Glass Sword
Page 92
I wince with her, and lock eyes with my brother. “Let her be, Shade. I think we can handle this fine.”
He nods, glad to let go of the wriggling teenager, and releases her. She pitches forward, but catches herself before eating dirt. She skirts away from Cal’s attempt to help. “Don’t touch me, Lordy.” She looks liable to bite, her teeth bared and gleaming.
“Lordy?” he mutters under his breath, now just as confused as the girl.
Above her, Shade narrows his eyes in realization. “Lordy. High lords—Silvers. It’s slum slang,” he explains for our benefit. “What Town are you from?” he asks her, his tone much kinder than Cal’s. It takes her off guard, and she glances at him, her black eyes darting in fear. But she keeps looking back at me, transfixed by the thin spindles of sparks between my fingers.
“New Town,” she finally replies. “They took me from New Town.”
Now it’s my turn to bend, so I can look at her fully. She seems like my opposite, long and lean where I am short, her braided hair a gleaming oil black while mine fades from brown to splinters of gray. She’s younger than me; I can see it in her face. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, but her eyes speak of weariness beyond her short years. Her fingers are long and crooked, probably broken by machinery too many times to count. If she’s from the New Town slum, she’s a techie, doomed to work the factories and assembly lines of a city born in smoke. There are tattoos on her neck, but nothing so superfluous as Crance’s anchor. Numbers, I realize. NT-ARSM-188907. Big and blocky, two inches high, wrapping halfway around her throat.
“Not pretty, is it, lightning girl?” she sneers, noting my gaze. Disdain drips from her words like venom from fangs. “But you don’t like to bother with ugly things.”
Her tone grates, and I’m tempted to show her exactly how ugly I can be. Instead, I hearken back to my court training and do what so many did to me. I smirk in her face, laughing quietly. I hold the cards here, and she needs to know it. Her expression sours, annoyed by my reaction.
“You took this from a Silver?” Cal presses on, gesturing to the gun. His disbelief is plain for all to hear. “Who helped you?”
“No one helped. You should know that firsthand,” she throws back. “Had to do it all myself. Guard Eagrie didn’t see me coming.”
“What?” Only my lessons with Lady Blonos keep me from gasping outright. A soldier of House Eagrie. The House of Eyes. Any one of them can see the immediate future, like lesser versions of Jon. It’s almost impossible for a Silver to attack them without them knowing, let alone a Red girl. Impossible.
She only shrugs. “Thought Silvers were supposed to be tough, but she was nothing. And fighting was better than waiting around in my cell. For whatever they had planned.”
Cell.
I fall back on my heels, leveled by understanding. “You escaped from Corros Prison.”
Her eyes fly to mine, and her lower lip quivers. It’s the only indication of the fear coursing beneath her enraged exterior.
Cal’s hand finds my elbow, steadying me. “What’s your name?” he asks, his tone taking on a gentler edge. He treats her like a spooked animal, and that provokes her like nothing else.
She stands quickly, fists clenched, making the veins stand out in arms scarred by years of factory work. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she might bolt. Instead, she digs her feet into the dirt and straightens her spine with pride.
“My name is Cameron Cole, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to be on my way.”
She’s taller than me, as graceful and elegant as any lady of court. My head barely reaches her chin when I draw myself up to my full height, but the flicker of fear is still in her. She knows exactly who and what I am.
“Cameron Cole,” I repeat. Julian’s list floods my thoughts, her name and information with it. And then, the records from Harbor Bay, more detailed than Julian’s findings. I feel quite like Ada when I spit back what I remember, my words quick and sure. “Born January third, 305, in New Town. Occupation: Apprentice mechanic, indentured by Assembly and Repair, Small Manufacturing Sector. Address: Unit Forty-Eight, Block Twelve, Residence Sector, New Town. Blood type: Not applicable. Gene mutation, strain unknown.” Her mouth falls open, letting loose a tiny gasp. “Does that sound right?”
She can barely nod her head in agreement. Her whisper is even weaker. “Yes.”
Shade whistles under his breath. “Damn, Jon,” he murmurs, shaking his head. I nod at him, agreeing. What he sent us to find wasn’t an it at all, but a who.
“You’re a newblood, Cameron. Just like Shade and me. Red-blooded, with Silver abilities. That’s why they locked you up in Corros, and that’s why you were able to escape. Whatever ability you have set you free, so you could find us.” I take a step toward her, meaning to embrace my newblood sister, but she darts away from my touch.
“I didn’t escape to find you,” she spits.
I smile as best I can for her, trying to put her at ease. After so many recruits, the words come out easy. I know exactly what to say, and exactly how she’ll respond. It’s always the same. “You don’t have to come, of course, but you’ll die alone. King Maven will find you again—”
Another step back, shocking me. She sneers, shaking her head. “The only place I’m going is the Choke, and not you or your lightning can stop me.”
“The Choke?” I exclaim, perplexed.
He nods, glad to let go of the wriggling teenager, and releases her. She pitches forward, but catches herself before eating dirt. She skirts away from Cal’s attempt to help. “Don’t touch me, Lordy.” She looks liable to bite, her teeth bared and gleaming.
“Lordy?” he mutters under his breath, now just as confused as the girl.
Above her, Shade narrows his eyes in realization. “Lordy. High lords—Silvers. It’s slum slang,” he explains for our benefit. “What Town are you from?” he asks her, his tone much kinder than Cal’s. It takes her off guard, and she glances at him, her black eyes darting in fear. But she keeps looking back at me, transfixed by the thin spindles of sparks between my fingers.
“New Town,” she finally replies. “They took me from New Town.”
Now it’s my turn to bend, so I can look at her fully. She seems like my opposite, long and lean where I am short, her braided hair a gleaming oil black while mine fades from brown to splinters of gray. She’s younger than me; I can see it in her face. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, but her eyes speak of weariness beyond her short years. Her fingers are long and crooked, probably broken by machinery too many times to count. If she’s from the New Town slum, she’s a techie, doomed to work the factories and assembly lines of a city born in smoke. There are tattoos on her neck, but nothing so superfluous as Crance’s anchor. Numbers, I realize. NT-ARSM-188907. Big and blocky, two inches high, wrapping halfway around her throat.
“Not pretty, is it, lightning girl?” she sneers, noting my gaze. Disdain drips from her words like venom from fangs. “But you don’t like to bother with ugly things.”
Her tone grates, and I’m tempted to show her exactly how ugly I can be. Instead, I hearken back to my court training and do what so many did to me. I smirk in her face, laughing quietly. I hold the cards here, and she needs to know it. Her expression sours, annoyed by my reaction.
“You took this from a Silver?” Cal presses on, gesturing to the gun. His disbelief is plain for all to hear. “Who helped you?”
“No one helped. You should know that firsthand,” she throws back. “Had to do it all myself. Guard Eagrie didn’t see me coming.”
“What?” Only my lessons with Lady Blonos keep me from gasping outright. A soldier of House Eagrie. The House of Eyes. Any one of them can see the immediate future, like lesser versions of Jon. It’s almost impossible for a Silver to attack them without them knowing, let alone a Red girl. Impossible.
She only shrugs. “Thought Silvers were supposed to be tough, but she was nothing. And fighting was better than waiting around in my cell. For whatever they had planned.”
Cell.
I fall back on my heels, leveled by understanding. “You escaped from Corros Prison.”
Her eyes fly to mine, and her lower lip quivers. It’s the only indication of the fear coursing beneath her enraged exterior.
Cal’s hand finds my elbow, steadying me. “What’s your name?” he asks, his tone taking on a gentler edge. He treats her like a spooked animal, and that provokes her like nothing else.
She stands quickly, fists clenched, making the veins stand out in arms scarred by years of factory work. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she might bolt. Instead, she digs her feet into the dirt and straightens her spine with pride.
“My name is Cameron Cole, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to be on my way.”
She’s taller than me, as graceful and elegant as any lady of court. My head barely reaches her chin when I draw myself up to my full height, but the flicker of fear is still in her. She knows exactly who and what I am.
“Cameron Cole,” I repeat. Julian’s list floods my thoughts, her name and information with it. And then, the records from Harbor Bay, more detailed than Julian’s findings. I feel quite like Ada when I spit back what I remember, my words quick and sure. “Born January third, 305, in New Town. Occupation: Apprentice mechanic, indentured by Assembly and Repair, Small Manufacturing Sector. Address: Unit Forty-Eight, Block Twelve, Residence Sector, New Town. Blood type: Not applicable. Gene mutation, strain unknown.” Her mouth falls open, letting loose a tiny gasp. “Does that sound right?”
She can barely nod her head in agreement. Her whisper is even weaker. “Yes.”
Shade whistles under his breath. “Damn, Jon,” he murmurs, shaking his head. I nod at him, agreeing. What he sent us to find wasn’t an it at all, but a who.
“You’re a newblood, Cameron. Just like Shade and me. Red-blooded, with Silver abilities. That’s why they locked you up in Corros, and that’s why you were able to escape. Whatever ability you have set you free, so you could find us.” I take a step toward her, meaning to embrace my newblood sister, but she darts away from my touch.
“I didn’t escape to find you,” she spits.
I smile as best I can for her, trying to put her at ease. After so many recruits, the words come out easy. I know exactly what to say, and exactly how she’ll respond. It’s always the same. “You don’t have to come, of course, but you’ll die alone. King Maven will find you again—”
Another step back, shocking me. She sneers, shaking her head. “The only place I’m going is the Choke, and not you or your lightning can stop me.”
“The Choke?” I exclaim, perplexed.
