Glass Sword

The words come out hard and harsh, a rusty blade to saw flesh. They taste wonderful in my mouth. “Not if I kill her first.”

For all his talents, Cal is not a violent person. He can kill you in a thousand different ways, lead an army, burn down a village, but he will not enjoy it. So his next words take me by surprise.

“When the time comes,” he says, staring at me, “we’ll flip a coin.”

His bright flame has grown dark indeed.

When we emerge from the forest, a brief shudder of fear runs through me. What if the Blackrun’s gone? What if we were tracked? What if, what if, what if. But the airjet is exactly where we left it. It’s nearly invisible in the darkness, blending into the gray-black runway. I resist the urge to sprint into its safety, and force myself to keep pace next to Cal. Not too close, though. No distractions.

“Keep your eyes open,” Cal mutters, a small but firm warning as we approach. He doesn’t take his eyes off the jet, watching for any indication of a trap.

I do the same, glaring at the back ramp still lowered against the runway, open to the night air. It looks clear to me, but shadows gather in the belly of the Blackrun, pitch-dark and impossible to see through from this distance.

It took a great amount of energy and focus to power on the entire jet, but the lightbulbs within are another story. Even from ten yards away, it’s easy to reach out to their wiring, spark up their charges, and illuminate the inside of the jet with a bright and sudden glow. Nothing moves inside, but the others react, surprised by the burst of light. Farley even frees her pistol from the holster strapped to her leg.

“It’s just me,” I tell her with a wave of my hand. “The jet’s empty.”

My pace quickens. I’m eager to be inside, cocooned by the growing charge of electricity that strengthens with my every step. When I set foot on the ramp, climbing up into the craft, it feels like entering a warm embrace. I run a hand along the wall, tracing the outline of a metal panel as I pass by. More of my power flows, bleeding out from the lightbulbs, running along electrical pathways into the massive cell batteries beneath my feet and fixed under each wing. They hum in perfect unison, sending out their own energy, switching on what I haven’t. The Blackrun comes to life.

Nix gasps behind me, in awe of the massive, metal jet. He’s probably never seen one this close, let alone stepped inside one. I turn around, expecting to find him staring at the seats or the cockpit, but his eyes are firmly fixed on me. He flushes and ducks his head in what could be a shaky bow. Before I can tell him exactly how much that annoys me, he shuffles to a seat, puzzling over the safety belts.

“Do I get a helmet?” he asks the silence. “If we’re going to be crashing through the air, I want a helmet.”

Laughing, Kilorn takes a seat next to Nix and buckles them both in with quick, agile fingers. “Nix, I think you’re the only one here who doesn’t need one.”

They chuckle together, sharing crooked smiles. If not for me, for the Scarlet Guard, Kilorn would’ve probably turned out just like Nix. A battered old man, with nothing left to give but his bones. Now I hope he gets the chance to grow old, to have aching knees and a gray beard of his own. If only Kilorn would let me protect him. If only he didn’t insist on throwing himself in front of every bullet that comes his way.

“So she really is the lightning girl. And this one’s a . . .” He gestures across the jet, to Shade, searching for a word to describe his ability.

“Jumper,” Shade offers with a respectful nod. He fastens his belts as tightly as he can, already paling at the prospect of another flight. Farley doesn’t look so affected, and resolutely stares from her seat, eyes on the windows of the cockpit.

“Jumper. Okay. What about you, boy?” He nudges Kilorn with his elbow, blind to the boy’s fading smile. “What can you do?”

I sink into the cockpit seat, not wanting to see any pain in Kilorn’s face. But I’m not quick enough. I catch a glimpse of his embarrassed flush, his rigid shoulders, his narrowing eyes and piercing scowl. The reason is shockingly clear. Jealousy twists through every inch of him, spreading as quickly as an infection. The intensity of it surprises me. Not once did I ever think Kilorn wanted to be like me, like a Silver. He’s proud of his blood, he always has been. He even raged at me, back when he first saw what I had become. Are you one of them? he growled, his voice harsh and unfamiliar. He was so angry. But then, why is he angry now?

“I catch fish,” he says, forcing a hollow smile. There’s a bitterness in his voice, and we let it fester in our silence.

Nix speaks first, clapping Kilorn on the shoulder. “Crabs,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “Been a crabber all my life.”

A bit of Kilorn’s discomfort recedes, pulling back behind a crooked grin. He turns to watch Cal switch his way across the control panel, making the Blackrun ready for another flight. I feel the jet respond in kind, its energy flowing toward the wing-mounted engines. They start to whir, gaining power with every passing second.

“Looks good,” Cal says, finally punching a hole in the uncomfortable quiet. “Where to next?”

It takes a second to realize he’s asking me. “Oh.” I stumble over the words. “The closest names are in Harbor Bay. Two in the city proper, one in the slums.”

I expect more of a fuss at the prospect of breaking into a walled, Silver city, but Cal only nods. “That won’t be easy,” he warns, his bronze eyes flashing with the panel’s blinking lights.

“I’m so happy you’re here to tell us what we don’t already know,” I reply dryly. “Farley, you think we can do it?”

She nods, and there’s a crack in her usually stoic mask, revealing emotion beneath. Excitement. Her fingers drum on her thigh. I get the sickening sense that she sees part of this as a game. “I’ve got enough friends in the Bay,” she says. “The walls won’t be a problem.”

“Then to the Bay we go,” Cal says. His grim tone is not at all comforting.

Neither is the drop in my stomach as the jet lurches forward, screaming down a mile of hidden runway. This time, when we angle into the sky, I close my eyes tight. Between the comforting thrum of engines and the knowledge that I am not needed, it’s frighteningly easy to fall asleep.

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.