“They have to be. There’s only so much Silent Stone and only the government can use it, for obvious reasons.”
“That’s true . . . in Norta.”
He tilts his head, perplexed. “You think these came from somewhere else?”
“There are smuggled shipments coming in from all over. Piedmont, the Lakelands, other places too. And haven’t you seen any soldiers down here? Their uniforms?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not since that red-eyed bastard marched me in yesterday.”
“They call him the Colonel, and he’s Farley’s father.”
“I’d feel sorry for her, but my family’s infinitely worse.”
I scoff, half-amused. “They’re Lakelanders, Cal. Farley, and the Colonel, and all his soldiers. Which means there’s more where they came from.”
Confusion clouds his face. “That—that can’t be. I’ve seen the battle lines myself; there’s no way through.” He looks at his hands, idly drawing a map in midair. It makes no sense to me, but he knows it intimately. “The lakes are blockaded on both shores; the Choke is out of the question completely. Moving goods and stores is one thing, but not people, not in this magnitude. They’d have to have wings to get across.”
My breath rushes inward, as fast as my realization. The concrete yard, the immense hangar at the end of the base, the wide road leading to nowhere.
Not a road.
A runway.
“I think they do.”
To my surprise, a wide, genuine grin breaks across Cal’s face. He turns to the window, peering out at the empty passage. “Their manners leave a lot to be desired, but the Scarlet Guard are going to cause my brother a lot of headaches.”
And then I’m smiling too. If this is how the Colonel treats his so-called allies, I’d love to see what he does to his enemies.
Dinnertime comes and goes, marked only by a grizzled old Lakelander carrying a tray of food. He motions for both of us to step back and face the far wall, so he can slide the tray through a slit in the door. Neither of us responds, stubbornly standing our ground by the window. After a long standoff, he marches away, eating our dinner with a grin. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I grew up hungry. I can handle a few hours without a meal. Cal, on the other hand, pales when the food saunters off, his eyes following the plate of gray fish.
“If you wanted to eat, you should’ve told me,” I grumble, taking my seat again. “You’re no use if you’re starving.”
“That’s what they’re supposed to think,” he replies, a bit of a glint in his eye. “I figure I’ll faint after breakfast tomorrow, and see how well their medics take a punch.”
It’s a shaky plan at best, and I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“No,” I say, sullen.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Hmph.”
The Silent Stone has a strange effect on both of us. In taking away what we rely on most, our abilities, the cell forces us to become someone else. For Cal, that means being smarter, more calculating. He can’t lean on infernos, so he turns to his mind instead. Although, judging by the fainting idea, he’s not the sharpest blade in the armory.
The change in me is not so evident. After all, I lived seventeen years in silence, not knowing what power lingered within me. Now I’m remembering that girl again, the heartless, selfish girl who would do anything to save her own skin. If the Lakelander returns with another tray, he better be ready to feel my hands around his throat and, if we manage to get out of this cell, my lightning in his bones.
“Julian’s alive.” I don’t know where the words come from, but suddenly they’re hanging in the air, fragile as snowflakes.
Cal’s head jerks up, his eyes suddenly bright. The prospect of his uncle still breathing cheers him almost as much as freedom. “Who told you that?”
“The Colonel.”
Now it’s Cal’s turn to “hmph.”
“I think I believe him.” That earns a disparaging glare, but I press on. “The Colonel thinks Julian was part of Maven’s trap, another Silver to betray me. It’s why he doesn’t believe in the list.”
Cal nods, his eyes faraway. “The ones like you.”
“Farley calls them—us—newbloods.”
“Well,” he sighs, “the only thing they’ll be called is dead if you don’t get out of here soon. Maven will hunt them all.”
Blunt but true. “For revenge?”
To my surprise, he shakes his head. “He’s a new king following a murdered father. Not the most stable place to start his reign. The High Houses, Samos and Iral especially, would leap at a chance to weaken him. And the discovery of newbloods, after he publicly denounced you, would certainly do that.”
Though Cal was raised to be a soldier, trained in the barracks of a living war, he was also born to be a king. He might not be so conniving as Maven, but he understands statecraft better than most.
“So every person we save will hurt him, not just on the battlefield, but on the throne.”
He smirks crookedly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re throwing ‘we’ around quite a bit.”
“Does that bother you?” I ask, testing the waters. If I can rope Cal into tracking down the newbloods with me, we might actually have a chance of outpacing Maven.
A muscle in his cheek twitches, the only indication of his indecision. He doesn’t get a chance to answer before the now familiar march of boots cuts him off. Cal groans to himself, annoyed at the Colonel’s return. When he starts to rise, my hand shoots out, pushing him back into his seat.
“Don’t stand for him,” I mutter, leaning back in my own chair.
Cal does as he’s told and settles in, arms crossed over his broad chest. Now instead of beating against the window and tossing tables at the walls, he looks stoic, serene, a boulder of flesh waiting to crush whoever comes too close. If only he could. But for the Silent Stone, he would be a blazing inferno, burning hotter and brighter than the sun. And I would be a storm. Instead, we’re reduced to our bones, to two teenagers grumbling in a cage.
I do my best to keep still when the Colonel appears in the window. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my anger, but when Kilorn appears at his shoulder, his expression cold and stern, my body jolts. Now it’s Cal’s turn to hold me back, his hand a slight pressure on my thigh, keeping me seated.
The Colonel stares for a moment, as if memorizing the sight of the prince and the lightning girl imprisoned. I’m seized by the urge to spit on the bloodstained glass but refrain. Then he turns away from us, gesturing with long, crooked fingers. They twitch once, twice, beckoning for someone to step forward. Or be brought forth.
She fights like a lion, forcing the Colonel’s bodyguards to hold her clean off the ground. Farley’s fist catches one of them in the jaw, sending him sprawling, breaking his grip on her arm. She slams the other into the passage wall, crushing his neck between her elbow and the window of another cell. Her blows are brutal, meant to inflict as much damage as she can, and I can see purple bruises already blooming on her captors. But the bodyguards are careful not to hurt her, doing their best to keep her merely restrained.
Colonel’s orders, I suppose. He’ll give his daughter a cell, but not bruises.
To my dismay, Kilorn doesn’t stand idle. When the guards get her up against a wall, each one bracing a shoulder and leg, the Colonel gestures to the fish boy. With shaking hands, he pulls out a dull gray box. Syringes gleam within.
I can’t hear her voice through the glass, but it’s easy to read her lips. No. Don’t.
“Kilorn, stop it!” The window is suddenly cold and smooth beneath my hand. I beat against it, trying to catch his attention. “Kilorn!”