“In through the nose, Cal.” When he looks up, our eyes locking across the stream, I give him a tiny, supporting nod. Out through the mouth. It’s just his own advice repeated back, but it soothes him all the same.
He takes another step forward, then another and another, chest heaving with each steadying breath. And then he’s swimming, paddling across the stream like a massive dog. Kilorn shakes with silent laughter, one hand over his mouth. I toss a few stones his way. It shuts him up long enough for Cal to reach the shallows again, and he eagerly sprints out of the water. A bit of steam rises from his skin, driven by the heat of his own embarrassment.
“S’cold,” he mumbles, shaking his head so he doesn’t have to look at us. His black hair sticks, plastered to one side of his silver-flushed face. Without thought, I brush it away, smoothing his hair back into a more dignified style. He holds my gaze all the while, looking pleasantly surprised by the action.
Then it’s my turn to blush. We said no distractions.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of water too?” Kilorn calls across the stream, his voice too loud and gruff. Farley only laughs in reply, grabbing my brother’s wrist. A split second later, they stand next to us, smirking and dry.
They jumped. Of course.
Shade scoffs, squeezing my tail of wet hair. “Idiots,” he says kindly.
But for the crutch, I’d push him squarely into the stream.
My hair has almost dried by the time we reach the rise above Coraunt. Clouds roll in, covering the moon and stars, but the lights of the village are enough to see by. From our vantage point, Coraunt looks like the Stilts, built at the mouth of the Regent’s River, centered on a crossroads. One, neatly paved and slightly raised above the salt marsh, is clearly the Port Road. The other runs east to west, and turns into a packed dirt road beyond the village. A watchtower on the riverbank points toward the sky, its crown illuminated by a revolving beacon of light. I flinch when it passes over us.
“Think he’s down there?” Kilorn breathes, meaning Nix. He eyes the number of squat houses below, huddled in the shadow of the watchtower.
“‘Nix Marsten. Living. Male. Born 12/20/271 in Coraunt, Marsh Coast, Regent State, Norta. Current residence: Same as birth.’ That’s all the list said,” I repeat from memory, seeing the words in my mind. I leave out the last part, the one that sears like a brand. Blood type: not applicable. Gene mutation, strain unknown. It follows every name on the list, including my own. It’s the marker Julian said he used to find these people in the bloodbase, matching my blood to theirs. Now it’s up to me to use that information—and hope that I’m not too late.
I squint against the darkness, trying to see through the night. Fortunately the Regent looks quiet, a black and calm river, and the roads are empty. Even the ocean looks still as glass. Curfew is in full effect, as commanded by the wretched Measures still in place. “No navy ships that I can see. And no traffic on the Port Road.”
Cal nods, agreeing, and my heart swells. Surely Maven’s hunters would not travel without an entourage of soldiers, making them easy to spot. That leaves two possibilities: they haven’t come for Nix yet, or they’re long gone.
“Shouldn’t be too hard, even with the curfew.” Farley’s eyes flash over the village, taking in every roof and street corner. I get the feeling she’s done this before. “Lazy town, lazy officers. Ten coppers says they don’t even bother to secure the town records.”
“I’ll take you on that,” Shade replies, nudging her shoulder.
“We’ll meet you over there,” Cal says. He points at a grove of trees half a mile away. It’s hard to see in the darkness, surrounded by marsh and tall grass. Perfect cover, but I shake my head.
“We’re not splitting up.”
“You’d rather traipse in there together, with you and me leading the charge? Why don’t I just blow up the Security outpost, and you can fry any officer who comes your way?” Cal replies. He does his best to keep calm, but sounds more and more like an exasperated teacher. Like his uncle Julian.
“Of course not—”
“Neither of us can set foot in that village, Mare. Not unless you intend to kill every person who sees our faces. Every person.”
His eyes bore into mine, willing me to understand. Every person. Not just Security, not just soldiers, not even Silver civilians. Everyone. Any whisper of us, any rumor, and Maven will come running. With Sentinels, soldiers, legions, everyone and everything in his power. Our only defense is staying hidden, and staying ahead. We can’t do either if we leave a trail.
“Okay.” My voice sounds as small as I feel. “But Kilorn stays with us.”
Kilorn’s eyes flicker, dancing between me and Cal. “This will go a lot faster if you don’t keep nannying me, Mare.”
Nanny. I suppose that’s what I’m being, even now when he can think, fight, and provide for himself. If only he wasn’t so foolish, so dedicated to refusing my protection.
“Maven knows your name,” I tell him. “We’d be stupid to think your ID photo hasn’t been sent to every officer and outpost in the country.”
His lips twist into a scowl. “What about Farley—”
“I’m Lakelander, boy,” Farley answers for me. At least we’re on the same page.
“Boy?” Kilorn says with a scowl. “You’re barely older than me.”
“Four years older, to be precise,” Shade answers smoothly.
Farley only rolls her eyes at both of them. “Your king has no claim over my records, and he doesn’t know my true name.”
“I’m only going because everyone thinks I’m dead,” Shade pipes in, leaning on his crutch. He puts a calming hand on Kilorn’s shoulder, but he shrugs him off.
“Fine,” he grumbles under his breath. Without so much as a backward glance, he starts marching toward the grove, quick and quiet as a field mouse.
Cal glares after him, a corner of his mouth twitching in distaste. “Any chance we can lose him?”
“Don’t be cruel, Cal,” I reply sharply, heading after Kilorn. I make sure to hit the prince as I pass, bumping him with my good shoulder. Not to harm, but to communicate. Leave him alone.
He follows me closely, dropping his voice to a whisper. Warm fingers brush my arm, trying to soothe me. “I’m only joking.”
But I know that’s not true. That’s not true at all. And worst of all, I wonder if he’s right. Kilorn isn’t a soldier, or a scholar, or a scientist. He can weave a net faster than anyone I know, but what good is that when we’re catching people, not fish? I don’t know what kind of training he received in the Guard, but it’s little more than a month’s worth. He survived the Hall of the Sun because of me, and outlived the massacre of Caesar’s Square because of luck. With no ability, little training, and less sense, how can he do anything but slow us down?
I saved him from conscription, but not for this. Not for another war. Part of me wishes I could send him home, back to the Stilts, our river, and the life we knew. He would live poor, overworked, unwanted, but he would live. That future, tucked between the woods and the riverbank, is no longer possible for me. But it could be for him. I want it for him.