Glass Sword

13

It’s easy to convince Nix to stay behind. Even with his invulnerability, he’s still a village crabber who’s never gone farther than the salt marshes of his home. A rescue mission inside a walled city is no place for him, and he knows it. Kilorn is not so easily swayed. He agrees to stay on the jet only after I remind him that someone needs to keep an eye on Nix.

When he hugs me tightly, saying good-bye for the moment, I expect to hear a whispered warning, some advice maybe. Instead, I get encouragement, and it’s more comforting than it should be. “You’re going to save them,” he murmurs. “I know you are.”

Save them. The words echo in my head, following me down the jet ramp and into the sunlit forest. I will, I tell myself, repeating until I believe in myself as much as Kilorn does. I will, I will, I will.

The woods here are thinner, forcing us to be on constant guard. In the daylight, Cal doesn’t have to worry about flame, and keeps his fire ready, each fingertip burning like the wick of a candle. Shade is off the ground entirely, jumping himself from tree to tree. He searches the forest with a soldier’s precision, his hawk-like gaze sweeping in every direction before he’s satisfied. I keep my own senses open, feeling for any burst of electricity that might be a transport or low-flying airship. There’s a dull hum to the southeast, toward Harbor Bay, but that’s to be expected, just like the ebb and flow of traffic along the Port Road. We’re well out of earshot of the byway, but my inner compass tells me we’re getting closer with every step.

I feel them before I see them. It’s small, the slightest pressure against my open mind. The tiny battery bleeds electricity, probably powering a watch or radio.

“From the east,” I murmur, pointing toward the approaching energy source.

Farley whips toward the direction, not bothering to crouch. But I certainly do, dropping to a knee in the foliage, letting the first colors of autumn camouflage my dark red shirt and brown hair. Cal is right beside me, flames close to his skin, controlled so that they don’t set the forest on fire. His breathing is even, steady, practiced, as his eyes search through the trees.

I extend a finger, pointing toward the battery. A single spark runs down my hand and disappears, calling out to the electricity drawing near.

“Farley, get down,” Cal growls, his voice almost lost among the rustling leaves.

Instead of obeying, she backs against a tree, melting into the shadows of the trunk. Sunlight through the leaves above dapples her skin, and her stillness makes her look like part of the forest. But she is not quiet. Her lips part, and a low birdcall echoes through the branches. The same one she used outside Coraunt, to communicate to Kilorn. A signal.

The Scarlet Guard.

“Farley,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “What’s going on?”

But she isn’t paying attention to me and watches the trees instead. Waiting. Listening. A moment later, someone hoots out a trilling reply, similar but not the same. When Shade responds from the tree above us, adding his own call to the strange song, a bit of my fear lifts away. Farley could lead me into a trap, but Shade wouldn’t. I hope.

“Captain, thought you were stuck on that blasted island,” a coarse voice says, filtering out of a thick grove of elms. The accent, hard vowels and missing r’s, is thick and distinct—Harbor Bay.

Farley smiles at the sounds, pushing off her tree trunk smoothly. “Crance,” she says, beckoning to the figure picking through the underbrush. “Where’s Melody? I was supposed to meet her. Since when are you Egan’s errand boy?”

When he steps out from the foliage, I do my best to size him up, taking in the little details I taught myself to notice long ago. He leans, compensating for something heavy left behind. A rifle perhaps, or maybe a club. Errand boy indeed. He has the look of a dockworker or a brawler, with massive arms and a barrel chest hiding beneath the bulk of worn cotton and a quilted vest. It’s heavily patched, creating a motley plaid of discarded fabric, all red in hue. Strange that his vest is so battered, but his leather boots look new, polished to a high sheen. Stolen, probably. My kind of man.

Crance shrugs at Farley, a twitch tugging at his dark face. “She’s got business on the docks. And I prefer right-hand man, if you don’t mind.” He turns the twitch into a grin, then bows in a smooth, exaggerated motion. “Of course, Boss Egan bids you welcome, Captain.”

“It’s not Captain anymore,” Farley mutters, frowning as she clasps his forearm in some version of a handshake. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”

He merely shakes his head. “You’ll find few here who’ll go along with that. The Mariners answer to Egan, not your Colonel.”

Mariners? Another division within the Scarlet Guard, I suppose.

“Are your friends going to keep hiding in the bushes?” he adds, angling a glance at me. His blue eyes are electrifying, made even sharper by his umber skin. But they aren’t enough to distract me from the more pressing issue—I still feel the pulsing watch battery, and Crance isn’t wearing a watch.

“What about your friends?” I ask him, standing up from the forest floor.

Cal moves in time with me, and I can tell he’s scrutinizing Crance, sizing him up. The other man does the same, one kind of soldier to another. Then he grins, teeth gleaming.

“So this is why the Colonel’s making such a fuss.” He chuckles, taking one daring step forward.

Neither of us flinches, despite his size. We’re more dangerous than he is.

He lets out a low whistle, turning his gaze back to me. “The exiled prince and the lightning girl. And where’s the Rabbit? I knew I heard him.”

Rabbit?

Shade’s form appears behind Crance, one arm on his crutch, the other around Crance’s neck. But he’s smiling, laughing. “I told you not to call me that,” he chides, shaking Crance’s shoulders.

“If the shoe fits,” Crance replies, shrugging out of Shade’s grasp. He makes a hopping motion with his hand, laughing as he does so. But his grin fades a little at the sight of the crutch and bandages. “You fall down a flight of stairs or something?” Crance keeps his tone light, but darkness clouds his bright eyes.

Shade waves off his concern and grips one broad shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Crance. And I guess I should introduce you to my sister—”

“No introductions necessary,” Crance says, shoving an open hand my way. I take it willingly, letting him squeeze my own forearm in a hand twice the size of my own. “Good to meet you, Mare Barrow, but I have to say, you look better on the wanted posters. Didn’t know that was possible.”

The others grimace, just as frightened as I am of the thought of my face plastered in every door and window. We should’ve expected this.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I force out, letting my hand drop out of his. Exhaustion and worry have not been kind to me. I can feel the dirt on my skin, not to mention the tangles in my hair. “I’ve been a little too busy to look in the mirror.”

Crance takes the jibe in stride, grinning wider. “You really do have spark,” he murmurs, and I don’t miss his eyes straying to my fingers. I fight the urge to show him exactly how much spark he’s dealing with, and dig my nails into the flesh of my palms.

The touch of a battery is still there, a firm reminder. “So are you going to keep pretending you don’t have us surrounded?” I press, gesturing to the trees crowding in from every angle. “Or are we going to have a problem?”

“No problem at all,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then he whistles again, this one high and keen, like a falcon on the hunt. Though Crance does his best to keep smiling, to seem relaxed, I don’t miss the suspicion in his eyes. I expect him to keep close watch of Cal, but it’s me he doesn’t trust. Or doesn’t understand.

The crunch of leaves announces the appearance of Crance’s friends, also dressed in a combination of rags and stolen finery. It’s a uniform of sorts, so mismatched they begin to look alike. Two women and a man, the one with a battered but ticking watch, all seemingly unarmed. They salute Farley, smile at Shade, and don’t know how to look at Cal and me. It’s better that way, I suppose. I don’t need more friends to lose.

“Well, Rabbit, let’s see if you can keep up,” Crance needles, falling into step.

In response, Shade jumps to a nearby tree, his bad leg dangling and a smile on his lips. But when his eyes meet mine, something shifts. And then he’s behind me for a split second, moving so quickly I barely see him.

I hear what he whispers all the same.

“Trust no one.”

The tunnels are damp, the curved walls tangled with moss and deep roots, but the floor is clear of rock and debris. For Undertrains, I suspect, if any need to slip into Harbor Bay. But there’s no screech of metal on metal, no blinding pound of a train battery screaming toward us. All I feel is the flashlight in Crance’s hand, the other man’s watch, and the steady pattern of traffic on the Port Road thirty feet above our heads. The heavier transports are the worst, their wires and instruments whining in the back of my skull. I cringe as each one passes overhead, and I quickly lose count of how many rush toward Naercey. If they were clustered together, I would suspect a royal convoy carrying Maven himself, but the machines come and go seemingly at random. This is normal, I tell myself, calming my nerves so I don’t short out the flashlight and plunge us all into darkness.

Crance’s followers bring up the rear, which should put me on edge, but I don’t mind. My sparks are only a heartbeat away, and I have Cal at my side if someone makes a bad decision. He’s more intimidating than I am, one hand ablaze with red and dancing fire. It casts flickering shadows that morph and change, painting the tunnel in swirls of red and black. His colors, once. But they’re lost to him now, just like everything else.

Everything but me.

It’s no use whispering down here. Every sound carries, so Cal keeps his mouth firmly shut. But I can still read his face. He’s uncomfortable, fighting against every instinct as a soldier, a prince, and a Silver. Here he is, following his enemy into the unknown—and for what? To help me? To hurt Maven? Whatever the reasons, one day they won’t be good enough to keep going. One day, he’s going to stop following me and I need to prepare myself for it. I need to decide what my heart will allow—and what loneliness I can bear. But not yet. His warmth is with me still, and I can’t help but keep it close.

The tunnels aren’t on our map—or on any map I’ve seen—but the Port Road is, and I suspect we’re right below it. It leads straight into the heart of the Bay, through Pike Gate, curving around the harbor itself before heading north to the salt marshes, Coraunt, and the frozen borderlands far away. More important than the Port Road is the Security Center, the administrative hub for the entire city, where we can find records and, most important, addresses for Ada and Wolliver. The third name, the young girl in the slums of New Town, might be there as well.

Cameron Cole, I remember, though the rest of her information escapes me at the moment. I don’t dare pull out Julian’s list to double-check, not with so many unfamiliar faces around. The less who know about the newbloods, the better. Their names are death sentences, and I have not forgotten Shade’s warning.

With any luck, we’ll have everything we need by nightfall, and be back to the Blackrun by breakfast, with three more newbloods in tow. Kilorn will grumble, angry at us for being gone so long, but that’s the least of my worries. In fact, I look forward to his flushed face and petulant whining. Despite the Guard and his newfound rage, the boy I grew up with still glimmers beneath, and he is just as comforting as Cal’s fire or my brother’s embrace.

Shade talks to fill the silence, joking with Crance and his followers. “This man’s the reason I got out of the Choke alive,” my brother explains, gesturing to Crance with his crutch. “Executioners couldn’t get me, but starvation almost did.”

“You stole a head of cabbage. I just let you eat it,” Crance replies with a shake of his head, but his flush betrays his pride.

Shade doesn’t let him off so easily. He pastes on a grin that could light the tunnels, but there’s no light in his eyes. “A smuggler with a heart of gold.”

I watch their back-and-forth with narrowed eyes and open ears, following the conversation like a game. One compliments the other, recalling their journey back from the Choke, eluding Security and the legions alike. And while they might have formed a friendship in those weeks, it doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Now, they’re just men sharing memories and forced smiles, each one trying to figure out exactly what the other wants. I do the same, coming to my own conclusions.

Crance is a glorified thief, a profession I know well enough. The best part about thieves is you can trust them—to do their worst. If our positions were reversed, and I was my old self escorting a fugitive into the Stilts, would I turn them over for a few tetrarchs? For a few weeks of food or electricity rations? I remember hard winters well enough, cold and hungry days that seemed to have no end. Sicknesses with easy cures, but no money to buy the medicine. Even the bitter ache of simple want, to take something beautiful or useful simply because. I have done horrible things in such moments, stealing from people as desperate as I was. To survive. To keep us all alive. It’s the justification I used back in the Stilts, when I took coins from families with starving children.

I don’t doubt that Crance would turn me over to Boss Egan if he could, because it’s what I would do. Sell me to Maven for an exorbitant price. But luckily, Crance is hopelessly outgunned. He knows it, so he must maintain his smile. For now.

The tunnel curves downward and the Undertrain tracks end suddenly, where the space grows too narrow for a train to pass through. It feels cooler the deeper we go, and the air presses in. I try not to think about the weight of the earth above us. Eventually, the walls become cracked and decrepit, and would probably collapse if not for the newly added supports. Naked wooden beams march into the darkness, each one holding up the tunnel ceiling, keeping us from being buried alive.

“Where do we surface?” Cal says aloud, directing his question at anyone who will answer. Distaste poisons every word. The deeper tunnels have him on edge, just like me.

“West side of Ocean Hill,” Farley replies, mentioning the royal residence in Harbor Bay. But Crance cuts her off with a shake of his head.

“Tunnel’s closed up,” he grumbles. “There’s new construction, king’s orders. Three days he’s been on the throne and he’s already a pain in my ass.”

From this close, I hear Cal’s teeth gnash together. A burst of anger brightens his fire, throwing a blaze of heat through the tunnel that the others pretend to ignore. King’s orders. Even when he isn’t trying, Maven thwarts our progress.

Cal glances at his feet, stoic. “Maven always hated the Hill.” His words echo strangely off the walls, surrounding us in his memories. “Too small for him. Too old.”

The shadows shift on the walls, distorting our figures. I see Maven in every twisted shape, in every pool of darkness. He told me once he was the shadow of the flame. Now I fear he’s becoming the shadow in my mind, worse than a hunter, worse than a ghost. At least I’m not alone in his hauntings. At least Cal feels him too.

“The Fish Market then.” Farley’s gruff bark brings me back to the mission at hand. “We’ll have to circle around, and we’ll need a distraction outside the Security Center, if you can manage.”

I glance back at the map, brain buzzing. From the looks of it, the Security Center is directly connected to Cal’s old palace, or at least is part of the same compound. And the Fish Market, I assume, is a good distance away. We’ll have to scramble just to get where we need to be, let alone slip inside. Judging by the scowl on Cal’s face, he’s not looking forward to it.

“Egan will oblige,” Crance says, nodding at Farley’s request. “He’ll help in any way he can. Not that you’ll need much, with the Rabbit on your side.”

Shade grimaces kindly, still annoyed by the nickname. “How familiar are you with the Reds of the Bay? Think a few names will ring a bell?”

I have to bite my lips shut to keep from hissing at my brother. The last thing I want to do is tell Crance who we’re looking for—especially because he’ll wonder why. But Shade glances at me, eyebrows raised, goading me into speaking the names aloud. Next to him, Crance does his best to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes gleam. He’s all too eager to hear what I have to say.

“Ada Wallace.” It comes out a whisper, like I’m afraid the walls of the tunnel might steal my secret. “Wolliver Galt.”

Galt. It sends a spark of recognition across Crance’s face, and he has no choice but to nod. “Galt I know. Old family, live off Charside Road. Brewers by trade.” He squints, trying to remember more. “Best ale in the Bay. Good friends to have.”

My heartbeat quickens in my chest, delighted by the prospect of such luck. But it’s tempered by the knowledge that now Crance—and the mysterious Egan—know who we’re looking for.

“Can’t say I know the Wallace one,” he continues. “It’s a common enough name, but no one comes to mind.”

To my chagrin, I can’t tell if he’s lying. So I have to push, to keep him talking. Perhaps Crance will reveal something, or give me an excuse to convince him to do so.

“You called yourselves the Mariners?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.

He flashes a grin over his shoulder, then lifts a sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his forearm. A blue-black anchor, surrounded by red, swirling rope. “Best smugglers in the Beacon,” he says proudly. “You want it, we run it.”

“And you serve the Guard?”

That question makes his smile drop away and he rolls down his sleeve again. There’s a shadow of a nod, but nothing more convincing than that.

“I take it Egan’s another captain.” I quicken my pace, until I’m almost stepping on Crance’s heels. His shoulders tighten at my closeness, and I don’t miss it when the hairs on the back of his neck raise. “And that makes you what? His lieutenant?”

“We don’t bother with titles,” he replies, dodging my needling. But I’m just getting started. The others look on, confused by my behavior. Kilorn would understand. Better yet, he would play along.

“Forgive me, Crance.” The words come out sickly sweet. I sound like a court lady, not a sneak thief, and it rankles him. “I’m simply curious about our brothers and sisters in the Bay. Tell me, what convinced you to join the cause?”

Hard silence. When I look back, Crance’s friends are just as quiet, their eyes almost black in the dim tunnel light.

“Was it Farley? Were you recruited?” I press on, waiting for some sign of a break. Still he doesn’t respond. And a tremor of fear rolls through me. What isn’t he telling us? “Or did you seek the Guard out, like I did? Of course, I had a very good reason. I thought Shade was dead, you see, and I wanted vengeance. I joined up because I wanted to kill the people who killed my brother.”

Nothing, but Crance’s pace quickens. I’ve touched on something.

“Who did the Silvers take from you?”

I expect Shade to scold me for my questions, but he stays quiet. His attention never wavers from Crance’s face, trying to see what the smuggler is hiding. Because he is certainly hiding something from us, and we’re all beginning to feel it. Even Farley tenses up, though she seemed so friendly moments ago. She’s realized something, seen something she didn’t see before. Her hand strays into her jacket, closing around what can only be another hidden knife. And Cal never let his guard drop to begin with. His fire burns, a naked threat to split the darkness. Again I think of the tunnel. It starts to feel like a grave.

“Where is Melody?” Farley murmurs, putting out one gentle hand to stop Crance’s progress. We halt as well, and I think I hear our hearts pounding against the tunnel walls. “Egan would never send you, not alone.”

Slowly, I shift my body, turning so my back faces the wall, so I can see both Crance and his rogues. Cal does the same, mirroring my motions. A bit of fire springs from his empty hand, waiting and ready in his palm. My own sparks dance in and out of my skin, tiny bolts of purple-white. They feel good to hold, little threads of pure strength. Above us, the traffic has increased, and I suspect we’re close to the city gates, if not directly below them. Not a very good place for a battle.

Because that’s what this is about to become.

“Where is Melody?” Farley repeats, and her blade sings against the air. It reflects Cal’s fire and glints sharply, burning light into Crance’s eyes. “Crance?”

His eyes widen despite the blinding glare, full of true regret. That is enough to send shivers of terror down my spine. “You know what we are, who Egan is. We’re criminals, Farley. We believe in money—and survival.”

I know the life all too well. But I turned from that path. I’m not a rat anymore. I’m the lightning girl, and now I have too many ideals to count. Freedom, revenge, liberty, everything that fuels the sparks within me, and the resolve that keeps me going.

Crance’s rogues move as slowly as I do, loosing guns from hidden holsters. Three pistols, each one in an able, twitching hand. I suppose Crance has one too, but he hasn’t revealed his weapon yet. He’s too busy trying to explain, trying to make us understand exactly what’s about to happen. And I certainly do. Betrayal is familiar to me, but it still turns my stomach and freezes my body with fear. I do all I can to ignore it, to focus.

“They took her,” he murmurs. “Sent Egan her trigger finger this morning. It’s the same all over the Bay, every gang lost someone or something dear. The Mariners, the Seaskulls, even took Ricket’s little boy, and he’s been out of the game for years. And the payout.” He pauses, whistling darkly. “It’s nothing to laugh at.”

“For what?” I breathe, not daring to take my eyes off the Mariner closest to me. She stares right back.

Crance’s voice is a deep, sorrowful croak. “For you, lightning girl. It’s not just the officers and the armies looking for you. It’s us too. Every smuggling ring, every thief company from here to Delphie. You’re being hunted, Miss Barrow, in the sun and in the shadows, by Silvers and by your own. I’m sorry, but that’s the way of it.”

His apology isn’t for me, but Farley and my brother. His friends, now betrayed. My friends, in grave danger because of me.

“What kind of trap did you set?” Shade growls, doing his best to look menacing despite the crutch under one arm. “What are we walking into?”

“Nothing you’ll like, Rabbit.”

In the strange light of Cal’s fire, my sparks, and Crance’s flashlight, I almost miss the flicker of his eyes. They dart to the left, landing on the support beam right next to me. The ceiling above it is cracked and splitting, with bits of dirt poking through the shards of concrete.

“You son of a bitch,” Shade growls, his voice too loud, his manner exaggerated. He looks liable to throw a punch at any moment—the perfect distraction. Here we go.

The three Mariners raise their guns, aiming for my brother. For the fastest thing in existence. When he raises a fist, they pull their triggers—and their bullets cut through nothing but open air. I drop into a crouch, deafened by gunshots so close to my head, but keep all my focus where it must be—the support beam. A blast of lightning splinters the wood like a detonation, charring straight through. It shatters, collapsing, as I throw a second bolt at the cracked ceiling. Cal vaults sideways, toward Crance and Farley, dodging falling slabs of concrete. If I had time, I’d be afraid of getting buried with the Mariners, but Shade’s familiar hand closes around my wrist. I shut my eyes, fighting the squeezing sensation, before hitting ground a few yards down the tunnel. Now we’re ahead of Crance and Farley, currently helping Cal to his feet. The tunnel on the other side of them is collapsed, filled up with dirt and concrete and three crushed bodies.

Crance spares one last look for his fallen Mariners, then draws his hidden pistol. For one brief, blistering moment, I think he might shoot me. But instead he raises his electrifying gaze, staring down the tunnel as it quakes around us. His lips move, forming a single word.

“Run.”