“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?”
When he stops short and whirls around, I knock into his chest, feeling for a moment the solid weight behind his frame. Then I realize he’s laughing deeply.
“Did you just say willy-nilly?” he says between chuckles.
My face blushes red beneath my makeup and I give him a little shove. Very inappropriate, my mind chides. “Just answer the question.”
His smile remains, though the laughter fades away. “I don’t do this for myself,” he says. “You have to understand, Mare. I don’t—I’m going to be king one day. I don’t have the luxury of being selfish.”
“I’d think the king would be the only person with that luxury.”
He shakes his head, his eyes forlorn as they run over me. “I wish that were true.”
Cal’s fist clenches open and closed, and I can almost see the flames on his skin, hot and rising with his anger. But it passes, leaving only an ember of regret in his eyes. When he finally starts walking again, it’s at a more forgiving pace.
“A king should know his people. That’s why I sneak out,” he murmurs. “I do it in the capital too, and at the war front. I like to see how things really are in the kingdom, instead of being told by advisers and diplomats. That’s what a good king would do.”
He acts like he should be ashamed for wanting to be a good leader. Maybe, in the eyes of his father and all those other fools, that’s the way it should be. Strength and power are the words Cal has been raised to know. Not goodness. Not kindness. Not empathy or bravery or equality or anything else that a ruler should strive for.
“And what do you see, Cal?” I ask, gesturing toward the village coming into view between the trees. My heart jumps in my chest, knowing I’m so close.
“I see a world on the edge of a blade. Without balance, it will fall,” he sighs, knowing it’s not the answer I want to hear. “You don’t know how precarious things are, how close this world is to falling back into ruin. My father does everything he can to keep us all safe, and so will I.”
“My world is already in ruin,” I say, kicking at the dirt road beneath us. All around us, the trees seem to open, revealing the muddy place I call home. Compared to the Hall, it must look like a slum, like a hell. Why can’t he see that? “Your father keeps your people safe, not mine.”
“Changing the world has costs, Mare,” he says. “Many would die, Reds most of all. And in the end, there wouldn’t be victory, not for you. You don’t know the bigger picture.”
“So tell me.” I bristle, hating his words. “Show me the bigger picture.”
“The Lakelands, they’re like us, a monarchy, nobles, a Silver elite to rule the rest. And the Piedmont princes, our own allies, would never back a nation where Reds are equal. Prairie and Tiraxes are the same. Even if Norta changed, the rest of the continent would not let it last. We would be invaded, divided, torn apart. More war, more death.”
I remember Julian’s map, the breadth of the greater world beyond our country. All controlled by Silvers with nowhere for us to turn. “What if you’re wrong? What if Norta is the beginning? The change the others need? You don’t know where freedom leads.”
Cal has no answer for that and we fall into bitter silence. “This is it,” I mutter, stopping under the familiar outline of my house.
My feet are silent on the porch, a far cry from Cal’s heavy, stomping steps that make the wood beams creak. His familiar heat rolls off him, and for a split second I imagine him sending the house up in flames. He senses my unease and puts a warm hand on my shoulder, but that does nothing to settle me.
“I can wait below if you want,” he whispers, taking me by surprise. “We don’t want to chance them recognizing me.”
“They won’t. Even though my brothers served, they probably wouldn’t know you from a bedpost.” Shade would, I thought, but Shade is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “Besides, you said you want to know what’s not worth fighting for.”
With that I pull open the door, stepping through to the home that is no longer my own. It feels like taking a step back in time.
The house ripples with a chorus of snores, not just from my father, but the lumpy shape in the sitting area. Bree slumps in the overstuffed chair, a pile of muscle and thin blankets. His dark hair is still closely shaved in the army style and there are scars on his arms and face, testaments to his time fighting. He must’ve lost a bet with Tramy, who tosses and turns up in my cot. Shade is nowhere to be seen, but he’s never been one for sleep. Probably out prowling the village, looking up old girlfriends.
“Rise and shine.” I laugh, ripping the blanket off Bree in a smooth motion.
He crashes to the floor, probably hurting the floor more than himself, and rolls to a stop at my feet. For half a second, it looks like he might fall back asleep.
Then he blinks at me, bleary-eyed and confused. In short, his usual self. “Mare?”
“Shut your face, Bree, people are trying to sleep!” Tramy groans in the dark.
“ALL OF YOU, QUIET!” Dad roars from his bedroom, making us all jump.
I never realized how much I missed this. Bree blinks the sleep from his eyes and hugs me to him, laughing deep in his chest. A nearby thunk announces Tramy as he jumps from the upper loft, landing beside us on nimble feet.
“It’s Mare!” he shouts, pulling me up from the floor and into his arms. He’s thinner than Bree, but not the weedy string bean I remember. There are hard knots of muscle under my hands; the last few years have not been easy for him.
“Good to see you, Tramy,” I breathe against him, feeling like I might burst.
The bedroom door bangs open, revealing Mom in a tattered bathrobe. She opens her mouth to scold the boys, but the sight of me kills her words. Instead, she smiles and claps her hands together. “Oh, you’ve finally come to visit!”
Dad follows her, wheezing and wheeling his chair into the main room. Gisa is the last to wake up, but she only pokes her head out over the loft ledge, looking down.
Tramy finally lets me go, putting me back down next to Cal, who’s doing a wonderful job looking awkward and out of place.
“Heard you caved and got a job,” Tramy teases, poking me in the ribs.
Bree chuckles, ruffling my hair. “The army wouldn’t want her anyway, she’d rob her legion blind.”
I shove him with a smile. “Seems the army doesn’t want you either. Discharged, eh?”
Dad answers for them, wheeling forward. “Some lottery, the letter said. Won an honorable discharge for the Barrow boys. Full pension too.” I can tell he doesn’t believe a word of it, but Dad doesn’t press the subject. Mom, on the other hand, eats it right up.
“Brilliant, isn’t it? The government finally doing something for us,” she says, kissing Bree on the cheek. “And now you, with a job.” The pride radiates off her like I’ve never seen—usually she saves all of it for Gisa. She’s proud of a lie. “It’s about time this family came into some luck.”
Up above us, Gisa scoffs. I don’t blame her. My luck broke her hand and her future. “Yes, we’re very lucky,” she huffs, finally moving to join us.
Her going is slow, moving down the ladder with one hand. When she reaches the floor, I can see her splint is wrapped in colored cloth. With a pang of sadness, I realize it’s a piece of her beautiful embroidery that will never be finished.
I reach out to hug her but she pulls away, her eyes on Cal. She seems to be the only one to notice him. “Who’s that?”
Flushing, I realize I’ve almost forgotten him completely. “Oh, this is Cal. He’s another servant up at the Hall with me.”
“Hi,” he manages, giving a stupid, little wave.
Mom giggles like a schoolgirl and waves back, her gaze lingering on his muscled arms. But Dad and my brothers aren’t so charmed.
“You’re not from these parts,” Dad growls, staring at Cal like he’s some kind of bug. “I can smell it on you.”
“That’s just the Hall, Dad—” I protest, but Cal cuts me off.
“I’m from Harbor Bay,” he says, making sure to drop his r’s in the usual Harbor accent. “I started serving at Ocean Hill, the royal residence out there, and now I travel with the pack when they move.” He glances at me sideways, a knowing look in his eye. “A lot of the servants do that.”
Mom draws a rattled breath and reaches for my arm. “Will you? Do you have to go with those people when they leave?”
I want to tell them that I didn’t choose this, that I’m not walking away willingly. But I have to lie, for their sake. “It was the only position they had. Besides, it’s good money.”
“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going on,” Bree growls, face-to-face with Cal. To his credit, Cal barely bats an eye at him.
“Nothing’s going on,” he says coolly, meeting Bree’s glare with equal fire in his eyes. “Mare chose to work for the palace. She signed a contract for a year of service, and that’s it.”
With a grunt, Bree backs away. “I liked the Warren boy better,” he grumbles.
“Stop being a child, Bree,” I snap. My mom flinches at my harsh voice, like she’s forgotten what I sound like after only three weeks. Strangely, her eyes swim with tears. She’s forgetting you. That’s why she wants you to stay. So she doesn’t forget.
“Mom, don’t cry,” I say, stepping forward to hug her. She feels so thin in my arms, thinner than I remember. Or maybe I just never noticed how frail she’s become.
“It’s not just you, dear, it’s—” She looks away from me, to Dad. There’s a pain in her eyes, a pain I don’t understand. The others can’t bear to look at her. Even Dad stares at his useless feet. A grim weight settles on the house.
And then I realize what’s going on, what they’re trying to protect me from.
My voice shakes when I speak, asking a question I don’t want to know the answer to. “Where’s Shade?”
Mom crumples in on herself, barely making it to a chair at the kitchen table before she devolves into sobs. Bree and Tramy can’t bear to watch, both turning away. Gisa doesn’t move, staring at the floor like she wants to drown in it. No one speaks, leaving only the sound of my mother’s tears and my father’s labored breathing to fill the hole my brother once occupied. My brother, my closest brother.
I fall backward, almost missing a step in my anguish, but Cal steadies me. I wish he wouldn’t. I want to fall down, to feel something hard and real so the pain in my head won’t hurt so badly. My hand strays to my ear, grazing over the three stones I hold so dearly. The third, Shade’s stone, feels cold against my skin.
“We didn’t want to tell you in a letter,” Gisa whispers, picking at her splint. “He died before the discharge came.”
The urge to electrify something, to pour my rage and sorrow into a single bolt of biting power, has never felt so strong. Control it, I tell myself. I can’t believe I was worried about Cal burning the house down; lightning can destroy as easily as flame.
Gisa fights tears, forcing herself to say the words. “He tried to run away. He was executed.”
My legs give way so quickly even Cal doesn’t have a chance to catch me. I can’t hear, I can’t see, I can only feel. Sorrow, shock, pain, the whole world spinning around me. The lightbulbs buzz with electricity, screaming at me so loudly I think my head might split. The fridge crackles in the corner, its old, bleeding battery pulsing like a dying heart. They taunt me, tease me, trying to make me crack. But I won’t. I won’t.
“Mare,” Cal breathes in my ear, his arms warm around me, but he might as well be talking to me from across an ocean. “Mare!”
I heave a painful gasp, trying to catch my breath. My cheeks feel wet, though I don’t remember crying. Executed. My blood boils under my skin. It’s a lie. He didn’t run. He was in the Guard. And they found out. They killed him for it. They murdered him.
I have never known anger like this. Not when the boys left, not when Kilorn came to me. Not even when they broke Gisa’s hand.
An earsplitting whine screeches through the house, as the fridge, the lightbulbs, and the wiring in the walls kick into high gear. Electricity hums, making me feel alive and angry and dangerous. Now I’m creating the energy, pushing my own strength through the house just like Julian taught me.
Cal yells, shaking me, trying to get through somehow. But he can’t. The power is in me and I don’t want to let go. It feels better than pain.
Glass rains down on us as the lightbulbs explode, popping like corn in a skillet. Pop pop pop. It almost drowns out Mom’s scream.
Someone pulls me to my feet with rough strength. Their hands go to my face, holding me still as they speak. Not to comfort me, not to empathize, but to snap me out of it. I would know that voice anywhere.
“Mare, pull yourself together!”
I look up to see clear green eyes and a face full of worry.
“Kilorn.”
“Knew you’d stumble back eventually,” he mumbles. “Kept an eye out.”
His hands are rough against my skin, but calming. He brings me back to reality, to a world where my brother is dead. The last surviving lightbulb swings above us, barely illuminating the room and my stunned family.
But that’s not the only thing lighting up the darkness.
Purple-white sparks dance around my hands, growing weaker by the moment, but plain as day. My lightning. I won’t be able to lie my way out of this one.
Kilorn pulls me to a chair, his face a storm cloud of confusion. The others only stare, and with a pang of sadness, I realize they’re afraid. But Kilorn isn’t afraid at all—he’s angry.
“What did they do to you?” he rumbles, his hands inches from mine. The sparks fade away entirely, leaving just skin and shaking fingers.
“They didn’t do anything.” I wish this was their fault. I wish I could blame this on someone else. I look over Kilorn’s head, meeting Cal’s eyes. Something releases in him and he nods, communicating without words. I don’t have to lie about this.
“This is what I am.”
Kilorn’s frown deepens. “Are you one of them?” I’ve never heard so much anger, so much disgust, forced into a single sentence. It makes me feel like dying. “Are you?”
Mom recovers first and, without a glimmer of fear, takes my hand. “Mare is my daughter, Kilorn,” she says, fixing him with a frightening stare I didn’t know she could muster. “We all know that.”
My family murmurs in agreement, rallying to my side, but Kilorn remains unconvinced. He stares at me like I’m a stranger, like we haven’t known each other all our lives.
“Give me a knife and I’ll settle this right now,” I say, glaring back at him. “I’ll show you what color I bleed.”
This calms him a bit and he pulls back. “I just—I don’t understand.”
That makes two of us.