And it’ll make their escape slow.”
“You’re . . . going to let them escape?”
His silence is answer enough.
“They might turn on us down there, or come after us later.”
“I’m no politician, but I think a prison break will give my brother
more than a few headaches, especially if the runaway prisoners happen
to be his political enemies.”
I shake my head.
“You don’t like it?”
“I don’t trust it.”
“There’s a surprise,” he says dryly. One of his fingers loops at my
neck, tracing the scars his brother’s device gave me. “Brute force is not
going to win this for you, Mare. No matter how many newbloods you
collect. Silvers still outnumber you, and they still have the advantage.”
The soldier advocating for a different kind of fight. How ironic.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
He shrugs beneath me. “Political intricacies aren’t exactly my
strong suit,” he says. “But I’ll give it a shot.”
“Even if it means civil war?”
Months ago, Cal told me what rebellion would be. A war on both
sides, in each color of blood. Red against Red, Silver against Silver,
and everything in between. He told me he would not risk his father’s
3 5 0 v i c t o r i a a v e y a r d
GlassSword_txt_des1_CS6.indd 350
5/28/15 1:29 PM
legacy for a war like that, even if the war was just. Silence falls again,
and Cal refuses to answer. I suppose he doesn’t know where he stands
anymore. Not a rebel, not a prince, not sure of anything except the fire
in his bones.
“We might be outnumbered, but that doesn’t stack the odds against
us,” I say. Stronger than both. That’s what Julian wrote to me, when he discovered what I was. Julian, who I may, to my great surprise, very
well see again. “Newbloods have abilities no Silver can plan for, not
even you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“You’re going into to this like you’re leading your troops, with
abilities you understand and have trained with.”
“And?”
“And I’d like to see what happens when a guard tries to shoot Nix
or a magnetron drops Gareth.”
It takes Cal a second to realize what I’m saying. Nix is invulnerable,
stronger than a stoneskin. And Gareth, who can manipulate gravity,
will not be falling anywhere anytime soon. We don’t have an army, but
we certainly have soldiers, and abilities the Silver guards don’t know
how to fight. When it dawns on him, Cal grips the sides of my face,
pulling me upward. He plants a firm, fiery kiss that is far too short for
my liking.
“You’re a genius,” he mutters, and springs to his feet. “Get back to
Cameron, get everyone ready.” He grabs the map in one hand, almost
mad with intensity. The same crooked smile returns, but this time I
don’t hate it. “This might actually work.”
g l a s s s w o r d 3 5 1
GlassSword_txt_des1_CS6.indd 351
5/28/15 1:29 PM
T W E N T Y-F I V E
The Notch flickers behind me, and I watch in awe as my home of the last few months disappears with a single sweep of Harrick’s hand. The hill
remains, as does the clearing, but any sign of our camp wipes away like
sand from a flat stone. We can’t even hear the children who were stand-
ing there a moment ago, waving good-bye, their voices echoing in the
night. Farrah muffles them all and, together with Harrick, drops a cur-
tain of protection around the youngest newbloods. No one has ever
come close to finding us, but the added defense gives me more comfort
than I care to admit. Most of the others let out victorious whoops, as
if the act of disguising the Notch alone is cause for celebration. To my
annoyance, Kilorn leads the cheer, whistling hard. But I don’t scold
him, not now when we’re finally back on speaking terms. Instead, I
offer a forced smile, my teeth gritted painfully together. It keeps back
the words I wish I could say— Save your energy.
Shade is just as quiet as I am, and falls in next to me. He doesn’t
look back at the now empty clearing, and keeps his eyes forward, to the
dark, cold woods and the task ahead of us. His limp is almost entirely
GlassSword_txt_des1_CS6.indd 352
5/28/15 1:29 PM
gone and he sets a quick pace that I eagerly follow, drawing the rest
along with us. The hike to the airjet is not long. I try to take in every
second of it. The cold night air bites at my exposed face, but the sky is
blissfully clear. No snow, no storms— yet. For a storm is certainly coming, whether by my hand or someone else’s. And I have no idea who
will survive to see the dawn.
Shade murmurs something I don’t
| |
|