Glass Sword
Page 81
I fall backward, scrambling, gasping, almost screaming. Tears fall faster than I ever thought they could. Farley is the first to my side, her arms surrounding me, holding me steady. “What is it? Mare, what—”
She stops short, choking on the words. She sees what I see. And so do the others. Nix almost vomits and I’m surprised Harrick doesn’t faint.
In the basket is a baby, no more than a few days old. Dead. And not from abandonment or neglect. The rag is dyed in its blood. The message is disgustingly clear. The Marchers are dead too.
One tiny fist, clawed with the stiffness of death, holds the tiniest device. An alarm.
“Harrick,” I hiss through my tears. “Hide us.” His mouth falls open, confused, and I grab his leg in desperation. “Hide us.”
He disappears before my eyes, and not a moment too soon.
Officers appear in the windows, bursting through each door, guns raised, all shouting. “You’re surrounded, lightning girl! Submit to arrest!” they roar in succession, as if repeating themselves makes any difference.
Quietly, I ease myself under the kitchen table. I only hope the others have the sense to do the same.
No fewer than twelve officers crowd inside, stomping back and forth. Four break off, heading upstairs, and one pair of boots halts by the baby. The officer’s free hand twitches and I know he must be staring at the tiny corpse. After a long moment, he vomits into the fireplace.
“Easy, Myros,” one of the others says, pulling him away. “Poor thing,” he adds, moving past the baby. “Anything upstairs?”
“Nothing!” another replies, coming back down. “Alarm must’ve malfunctioned.”
“You’re sure? The governor will skin us if we’re wrong.”
“Do you see anyone here, sir?”
I almost gasp when the officer drops to a crouch right in front of me. His eyes sweep back and forth beneath the table, searching. I feel a slight pressure on my leg—one of the others. I dare not respond with a nudge of my own, and hold my breath.
“No, I don’t,” the officer finally says, standing again. “False alarm. Back to your posts.”
They leave as quickly as they burst in, but I dare not breathe until their footsteps are long gone. Then I gasp, shaking, as Harrick drops the illusion, and we all blink back into sight.
“Well done.” Farley exhales, patting Harrick on the shoulder. Like me, he can barely speak, and has to be helped to his feet.
“I could’ve taken ’em,” Nix grumbles, rolling out from beneath the stairs. He crosses to the door with short strides, one hand already on the knob. “All the same, I don’t fancy being here if they come back.”
“Mare?” Farley’s touch on my arm is gentle, especially for her.
I realize I’m standing over the baby, staring. There were no babies on Julian’s list, no children below the age of three. This was not a newblood, not according to our records or any Maven might possess. The child was murdered simply because she was here. For nothing.
With determination, I remove my jacket. I will not leave her like this, with only her own blood for a blanket.
“Mare, don’t. They’ll know we were here—”
“Let them know.”
I pull it across her—and I fight, with everything I have, the urge to lie down beside her and never get back up again. My fingers brush her tiny, cold fist. There is something beneath it. A note. Quietly, quickly, I slip it into my pocket before anyone else can see.
When we finally get back to Ada and the jet, I dare to read it. It’s dated for yesterday. Yesterday. We were so close.
October 22
A crude envelope, I know. But necessary. You must know what you are doing, what you are forcing me to do to these people. Every body is a message to you, and to my brother. Surrender to me, and it will stop. Surrender, and they will live. I am a man of my word.
Until we meet again,
Maven
We arrive back at the Notch at nightfall. I cannot eat, I cannot speak, I cannot sleep. The others discuss what happened in Templyn, but no one dares ask me. My brother tries but I walk way, deeper into the burrows of our hideaway. I cower in my cramped hole of a bedroom, convincing myself I need to be alone for now. On other nights, I hate this solitary room, being separated from the others. Now I hate it even more, but I can’t bring myself to join them. Instead, I wait for everyone to be asleep before I let myself wander. I take a blanket, but it does nothing for the cold, inside and out.
I tell myself it’s the autumn chill that sends me to his room, and not the empty feeling in my stomach. Not the frozen abyss that grows with every failure. Not the note in my pocket, burning a hole right through me.
Fire dances on the floor, confined to a neat dip ringed by stones. Even in the strange shadows, I can tell he’s awake. His eyes look alive with flame, but not angry. Not even confused. With one hand, he pulls back the blankets of his sleeper, and slides to make room for me.
“It’s cold in here,” I say.
I think he knows what I really mean.
“Farley told me,” he murmurs when I settle in. He puts an arm across my waist, gentle and warm, meaning nothing but comfort. The other presses against my back, his palm flat to my scars. I am here, it says.
I want to tell him about Maven’s offer. But what good would it do? He would only refuse like I have, and have to suffer the shame of that refusal with me. It will only cause him pain, Maven’s true goal. And in this, I will not let Maven win. He’s already conquered me. He will not conquer Cal.
She stops short, choking on the words. She sees what I see. And so do the others. Nix almost vomits and I’m surprised Harrick doesn’t faint.
In the basket is a baby, no more than a few days old. Dead. And not from abandonment or neglect. The rag is dyed in its blood. The message is disgustingly clear. The Marchers are dead too.
One tiny fist, clawed with the stiffness of death, holds the tiniest device. An alarm.
“Harrick,” I hiss through my tears. “Hide us.” His mouth falls open, confused, and I grab his leg in desperation. “Hide us.”
He disappears before my eyes, and not a moment too soon.
Officers appear in the windows, bursting through each door, guns raised, all shouting. “You’re surrounded, lightning girl! Submit to arrest!” they roar in succession, as if repeating themselves makes any difference.
Quietly, I ease myself under the kitchen table. I only hope the others have the sense to do the same.
No fewer than twelve officers crowd inside, stomping back and forth. Four break off, heading upstairs, and one pair of boots halts by the baby. The officer’s free hand twitches and I know he must be staring at the tiny corpse. After a long moment, he vomits into the fireplace.
“Easy, Myros,” one of the others says, pulling him away. “Poor thing,” he adds, moving past the baby. “Anything upstairs?”
“Nothing!” another replies, coming back down. “Alarm must’ve malfunctioned.”
“You’re sure? The governor will skin us if we’re wrong.”
“Do you see anyone here, sir?”
I almost gasp when the officer drops to a crouch right in front of me. His eyes sweep back and forth beneath the table, searching. I feel a slight pressure on my leg—one of the others. I dare not respond with a nudge of my own, and hold my breath.
“No, I don’t,” the officer finally says, standing again. “False alarm. Back to your posts.”
They leave as quickly as they burst in, but I dare not breathe until their footsteps are long gone. Then I gasp, shaking, as Harrick drops the illusion, and we all blink back into sight.
“Well done.” Farley exhales, patting Harrick on the shoulder. Like me, he can barely speak, and has to be helped to his feet.
“I could’ve taken ’em,” Nix grumbles, rolling out from beneath the stairs. He crosses to the door with short strides, one hand already on the knob. “All the same, I don’t fancy being here if they come back.”
“Mare?” Farley’s touch on my arm is gentle, especially for her.
I realize I’m standing over the baby, staring. There were no babies on Julian’s list, no children below the age of three. This was not a newblood, not according to our records or any Maven might possess. The child was murdered simply because she was here. For nothing.
With determination, I remove my jacket. I will not leave her like this, with only her own blood for a blanket.
“Mare, don’t. They’ll know we were here—”
“Let them know.”
I pull it across her—and I fight, with everything I have, the urge to lie down beside her and never get back up again. My fingers brush her tiny, cold fist. There is something beneath it. A note. Quietly, quickly, I slip it into my pocket before anyone else can see.
When we finally get back to Ada and the jet, I dare to read it. It’s dated for yesterday. Yesterday. We were so close.
October 22
A crude envelope, I know. But necessary. You must know what you are doing, what you are forcing me to do to these people. Every body is a message to you, and to my brother. Surrender to me, and it will stop. Surrender, and they will live. I am a man of my word.
Until we meet again,
Maven
We arrive back at the Notch at nightfall. I cannot eat, I cannot speak, I cannot sleep. The others discuss what happened in Templyn, but no one dares ask me. My brother tries but I walk way, deeper into the burrows of our hideaway. I cower in my cramped hole of a bedroom, convincing myself I need to be alone for now. On other nights, I hate this solitary room, being separated from the others. Now I hate it even more, but I can’t bring myself to join them. Instead, I wait for everyone to be asleep before I let myself wander. I take a blanket, but it does nothing for the cold, inside and out.
I tell myself it’s the autumn chill that sends me to his room, and not the empty feeling in my stomach. Not the frozen abyss that grows with every failure. Not the note in my pocket, burning a hole right through me.
Fire dances on the floor, confined to a neat dip ringed by stones. Even in the strange shadows, I can tell he’s awake. His eyes look alive with flame, but not angry. Not even confused. With one hand, he pulls back the blankets of his sleeper, and slides to make room for me.
“It’s cold in here,” I say.
I think he knows what I really mean.
“Farley told me,” he murmurs when I settle in. He puts an arm across my waist, gentle and warm, meaning nothing but comfort. The other presses against my back, his palm flat to my scars. I am here, it says.
I want to tell him about Maven’s offer. But what good would it do? He would only refuse like I have, and have to suffer the shame of that refusal with me. It will only cause him pain, Maven’s true goal. And in this, I will not let Maven win. He’s already conquered me. He will not conquer Cal.
