Read Online Glass Sword by Victoria Aveyard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Aveyard
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heels once or twice. I resist the urge to kick him, and focus on climbing the wooden steps leading to the barracks on the hill above. The steps are worn down, beaten by too many feet to count. How many came this way? I wonder. How many are here now?
We crest the hill and the island stretches out before us, revealing a military base larger than I expected. The barracks on the ridge was one of at least a dozen I see now, organized in two even rows separated by a long, concrete yard. It’s flat and well-maintained, not like the steps or the dock. There’s a white line painted down the middle of the yard,perfectly straight, leading away into the stormy night. What it goes to, I have no idea.
The whole island has an air of stillness, momentarily frozen by the storm. Come the morning, when the rain breaks and the darkness lifts, I suppose I’ll see the base in all its glory—and finally understand the people I’m dealing with. I’m developing a bad habit of underestimating others, particularly where the Scarlet Guard is concerned.
And like Naercey, Tuck is far more than it seems.
The cold I felt on the mersive and in the rain persists, even when I’m ushered into the doorway of the barracks marked with a painted black “3.” I’m cold in my bones, in my heart. But I can’t let my parents see that, for their sake. I owe them this much. They must think me whole, unbroken, unaffected by Cal’s imprisonment and my own ordeals in a palace and an arena. And the Guard must think I’m on their side—relieved to be “safe.”
But aren’t I? Didn’t I swear an oath to Farley and the Scarlet Guard?
They believe as I do, in an end to Silver kings and Red slaves. They sacrificed soldiers for me, because of me. They are my allies , my brethren, brothers and sisters in arms—but the blood-eyed man gives me pause. He is not Farley. She might be gruff and single-minded, but she knows what I’ve been through. She can be reasoned with. I doubt reason lives in the heart of the blood-eyed man.
Kilorn is strangely quiet. This silence is not like us at all. We’re used to filling the space with insults, with teasing, or in Kilorn’s case, with utter nonsense. It’s not in our nature to be quiet around each other, but now we have nothing to say. He knew what they planned to do to Cal and agreed with it. Worse, he didn’t even tell me. I would feel angry but for the cold. It eats at my emotions, dulling them into somethinglike the electrical hum in the air.
Bree doesn’t notice the strangeness between us, not that he would. Besides being pleasantly foolish, my oldest brother left when I was a gangly thirteen-year-old who thieved for fun, not necessity, and wasn’t so cruel as I’ve become. Bree doesn’t know me as I am now, having missed almost five years of my life. But then, my life has changed more in the last two months than ever before. And only two people were with me through it. The first is imprisoned and the second wears a crown of blood.
Any sensible person would call them my enemies. Strange, my enemies know me best, and my family doesn’t know me at all.
Inside the barracks is blissfully dry, humming with lights and wires bundled along the ceiling. The thick concrete walls turn the corridor into a maze, with no markers to guide the way. Every door is shut, steel gray and unremarkable, but a few bear the signs of life within. Some woven beach grass adorning a knob, a broken necklace strung across a doorway, and so on. This place holds not just fearsome soldiers but the refugees of Naercey and who knows where else. After the enactment of the Measures, commanded from my own lips, many Guardsmen and Reds alike fled the mainland. How could they stay, threatened by conscription and execution? But how did they manage to get away? And how did they make it here?
Another question joins my steadily growing list.
Despite my distraction, I keep careful notice of the twists and turns my brother takes. Right here, one,
We crest the hill and the island stretches out before us, revealing a military base larger than I expected. The barracks on the ridge was one of at least a dozen I see now, organized in two even rows separated by a long, concrete yard. It’s flat and well-maintained, not like the steps or the dock. There’s a white line painted down the middle of the yard,perfectly straight, leading away into the stormy night. What it goes to, I have no idea.
The whole island has an air of stillness, momentarily frozen by the storm. Come the morning, when the rain breaks and the darkness lifts, I suppose I’ll see the base in all its glory—and finally understand the people I’m dealing with. I’m developing a bad habit of underestimating others, particularly where the Scarlet Guard is concerned.
And like Naercey, Tuck is far more than it seems.
The cold I felt on the mersive and in the rain persists, even when I’m ushered into the doorway of the barracks marked with a painted black “3.” I’m cold in my bones, in my heart. But I can’t let my parents see that, for their sake. I owe them this much. They must think me whole, unbroken, unaffected by Cal’s imprisonment and my own ordeals in a palace and an arena. And the Guard must think I’m on their side—relieved to be “safe.”
But aren’t I? Didn’t I swear an oath to Farley and the Scarlet Guard?
They believe as I do, in an end to Silver kings and Red slaves. They sacrificed soldiers for me, because of me. They are my allies , my brethren, brothers and sisters in arms—but the blood-eyed man gives me pause. He is not Farley. She might be gruff and single-minded, but she knows what I’ve been through. She can be reasoned with. I doubt reason lives in the heart of the blood-eyed man.
Kilorn is strangely quiet. This silence is not like us at all. We’re used to filling the space with insults, with teasing, or in Kilorn’s case, with utter nonsense. It’s not in our nature to be quiet around each other, but now we have nothing to say. He knew what they planned to do to Cal and agreed with it. Worse, he didn’t even tell me. I would feel angry but for the cold. It eats at my emotions, dulling them into somethinglike the electrical hum in the air.
Bree doesn’t notice the strangeness between us, not that he would. Besides being pleasantly foolish, my oldest brother left when I was a gangly thirteen-year-old who thieved for fun, not necessity, and wasn’t so cruel as I’ve become. Bree doesn’t know me as I am now, having missed almost five years of my life. But then, my life has changed more in the last two months than ever before. And only two people were with me through it. The first is imprisoned and the second wears a crown of blood.
Any sensible person would call them my enemies. Strange, my enemies know me best, and my family doesn’t know me at all.
Inside the barracks is blissfully dry, humming with lights and wires bundled along the ceiling. The thick concrete walls turn the corridor into a maze, with no markers to guide the way. Every door is shut, steel gray and unremarkable, but a few bear the signs of life within. Some woven beach grass adorning a knob, a broken necklace strung across a doorway, and so on. This place holds not just fearsome soldiers but the refugees of Naercey and who knows where else. After the enactment of the Measures, commanded from my own lips, many Guardsmen and Reds alike fled the mainland. How could they stay, threatened by conscription and execution? But how did they manage to get away? And how did they make it here?
Another question joins my steadily growing list.
Despite my distraction, I keep careful notice of the twists and turns my brother takes. Right here, one,
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