“I thought we would lose you.” His words are deliberately chosen, carefully made. So I lean forward, putting a hand on his fist. It’s all the assurance he needs to press on. “I thought I was going to lose you. So many times.”
“But I’m still here,” I say.
He takes my neck in his hands like he doesn’t believe me. I’m dimly reminded of Maven’s grip, but fight the urge to flinch. I don’t want Cal to pull away.
I have been running for so long. Since before all this even started. Even back in the Stilts, I was a runner. Avoiding my family, my fate, anything I didn’t want to feel. And I am still racing now. From those who would kill me—and those who would love me.
I want so badly to stop. I want to stand still without killing myself or someone else. But that is not possible. I must keep going, I must hurt myself to save myself, hurt others to save others. Hurt Kilorn, hurt Cal, hurt Shade and Farley and Nix and everyone stupid enough to follow me. I’m making them runners too.
“So we fight him.” Cal’s lips move closer, hot with each word. His grip tightens, like any second someone is going to come and take me from him. “That’s what we set out to do, so we do it. We build an army. And we kill him. Him and his mother both.”
Killing a king will change nothing. Another will take his place. But it is a start. If we cannot outrun Maven, we must stop him cold. For the newbloods. For Cal. For me.
I am a weapon made of flesh, a sword covered in skin. I was born to kill a king, to end a reign of terror before it can truly begin. Fire and lightning raised Maven up, and fire and lightning will bring him down.
“I won’t let him hurt you again.”
His breath makes me shiver. A strange sensation, when surrounded with such blazing warmth. “I believe you,” I tell him, lying.
Because I am weak, I turn in his arms. Because I am weak, I press my lips to his, searching for something to make me stop running, to make me forget. We are both weak, it seems.
As his hands run over my skin, I feel a different sort of pain. Worse than Maven’s machine, deeper than my nerves. It aches like a hollow, like an empty weight. I am a sword, born of lightning, of this fire—and of Maven’s. One already betrayed me, and the other might leave at any moment. But I do not fear a broken heart. I do not fear pain.
I cling to Cal, Kilorn, Shade, to saving all the newbloods I can, because I am afraid of waking up to emptiness, to a place where my friends and family are gone and I am nothing but a single bolt of lightning in the blackness of a lonely storm.
If I am a sword, I am a sword made of glass, and I feel myself beginning to shatter.
EIGHTEEN
The thing with heat is, no matter how cold you are, no matter how much you need warmth, it always, eventually, becomes too much. I remember many winters spent with the window cracked open, letting in the blistering cold to combat the fire burning in the family room below. Something about the icy air helped me sleep. And now deep gasps of an autumn breeze help me to calm down, help me forget Cal alone back in the safe house. I should not have done that, I think, pressing a hand to my fevered skin. He is not only a distraction I can’t afford but a heartbreak waiting to happen. His allegiances are shaky at best. One day he will leave, or die, or betray me like so many others have. One day, he will hurt me.
Overhead, the sun has completely set, painting the sky in darkening streaks of red and orange. Maybe. I can’t trust the colors I see. I can’t trust in much of anything anymore.
The safe house is built into the crest of a hill, in the middle of a large clearing surrounded by forest. It overlooks a winding valley full of trees, lakes, and constant, swirling mist. I grew up in the woods, but this place is as alien to me as Archeon or the Hall of the Sun. There’s nothing man-made as far as the eye can see, no echo of a logging village or farm town. Though I suppose there’s a runway hidden nearby, if the jet can still be used. We must be deep into the Nortan backcountry, north and inland from Harbor Bay. I don’t know the Regent State well, but this looks like the Greatwoods region, dominated by wilderness, rolling green mountains, and a frozen tundra border with the Lakelands. It’s sparsely populated, gently governed by the shivers of House Gliacon—and a marvelous place to hide.
“You finished with him?”
Kilorn is little more than a shadow, leaning against the trunk of an oak with sky-splayed branches. There’s a water jug forgotten by his feet. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s upset. I can hear it just fine.
“Don’t be unkind.” I’m used to ordering him around, but this sounds like a request. As I expected, he ignores me, and keeps rambling.
“I guess all rumors do have a grain of truth. Even the ones that little snit Maven spits out. ‘Mare Barrow seduced the prince into killing the king.’ It’s shocking to know he’s half-right.” He takes a few prowling steps forward, reminding me very much of an Iral silk creeping in for a final blow. “Because the prince is most certainly bewitched.”
“If you keep talking, I’m going to turn you into a battery.”
“You should get some new threats,” he says, smiling sharply. He’s gotten used to my big talk over the years, and I doubt I could scare him with anything, even my lightning. “He’s a powerful man, in every form of the word. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re holding his reins.”
I can’t help but scoff aloud, laughing in his face. “Glad? You’re jealous, plain and simple. You’re not used to sharing. And you don’t like being useless.”
Useless. The word stings. I can tell by the twitch in his neck. But it doesn’t stop him from towering over me, his height blocking out the stars winking to life above us.
“The question is, are you under a spell too? Is he using you the same way you’re using him?”
“I’m not using anyone.” A lie, and we both know it. “And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re right,” he says quietly.
Surprise almost knocks me off my feet. In more than ten years of friendship, I have never heard those words from Kilorn Warren. He’s stubborn as a tree stump, too self-assured for his own good, a smarmy bastard most of the time—but now, on this hilltop, he is nothing he ever was. He seems small and dim, a glimmer of my old life steadily flickering into nothing. I clasp my hands together to keep from reaching out and touching him, to prove that Kilorn still exists.
“I don’t know what happened to you when you were Mareena. I wasn’t there to help you through that. I won’t tell you that I understand, or that I’m sorry for you. That’s not what you need.”
But it’s exactly what I want, so I can be angry with him. So I don’t have to listen to what he’s about to say. Too bad Kilorn knows me better than that.
“The best thing I can do is tell you the truth, or at least, what I think is the truth.” Though his voice is steady, his shoulders rise and fall with deep, heaving breaths. He’s scared. “It’ll be up to you to believe me or not.”
A twitch pulls at my lips, betraying a painful smile. I’m so used to being pushed and pulled, manipulated into thinking and doing by those closest to me. Even Kilorn is guilty of that. But now he’s giving me the freedom I’ve wanted for so long. A choice, small as it may be. He trusts that I have the sense to choose—even if I don’t.
“I’m listening.”
He starts to say something else, then stops himself. The words stick, refusing to come out. And for a second, his green eyes look strangely wet.
“What, Kilorn?” I sigh.
“What,” he echoes, shaking his head. After a long second, something snaps in him. “I know you don’t feel the same way I do. About us.”
I’m seized by the urge to smash my head against a rock. Us. It feels stupid to talk about, a foolish waste of time and energy. But more than that, it’s embarrassing and uncomfortable. My cheeks flame red. This is not a conversation I ever wanted to have with him.