فصل بیست و یکم

TWENTY-ONE

Only when we enter the burned-out husk of the Rosen tavern does the gray man speak again, introducing himself as we take seats around a charred table. His name is shockingly simple. Jon. And his presence is the most unsettling thing I’ve ever felt. Every time he looks at me, with eyes the color of blood, I get the sense that he can see right through my skin, to the twisted thing I used to call a heart. But I keep my thoughts to myself, if only to allow Farley more room to air her grievances. She alternates between grumbling and shouting, arguing that we can’t trust this strange man who appeared out of the ash. Once or twice, Shade has to calm her down, putting his hands on her arms to still her. Jon sits through it all with a tight smile, staring down her oppositions, only speaking when she finally shuts her mouth.

“The four of you are well known to me, so there’s no need for introductions,” he says, holding up a hand in Shade’s direction. My brother makes a strangled kind of noise, drawing back a little. “I found you because I knew where you would be. It was nothing to coordinate my journey with yours,” Jon adds, turning his gaze on Cal. His face whitens in a flush, but Jon doesn’t bother to watch. Instead, he looks to me, and his smile softens a bit. He’ll be a good addition, albeit a creepy one. “I have no intention of joining you at the Notch, Miss Barrow.” Then it’s my turn to swallow my tongue. Before I can recover enough to ask, he answers for me again, and it feels like a cold stab to the belly. “No, I cannot read your thoughts, but I do see what is to come. For instance, what you say next. I figure I’d save us some time.” “Efficient,” Farley grinds out. She’s the only one of us not transfixed by this man. “Why don’t you just tell us what you came to say and be done with it? Better yet, just tell us what’s going to happen.” “Your instincts serve you well, Diana,” he replies, bowing his gray head. “Your friends, the shifter and the flyer, will return soon. They met resistance at the Pitarus Security Center, and will need medical attention. Nothing Diana cannot accomplish on your jet.” Shade moves to stand from his chair, but Jon waves him back down. “Easy, you have some time yet. The king has no intention to pursue.” “Why not?” Farley raises an eyebrow.

The crimson eyes meet mine, waiting for me to answer. “Gareth can fly, something no known Silver can do. Maven won’t want anyone to see that, even his sworn soldiers.” Cal nods next to me, knowing his brother as much—or as little—as I do. “He told the kingdom newbloods didn’t exist, and he intends to keep it that way.” “One of his many mistakes,” Jon muses, his voice dreamy and faraway. He probably is, looking into a future none of us can comprehend. “But you’ll find that out soon enough.” I expect Farley to be the one to snarl at more riddles, but Shade beats her to it. He leans forward on his hands, so that he towers over Jon. “Did you come here to show off? Or just to waste our time?” I can’t help but wonder the same thing.

The gray man doesn’t flinch, even in the face of my brother’s restrained anger. “Indeed I did, Shade. A few more miles and Maven’s eyes would see you coming. Or would you have liked to walk into his trap? I confess, I can see action, but not thought, and perhaps you wanted to be imprisoned and executed?” He looks around at us, his tone shockingly cheerful. One side of his mouth lifts, curving his lips into a half smile. “Pitarus would have ended in death, and even worse fates.” Worse fates. Under the table, Cal’s hand closes over my own, as if he feels the tremble of dread coiling in my stomach. Without thought, I open my palm to him, letting his fingers find mine. What worse fates were planned for us, I don’t even want to ask. “Thank you, Jon.” My voice is thick with fear. “For saving us.” “You saved nothing,” Cal says quickly, and his grip tightens. “Any decision could have changed what you saw. A misstep in the woods, the beating of a bird’s wings. I know how people like you see, and how wrong your predictions can become.” Jon’s smile deepens, until it splits his face. That rankles Cal more than anything else, even more than his birth name. “I see farther and clearer than any of the Silver eyes you’ve ever met. But it will be your choice to hear what I must say. Although, you do come to believe me,” he adds, almost winking. “Sometime around your discovery of the jail. Julian Jacos is a friend, is he not?” Now both our hands are shaking.

“He is,” I murmur, eyes wide and hopeful. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Again, Jon’s eyes gloss over. He mutters to himself, words inaudible, and nods occasionally. On the table, his fingers twitch, moving back and forth like a rake through tilled earth. Pushing and pulling, but at what?

“Yes, he is alive. But he is scheduled for execution, as is . . .” He pauses, thinking. “Sara Skonos.” The next moments pass strangely, with Jon answering all our questions before we can get them past our lips. “Maven plans to announce their executions, to set another trap for you and yours. They are being held at Corros Prison. It’s not abandoned, Tiberias, but rebuilt for Silver imprisonment. Silent Stone in the walls, diamondglass reinforcements, and military guards. No, that’s not all for Julian and Sara. There are other dissenters within the cells, imprisoned for questioning the new king or crossing his mother. House Lerolan has been particularly difficult, as well as House Iral. And the newblood prisoners are proving to be just as dangerous as the Silvers.” “Newbloods?” explodes from me, cutting off Jon as he continues, rapid-fire.

“The ones you never found, the ones you assumed to be dead. They were taken to observe, to examine, but Lord Jacos refused to study them. Even after . . . persuasion.” Bile rises in my mouth. Persuasion can only mean torture.

“There are worse things than pain, Miss Barrow,” Jon says softly. “The newbloods are now at the mercy of Queen Elara. She intends on using them—with precision.” His eyes stray to Cal and they share a glance filled with painful understanding. “They will be weapons against their own, controlled by the queen and her kin, if given enough time. And that is a very, very dark road. You must not allow this to happen.” His cracked and dirty nails dig into the table, carving deep grooves into the blackened wood. “You must not.” “What happens if we free Julian and the others?” I lean forward in my chair. “Can you see that?” If he’s lying, I can’t tell. “No. I see only the current path, and however far it leads. For example, I see you now, surviving the Pitarus trap, only to die four days on. You wait too long to assault Corros. Oh wait, it’s changed now that I’ve told you.” Another strange, sad smile. “Hmm.” “This is nonsense,” Cal growls, untangling his hand from mine. He stands up from the table, slow and deliberate as rolling thunder. “People go crazy listening to predictions like yours, ruined by knowledge of an uncertain future.” “We have no proof but your word,” Farley chimes in. For once, she finds herself in agreement with Cal, and it surprises them both. She kicks back her chair, actions fast and violent. “And a few party tricks.” Party tricks. Predicting what we’re going to say, reading Farley’s attacks before she makes them, those are no such thing. But it’s easier to believe Jon is an impossibility. It’s why everyone believed Maven’s lies about me, about newbloods. They saw my power with their own eyes, and chose to trust what they could understand, rather than what was true. I’ll make them pay for their foolishness, but I won’t make their mistake. Something about Jon rattles me, and instinct tells me have faith, not in the man, but at least in his visions. What he says is true, though his reason for telling us might be less than honorable.

His maddening smile flags, twisting into a scowl that betrays a quick temper. “I see the crown dripping blood. A storm without thunder. Shadow twisting on a bed of flames.” Cal’s hand twitches at his side. “I see lakes flooding their shores, swallowing men whole. I see a man with one red eye, his coat blue, his gun smoking—” Farley beats a fist against the table. “Enough!”

“I believe him.” The words taste strange.

I can’t trust my own friends, but here I am, allying myself with a cursed stranger. Cal looks at me like I’ve grown a second head, his eyes screaming out a question he doesn’t dare ask aloud. I can only shrug, and avoid the searing weight of Jon’s red eyes. They rove over me, examining every inch of the lightning girl. For the first time in ages, I wish for silk and silver armor, to look like the leader I pretend to be. Instead, I shiver in my threadbare sweater, trying to hide the scars and bones beneath. I’m glad he cannot see my brand, but something tells me he knows about it anyway.

Buck up, Mare Barrow. With a great swell of strength, I lift my chin and shift in my chair, effectively turning my back on the others. Jon smiles in the ashen light.

“Where is Corros Prison?”

“Mare—”

“You can drop me off on the way,” I shoot back at Cal, not bothering to watch the verbal blow land. “I’m not leaving them to become Elara’s puppets. And I won’t abandon Julian, not again.” The lines on Jon’s face deepen, speaking of many painful decades. He’s younger than I thought, hiding youth beneath the wrinkles and the gray hair. How much has he seen, to make him this way? Everything, I realize. Every horrible or wonderful thing that could ever happen. Death, life, and everything in between.

“You’re exactly who I thought you would be,” he murmurs, covering my hands with his own. Veins web beneath his skin, blue and purple and full of red blood. The sight of them brings me such comfort. “I’m grateful to have met you.” I offer up a thin but obliging smile, the best I can do. “Where is the prison?”

“They won’t let you go alone.” Jon glances over my shoulder. “But we both know that, don’t we?” A warm blush rises to my cheeks and I have to nod.

Jon mirrors the action before his gaze shifts, landing on the table. The dreamy look returns and he pulls his hands away. He stands up on wavering feet, still watching something we cannot see. Then he sniffs and pulls up his collar, gesturing for us to do the same.

“Rain,” he warns, seconds before a downpour slams into the roof above us. “Pity we must walk.” I feel like a drowned rat by the time we reach the jet, having hiked straight through mud and torrential rain. Jon keeps us at a steady pace, even slowing us once or twice, to “line things up,” as he said. A few seconds after the jet comes into view, I realize what he meant. Gareth tumbles out of the sky, a slowing meteor of wet clothes and blood. He touches down fine, and the bundle in his arms, a baby by the looks of it, springs into midair, transforming before our eyes. Nanny’s feet hit the ground hard and she stumbles, dropping to one aged knee. Shade jumps to her side, holding her steady, while Farley pulls Gareth’s arm over her shoulder. He gladly puts his weight on her, leaning to compensate for a useless leg dripping blood.

“Ambush in Pitarus,” he growls, both in anger and pain. “Nanny got away clean, but they surrounded me. Had to upend a city block before I could break off.” Even though Jon assured us there would be no pursuit, I can’t help but watch the darkening sky. Every twist of cloud looks like another airjet, but I hear and feel nothing except the distant shivers of thunder.

“They’re not coming, Miss Barrow,” Jon says over the rain. His mad smile has returned.

Gareth glances at him, confused, but nods along. “I don’t think anyone followed,” he says, trailing into a growl of pain.

Farley adjusts her grip on Gareth, taking on almost his entire weight. Even though she helps him toward the jet, her focus is on Jon. “Was the little beast there?” Gareth nods. “Sentinels were, so the king couldn’t have been far.”

She curses, but I don’t know who she’s angrier at. Maven for ambushing our friends, or Jon for being right.

“Leg looks worse than it is,” Jon calls over the rain. He points at Gareth as Farley helps him up the ramp and onto the jet. Then his finger waves to Nanny, still crouched against Shade. “She’s bone tired and cold. Blankets should do.” “I’m not some old coot to be wrapped up and shut away,” Nanny snarls from the ground. She gets to her feet as quickly as she can, burning a glare at Jon. “Let me walk, Shade, or I’ll scold you into oblivion.” “Your call, Nanny,” Shade mumbles, fighting a smirk as she struts by him. He gives her enough room to move, but is never more than an arm’s length away. Nanny proudly stalks into the jet, her head held high and back ramrod straight.

“You did that on purpose,” Cal growls as he shoulders past Jon. He doesn’t bother to look back, even when Jon barks a laugh at his retreating form.

“And it worked,” he says, low enough so that only I can hear.

Trust the vision, not the man. A good lesson to learn. “Cal’s got a thing against mind games,” I warn, raising one pointed hand. A spark of lightning runs down my finger. The threat is plain as day. “And so do I.” “I don’t play games.” Jon shrugs, tapping the side of his head. “Even when I was boy. This made it a bit hard to find competition, you see.” “That’s not—”

“I know what you meant, Miss Barrow.” His placid smile, once unsettling, has become frustrating. I spin on my heel, making for the jet, but after a few quick steps, I realize Jon isn’t following.

He stares into the rain, but his eyes are wide and bright. A vision has not taken hold. He’s just standing still, enjoying the feel of cold, clean water washing the ash from his skin.

“This is where I leave you.”

The pulse of the jet spooling to life echoes in my rib cage, but it feels distant, unimportant. I can only stare at Jon. In the dimming light of the rainstorm, he looks like he’s fading away. Gray as the ash, gray as the rain, fleeting as both.

“I thought you were going to help us with the prison?” Desperation floods my voice, and I let it. Jon doesn’t seem to mind, so I try another tactic. “Maven’s hunting for you too. He’s killing all of us, and he’ll kill you when he gets the chance.” That makes him laugh so hard he doubles. “You think I don’t know the moment I die? I do, Miss Barrow, and it will not be at the king’s hands.” My teeth gnash together in irritation. How can he leave? All the others chose to fight. Why won’t he? “You know I can make you come with us.” In the gray downpour, my lightning seems to spark twice as brightly. Purple-white, hissing in the rain, it twists between my fingers and sends shivers of pleasure up my spine.

Again, Jon smiles. “I know you can, and I know you won’t. But take heart, Miss Barrow. We will meet again.” He tips his head, thinking. “Yes, yes, we will.” I’m only doing what I promised. I’m giving him a choice. Still, it takes all I have not to drag him onto the jet. “We need you, Jon!” But he’s already begun to back away. Every step makes him harder to see. “Trust me when I say you don’t! I leave with you these instructions—fly to the outskirts of Siracas, to Little Sword Lake. Protect what you find there, or your imprisoned friends are as good as dead.” Siracas, Little Sword Lake. I repeat the words until they commit to memory.

“Not tomorrow, not tonight, but now. You must fly now.”

The roar of the jet expands, until the air itself vibrates with strain. “What are we looking for?” I shout over the din, putting up one hand to shield my face from the spinning rain. It stings but I squint through it, if only to see the last silhouette of the gray man.

“You’ll know!” comes out of the rain. “And tell Diana, when she doubts. Tell her the answer to her question is yes.” “What question?” But he ticks a finger, almost scolding.

“Attend to your own fate, Mare Barrow.”

“And that is?”

“To rise. And rise alone.” It echoes like the howl of a wolf. “I see you as you could become, no longer the lightning, but the storm. The storm that will swallow the world entire.” For a split second, it looks like his eyes are glowing. Red against gray, burning through me, to look into every future. His lips curve into that maddening smile, letting his teeth gleam in the silver light. And then he’s gone.

When I stomp aboard the jet alone, Cal has the good sense to let me simmer in my anger. Only despair drowns out my rage. Rise alone. Alone. I dig my nails into my palm, trying to chase the sadness with pain. Fates can change.

Farley is not so tactful as Cal. She looks up from bandaging Gareth’s leg, her fingers sticky with scarlet blood, and sneers. “Good, we didn’t need the old loon anyways.” “That old loon could’ve won this war outright.” Shade cuffs her lightly on the shoulder, earning a dark glare. “Think of what he can do with his ability.” From the pilot’s seat, Cal glowers. “He’s done enough.” He watches me take the chair next to him, seething all the while. “You really want to storm a secret prison built for people like us?” “Would you rather let Julian die?” No answer but for a low hiss. “That’s what I thought.”

“All right, then,” he sighs, easing the jet into a crawl. The wheels bump beneath us, rolling over uneven road. “We have to regroup, get a plan together. Anyone who wants to come is welcome, but no kids.” “No kids,” I agree. My mind flashes to Luther and the other newblood children back at the Notch. Too young to fight, but not young enough to be spared from Maven’s hunt. They won’t like being left behind, but I know how Cal cares for them. He won’t allow any of them to see the wrong side of a gun.

“Whatever you’re talking about, I’m in.” Gareth looks at us around Farley, his teeth gritted against the pain in his leg. “Though I’d like to know what it is I’m signing up for.” Scoffing, Nanny swats at him one bony hand. “Just because you’re shot in the leg doesn’t mean you can stop paying attention. It’s a prison break.” “Too right, Nan,” Farley agrees. “And a goose chase if you ask me. Going on the word of a madman.” That stills even Nanny’s jokes. She fixes me with a stare only a grandmother could summon. “Is that true, Mare?” “Madman’s a bit harsh,” Shade mutters, but he doesn’t deny what they’re all thinking. I’m the only one who believes Jon, and they trust me enough to follow that faith. “He was right about Pitarus, and everything else he said. Why would he lie about the jail?” Rise and rise alone.

“He didn’t lie!”

My shout silences them all, until there’s only the rumble of jet engines. They rise to a familiar dull roar that shudders through the craft, and soon the pavement beneath us falls away. Rain spatters against the windows, making it impossible to see, but Cal’s too good to let us drop. After a few moments, we burst through the gunmetal clouds and into bright midday sun. It’s like throwing off an iron weight.

“Take us to Little Sword Lake,” I murmur. “Jon said we would find something there, something that will help.” I expect more arguments, but no one dares cross me. It’s not wise to annoy a lightning girl when you’re flying in a metal tube.

Thunder rolls beneath us, in the clouds below, a harbinger of the lightning churning in the rainstorm. Great bolts strike the land, and I feel each one as an extension of myself. Fluid but sharp as glass, burning through everything in their way. The Little Sword is not far, on the northern edge of the storm, and it reflects the steadily clearing sky like a mirror. Cal circles once, high enough and deep enough in the clouds to hide our presence, before he spots a runway half-buried in the forested hills around the lake. When we touch down, I all but leap from my seat, though I have no idea what I’m looking for.

Shade is close behind me as I sprint down the jet ramp, eager to get to the lake. It’s a mile north, if memory serves, and I let my inner compass take hold. But I barely make it to the tree line before a familiar sound stops me cold.

The click of a gun.