UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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FOURTEEN
Security patrols my hallway in roving pairs, but with Maven on my arm, they don’t stop me. Even though it’s night, long past when I should be in bed, no one says a word. No one crosses a prince. Where he’s leading now, I don’t know, but he promised to get me there. Home.
He’s quiet but determined, fighting a small smile. I can’t help but beam at him. Maybe he isn’t so bad. But he stops us long before I assume he should—we never even leave the residence floors.
“Here we are,” he says, and raps on the door.
It swings open after a moment, revealing Cal. His appearance takes me back a step. His chest is bare, while the rest of his strange armor hangs off him. Metal plates woven into fabric, some of it dented. I don’t miss the purple bruise above his heart, or the faint stubble on his cheeks. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in over a week and I’ve caught him at a bad moment, obviously. He doesn’t notice me at first; he’s focused on removing more of his armor. It makes me gulp.
“Got the board set, Mavey—,” he begins, but stops when he looks up to see me standing with his brother. “Mare, how can I, uh, what can I do for you?” He stumbles over his words, at a loss for once.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I reply, looking from him to Maven. My betrothed only smirks, raising an eyebrow a little.
“For being the good son, my brother has his own discretions,” he says, and his air is surprisingly playful. Even Cal grins a little, rolling his eyes. “You wanted to go home, Mare, and I’ve found you someone who’s been there before.”
After a second of confusion, I realize what Maven is saying and how stupid I am for not realizing it before. Cal can get me out of the palace. Cal was at the tavern. . . . He got himself out of here, so he can do the same for me.
“Maven,” Cal says through gritted teeth, his grin gone. “You know she can’t. It’s not a good idea—”
It’s my turn to speak up, to take what I want. “Liar.”
He looks at me with his burning eyes, his stare going right through me. I hope he can see my determination, my desperation, my need.
“We’ve taken everything from her, brother,” Maven murmurs, drawing close. “Surely we can give her this?”
And then slowly, reluctantly, Cal nods and waves me into his room. Dizzy with excitement, I hurry inside, almost hopping from foot to foot.
I’m going home.
Maven lingers at the door, his smile fading a little when I leave his side. “You’re not coming.” It isn’t a question.
He shakes his head. “You’ll have enough to worry about without me tagging along.”
I don’t have to be a genius to see the truth in his words. But just because he isn’t coming doesn’t mean I will forget what he’s done for me already. Without thinking, I throw my arms around Maven. He doesn’t respond for a second, but slowly lets an arm drop around my shoulders. When I pull back, a silver blush paints his cheeks. I can feel my own blood run hot beneath my skin, pounding in my ears.
“Don’t be too long,” he says, tearing his eyes away from me to look at Cal.
Cal barely smirks. “You act like I’ve never done this before.”
The brothers share a chuckle, laughing just for each other like I’ve seen my brothers do a thousand times before. When the door shuts behind Maven, leaving me with Cal, I can’t help but feel a little less animosity toward the princes.
Cal’s room is twice the size of mine, but so cluttered it seems smaller. Armor and uniforms and combat suits fill the alcoves along the walls, all hanging from what I assume are models of Cal’s body. They tower over me like faceless ghosts, staring with invisible eyes. Most of the armor is light, steel plate and thick fabric, but a few are heavy-duty, meant for battle, not training. One even has a helmet of shining metal, with a tinted glass faceplate. An insignia glitters on the sleeve, sewn into the dark gray material. The flaming black crown and silver wings. What it means, what the uniforms are for, what Cal has done in them, I don’t want to think about.
Like Julian, Cal has stacks of books piled all over, spilling out in little rivers of ink and paper. They aren’t as old as Julian’s though—most look newly bound, typed out and reprinted on plastic-lined sheets to preserve the words. And all are written in Common, the language of Norta, the Lakelands, and Piedmont. While Cal disappears into his closet, stripping off the rest of his armor as he goes, I sneak a glance at his books. These are strange, full of maps, diagrams, and charts—guides to the terrible art of warfare. Each one is more violent than the last, detailing military movements from recent years and even before. Great victories, bloody defeats, weapons, and maneuvers, it’s enough to make my head spin. Cal’s notes inside them are worse, outlining the tactics he favors, which ones are worth the cost of life. In the pictures, tiny squares to represent soldiers, but I see my brothers and Kilorn and everyone like them.
Beyond the books, by the window, there’s a little table and two chairs. On the tabletop, a game board lies ready, pieces already in place. I don’t recognize it, but I know it was meant for Maven. They must meet nightly, to play and laugh as brothers do.
“We won’t have very long to visit,” Cal calls out, making me jump. I glance at the closet, catching sight of his tall, muscled back as he pulls a shirt on. There are more bruises, and scars as well, even though I’m sure he has access to an army of healers if he wants them. For some reason, he’s chosen to keep the scars.
“As long as I get to see my family,” I answer back, maneuvering myself away so I don’t keep staring at him.
Cal emerges, this time fully dressed in plain clothes. After a moment, I realize it’s the same thing he wore the night I met him. I can’t believe I didn’t see him for what he was from the beginning: a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And now I’m the sheep pretending to be a wolf.
No one comes to stop us when we leave the residence floors; I guess being the crown prince has its advantages.
Cal turns a corner, directing us into a wide concrete room. “Just in here.”
It looks like some kind of storage facility, filled with rows of strange shapes covered in canvas sheets. Some are big, some are small, but all are hidden.
“It’s a dead end,” I protest. There’s no way out but the way we came in.
“Yes, Mare, I brought you to a dead end,” he sighs, walking down a particular row. The sheets ripple as he passes and I glimpse shining metal underneath.
“More armor?” I poke at one of the shapes. “I was going to say, you should probably get some more. Didn’t seem like you had enough upstairs. Actually, you might want to put some on. My brothers are pretty huge and like to beat on people.” Though, judging by Cal’s book collection and muscles, he can hold his own. Not to mention the whole controlling-fire thing.
He just shakes his head. “I think I’ll be fine without it. Besides, I look like a Security officer in that stuff. We don’t want your family getting the wrong idea, do we?”
“What idea do we want them to get? I don’t think I’m exactly allowed to introduce you properly.”
“I work with you, we got a leave pass for the night. Simple,” he says, shrugging. Lying comes so easily to these people.
“So why would you come with me? What’s the story there?”
With a sly grin, Cal gestures to the canvas shape next to him. “I’m your ride.”
He throws back the sheet, revealing a gleaming contraption of metal and black paint. Two treaded wheels, mirrored chrome, lights, a long leather seat—it’s a transport like I’ve never seen.
“It’s a cycle,” Cal says, running a hand over the silver handlebars like a proud father. He knows and loves every inch of the metal beast. “Fast, agile, and it can go where transports can’t.”
“It looks—like a death trap,” I finally say, unable to mask my trepidation.
Laughing, he pulls a helmet from the back of the seat. I sure hope he doesn’t expect me to wear it, much less ride this thing. “That’s what father said, and Colonel Macanthos. They won’t mass-produce for the armies yet, but I’ll win them over. Haven’t crashed once since I perfected the wheels.”
“You built it?” I say, incredulous, but he shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wow.”
“Just wait until you ride it,” he says, holding out the helmet to me. As if on cue, the far wall jolts, its metal mechanisms groaning somewhere, and begins to slide away, revealing the dark night beyond.
Laughing, I take a step back from the death machine. “That’s not happening.”
But Cal just smirks and swings one leg over the cycle, sinking down into the seat. The engine rumbles to life beneath him, purring and growling with energy. I can sense the battery deep in the machine, powering it on. It begs to be let loose, to consume the long road between here and home. Home.
“It’s perfectly safe, I promise,” he shouts over the engine. The headlight blazes on, illuminating the dark night beyond. Cal’s red-gold eyes meet mine and he stretches out a hand. “Mare?”
Despite the horrible sinking in my stomach, I slide the helmet onto my head.
I’ve never ridden in an airship, but I know this must feel like flying. Like freedom. Cal’s cycle eats up the familiar road in elegant, arcing curves. He’s a good driver, I’ll give him that. The old road is full of bumps and holes, but he dodges each one with ease, even as my heart rises in my throat. Only when we coast to a stop half a mile from town do I realize I’m holding on to him so tightly he has to pry me off. I feel suddenly cold without his warmth, but I push the thought away.
“Fun, right?” he says, powering down the cycle. My legs and back are already sore from the strange, small seat, but he hops off with an extra spring in his step.
With some difficulty, I slide off as well. My knees wobble a bit, more from the pounding heartbeat still thrumming in my ears, but I think I’m okay.
“It won’t be my first choice in transportation.”
“Remind me to take you up in an airjet sometime. You’ll stick to cycles after that,” he replies as he rolls the cycle off the road, into the cover of the woods. After throwing a few leafy branches over it, he stands back to admire his handiwork. If I didn’t know exactly where to look, I wouldn’t notice the cycle was there at all.
“You do this a lot, I see.”
Cal turns back to me, one hand in his pocket. “Palaces can get . . . stuffy.”
“And crowded bars, Red bars, aren’t?” I ask, pushing the topic. But he starts walking toward the village, setting a fast pace like he can outrun the question.
“I don’t go out to drink, Mare.”
“So what, you just catch pickpockets and hand out jobs willy-nilly?”