Web lightning, as Rafe calls it, is more familiar. He uses bolts and sparks thrown from his hands and feet, usually in splaying webs of green, to protect his body. While he can call storms too, he prefers more accurate methods, and he fights with precision. His lightning can take form. He’s best at the shield, a weaving crackle of electric energy that can stop a bullet, and a whip to cut through rock and bone. The latter is striking to behold: a fraying arc of electricity that moves like deadly rope, able to burn through anything in its path. I feel the force of it every time we spar. It doesn’t hurt me as much as it would anyone else, but any lightning I can’t wrench control of strikes deep. Usually I end the day with my hair on end, and when Cal kisses me, he always gets a shock or two.
The quiet Tyton doesn’t spar with any of us, or with anyone, for that matter. He has given no name to his specialty, but Ella calls it pulse lightning. His control of electricity is astounding. The pure white sparks are small but concentrated, containing the strength of a storm bolt. Like a live-wire bullet.
“I’d show you brain lightning,” he mutters to me one day, “but I doubt anyone would volunteer to help the demonstration.”
We pass the sparring circles together, beginning the long walk across the base to Storm Hill. Now that I’ve been with them awhile, Tyton actually speaks more than a few words to me. Still, it’s a surprise to hear his slow, methodic voice.
“What’s brain lightning?” I ask, intrigued.
“What it sounds like.”
“Helpful,” Ella sneers at my side. She continues braiding her vivid hair back from her face. It hasn’t been dyed in a few weeks, as evidenced by the dirty-blond hair showing at the root. “He means that a human body runs on a pulse of electrical signals. Very small, ridiculously fast. Difficult to detect and almost impossible to control. They’re most concentrated in the brain, and easiest to harness there.”
My eyes widen as I look at Tyton. He just keeps walking, white hair over one eye, hands shoved into his pockets. Unassuming. As if what Ella just said isn’t terrifying. “You can control someone’s brain?” Cold fear rips me like a knife to the gut.
“Not the way you’re thinking.”
“How do you know—”
“Because you’re very easy to predict, Mare. I’m not a mind reader, but I know six months at the mercy of a whisper would make anyone suspicious.” With an annoyed sigh, he raises a hand. A spark brighter than the sun and more blinding weaves through his fingers. One touch from it could turn a man inside out with its force. “Ella’s trying to say I can look at a person and drop them like a sack of hammers. Affect the electricity in their body. Give them a seizure if I’m feeling merciful. Kill them outright if not.”
I look back at Ella and Rafe, blinking between them. “Have either of you learned that?”
Both scoff. “Neither of us has anywhere near the control required,” Ella says.
“Tyton can kill someone discreetly, without anyone else knowing,” Rafe explains. “We could be having dinner in the mess hall and the premier drops on the other side of the room. Seizure. He dies. Tyton doesn’t blink and keeps on eating. Of course,” he adds, clapping Tyton on the back, “not that we think you would ever do that.”
Tyton barely reacts. “Comforting.”
What a monstrous—and useful—way to use our ability.
In the sparring circles, someone yells in frustration. The sound draws my attention, and I turn to see a pair of newbloods grappling. Kilorn oversees the spar and waves at us.
“Going to give the rings a try today?” he says, gesturing at the circles of dirt marking the sparring grounds. “Haven’t seen the lightning girl spark up in a long while.”
I feel a surprisingly eager tug. Sparring with Ella or Rafe is exciting, but matching lightning to lightning isn’t exactly helpful. There’s no reason to practice fighting something we won’t encounter for a long time.
Ella answers before I can, stepping forward. “We spar on Storm Hill. And we’re already late.”
Kilorn just raises an eyebrow. He wants my answer, not hers.
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind. We should be practicing against what Maven has in his arsenal.” I try to keep my tone diplomatic. I like Ella; I like Rafe. I even like what I know of Tyton, which is very little. But I have a voice too. And I think we can only go so far fighting each other. “I’d like to spar here today.”
Ella opens her mouth to argue, but it’s Tyton who speaks first. “Fine,” he says. “Who?”
The closest thing to Maven we have.
“You know, I’m a lot better at this than he is.”
Cal stretches an arm over his head, the bicep straining against thin cotton. He grins as I watch, enjoying the attention. I just glower and cross my arms over my chest. He hasn’t agreed to my request, but he hasn’t said no either. And the fact that Cal cut short his own training routine to come to the sparring circles says enough.
“Good. That will make fighting him easier.” I’m careful with my words. Fight, not kill. Ever since Cal mentioned his search for someone who can “fix” his brother, I have to tread lightly. As much as I want to kill Maven for what he did to me, I can’t voice those thoughts. “If I train against you, he won’t be difficult at all.”
He scuffs the dirt beneath his feet. Testing the terrain. “We already fought.”
“Under the influence of a whisper. Someone else pulled the strings. That’s not the same.”
At the edge of the circle, a bit of a crowd gathers to watch. When Cal and I step onto the same sparring ground, word travels quickly. I think Kilorn might even be taking bets, weaving through the dozen or so newbloods with a shifty grin. One of them is Reese, the healer I struck when I was first rescued. He lies in wait like the skin healers used to when I trained with Silvers. Ready to fix whatever we break.
My fingers drum against my arms, each one ticking. In my bones, I call to lightning. It rises at my command, and I feel the clouds gather overhead. “Are you going to keep wasting my time so you can strategize, or can we get started?”
He just winks and continues his stretches. “Almost done.”
“Fine.” Stooping, I brush the finely ground dirt over my hands, wiping away any sweat. Cal taught me that. He grins and does the same. Then, to the surprise and delight of more than a few people, he pulls his shirt clean off and tosses it to the side.