Secondborn

Chapter 19

A Serious Hat

The girl who comes to bring me clothes gives me a once-over and sets a pile of fabric on the bed. “I’m Mags,” she says with a conspiratorial wink. “I work for Firstborn Winterstrom. He said you need something to wear.” I sift through the stack of extremely feminine clothing and groan in irritation. “What? You don’t like them?” Mags asks, eyeing me like I’m a spoiled firstborn.

“It’s all very lovely, but . . .” I study her outfit, a serviceable ensemble of black trousers and a simple white blouse. It will blend in with everyone around me. She’s about my size, just a little taller. I can work with this. “Could I trade you?” I ask. “I promise you won’t get in any trouble for it.”

“Oh, I never worry about getting into trouble here. Firstborn Winterstrom is like family. He lets me see my own family whenever I want to, and they come here to stay sometimes.”

It irritates me that Reykin is beloved by his staff. He’s a ruthless killer who I let live and who is now a credible threat to my family. The irony is almost more than I can take. “He sounds like the best firstborn ever,” I reply, trying to keep my total lack of sincerity from eking out. “I’m happy for you.”

She begins to unbutton her blouse. “I know what you did for him.” My own hands pause on the buttons of Reykin’s oversize shirt. “He was in a bad way when he left to join the war. At first we thought he was no better when he came back. He used to scream for you in the night—he’d call you ‘Little Sword’ or ‘black-hearted angel.’ We were all scared that he was losing his mind after all he’d been through with his parents and Radix.”

“He told you about me—about how we met?”

“He did, but that was one of the reasons we thought he was losing his mind. He said Roselle St. Sismode saved his life.”

“I don’t know if I saved him. I just didn’t kill him, which is not the same thing.”

The Stone-Fated girl takes off her blouse and hands it to me. She puts the new one on. “You saved him. You called a medical drone and it patched up what was torn apart in him—and I’m not just talking about his sword wounds.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you mended his faith in humanity. He’d lost it the day they killed Radix.” She locates my boots and helps me put them on. I walk slowly with her through the enormous house, more modern than the palace I grew up in. Its beauty is tempered by its size. She takes me to the back door of a kitchen the size of our locker room in the air-barracks. In the closet, she finds a cloak and hands it to me. Once outside, we follow a stone path to a small cottage behind the main house.

“Knock, knock,” she says, pushing open the front door.

“We’re in here,” Hammon calls from the next room. I follow Mags and find Hammon sitting on a sofa with Edgerton’s head in her lap. He looks kind of like me—like he got beaten by a mob of soldiers.

“Roselle!” Hammon gasps. I must look really bad.

“It probably looks worse than it is,” I insist.

Edgerton sits up. “No, it don’t.”

I limp toward them. “You’re right, it doesn’t,” I agree. They make room for me on the couch, and I settle between them. Hammon moves to hug me, but I stop her with a raised hand. “Please don’t touch me. I don’t think I can bear it.”

“I took the beating of my life, Roselle,” Edgerton says. “You look like you took a fall off a cliff.”

“I don’t remember much about it once I hit the ground.”

“I don’t either, to tell you the truth,” Edgerton replies. He must have gotten the leeches, too, because his eyes are less swollen than the rest of him.

“You don’t want to know what happened to you,” Hammon says quietly. “It was your hand that saved us, Roselle—your scar. Without that, they’d have killed you and Edge for sure. That man—Winterstrom—he saved us all. How come you never told us about him? You hid that scar under a glove for an entire year.”

“He told you?” I ask.

“Mags told us,” Edgerton replies.

“I didn’t want to involve you. Only Hawthorne knew about it. The less you knew, the better.”

“Apparently, we’re still five steps behind you,” Edgerton says. “Reykin was just here. He told Hammon and me about the deal you made for us.”

“There’s no way we can ever repay you, Roselle,” Hammon adds.

“You can name the baby Roselle if it’s a girl,” I tease.

“That goes without saying,” Edgerton replies. “So you’re going back?”

“I have to. It’s like you said, Edge. I’m still breathing, so there is still a chance, right? I’ll get word to you as soon as I can. Hopefully, one day, when it’s safe, we can all be together.”

We say our good-byes. Mags leads me back toward the main house, and I pause by the garden gate to keep from passing out. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Mags scolds me.

“I’ve run out of time, Mags. I have to leave now or I might have to stay forever.”

“Would it be so bad?” she asks.

Here among the beautiful grounds of the Star-Fated estate, war seems distant. A glass gazebo borders a small, serene lake. Well-groomed horses run along the paddock fences. I can see why Reykin’s parents were lulled into a false sense of security. One could feel untouchable here.

“Forget what I said, Mags. There’s no forever. There’s only now.”

I lose my balance. Someone behind me breaks my fall. “You’re going back to bed,” Reykin orders. He lifts me into his arms. I wince at the pressure on my ribs. He takes me back to the room I was in before and lays me on top of the blanket. Mags comes in with a cold compress. Reykin takes it from her and lays it on my forehead. With my eyes closed, I murmur, “This changes nothing. I’m still leaving by tonight unless you have another one of those cyanide tablets. I feel bad enough to take one of those. Either way, I’m not staying here.”

Mags snorts in derision. “We don’t have cyanide here. The mind of this one.” I peek at her. She gestures with her thumb in my direction. Shaking her head as if she never heard of such a thing, she leaves the room.

“You wouldn’t let me take the easy way out,” Reykin says. “I’ll return the favor.”

“You’re just being cruel now.”

“I’ve booked passage for you on a very low-budget cargo watercraft leaving for Bronze City late this afternoon,” Reykin says. I can’t hold back my sigh of relief. Reykin notices. “Did you think I was going to hold you hostage here, Roselle?” From the pocket of his coat, he extracts a laser tool and a small vial that matches my skin tone.

“It’s hard to know what you’ll do, Reykin,” I reply. “You’re somewhat unpredictable. It’s the austerity of your stare. I thought before that you’d protect me, but then you promised me that my brother is as good as dead—so you can see my dilemma. I believe people like you should come with a warning label.”

“My intention isn’t to harm you. My intention is to make sure no one ever harms you again.” He reaches for my right hand, taking it gently in his. His fingers run over the crest that his fusionblade left there.

“Why can’t you protect me without killing my brother?”

“You know what I thought about when I was lying in this very same bed,” he asks, “recovering from the wounds I received the day I met you?” He seems almost reluctant to apply the skin tone to my palm, as if he’d like me to keep my scar. “I kept thinking, ‘Why was she there—that girl with the perfect lips? Roselle St. Sismode is the secondborn to The Sword. Why wouldn’t they protect her?’” The skin gel is cool as he brushes it on my palm. “‘Who wants her dead?’”

“Why would someone want me dead?”

“I can think of at least two reasons, Roselle. The first is the fear of what you’ll do with the power you’d have if you ever became The Sword.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“With you dead, there would be very little reason to kill Gabriel. The alternate to your brother, if he dies without an heir and you’re already dead, is a man named Harkness, and trust me when I tell you that he’d be disastrous as The Sword. Now that I know that the Rose Garden Society exists, I’m leaning toward the second reason. It’d be easier to kill you than to take out a whole society of firstborns, with their rose-shaped pins and secret handshakes. If you die, the point of their club is moot. If you die, they lose their power.”

“Who do you suspect?” I whisper. My throat feels tight. I have my own ideas, but I want to hear his.

“It’s a long list, but the ones at the top are Gabriel, Admiral Dresden, Grisholm Wenn-Bowie, Fabian Bowie, and Othala St. Sismode.”

“Admiral Dresden does nothing without my mother’s approval.”

“I know. The order to send you to the front line had to come from Othala. Whether or not it originated with her is the only question. She’d have to know about it either way.”

“So my mother wants me dead for sure.”

“Does that surprise you?” He sets the laser on the bedside table. “Your death would serve two purposes: protecting Gabriel and making you a martyr in the fight against the Gates of Dawn.”

The sting of betrayal burns. “You must be so disappointed,” I mutter, a hitch in my voice.

Reykin moves closer. “I’m not disappointed.” He touches my hair, stroking it. “Othala might be having trouble getting to you, but like you said, your arms dealer is a very powerful man. He has more connections within the ranks of secondborn Sword soldiers than even your mother, because she doesn’t bother to pay for information. She expects loyalty. He’s more practical and has the resources to back it up. Your arms dealer is an excellent ally, but he’s also a very serious enemy should you cross him in the future.”

“You mean that if I decide to change things for secondborns, he would resist those changes?”

“That’s precisely what I mean, Roselle.”

“Answer a question for me, Reykin. What’s the difference between the Gates of Dawn and the Rose Garden Society? It’s my understanding that you both want me to be The Sword.”

“Ah, there’s a world of difference there. The Gates of Dawn want change. We want the destruction of the Fates. We want to live, work, and love as we see fit. Have you ever asked yourself why you have to be a soldier? Would you have chosen it for yourself or would you have become something else if given the freedom to do so? And why are you made to support firstborns? It’s not your destiny, it’s their greed.”

“But you’re firstborn.”

“I am, but I was raised not to let that go to my head,” he replies.

“So you see me as someone who can one day bring about the destruction of the Fates?”

“Yes, with you as a leader, we’d have a chance to topple the Fates Republic and form a new system of government.”

“And the Rose Garden Society?” I ask.

“They want things to remain the same—a Fate-based system with a formidable ruler—only I suspect they have aspirations for power that go beyond what they lead others to believe.”

“What other aspirations?”

His stare is piercing. “On the surface, they speak of maintaining a dominant military hold over the Fates. They see Gabriel as weak—and he is. You’d make a more competent commander.”

He bows his head over my hand and continues to work on my palm, filling in the scar with regenerative cells. “What do you want most, Reykin?” I whisper.

A vengeful glint enters his eyes. “That’s very simple, Roselle. I want the complete and utter decimation of Census.”

Finally, something upon which we can both agree.

He finishes his work on my palm, and then checks his timepiece. “If you insist on leaving Stars tonight, we’ll have to go now.” I wipe my face with the compress and wearily set it aside. Reykin rises from the bed and helps me to stand. “You have to meet a ship at the docks in Brixon.”

“Will I be recognized?”

“You don’t exactly look like yourself, Roselle.” I haven’t seen myself in a mirror yet and don’t intend to look now. He goes to the closet and comes out with two flat caps. He hands me the black one, and he puts on the charcoal gray one. He holds up a radiant golden star made from metal and only a couple of millimeters thick. “This is a device loaded with a malware program I created. It will infiltrate their technology and allow us to gain access.” He slips the star into a small compartment in the brim of my hat. “You need to upload the program into one of the secured networks. We only know of three locations. One is in the Stone Forest Base of Census, guarded by hundreds of agents, and they’ve been extremely vigilant since you helped blow them up.”

I shake my head and pay for it with stabbing pain. “I don’t think I can get back into Census. We’re not on friendly terms. Where are the other two access points?”

“One is at Fabian Bowie’s Palace in Purity.”

I cringe. “And the other?”

“The Sword Palace.”

Why I thought I could do this is beyond me.

Reykin reads my mind. “One thing at a time. You get access to one of these places, and we figure out our next step together.”

“How? You’ll be here, and I’ll be in Swords.”

“You let me worry about that.” I put the cap on and stuff my hair into it, pulling the brim down low over my face. “You look like a proper Star from Brixon,” Reykin says.

The hat reminds me of Flannigan. “It’s a serious hat.”

Clearly, he approves. He hands me a pair of gloves. Slipping the left one on, I notice that it has lead inside. “So that you don’t ping on any of the drones that might be looking for you,” Reykin offers.

As I put on the other one, I realize that there’s a faint little star still visible on my palm. “Did this one sticketh?”

“Sometimes Stars are like that.”

We take his well-designed hovercar down a lane lined with oak trees. Their leaves scatter like sparrows as we pass. I rest my head against the soft seat and giggle when he switches to flight mode and scares the crows, who fly from the black-railed fences as the engines radiate. The horses run in protest, too, their manes waving good-bye. I glance at Reykin. He’s staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

“I’ve never heard you laugh.”

I look away and sit up straighter. “How long until we get there?”

“Not long.”

“Explain to me how your program will work.”