the well-made
brace, but he still needs the curved metal crutch at his side. After all, he did take two bullets in Naercey and we have no skin healers to put him
back together with a simple touch.
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“Can I get you anything?” I ask.
“Wouldn’t say no to some water,” he says begrudgingly. “And din-
ner.”
Happy to be able to do at least something for him, I collect a can-
teen and two sealed packets of provisions from Farley’s stores. I expect
her to make a fuss about rationing the food, but she barely spares me
a glance. She’s taken my seat in the cockpit, and stares out the win-
dow, enthralled by the world passing beneath. Kilorn idles next to her,
but never touches Cal’s empty chair. He doesn’t want to be scolded by
the prince, and is careful to keep his hands away from the instrument
panel. He reminds me of a child surrounded by splintered glass, want-
ing to touch but knowing he should not.
I almost take a third ration packet, as Cal hasn’t eaten since the Col-
onel locked him up, but one glance toward the back of the jet stills my
hand. Cal stands alone, fiddling with an open panel, putting on a show
of fixing something that isn’t broken. He quickly zips himself into one
of the uniforms stored away on board: a black-and-silver flight suit.
The tattered clothes of the arena and execution puddle at his feet. He
looks more like himself, a prince of fire, a warrior born. If not for the
distinctive walls of the Blackrun, I would think us back in a palace,
dancing around each other like moths around a candle. There’s a badge
emblazoned over his heart, a black-and-red emblem flanked by a pair
of silver wings. Even from this distance, I recognize the dark points,
twisted into the image of flame. The Burning Crown. That was his
father’s, his grandfather’s, his birthright. Instead, the crown was taken
in the worst way, paid for with his father’s blood and his brother’s soul.
And as much as I hated the king, the throne, and all it stood for, I can’t
help but feel sorry for Cal. He’s lost everything—an entire life, even if
that life was wrong.
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Cal feels my gaze and looks up from his busywork, still for a
moment. Then his hand strays to the badge, tracing the outline of his
stolen kingdom. In one sharp twist that makes me flinch, he rips it
from the suit and tosses it away. Rage flickers in his eyes, deep beneath
his calm exterior. Though he tries to hide it, his anger always bubbles
to the surface, glinting between the cracks in his well-worn mask. I
leave him to his fussing, knowing the inner workings of the jet can
calm him better than anything I might say.
Shade shifts, giving me space next to him, and I plop down without
much grace. Silence hangs over us like a dark cloud as we pass the can-
teen back and forth, sharing a very strange family dinner on the floor
of a twice-stolen Blackrun.
“We did the right thing, didn’t we?” I whisper, hoping for some
kind of absolution. Though he’s only a year older than me, I’ve always
relied on Shade’s advice.
To my relief, he nods. “It was only a matter of time before they
threw me in with you. The Colonel doesn’t know how to handle peo-
ple like us. We scare him.”
“He’s not the only one,” I answer glumly, remembering the averted
eyes and whispers of everyone I’ve encountered thus far. Even in the
Hall of the Sun, where I was surrounded by impossible abilities, I was
still different. And in Tuck, I was the lightning girl. Respected, recog-
nized, and feared. “At least the others are normal.”
“Mom and Dad?”
I nod, wincing at the mention of them. “Gisa too, and the boys.
They’re true Red so he can’t—he won’t do anything to them.” It sounds
like a question.
Shade takes a thoughtful bite of his rations, a flaky, dry bar of com-
pacted oats. It leaves crumbs all over him. “If they’d helped us, it’d
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be a different story. But they didn’t know anything about our escape,
so I wouldn’t worry. Leaving the way we did”—his breath catches, as
does mine—“it was better for them. Dad would’ve helped otherwise,
Mom too. At least Bree and Tramy are loyal enough to the cause to
escape any suspicion. Not to mention, neither of them is bright enough
to pull something
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