Glass Sword
Page 102
“Go on, then,” I mutter, waving my hand to the cook fire on the other side of the clearing. She doesn’t need to be told twice.
“Cal’s in a mood, by the way,” she adds as she flounces past. “Or at least, he keeps cursing and kicking things.”
One glance tells me Cal is not outside. For a second, I’m surprised, then I remember. Lory hears almost everything, if she stops to listen. “I’ll see to him,” I tell her, and set a quick pace. She tries to follow, then thinks better of it, and lets me rush on ahead. I don’t bother to hide my concern—Cal is not quick to anger, and planning calms him, makes him happy even. So whatever has him in a twist has me worried too, far more than I should be on the eve of our raid.
The Notch is all but empty, with everyone outside training. Even the children have gone to watch their elders learn to brawl, shoot, and control their abilities. I’m glad they’re not underfoot, pulling at my hands, pestering me with silly questions about their hero, the exiled prince. I don’t have the patience for children like Cal does.
As I round a corner, I almost run headfirst into my brother, coming from the direction of the bedchambers. Farley follows him, smirking to herself, but it disappears the second she spots me.
Oh.
“Mare,” she mutters in greeting. She doesn’t stop and marches past.
Shade tries to do the same, but I put out an arm to stop him cold.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks. His lips twitch, fighting a losing battle against a wretched, playful grin.
I try to look cross with him, if only to keep up appearances. “You’re supposed to be training.”
“Worried I’m not getting enough exercise? I assure you, Mare,” he says, winking, “we are.”
It makes sense. Farley and Shade have been inseparable for a long while. Still, I gasp aloud, and swat his arm. “Shade Barrow!”
“Oh, come on, everyone knows. Not my fault you didn’t figure it out.”
“You could’ve told me,” I sputter, grasping for something to scold him over.
He only shrugs, still grinning. “Like you tell me all about Cal?”
“That’s—” Different, I want to say. We’re not sneaking off in the middle of the day, or even doing much of anything at night. But Shade holds up a hand, stopping me.
“If it’s all the same to you, I really don’t want to know,” he says. “And if you’ll excuse me, I think I have some training to do, as you so kindly pointed out.”
He retreats, palms outward, like a man surrendering a battle. I let him go, dismissing him with a wave while I fight a smile of my own. A tiny blossom of happiness sparks in my chest, a foreign feeling in so many days of despair. I protect it as I would a candle flame, trying to keep it alive and alight. But the sight of Cal quickly snuffs it out.
He’s in our room, seated on an upturned crate, with a familiar paper spread across his knees. It’s the back of one of the Colonel’s maps, now covered in painstakingly drawn lines. A map of Corros Prison, or at least as much of it as Cameron could remember. I expect to see the edges of the paper smoking, but he keeps his fire contained to the charred dip in the floor. It casts a dancing red light that must be hard to read by, but Cal squints through it. In the corner of the room, my pack lies undisturbed, full of Maven’s haunting notes.
Slowly, I pull up another crate, and sink down beside him. He doesn’t seem to notice, but I know he must. Nothing escapes his soldier’s sense. When my shoulder bumps his, he doesn’t raise his eyes from the map, but his hand slips to my leg, drawing me into his warmth. He doesn’t loosen his grip, and I don’t push him away. I never truly can.
“What’s wrong now?” I ask, laying my head on his shoulder. So I can see the map better, I tell myself.
“Besides Maven, his mother, the fact that I hate rabbit, and the layout of this hellhole of a prison? Nothing at all, thanks for asking.”
I want to laugh, but I can barely muster a smile. It’s not like him to joke, not at times like this. I leave poor taste like that to Kilorn.
“Cameron’s doing better, if that helps any.”
“Really?” His voice reverberates in his chest, thrumming into me. “Is that why you’re here and not training her anymore?”
“She needs to eat, Cal. She’s not a block of Silent Stone.”
He hisses, still glaring at the outline of Corros. “Don’t remind me.”
“It’s in the cells alone, Cal, not the rest of the prison,” I remind him. Hopefully he hears me, and pulls himself together long enough to get out of this strange mood. “We’ll be fine as long as no one locks us in.”
“Let Kilorn know.” To my chagrin, he chuckles at his own joke, sounding very much like a schoolboy instead of the soldier we need. What’s more, he tightens his grip on my knee. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make his thoughts clear.
“Cal?” I push at his hand, swiping it away like a spider. “What’s the matter with you?”
Finally, he snaps his head up and looks at me. He’s still smiling, but there isn’t a shred of laughter in his eyes. Something dark draws across them, turning him into someone I don’t recognize at all. Even in the Bowl of Bones, before his own brother sentenced him to death, Cal did not look like this. He was afraid, distraught, a wretch instead of a prince, but he was still Cal. I could trust that frightened person. But this? This laughing boy with wandering hands and hopeless eyes? Who is he?
“Cal’s in a mood, by the way,” she adds as she flounces past. “Or at least, he keeps cursing and kicking things.”
One glance tells me Cal is not outside. For a second, I’m surprised, then I remember. Lory hears almost everything, if she stops to listen. “I’ll see to him,” I tell her, and set a quick pace. She tries to follow, then thinks better of it, and lets me rush on ahead. I don’t bother to hide my concern—Cal is not quick to anger, and planning calms him, makes him happy even. So whatever has him in a twist has me worried too, far more than I should be on the eve of our raid.
The Notch is all but empty, with everyone outside training. Even the children have gone to watch their elders learn to brawl, shoot, and control their abilities. I’m glad they’re not underfoot, pulling at my hands, pestering me with silly questions about their hero, the exiled prince. I don’t have the patience for children like Cal does.
As I round a corner, I almost run headfirst into my brother, coming from the direction of the bedchambers. Farley follows him, smirking to herself, but it disappears the second she spots me.
Oh.
“Mare,” she mutters in greeting. She doesn’t stop and marches past.
Shade tries to do the same, but I put out an arm to stop him cold.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks. His lips twitch, fighting a losing battle against a wretched, playful grin.
I try to look cross with him, if only to keep up appearances. “You’re supposed to be training.”
“Worried I’m not getting enough exercise? I assure you, Mare,” he says, winking, “we are.”
It makes sense. Farley and Shade have been inseparable for a long while. Still, I gasp aloud, and swat his arm. “Shade Barrow!”
“Oh, come on, everyone knows. Not my fault you didn’t figure it out.”
“You could’ve told me,” I sputter, grasping for something to scold him over.
He only shrugs, still grinning. “Like you tell me all about Cal?”
“That’s—” Different, I want to say. We’re not sneaking off in the middle of the day, or even doing much of anything at night. But Shade holds up a hand, stopping me.
“If it’s all the same to you, I really don’t want to know,” he says. “And if you’ll excuse me, I think I have some training to do, as you so kindly pointed out.”
He retreats, palms outward, like a man surrendering a battle. I let him go, dismissing him with a wave while I fight a smile of my own. A tiny blossom of happiness sparks in my chest, a foreign feeling in so many days of despair. I protect it as I would a candle flame, trying to keep it alive and alight. But the sight of Cal quickly snuffs it out.
He’s in our room, seated on an upturned crate, with a familiar paper spread across his knees. It’s the back of one of the Colonel’s maps, now covered in painstakingly drawn lines. A map of Corros Prison, or at least as much of it as Cameron could remember. I expect to see the edges of the paper smoking, but he keeps his fire contained to the charred dip in the floor. It casts a dancing red light that must be hard to read by, but Cal squints through it. In the corner of the room, my pack lies undisturbed, full of Maven’s haunting notes.
Slowly, I pull up another crate, and sink down beside him. He doesn’t seem to notice, but I know he must. Nothing escapes his soldier’s sense. When my shoulder bumps his, he doesn’t raise his eyes from the map, but his hand slips to my leg, drawing me into his warmth. He doesn’t loosen his grip, and I don’t push him away. I never truly can.
“What’s wrong now?” I ask, laying my head on his shoulder. So I can see the map better, I tell myself.
“Besides Maven, his mother, the fact that I hate rabbit, and the layout of this hellhole of a prison? Nothing at all, thanks for asking.”
I want to laugh, but I can barely muster a smile. It’s not like him to joke, not at times like this. I leave poor taste like that to Kilorn.
“Cameron’s doing better, if that helps any.”
“Really?” His voice reverberates in his chest, thrumming into me. “Is that why you’re here and not training her anymore?”
“She needs to eat, Cal. She’s not a block of Silent Stone.”
He hisses, still glaring at the outline of Corros. “Don’t remind me.”
“It’s in the cells alone, Cal, not the rest of the prison,” I remind him. Hopefully he hears me, and pulls himself together long enough to get out of this strange mood. “We’ll be fine as long as no one locks us in.”
“Let Kilorn know.” To my chagrin, he chuckles at his own joke, sounding very much like a schoolboy instead of the soldier we need. What’s more, he tightens his grip on my knee. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make his thoughts clear.
“Cal?” I push at his hand, swiping it away like a spider. “What’s the matter with you?”
Finally, he snaps his head up and looks at me. He’s still smiling, but there isn’t a shred of laughter in his eyes. Something dark draws across them, turning him into someone I don’t recognize at all. Even in the Bowl of Bones, before his own brother sentenced him to death, Cal did not look like this. He was afraid, distraught, a wretch instead of a prince, but he was still Cal. I could trust that frightened person. But this? This laughing boy with wandering hands and hopeless eyes? Who is he?
