فصل دهم

TEN

The Blackrun was the Colonel’s own jet, used to skip between Norta and the Lakelands as quickly as possible. It’s more than a transport for us. It’s a treasure trove, still loaded with weapons, medical supplies, even food rations from its last flight. Farley and Kilorn sort the stores into piles, dividing guns from bandages, while Shade changes the dressings on his shoulder. His leg stretches out oddly, unable to bend in the brace, but he doesn’t show any signs of pain. Despite his smaller size, he was always the toughest one in the family, second only to Dad white-knuckling through his constant agony.

My breath suddenly feels ragged, stinging the walls in my throat, stabbing in my lungs. Dad, Mom, Gisa, the boys. In the whirlwind of my escape, I’ve forgotten about them entirely. Just like before, when I first became Mareena, when King Tiberias and Queen Elara took away my rags and gave me silk. It took me hours to remember my parents at home, waiting for a daughter who would not return. And now I’ve left them waiting again. They might be in danger for what I’ve done, subject to the Colonel’s wrath. I drop my head into my hands, cursing. How could I forget them? I only just got them back. How could I leave them like this?

“Mare?” Cal mutters under his breath, trying not to draw attention to me. The others don’t need to see me curling in, punishing myself with every little breath.

You’re selfish, Mare Barrow. A selfish, stupid little girl.

The low hum of engines, once a slow, steady comfort, becomes a hard weight. It beats against me like waves on the Tuck beach, unending, engulfing, drowning. For a moment, I want to let it consume me. Then I will feel nothing but the lightning. No pain, no memory, just power.

A hand at the back of my head takes a bit of the edge off, pushing warmth into my skin to meet the cold. The thumb draws slow, even circles, finding a pressure point I didn’t know existed. It helps a little.

“You have to calm down,” Cal continues, his voice much closer this time. I glance out the corner of my eye to see him leaning down next to me, his lips almost brushing my ear. “Jets are a little sensitive to lightning storms.” “Right.” The word is so hard to say. “Okay.”

His hand doesn’t move, staying with me. “In through the nose, out through the mouth,” he coaches, his voice low and calming as if he’s talking to a spooked animal. I guess he’s not entirely wrong.

I feel like a child, but I take the advice anyway. With every breath, I let another thought go, each one harsher than the last. You forgot them. In. You killed people. Out. You let others die. In. You are alone. Out.

The last one isn’t true. Cal is proof of that, as are Kilorn, Shade, and Farley. But I can’t shake the feeling that, while they stand with me, there’s no one beside me. Even with an army at my back, I am still alone.

Maybe the newbloods will change that. Maybe not. Either way, I have to find out.

Slowly, I sit back up, and Cal’s hand follows. He draws away after a long moment, when he’s sure I don’t need him anymore. My neck feels suddenly cold without his warmth, but I have too much pride to let him know that. So I turn my gaze outward, focusing on the clouds blurring past, the sinking sun, and the ocean beneath. White-capped waves angle against a long chain of islands, each one connected by alternating strips of sand, marsh, or a dilapidated bridge. A few fishing villages and light towers dot the archipelago, seemingly harmless, but my fists clench at the sight of them. There could be a watch atop one of them. We could be seen.

The largest of the islands has a harbor filled with boats, navy judging by their size and the silver-blue stripes decorating their hulls.

“I assume you know what you’re doing?” I ask Cal, my eyes still on the islands. Who knows how many Silvers are down there, searching for us? And the harbor, crowded with ships, could hide any number of things. Or people. Like Maven.

But Cal doesn’t seem concerned with any of that. Again, he scratches his growing stubble, fingers rasping over rough skin. “Those are the Bahrn Islands, and nothing to worry about. Fort Patriot, on the other hand . . .” he says, pointing vaguely northwest. I can just make out the shore of the mainland, hazy in the golden light. “I’m going to stay out of their sensor range as long as I can.” “And when you can’t?” Kilorn is suddenly standing over us, leaning on the back of my chair. His eyes dart back and forth, alternating between Cal and the islands below. “You think you can outfly them?” Cal’s face is calm, confident. “I know I can.”

I have to hide my smile behind a sleeve, knowing it will only incense Kilorn. Though I’ve never flown with Cal before today, I have seen him in action on a cycle. And if he’s half as good at flying jets as he is at driving that two-wheeled death machine, then we’re in very capable hands.

“But I won’t have to,” he continues, satisfied with Kilorn’s silence. “Every jet has a call sign, to let the forts know exactly which bird’s going where. When we get in range, I’ll send an old one out, and if we’re lucky, no one will think to double-check.” “Sounds like a gamble,” Kilorn grumbles, searching for anything to poke holes into Cal’s plan, but the fish boy finds himself woefully outmatched.

“It works,” Farley pipes in from her place on the floor. “That’s how the Colonel gets past, if he can’t fly between the sensories.” “I suppose it helps that no one expects rebels to know how to fly,” I add, trying to alleviate a bit of Kilorn’s embarrassment. “They’re not looking for stolen jets in the air.” To my surprise, Cal stiffens sharply. He gets up from his seat in a quick, jarring motion, leaving his chair spinning. “Instrument response is sluggish,” he mutters in hasty explanation. A lie, poorly made, judging by the dark scowl on his face.

“Cal?” I call, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t even acknowledge me, and stalks off toward the back of the jet. The others watch him with narrowed eyes, still painfully cautious of him.

I can only stare, perplexed. What now?

I leave him to his thoughts and go to Shade, still sprawled on the floor. His leg looks better than expected, supported by the well-made brace, but he still needs the curved metal crutch at his side. After all, he did take two bullets in Naercey and we have no skin healers to put him back together with a simple touch.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t say no to some water,” he says begrudgingly. “And dinner.”

Happy to be able to do at least something for him, I collect a canteen and two sealed packets of provisions from Farley’s stores. I expect her to make a fuss about rationing the food, but she barely spares me a glance. She’s taken my seat in the cockpit, and stares out the window, enthralled by the world passing beneath. Kilorn idles next to her, but never touches Cal’s empty chair. He doesn’t want to be scolded by the prince, and is careful to keep his hands away from the instrument panel. He reminds me of a child surrounded by splintered glass, wanting to touch but knowing he should not.

I almost take a third ration packet, as Cal hasn’t eaten since the Colonel locked him up, but one glance toward the back of the jet stills my hand. Cal stands alone, fiddling with an open panel, putting on a show of fixing something that isn’t broken. He quickly zips himself into one of the uniforms stored away on board: a black-and-silver flight suit. The tattered clothes of the arena and execution puddle at his feet. He looks more like himself, a prince of fire, a warrior born. If not for the distinctive walls of the Blackrun, I would think us back in a palace, dancing around each other like moths around a candle. There’s a badge emblazoned over his heart, a black-and-red emblem flanked by a pair of silver wings. Even from this distance, I recognize the dark points, twisted into the image of flame. The Burning Crown. That was his father’s, his grandfather’s, his birthright. Instead, the crown was taken in the worst way, paid for with his father’s blood and his brother’s soul. And as much as I hated the king, the throne, and all it stood for, I can’t help but feel sorry for Cal. He’s lost everything—an entire life, even if that life was wrong.

Cal feels my gaze and looks up from his busywork, still for a moment. Then his hand strays to the badge, tracing the outline of his stolen kingdom. In one sharp twist that makes me flinch, he rips it from the suit and tosses it away. Rage flickers in his eyes, deep beneath his calm exterior. Though he tries to hide it, his anger always bubbles to the surface, glinting between the cracks in his well-worn mask. I leave him to his fussing, knowing the inner workings of the jet can calm him better than anything I might say.

Shade shifts, giving me space next to him, and I plop down without much grace. Silence hangs over us like a dark cloud as we pass the canteen back and forth, sharing a very strange family dinner on the floor of a twice-stolen Blackrun.

“We did the right thing, didn’t we?” I whisper, hoping for some kind of absolution. Though he’s only a year older than me, I’ve always relied on Shade’s advice.

To my relief, he nods. “It was only a matter of time before they threw me in with you. The Colonel doesn’t know how to handle people like us. We scare him.” “He’s not the only one,” I answer glumly, remembering the averted eyes and whispers of everyone I’ve encountered thus far. Even in the Hall of the Sun, where I was surrounded by impossible abilities, I was still different. And in Tuck, I was the lightning girl. Respected, recognized, and feared. “At least the others are normal.” “Mom and Dad?”

I nod, wincing at the mention of them. “Gisa too, and the boys. They’re true Red so he can’t—he won’t do anything to them.” It sounds like a question.

Shade takes a thoughtful bite of his rations, a flaky, dry bar of compacted oats. It leaves crumbs all over him. “If they’d helped us, it’d be a different story. But they didn’t know anything about our escape, so I wouldn’t worry. Leaving the way we did”—his breath catches, as does mine—“it was better for them. Dad would’ve helped otherwise, Mom too. At least Bree and Tramy are loyal enough to the cause to escape any suspicion. Not to mention, neither of them is bright enough to pull something like this off.” He pauses, thoughtful. “I doubt even the Lakelanders would like throwing an old woman, a cripple, and little Gisa in a cell.” “Good,” I reply, relieved ever so slightly. Feeling better, I brush the flakes of his ration bar off his shirt.

“I don’t like it when you call them normal,” he adds, catching my wrist. His voice is suddenly low. “There’s nothing wrong with us. We’re different, yes, but not wrong. And certainly not better.” We are anything but normal, I want to tell him, but Shade’s stern words kill the thought. “You’re right, Shade,” I say with a nod, hoping he won’t see through my feeble lie. “You always are.” He laughs and finishes his dinner in a massive bite. “Can I get that in writing?” He chuckles, releasing his grip on me. His smile is so familiar I begin to ache. I feign a smile, for his benefit, but Cal’s heavy steps quickly wipe it away.

He strides past us, stepping clean over Shade’s extended leg, his eyes fixed on the cockpit. “We should be in range soon,” he says to no one in particular, but it sends us into action.

Kilorn scrambles away from the cockpit, as if shooed away like a little boy. Cal ignores him completely. His focus is on the airjet, and nothing else. For now, at least, their animosity takes a backseat to the obstacles ahead.

“I’d buckle in,” Cal adds over his shoulder, catching my eye as he sinks into his own seat. He fastens his safety belts with detached precision, tightening each one with quick, hard tugs. At his side, Farley does the same, silently claiming my chair for the time being. Not that I mind. Watching the jet take off was terrifying—I can only imagine what landing looks like.

Shade is proud, but not stupid, and lets me help him to his feet. Kilorn takes Shade’s other side, and together we make quick work of getting him standing. Once he’s up, Shade maneuvers himself easily, getting buckled into his seat with a crutch under one arm. I take the seat next to him, with Kilorn on my other side. This time, my friend buckles himself in tightly, and grips his restraints in grim anticipation.

I focus on my own belts, feeling strangely safe when they tighten against me. You just strapped yourself to a hurtling piece of metal. It’s true, but, at least for the next few minutes, life and death depend solely on the pilot. I’m just along for the ride.

In the cockpit, Cal busies himself with a dozen switches and levers, preparing the jet for whatever comes next. He squints, averting his eyes from the sunset and its blaze of light. It sets his silhouette on fire, illuminating him with red-and-orange fingers that could be his own flames. I’m reminded of Naercey, the Bowl of Bones, even our Training matches, when Cal ceased to be a prince and became an inferno. Back then I was shocked, surprised every time he revealed his brutal self, but no longer. I can never forget what burns beneath his skin, the rage that fuels him, and how strong they both are.

Anyone can betray anyone, and Cal is no exception.

A touch at my ear makes me jump in my seat, jolting against my restraints. I turn to see Kilorn’s hand hanging in midair and his face quirked in an amused smile.

“You still have them,” he says, gesturing to my head.

Yes, Kilorn, I still have ears, I want to bite back. But then I realize what he’s talking about. Four stones, pink, red, deep purple, and green—my earrings. The first three are from my brothers, part of a single set split between Gisa and me. They were bittersweet gifts, given when they conscripted into the army and left our family, perhaps for good. The last one is from Kilorn, given on the edge of doom, before the Scarlet Guard attacked Archeon, before the betrayal that still haunts us all. The earrings were with me through everything, from Bree’s conscription to Maven’s treachery, and each stone feels heavy with memory.

Kilorn’s gaze lingers on the green earring, the one that matches his eyes. The sight of it softens him, wearing down the hard edge he’s gained over the last few months.

“Of course,” I reply. “These will be with me to my grave.”

“Let’s keep the grave talk to a minimum, especially at the moment,” Kilorn mutters, eyeing his restraints again.

From this angle, I get a closer look at his bruised face. One black eye from the Colonel, one purpling cheek from me. “Sorry about that,” I say, apologizing for both my words and the injury.

“You’ve given me worse.” Kilorn laughs, smiling. He’s not wrong.

The harsh, grating hiss of radio static shatters the peaceful moment. I turn to see Cal leaning forward, one hand on the steering instrument, the other clutching the radio mouthpiece.

“Fort Patriot Control, this is BR one eight dash seven two. Origin Delphie, destination Fort Lencasser.” His calm, flat tone echoes down the jet. Nothing about his voice sounds amiss or even slightly interesting. Hopefully Fort Patriot agrees. He repeats the call sign twice more, even sounding bored by the time he finishes. But his body is all nerves and he chews his lip worriedly, waiting for a response.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours as we listen, hearing nothing but the hiss of static on the other end of the radio. Next to me, Kilorn tightens his belts, preparing for the worst. I quietly do the same.

When the radio crackles, heralding a response, my hands clutch the edge of my seat. I might have faith in Cal’s flying abilities, but that doesn’t mean I want to see them put to the test outrunning an attack squadron.

“Received, BR one eight dash seven two,” a stern, authoritative voice finally replies. “Next call in will be Cancorda Control. Received?” Cal exhales slowly, unable to stop a grin from spreading. “Received, Patriot Control.”

But before I can relax, the radio continues hissing, making Cal’s jaw clench. His hands stray to the steering instrument, fingers tightening around each prong with steady focus. That action alone is enough to frighten us all, even Farley. In the chair next to him, she watches with wide eyes and parted lips, as if she can taste the words to come. Shade does the same, staring at the radio on the panel, his crutch tucked close.

“Storms over Lencasser, proceed with caution,” the voice says after a long, heart-pounding moment. It’s bored, dutiful, and completely uninterested in us. “Received?” This time, Cal’s head drops, his eyes half-shut in relief. I can barely stop myself from doing the same. “Received,” he repeats into the radio. The hiss of static dies with a satisfying click, signaling the end of the transmission. That’s it. We’re beyond suspicion.

No one speaks until Cal does, turning over his shoulder to flash a crooked grin. “No sweat,” he says, before carefully wiping away the thin sheen on his forehead.

I can’t help but laugh aloud at the sight—a fire prince, sweating. Cal doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin widens before he turns back to the controls. Even Farley allows herself the ghost of a smile and Kilorn shakes his head, disentangling his hand from mine.

“Well done, Your Highness,” Shade says, and while Kilorn uses the title like a curse, it sounds entirely respectful in my brother’s mouth.

I suppose that’s why the prince smiles, shaking his head. “My name is Cal, and that’s all.”

Kilorn scoffs deep in his throat, low enough for only me to hear, and I dig an elbow into his ribs. “Would it kill you to be a little polite?” He angles away from me, avoiding yet another bruise. “I’m not willing to risk it,” he whispers back. And then, louder, to Cal, “I take it we don’t call in at Cancorda, Your Highness?” This time I bring my heel down on his foot, earning a satisfying yelp.

Twenty minutes later, the sun has set and we’re beyond Harbor Bay and the slums of New Town, flying lower by the second. Farley can barely stay in her seat, craning her neck to see as much as she can. It’s only trees below us now, thickening into the massive forest that occupies most of Norta. It almost looks like home out there, as if the Stilts wait just over the next hill. But home is to the west, more than a hundred miles away. The rivers here are unfamiliar, the roads strange, and I don’t know any of the villages huddled against the waterways. The newblood Nix Marsten lives in one of them, not knowing what he is or what kind of danger he’s in. If he’s still living.

I should wonder about a trap but I don’t. I can’t. The only thing pushing me forward is the thought of finding other newbloods. Not just for the cause but for me, to prove I’m not alone in my mutation, with only my brother by my side.

My trust in Maven was misplaced, but not my trust in Julian Jacos. I know him better than most, and so does Cal. Like me, he knows the list of names is real and if the others disagree, they certainly don’t show it. Because I think they want to believe, too. The list gives them hope of a weapon, an opportunity, a way to fight a war. The list is an anchor for us all, giving each of us something to hold on to.

When the jet angles toward the forest, I focus on the map in hand to distract myself, but still I feel my stomach drop.

“I’ll be damned,” Cal mutters, staring out the window at what I assume are the ruins turned runway. He flips another switch and the panels beneath my feet vibrate, coinciding with a distinct whirr that echoes through the body of the airjet. “Brace for landing.” “And that means what exactly?” I ask through clenched teeth, turning to see not sky out the window but treetops.

The entire jet shudders before Cal can respond, smacking against something solid. We bounce in our seats, fingers clenched around our belts, as the momentum of the jet sways us back and forth. Shade’s crutch goes flying, hitting the back of Farley’s chair. She doesn’t seem to notice, her knuckles bone white on the arms of her seat. But her eyes are wide, open, and unblinking.

“We’re down,” she breathes, almost inaudible over the deafening roar of engines.

Night falls quietly over the so-called ruin, broken by distant birdsong and the low whine of the airjet. Its engines spin slower and slower, shutting down after our journey north. The shocking blue tinge of electricity beneath each wing fades, until the only light comes from inside the jet and the stars above.

We wait, silent, in the hope that our landing has gone unnoticed.

It smells like autumn, the air perfumed by dying leaves and the damp of distant rainstorms. I breathe it deeply at the bottom of the ramp. The silence is punctuated only by Kilorn’s distant snores as he catches a few much-needed moments of sleep. Farley has already disappeared, a gun in hand, to scout out the rest of the hidden runway. She took Shade with her, just in case. For the first time in weeks, months even, I’m not under guard or closely watched. I belong to myself again.

Of course, that doesn’t last long.

Cal hastens down the ramp, a rifle over his shoulder, a pistol on his hip, and a pack dangling from his hand. With his black hair and dark jumpsuit, he could be made of shadow, something I’m sure he plans to use to his advantage.

“And what are you doing?” I ask, deftly catching his arm. He could break my grip in a second, but doesn’t.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t take much,” he says, gesturing to the pack. “I can steal most of what I need anyway.” “You? Steal?” I scoff at the thought of a prince, and a brute of all things, doing anything of the sort. “At best you’ll lose your fingers. At worst, your head.” He shrugs, trying not to look concerned. “And that matters to you?”

“It does,” I tell him quietly. I do my best to keep the pain from my voice. “We need you here, you know that.” The corner of his mouth twitches, but not to smile. “And that matters to me?”

I want to beat some sense into him, but Cal is not Kilorn. He’d take my fist with a smile and keep on walking. The prince must be reasoned with, convinced. Manipulated.

“You said yourself, every newblood we save is another strike against Maven. That’s still true, isn’t it?” He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue either. He’s listening, at least.

“You know what I can do, what Shade can do. And Nix might be even stronger, better, than both of us. Right?” More silence.

“I know you want him dead.”

Despite the darkness, a strange light glimmers in Cal’s eyes.

“I want that too,” I tell him. “I want to feel my hands around his throat. I want to see him bleed for what he’s done, for every person he’s killed.” It feels so good to say it out loud, to admit what scares me most of all, to the only person who understands. I want to hurt him in the worst way. I want to make his bones sing with lightning, until he can’t even scream. I want to destroy the monster that Maven is now.

But when I think about killing him, part of my mind wanders back to the boy I believed him to be. I keep telling myself he wasn’t real. The Maven I knew and cared for was a fantasy, tailored specifically for me. Elara twisted her son into a person I would love, and she did her job so well. Somehow, the person who never existed haunts me, worse than the rest of my ghosts.

“He’s beyond our reach,” I say, both for Cal and for my own benefit. “If we go after him now, he’ll bury us both. You know this.” Once a general and still a great warrior, Cal understands battle. And despite his rage, despite every fiber of him begging for revenge, he knows this isn’t a battle he can win. Yet.

“I’m not part of your revolution,” he whispers, his voice almost lost in the night. “I’m not Scarlet Guard. I’m not part of this.” I almost expect him to stamp his foot in exasperation.

“Then what are you, Cal?”

He opens his mouth, expecting an answer to tumble out. Nothing does.

I understand his confusion, even if I don’t like it. Cal was raised to be everything I’m fighting against. He doesn’t know how to be anything else, even now, alongside Reds, hunted by his own, betrayed by his blood.

After a long, terrible moment, he turns around, retreating into the jet. He casts off his pack and his guns and his resolve. I exhale quietly, relieved by his decision. He’ll stay.

But for how much longer, I don’t know.