King's Cage
Page 132
Cal senses my unease. He takes over buckling me into my jet seat, fingers moving swiftly as I stare at the metal grating beneath my feet. “It won’t happen again,” he murmurs, low enough so only I can hear. “This time is different.”
I take his face in my hands, making him stop and look at me. “So why does it feel the same?”
Bronze eyes search mine. Searching for an answer. He finds none. Instead, he kisses me, as if that can solve anything. His lips burn against my own. It lasts longer than it should, especially with so many people around, but no one makes a fuss.
When he pulls back, he pushes something into my hand.
“Don’t forget who you are,” he whispers.
I don’t need to look to know it’s an earring, a tiny bit of colored stone set in metal. Something to say farewell, to say stay safe, to say remember me if we are parted. Another tradition from my old life. I keep it tight in my fist, almost letting the sharp sting pierce my skin. Only when he sits down across from me do I look.
Red. Of course. Red as blood, red as fire. Red as the anger eating us both alive.
Unable to punch it through my ear right now, I tuck it away, careful to keep the tiny stone safe. It will join the others soon.
Farley moves with a vengeance, taking her seat near the Montfort pilots. Cameron follows closely, offering a tight smile as she sits down. She finally has an official green uniform, as does Farley, though Farley’s is different. Not green, but dark red, with a white C on her arm. Command. She shaved her head again in preparation, shedding inches of blond hair in favor of her old style. She looks severe, with her twisting facial scar and blue eyes to pierce any armor. It suits. I understand why Shade loved her.
She has a reason to stop fighting, more than any of us. But she keeps on. A bit of her determination floods into me. If she can do this, so can I.
Davidson boards our jet last, rounding out the forty of us aboard the drop. He follows a troop of gravitrons marked by downward lines of insignia. He’s still wearing the same battered uniform, and his normally smooth hair is unkempt. I doubt he slept. It makes me like him a bit more.
He nods at us as he passes, stomping the length of the jet to sit with Farley. They duck their heads together in thought almost immediately.
My electrical sense has improved since my work with the electricons. I can feel the jet down to its wiring. Every spark, every pulse. Ella, Rafe, and Tyton are coming of course, but no one dares put us all on a single dropjet. If the worst should happen, at least we won’t all die together.
Cal fidgets in his seat. Nervous energy. I do the opposite. I try to feel numb, to ignore the hungry fury begging to be set loose. I still haven’t seen Maven since my escape, and I imagine his face as it was then. Shouting for me through the crowd, trying to turn around. He didn’t want to let me go. And when I wrap my hands around his throat, I won’t let him go. I won’t be scared. Only a battle stands in my way.
“My grandmother is bringing as many with her as she can,” Cal mutters. “Davidson already knows, but I don’t think anyone filled you in.”
“Oh.”
“She has Lerolan, the other rebelling houses. Samos too.”
“Princess Evangeline,” I mutter, still laughing at the thought. Cal sneers with me.
“At least now she has her own crown, and doesn’t have to steal her way to someone else’s,” he says.
“You two would’ve been married by now. If . . .” If, meaning so many things.
He nods. “Married long enough to go absolutely crazy. She’d make a good queen, but not for me.” He takes my hand without looking. “And she would be a terrible wife.”
I don’t have the energy to follow that thread of implication, but a burst of warmth blooms in my chest.
The jet lurches, spooling into high gear. Rotors and engines whir, drowning out all conversation. With another lurch we’re airborne, rising into the hot summer night. I shut my eyes for a moment and imagine what is to come. I know Corvium from pictures and broadcasts. Black granite walls, gold and iron reinforcements. A spiraling fortress that used to be the last stop for any soldier heading into the Choke. In another life, I would have passed through. And now it’s under siege for the second time this year. Maven’s forces set out a few hours ago, landing at their controlled strip in Rocasta before heading overland. They should be at the walls soon. Before us.
Inches for miles, Davidson said.
I hope he’s right.
Cameron tosses her cards into my lap. Four queens smolder up at me, all of them teasing. “Four ladies, Barrow,” she snickers. “What next? Going to bet your bleeding boots?”
I grin and swipe the cards into my pile, discarding my useless hand of red numbers and a single black prince. “They wouldn’t fit you,” I answer. “My feet aren’t canoes.”
She cackles loudly, tossing her head back as she kicks her toes out. Indeed, her feet are very long and thin. I hope, for the sake of resources, Cameron is all done growing. “Another round,” she goads, and holds out a hand for the cards. “I bet a week of laundry.”
Across from us, Cal stops his preparatory stretching to snort. “You think Mare does laundry?”
“Do you, Your Highness?” I snap back, grinning. He just pretends not to hear me.
The easy banter is both a balm and a distraction. I don’t have to dwell on the battle facing us if I’m being robbed blind by Cameron’s card skills. She learned in the factories, of course. I barely even understand how to play this game, but it helps me stay focused in the moment.
I take his face in my hands, making him stop and look at me. “So why does it feel the same?”
Bronze eyes search mine. Searching for an answer. He finds none. Instead, he kisses me, as if that can solve anything. His lips burn against my own. It lasts longer than it should, especially with so many people around, but no one makes a fuss.
When he pulls back, he pushes something into my hand.
“Don’t forget who you are,” he whispers.
I don’t need to look to know it’s an earring, a tiny bit of colored stone set in metal. Something to say farewell, to say stay safe, to say remember me if we are parted. Another tradition from my old life. I keep it tight in my fist, almost letting the sharp sting pierce my skin. Only when he sits down across from me do I look.
Red. Of course. Red as blood, red as fire. Red as the anger eating us both alive.
Unable to punch it through my ear right now, I tuck it away, careful to keep the tiny stone safe. It will join the others soon.
Farley moves with a vengeance, taking her seat near the Montfort pilots. Cameron follows closely, offering a tight smile as she sits down. She finally has an official green uniform, as does Farley, though Farley’s is different. Not green, but dark red, with a white C on her arm. Command. She shaved her head again in preparation, shedding inches of blond hair in favor of her old style. She looks severe, with her twisting facial scar and blue eyes to pierce any armor. It suits. I understand why Shade loved her.
She has a reason to stop fighting, more than any of us. But she keeps on. A bit of her determination floods into me. If she can do this, so can I.
Davidson boards our jet last, rounding out the forty of us aboard the drop. He follows a troop of gravitrons marked by downward lines of insignia. He’s still wearing the same battered uniform, and his normally smooth hair is unkempt. I doubt he slept. It makes me like him a bit more.
He nods at us as he passes, stomping the length of the jet to sit with Farley. They duck their heads together in thought almost immediately.
My electrical sense has improved since my work with the electricons. I can feel the jet down to its wiring. Every spark, every pulse. Ella, Rafe, and Tyton are coming of course, but no one dares put us all on a single dropjet. If the worst should happen, at least we won’t all die together.
Cal fidgets in his seat. Nervous energy. I do the opposite. I try to feel numb, to ignore the hungry fury begging to be set loose. I still haven’t seen Maven since my escape, and I imagine his face as it was then. Shouting for me through the crowd, trying to turn around. He didn’t want to let me go. And when I wrap my hands around his throat, I won’t let him go. I won’t be scared. Only a battle stands in my way.
“My grandmother is bringing as many with her as she can,” Cal mutters. “Davidson already knows, but I don’t think anyone filled you in.”
“Oh.”
“She has Lerolan, the other rebelling houses. Samos too.”
“Princess Evangeline,” I mutter, still laughing at the thought. Cal sneers with me.
“At least now she has her own crown, and doesn’t have to steal her way to someone else’s,” he says.
“You two would’ve been married by now. If . . .” If, meaning so many things.
He nods. “Married long enough to go absolutely crazy. She’d make a good queen, but not for me.” He takes my hand without looking. “And she would be a terrible wife.”
I don’t have the energy to follow that thread of implication, but a burst of warmth blooms in my chest.
The jet lurches, spooling into high gear. Rotors and engines whir, drowning out all conversation. With another lurch we’re airborne, rising into the hot summer night. I shut my eyes for a moment and imagine what is to come. I know Corvium from pictures and broadcasts. Black granite walls, gold and iron reinforcements. A spiraling fortress that used to be the last stop for any soldier heading into the Choke. In another life, I would have passed through. And now it’s under siege for the second time this year. Maven’s forces set out a few hours ago, landing at their controlled strip in Rocasta before heading overland. They should be at the walls soon. Before us.
Inches for miles, Davidson said.
I hope he’s right.
Cameron tosses her cards into my lap. Four queens smolder up at me, all of them teasing. “Four ladies, Barrow,” she snickers. “What next? Going to bet your bleeding boots?”
I grin and swipe the cards into my pile, discarding my useless hand of red numbers and a single black prince. “They wouldn’t fit you,” I answer. “My feet aren’t canoes.”
She cackles loudly, tossing her head back as she kicks her toes out. Indeed, her feet are very long and thin. I hope, for the sake of resources, Cameron is all done growing. “Another round,” she goads, and holds out a hand for the cards. “I bet a week of laundry.”
Across from us, Cal stops his preparatory stretching to snort. “You think Mare does laundry?”
“Do you, Your Highness?” I snap back, grinning. He just pretends not to hear me.
The easy banter is both a balm and a distraction. I don’t have to dwell on the battle facing us if I’m being robbed blind by Cameron’s card skills. She learned in the factories, of course. I barely even understand how to play this game, but it helps me stay focused in the moment.
