Glass Sword (Red Queen #2) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,121
and releases her.
She pitches forward, but catches herself before eating dirt. She skirts
away from Cal’s attempt to help. “Don’t touch me, Lordy.” She looks
liable to bite, her teeth bared and gleaming.
“Lordy?” he mutters under his breath, now just as confused as the
girl.
Above her, Shade narrows his eyes in realization. “Lordy. High
lords—Silvers. It’s slum slang,” he explains for our benefit. “What
Town are you from?” he asks her, his tone much kinder than Cal’s. It
takes her off guard, and she glances at him, her black eyes darting in
fear. But she keeps looking back at me, transfixed by the thin spindles
of sparks between my fingers.
“New Town,” she finally replies. “They took me from New Town.”
Now it’s my turn to bend, so I can look at her fully. She seems like
my opposite, long and lean where I am short, her braided hair a gleam-
ing oil black while mine fades from brown to splinters of gray. She’s
younger than me; I can see it in her face. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, but
her eyes speak of weariness beyond her short years. Her fingers are long
and crooked, probably broken by machinery too many times to count.
If she’s from the New Town slum, she’s a techie, doomed to work the
factories and assembly lines of a city born in smoke. There are tattoos
on her neck, but nothing so superfluous as Crance’s anchor. Numbers, I realize. NT-ARSM-188907. Big and blocky, two inches high, wrapping halfway around her throat.
“Not pretty, is it, lightning girl?” she sneers, noting my gaze.
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Disdain drips from her words like venom from fangs. “But you don’t
like to bother with ugly things.”
Her tone grates, and I’m tempted to show her exactly how ugly I
can be. Instead, I hearken back to my court training and do what so
many did to me. I smirk in her face, laughing quietly. I hold the cards
here, and she needs to know it. Her expression sours, annoyed by my
reaction.
“You took this from a Silver?” Cal presses on, gesturing to the gun.
His disbelief is plain for all to hear. “Who helped you?”
“No one helped. You should know that firsthand,” she throws back.
“Had to do it all myself. Guard Eagrie didn’t see me coming.”
“What?” Only my lessons with Lady Blonos keep me from gasp-
ing outright. A soldier of House Eagrie. The House of Eyes. Any one
of them can see the immediate future, like lesser versions of Jon. It’s
almost impossible for a Silver to attack them without them knowing,
let alone a Red girl. Impossible.
She only shrugs. “Thought Silvers were supposed to be tough, but
she was nothing. And fighting was better than waiting around in my
cell. For whatever they had planned.”
Cell.
I fall back on my heels, leveled by understanding. “You escaped
from Corros Prison.”
Her eyes fly to mine, and her lower lip quivers. It’s the only indica-
tion of the fear coursing beneath her enraged exterior.
Cal’s hand finds my elbow, steadying me. “What’s your name?” he
asks, his tone taking on a gentler edge. He treats her like a spooked
animal, and that provokes her like nothing else.
She stands quickly, fists clenched, making the veins stand out in
arms scarred by years of factory work. Her eyes narrow, and for a
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moment, I think she might bolt. Instead, she digs her feet into the dirt
and straightens her spine with pride.
“My name is Cameron Cole, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to
be on my way.”
She’s taller than me, as graceful and elegant as any lady of court. My
head barely reaches her chin when I draw myself up to my full height,
but the flicker of fear is still in her. She knows exactly who and what
I am.
“Cameron Cole,” I repeat. Julian’s list floods my thoughts, her
name and information with it. And then, the records from Harbor
Bay, more detailed than Julian’s findings. I feel quite like Ada when I
spit back what I remember, my words quick and sure. “Born January
third, 305, in New Town. Occupation: Apprentice mechanic, inden-
tured by Assembly and Repair, Small Manufacturing Sector. Address:
Unit Forty-Eight, Block Twelve, Residence Sector, New Town. Blood
type: Not applicable. Gene mutation, strain unknown.” Her mouth
falls open, letting loose a tiny gasp. “Does that sound right?”
She can barely nod her head in agreement. Her whisper is even
weaker. “Yes.”
Shade whistles under his breath. “Damn, Jon,” he murmurs, shak-
ing his head. I nod at him, agreeing. What he sent us to find wasn’t an