to think, and Cal revels in the quiet. After the past few
days, he’s just as hungry for rest as I am. Not even Kilorn dares to
joke. Instead he’s content to sit on a gnarled root, weaving strands of
tall grass into a brittle, useless net. He smiles faintly, enjoying the old, familiar knots.
I think of Nix down in the village, probably pulled from his bed,
maybe gagged, definitely ensnared in a net of my own making. Would
Farley threaten his wife, his children, to make him come? Or would
Shade simply grab his wrist and jump, sending them both hurtling
through the sickening vise of teleportation until they land in the grove?
Born 12/20/271. Nix is almost forty-nine, my father’s age. Will Nix be like him, wounded and broken? Or is he whole, waiting for us to break
him?
Before I can fall into a spiral of dark and damning questions, the tall
grass stirs. Someone is coming.
It’s like flipping a switch in Cal. He pushes off his tree, every mus-
cle taut and ready for whatever might step out of the grass. I half expect
to see fire on his fingertips, but after long years of military training,
Cal knows better. In the darkness, his flame would be like the watch-
tower beacon, alerting every officer to our presence. To my surprise,
Kilorn looks just as vigilant as the prince. He drops his grass net, crush-
ing it underfoot as he stands. He even pulls a hidden dagger from his
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boot, a sharp, thick little blade he once used to gut fish. The sight of it
sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know when the knife became a weapon,
or when he started carrying it in his shoe. Probably around the time people started shooting at him.
I’m not without my own weapons. The low thrum in my blood is
all I need, sharper than any blade, more brutal than any bullet. Sparks
vein beneath my skin, ready if I need them. My ability has a subtlety
that Cal’s lacks.
A birdcall splits the night, hooting through the grass. Kilorn
responds in kind, whistling out a low tune. He sounds like the thrushes
that nest in the stilt houses at home. “Farley,” he murmurs under his
breath, pointing at the tall grass.
She is the first to step out of the shadows, but not the last. Two
figures follow: one is my brother leaning on his crutch and the other is
squat, with muscled limbs and the round belly men gain with age. Nix.
Cal’s hand closes around my upper arm, exerting a slight pressure.
He pulls gently, moving me back into the deeper shadows of the grove.
I go without hesitation, knowing that we can’t be too careful. Dimly, I
wish for a scrap of scarlet, to mask my face as we did in Naercey.
“Did you have any trouble?” Kilorn says, stepping up to Farley and
Shade. He sounds older somehow, more in control than I’m used to.
He keeps his eyes on Nix, following every twitch of the round little
newblood’s fingers.
Farley waves off the question like an annoyance. “Simple. Even
with this one limping around,” she adds, jabbing a thumb at Shade.
Then she turns to Nix. “He didn’t put up a fight.”
Despite the darkness, I see a deep red blush creep across Nix’s face.
“Well, I’m not stupid, am I?” He speaks gruffly, directly. A man with
no use for secrets. Though his blood hides the greatest secret of al . “You’re g l a s s s w o r d 15 5
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that Scarlet Guard. The officers would string me up for having you in
my house. Even uninvited.”
“Good to know,” Shade mutters under his breath. His bright eyes
dim a little as he cuts a meaningful look my way. Our very presence could doom this man. “Now, Mr. Marsten—”
“Nix,” he grumbles. Something glimmers in his eye and he follows
Shade’s gaze. He finds me in the shadows and squints, trying to see my
face. “But I think you already knew that.”
Kilorn steps lightly, shifting so he blocks me from view. The motion
seems innocent, but Nix’s brow furrows as he understands the deeper
meaning. He bristles, standing toe to toe with Kilorn. The younger
boy towers over him, but Nix doesn’t show an inch of fear. He raises
one ruddy finger, pointing at Kilorn’s chest. “You pulled me out here
after curfew. That’s a hanging offense. Now you tell me what for, or
else I’ll wander on home and try not to die on the way.”
“You’re different, Nix.” My voice sounds too high, too young. How
do I explain? How
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