I shift between sleep and waking many times, never truly succumbing to the quiet darkness my mind so desperately needs. Something about the jet keeps me suspended, my eyes never opening, but my brain never completely shutting off. I feel like Shade, pretending to be asleep, collecting whispered secrets. But the others are silent and, judging by Nix’s sputtering snores, out like snuffed candles. Only Farley stays awake. I hear her unbuckle and move to Cal’s side, her footsteps almost inaudible over the jet engines. I doze off then, catching a few needed minutes of shallow rest, before her low voice brings me back.
“We’re over the ocean,” she murmurs, sounding confused.
Cal’s neck cracks as he turns, bone on bone. He didn’t hear her coming, too focused on the jet. “Perceptive,” he says after he recovers.
“Why are we over the ocean? The Bay is south, not east—”
“Because we’ve got more than enough juice to circle off the coast, and they need to sleep.” Something like fear taints his voice. Cal hates water. This must be killing him.
Her scoff grates low in her throat. “They can sleep where we land. The next runway is hidden like the last.”
“She won’t. Not with newbloods on the line. She’ll march until she drops, and we can’t let her do that.”
A long pause. He must be staring, convincing her with eyes instead of words. I know firsthand how persuasive his eyes can be.
“And when do you sleep, Cal?”
His voice lowers, not in volume, but mood. “I don’t. Not anymore.”
I want to open my eyes. To tell him to turn around, to make as much haste as he can. We’re wasting time out on the ocean, burning precious seconds that could spell life or death for the newbloods of Norta. But my anger is tempered by exhaustion. And cold. Even next to Cal, a walking furnace, I feel the familiar creep of ice in my flesh. I don’t know where it comes from, only that it arrives in moments of quiet, when I’m still, when I think. When I remember all I’ve done, and what has been done to me. The ice sits where my heart should be, threatening to split me open. My arms curl around my chest, trying to stop the pain. It works a little, letting warmth back into me. But where the ice melts, it leaves only emptiness. An abyss. And I don’t know how to fill it back up.
But I will heal. I must.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, almost too low to hear. Still enough to keep me from drifting away. But his words aren’t meant for me.
Something jostles my arm. Farley, as she moves closer to hear him.
“For what I did to you. Before. In the Hall of the Sun.” His voice almost breaks—Cal carries ice of his own. The memory of frozen blood, of Farley’s torture in the cells of the palace. She refused to betray her own, and Cal made her scream for it. “I don’t expect you to accept any kind of apology, and you shouldn’t—”
“I accept,” she says, curt but sincere. “I made mistakes that night as well. We all did.”
Even though my eyes are closed, I know she’s looking at me. I can feel her gaze, painted with regret—and resolve.
The bump of wheels against concrete jerks me awake, bouncing me in my seat. I open my eyes, only to squeeze them shut again, turning away from the bright stab of sunlight pouring through the cockpit windows. The others are wide awake, talking quietly, and I look over my shoulder to face them. Even though we’re tearing across the runway, slowing down but still moving, Kilorn lurches to my side. I guess his river legs are good for something, because the motion of the jet doesn’t seem to affect him at all.
“Mare Barrow, if I catch you dozing one more time, I’ll report you to the outpost.” He mimics our old teacher, the one we shared until he turned seven and left to apprentice with a fisherman.
I look up at him, grinning at the memory. “Then I’ll sleep in the stocks, Miss Vandark,” I reply, sending him into a bout of chuckles.
As I wake more fully, I realize I’m covered in something. Soft, worn fabric, dark in color. Kilorn’s jacket. He pulls it away before I can protest, leaving me cold without its warmth.
“Thanks,” I mutter, watching him pull it back on.
He just shrugs. “You were shivering.”
“It’s going to be a haul into the Bay.” Cal’s voice is loud over the roaring engines, still spooling down from the flight. He never takes his eyes off the runway and guides the jet to a halt. Like Nine-Five Field, this so-called ruin is surrounded by forest and totally deserted. “Ten miles through forest and outskirts,” he adds, angling his head toward Farley. “Unless you have something else up your sleeve?”
She laughs to herself, unbuckling her belts. “Learning, are you?” With a snap, she lays the Colonel’s map across her knees. “We can cut it to six if we take the old tunnels. And avoid the outskirts altogether.”
“Another Undertrain?” The thought fills me with a combination of hope and dread. “Is that safe?”
“What’s an Undertrain?” Nix grumbles, his voice faraway. I won’t waste my time explaining the rattling metal tube we left behind in Naercey.
Farley ignores him too. “There aren’t any stationed in the Bay, not yet, but the tunnel itself runs right under the Port Road. That is, if it hasn’t been closed up?”
She glances at Cal, but he shakes his head. “Not enough time to. Four days ago, we thought the tunnels were collapsed and abandoned. They aren’t even mapped. Even with every strongarm at his disposal, Maven couldn’t possibly have blocked them all by now.” His voice falters, heavy with thought. I know what he’s remembering.