in his face.

I pull his warm jacket tighter around me. “You mean the explosion in Swords?”

He nods.

“Yes, I saw the replay.”

“Then you know it wasn’t us, right?” He’s anxious.

I swallow down some of my emotion. “I know more than that—I know it was my mother. She’s probably in her office right now, rehearsing the speech she prepared days ago, condemning the Gates of Dawn for the attack. I doubt she’ll be able to shed a real tear, though. Emotion has always been difficult for her.”

Clifton leans back in his chair, studying me. “Your military acumen is exceptional.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just know Othala.”

“Things cannot continue the way they are now,” he warns. “You know this.”

“I know. Someone has to stop my mother. She doesn’t care about her people, just her power.”

Clifton glances at the windows behind me. He swears softly. I look over my shoulder to see Exo soldiers manning boats. “I came to reassure you. The Virtue has you under his thumb now, but it won’t be for long.”

My eyes meet his. “What are you planning?”

“It’s better you don’t know,” he replies.

“You have control over the stingers following me.” It’s a fact, not a question.

“Who do you think made them? The first rule for anything I create is an indefinite moratorium against harming me. The second is a built-in assurance that it follows all my orders.”

Something about that makes me smile. He really is quite brilliant. “The Virtue doesn’t see you coming, does he?”

“No,” he replies. “I will take care of you, Roselle. You won’t be a prisoner here much longer.”

“It’s hard to know who to trust,” I say, almost to myself.

“You can trust me.” Clifton is dangerous, but I’m determined to be dangerous, too. “My concern right now is for your welfare. You’ve been lucky up until now. You defeated your assassins. I want to make sure that trend continues. To that end, we’ve developed a new fabric we’re calling ‘Copperscale.’ It’s a defensive material. I want you to use it. From now on, all your clothing will be provided by Salloway Munitions. I’ll clear it with the Halo Palace until we can make other arrangements.”

“Defensive, how?” I ask.

“We created a textile that acts like armor. It conducts energy away from the wearer, but the fabric is lightweight, and to all outward appearances, you won’t look to be wearing anything out of the ordinary. We’ll reinforce whatever normal fabric you choose with it. The jacket you’re wearing now is made from Copperscale. Here, let me show you.” He uses his moniker to pull up a holographic display. Footage shows lab demonstrations of tactical munitions being fired at a secondborn test subject wearing what looks like ordinary street clothes. Although the subject survives a fusionmag pulse at close range, he is lifted off his feet and propelled backward several yards.