Glass Sword

  I force a laugh, putting us both at ease. “I come with a gift, Colonel.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Is that what you call these”—he searches for the right word to describe the ragged folk following me—“people?”

  “They were prisoners until this morning, at a secret facility called Corros. Jailed by the command of King Maven, left to be experimented on, tortured, and murdered.” I glance behind me, expecting to see broken hearts and minds. Instead, I see unflagging pride. The little girl, the one who almost fell off the catwalk, looks close to tears, but her tiny fists clench at her sides. She won’t cry. “They are newbloods like me.” Behind the girl, a protective teenager with too-pale skin and orange hair stands like her guard. “And Silvers too, Colonel.”

  He reacts as I expect him to. “You fool, you brought Silvers here?!” he shouts, panicking. “Ready guns!”

  The line of Lakelanders, two deep, and probably about twenty wide, does as he commands. Their guns click in unison, sliding bullets into chambers. Ready to fire. Behind me, the prisoners flinch, drawing back. But no one begs. They are done begging.

  “Hollow threats.” I fight the urge to smile.

  His hand flies to the pistol at his hip. “Don’t try me.”

  “I know your orders, Colonel, and they are not to kill the lightning girl. Command wants me alive, don’t they?” I remember Ellie Whistle, one of many Guardsmen instructed to help me in my endeavors. She was no match for the Colonel, but the Colonel is no match for Command, whoever they may be.

  The Colonel loses some of his edge, but doesn’t back down.

  “Bring her forward,” I snap, looking to the stretchers. The two men do as I say as quickly as they can. They lay Elara’s stretcher at my feet. The guns follow their every shaking step. I feel the crosshairs even now, on my heart, my brain, over every inch.

  “Your gift, Colonel.” I toe the stretcher, nudging the body beneath the white sheet. “Don’t you want to see it?”

  His good eye flashes, almost too quick to discern. It finds Farley in the crowd, and the crease in his brow disappears a little. With a sickening jolt, I realize why. He thought I killed her.

  “Who is it, Barrow? The prince? Have you murdered the best bargaining chip you had?”

  “Hardly,” a voice calls from the crowd. Cal.

  I don’t turn to look at him, electing to focus on the Colonel instead. He holds my gaze, never wavering. Slowly, one hand raised, the other reaching, I pull away the sheet, laying her out for everyone to see. Her limbs have gone stiff. Her fingers are especially twisted, and bits of bone show through the flesh of her right hand. The gunmen are the first to react, lowering their weapons a little. One or two even gasp, covering their mouths to stifle the sound. The Colonel is completely silent and still, content to stare. After a long moment, he blinks.

  “Is that who I think it is?” he says hoarsely.

  I nod. “Elara of House Merandus, Queen of Norta. Mother to the king. Killed by newbloods and Silvers, in the prison she built for them.” That explanation should stay his hand for the moment.

  His red eye gleams. “What do you plan to do with this?”

  “The king and this country deserve a chance to say good-bye to her, don’t you think?”

  The Colonel looks just like Farley when he smiles.

  “Again,” Colonel Farley barks, moving back into position.

  “My name is Mare Barrow,” I tell the camera, trying not to sound foolish. After all, this is the sixth time I’ve introduced myself in the last ten minutes. “I was born in the Stilts, a village in the Capital River Valley. My blood is Red, but because of this”—I stretch out my hands, allowing two balls of sparks to rise—“I was brought to the court of King Tiberias the Sixth, and given a new name, a new life, and made into a lie. They called me Mareena Titanos, and told the world I was Silver born. I am not.” Flinching, I draw the knife across my palm, over already torn flesh. My blood winks like rubies in the harsh light of the empty hangar. “King Maven told you this was a trick.” Sparks dance through the gash. “It is not. And neither are the others like me, all of you born Red with strange, Silver abilities. The king knows you exist, and he is hunting you down. I tell you now, run. Find me. Find the Scarlet Guard.”

  Next to me, the Colonel straightens proudly. He wears a red scarf around his face, as if his bleeding eye wasn’t identification enough. But I’m not complaining. He’s agreed to take in the newbloods, having seen the error of his ways. He now knows the value—and the strength—of people like me. He can’t afford to make enemies of us too.

  “Unlike the Silver kings, we see no division between ourselves and other Reds. We will fight for you, and we will die for you, if it means a new world. Put down the ax, the shovel, the needle, the broom. Pick up the gun. Join us. Fight. Rise, Red as the dawn.”

  The next part turns my stomach, and I want to scrub my skin with acid. When my fingers knot in her frayed hair, holding her head up to face the decrepit, sputtering camera, I’m fighting tears. As much as I hate her, I hate this more. It feels against nature, against anything good I might have left inside myself. I’ve already lost Cal—thrown him away—but now I feel I’m losing my soul. And yet I speak the words I must. I believe in them, and they help a little.

  “Fight, and win. This is Elara, Queen of Norta, and we have killed her. This war is not impossible, and with you, it can be won for good.”

  I hold my position, trying my best not to blink. Tears will fall if I do. I think of anything but the corpse in my hands. “Even now, Guardsmen are leaving their strongholds to wait for anyone to answer our call.”

  “Arm yourselves, my brothers and sisters,” the Colonel says, stepping forward. “You outnumber your masters, and they know it. They fear it. They fear you, and what you will become. Look to the Whistles in the woods. They will lead you home.”

  After six attempts, we finally finish in perfect unison. “Rise, Red as the dawn.”

  “As for the Silvers of Norta.” I speak quickly, tightening my grip on Elara. “Your king and queen have lied to you—and betrayed you. The Scarlet Guard liberated a prison this morning, and inside we found Red and Silvers both. Missing members of House Iral, Lerolan, Skonos, Jacos, and more. Wrongfully imprisoned, tortured with Silent Stone, left to die for nonexistent crimes. They are with us now, and they are alive. Your lost ones live. Rise to help them. Rise to avenge the ones we could not save. Rise, and join us. For your king is a monster.” I glare deep into the camera, knowing he will see this. “Maven is a monster.”

  The Colonel gapes at me, affronted. The camera stops. He tears away his scarf in his anger. “What are you doing, Barrow?”

  I stare back at him. “I’m making your life a whole lot easier. Divide and conquer, Colonel.” I point to the crew working the camera, not bothering to remember their names. “You go to the Silver barracks, get some film of them. Don’t show the guards. Mark my words. This will set the country on fire, and even Maven won’t be able to put it out.”

  They don’t need to speak to show they agree. I turn on my heel. “I’m done.”

  The Colonel follows me, dogging my steps even when I push my way out of the hangar. “Barrow, I didn’t say we were finished—” he growls, but when I stop short, so does he. I don’t need lightning to frighten people. Not anymore.

  “Make me turn around, Colonel.” I extend my arm, daring him to pull. Daring him to test me. “Go on.”

  Once, this man put Cal in a cell. He leads who knows how many soldiers, and killed however many more men. I don’t know how many battles he’s seen, or how many times he’s cheated death.

  He has no right to be afraid of a girl like me, but he is. I returned to Tuck his equal, better than his equal, and he knows it.

  I spin to face him slowly, and only because it now suits me to do so. “What changed you, Colonel? Because I know it wasn’t your own good sense, or even the orders of your Command.”

  After a long, drawn-out moment, he
nods. “Follow me. They’ve been asking to meet you.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tuck seems smaller than I remember, with the three hundred from Corros as well as the Colonel’s own reinforcements clustering all over the island. He leads me past them all, setting a pace I must struggle to match. Many of the new soldiers are Lakelanders, smuggled from the far north like the guns and food streaming in from the docks, but there are a good number of Nortans as well. Farmers, servants, deserters, even some tattooed techies drill in the open space between barracks. Many have come over the last few months. They are the first of many outrunning the Measures, and more will certainly follow. I would smile at the thought, but smiling comes too hard these days. It hurts my scars and my head. Back on the runway, a familiar jet roars, and the Blackrun climbs into the sky. Headed for the Notch, I’ll bet, with Cal at the controls. All the better. I don’t need him skulking around, watching and judging my every move.

  Barracks 1. Last time I entered in secret. Now I enter in broad daylight, with the Colonel at my side. We walk through the narrow passages of the underwater bunker, and his Lakelanders step aside to let me pass every juncture. I’m acutely aware of this place—once I was its prisoner—but I no longer fear anything down here. We follow the piping in the ceiling, toward the pulsing heart of the barracks and the entire island. The control room is small, but crowded, filled with screens, radio equipment, and maps on every flat surface. I expect to see Farley barking orders, but she’s nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a healthy mix of Lakelander blue and Guard red. Two men are different, wearing thick, faded green uniforms with black detailing. I have no idea what country or kingdom they stand for.

  “Clear the room,” the Colonel murmurs. He has no reason to shout; they obey him quickly.

  Except for the pair in green. I get the feeling they’ve been waiting for this. They move in strange unison, turning toward us in perfect sync. Both wear badges on their uniforms, a white circle with a dark green triangle inside. The same marks I saw on smuggled crates the last time I was here.

  The men are twins, the unsettling kind. Identical, but somehow more than that. Both have curly black hair, tight like a cap, mud-colored eyes, brown skin, and immaculate beards. A scar is the only difference between them—one has a jagged line on the right cheek, the other the left. To distinguish them. With a cold shudder, I realize they even blink at the same time.

  “Miss Barrow, a pleasure to meet you at last.” Right Scar extends his hand, but I’m loath to take it. He doesn’t seem to mind, and presses on. “My name is Rash, and my brother—”

  “Tahir, at your service,” the other cuts in. They bow their heads gracefully, again in startling unison. “We have traveled far to find you and yours. And waited—”

  “—for what feels like even longer,” Rash finishes for him. He eyes the Colonel, and I catch a flicker of distaste deep in his eyes. “We bring you a message, and an offer.”

  “From whom?” I feel breathless, almost dizzy. Surely these men are newbloods—their bond is not a natural one—and they are neither Nortan nor Lakelander. Traveled far, they said. From where?

  They speak in melodic chorus. “The Free Republic of Montfort.”

  Suddenly I wish Julian were at my side, to help me remember his lessons, and the maps he kept so close. Montfort, a mountain nation, so far away it could be the other side of the world. But Julian told me it was like Piedmont to the south, ruled by a collection of princes, all of them Silver. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did Colonel Farley—” says Tahir.

  Rash cuts in. “—for the Republic is well guarded, hidden by mountains—”

  “—snows—”

  “—walls—”

  “—and by design.”

  This is very annoying.

  “My apologies,” Rash adds, noting my discomfort. “Our mutation links our brains. It can be quite—”

  “Unsettling,” I finish for him, drawing a smile from them both. But the Colonel continues to scowl, his red eye gleaming. “So you’re newbloods too? Like me?”

  A double nod. “In Montfort, we are called the Ardents, but it differs from nation to nation. No one can agree on what to call the Red-and-Silver ones,” Tahir says. “There are many of us, all over this world. Some in the open, as in the Republic, or hidden, as it is in your country.” He turns his gaze on the Colonel, speaking with two meanings. “But our bonds run deeper than the borders of nations. We protect our own, for no one else will. Montfort has been hiding for twenty years, building our republic from the ashes of brutal oppression. I believe you understand that.” I do indeed. I don’t even care that I’m grinning, despite the pain it causes. “But we are not hiding now. We have an army and a fleet of our own, and they will not be idle any longer. Not while kingdoms like Norta, the Lakelands, and all the rest still stand. Not while Reds die, and Ardents face even worse fates.”

  Ah. So the Colonel accepts us not out of goodness or even necessity, but fear. Another player has joined the game, one he does not understand. They share an enemy at least, that much is clear. Silvers. People like Maven. We share an enemy too. But a chill goes through me, one I cannot ignore. Cal is Silver, Julian is Silver. What do they think of them? Like the Colonel, I must sit back and see what these people truly want.

  “Premier Davidson, the leader of the Republic, sent us as ambassadors, to extend a hand of friendship to the Scarlet Guard,” Rash says, his own hand twitching on his thigh. “Colonel Farley willingly accepted this alliance two weeks ago, as have his superiors, the Red Generals of Command.”

  Command. Farley’s cryptic words seem so close now. She never explained what she meant, but now I begin to see a little more of the Guard. I have never heard of the Red Generals, but I keep my face still. They don’t know how much—or how little—I am told. Judging by the way the twins are talking, they think me a leader too, with control over the Scarlet Guard. I barely have control over myself.

  “We’ve allied with similar groups and subsects in nations across the continent, forming a complex network like spokes of a wheel. The Republic is the hub.” Rash’s eyes bore into mine. “We offer safe passage, to any of the Ardents here, to a country that will not only protect you but offer you freedom. They need not fight; they need only live, and live free. That is our offer.”

  My heart beats wildly. You need only live. How many times have I wished for such a thing? Too many to count. Even back in the Stilts, when I thought I was painfully normal, when I was nothing. I only wanted to live. The Stilts taught me the value, and the rarity, of an ordinary life. But it also taught me something else, a more valuable lesson. Everything has its price.

  “And what do you ask in return?” I murmur, not wanting to hear his answer.

  Rash and Tahir exchange loaded glances, their eyes narrowing in silent communication. I don’t doubt the brothers can speak to each other without words, whispering like Elara once did. “Premier Davidson requests that you escort them,” they say together.

  A “request.” There is no such thing.

  “You are a firebrand in your own right, and will be of great help to the coming war.” They need not fight. I should’ve known that wouldn’t apply to me. “You will have your own unit, your own handpicked Ardents at your side—”

  A newblood king will sit the throne you built him.

  Cameron said that to me a few days ago, when I forced her to join us. Now I know exactly how she felt, and how horribly true her words could be.

  “But only Ardents?” I reply, moving steadily to my feet. “Only newbloods? Tell me, what is it truly like in your Republic? Have you simply traded Silver masters for new ones?”

  The brothers stay seated, watching me with keen eyes. “You misunderstand,” says Tahir. He taps the scar below his left eye. “We are like you, Mare Barrow. We have suffered for what we are, and simply wish for no one else to meet this fate. We offer sanctuary for our kind. You especially.”

  Liars, both of them. T
hey offer nothing but another stage for me to stand on and perform.

  “I’m fine where I am.” I look to the Colonel, focusing on his good eye. He’s not scowling anymore. “I won’t run away, not now. There are things that must be handled here. Red problems that you need not bother with. You may take any newblood who wants to go with you, but not me. And if you try to make me do anything against my will, I’ll fry you both. I don’t care what color your blood is or how free you claim to be. Tell your leader I can’t be bought with promises.”

  “And what of action?” Rash offers, raising one manicured eyebrow. “Would that sway you to the leader’s side?”

  I’ve walked this road before. I’ve had my fill of kings, no matter what they’re called. But spitting on the twins will get me nowhere, so I shrug instead. “Show me action and we’ll see.” Chuckling, I turn to go. “Bring me Maven Calore’s head and your leader can use me as a footstool.”

  Tahir’s response chills my blood. “You killed the she-wolf. It should be nothing at all to kill the pup.”

  I exit the control room at a brisk march.

  “Strange, Miss Barrow.”

  “What?” I growl, snarling to face the Colonel. He can’t even let me walk out of this barracks in peace. His open expression takes me aback, displaying something like understanding. He is the last person I expect to understand.

  “You came here with so many more followers, but you lost the ones you left with.” He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the cold, damp wall of the passage. “The village boy, your prince, and my daughter all seem to be avoiding you. And of course, your brother—” One quick step forward stops him short, frightening him into silence. “My condolences,” he murmurs after a long moment. “It’s never easy to lose a family member.”