Secondborn

Chapter 20

Sword-Shaped Heart

I’m at sea for about an hour when I take off my leaded left glove. A half hour after that, a very expensive airship pulls up to our port side. It’s a Verringer. The only person I know who owns one, besides The Virtue, is Clifton Salloway, who owns five. This one is entirely black, with black fairings and camouflage capabilities. It sets down on the water like some enormous long-legged insect. An impressive array of munitions level at the lumbering cargo vessel I’ve taken passage on.

A wide black gangway protrudes from the Verringer, latching on to the railing of our hull. Heavily armed bodyguards emerge from the luxury airship. The captain of my watercraft scratches his beard, unsure what to make of all these goings-on. Clifton’s personal bodyguard, Crucius, approaches him, and a flash of currency quickly subdues any protest.

I stand on the deck with Mags’s shabby cloak wrapped around me. It doesn’t keep out the cold wind, but it looks like something I could’ve acquired on my own. I’ve taken off my hat, tucking it inside the pocket of my cloak, and my hair falls loosely around me, wisps of it blowing in my face. Clifton disembarks from the Verringer and boards the rusted deck. Pulling the collar of his long coat closer to his neck, he has a look of relief on his face, but it turns to an angry scowl the closer he gets. Stopping in front of me, he reaches his hand and gently grasps my chin, turning my face to get a better look at my black eyes.

“Who did this?” he demands.

“I ran into some trouble in Stars, not far over the border. I had to abandon your Anthroscope. Sorry. I really loved that airship. I can pay you back.”

“I don’t care about the airship. Are you hurt worse than this?”

“There’s a probable concussion and a couple of broken ribs.”

“It was against my better judgment to let you pilot that aircraft alone. It’s way past time that you had bodyguards. I’m not listening to any more of your excuses about being your own protection. You’re vulnerable. You could’ve easily been killed.” Despite his scary manipulations, I believe Clifton has genuine feelings for me. Maybe he sees me as more than a possession—maybe I’m his friend as well.

“Come, let’s get you out of the cold,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulders. We cross the gangway and enter his mobile apartment. Leading me to a comfortable seat, he takes my cloak and urges me to sit, grabbing a soft blanket from another seat and laying it in my lap. I snuggle into it.

“I’m glad you’re not very mad at me,” I say. “I think I’m going to need your help explaining myself to my unit.”

“I am mad at you.”

“But not very mad,” I cajole.

“The problem has always been staying mad at you, Roselle, and you don’t have to worry about your Sword unit. They know nothing about this. I told Commander Aslanbek that you’ve been with me since your airship went missing. They think you’ve been collaborating on weapons and product strategy at our facility. I’ve had a difficult time fending off a certain Census agent, though. He’s convinced that I’m harboring you and two other Sword soldiers from your regiment—a Hammon Sword and an Edgerton Sword. Do you know them?”

“They’re my closest friends. You helped them about a year ago, remember?”

“Vaguely. I don’t remember the specifics.”

I pluck at the blanket in my lap. “I won’t involve you in it. It’s really not something you’d be interested in.”

He leans back in his seat, his eyes roving over me. “Worth getting your face beaten in for?”

“Only just slightly,” I reply with a rueful smile. “Had I known how awful I’d feel now, I may have reconsidered helping them.” Everything with Clifton has to be minimalized. He understands loyalty, but only to an extent. He expects me to cut any ties that he does not consider advantageous. If they infringe upon my time or my person, or take me from him, they have to go. He’d consider this ordeal a grievous crossing of that line. “I will never see them again, so the point is moot,” I add.

“Then we won’t speak of it again.”

“The Census agent will be a problem, though.” Agent Crow will never leave this be. He’ll hunt Hammon and Edgerton to extinction if he’s able.

“He’ll be dealt with. Your airship veered off course and went down today behind enemy lines. Gates of Dawn soldiers attacked you, but you managed to escape with some injuries. You contacted me because I’m your commanding officer. I came to your aid. I will have my team issue a statement, and I’ll field any and all inquiries on your behalf.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll have to wait to fix your face until after the press sees you. It is, after all, part of the alibi. Then I’ll have my private physician personally see to you.”

“You’re very good to me.”

“I’m exactly what you need, Roselle.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it before holding it upon the armrest between us. “I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re in one piece.”

“I’m grateful that you came to find me. Are you taking me back to the Stone Forest Base?”

“No. Your air-barracks has gone active. They’re stationed in Twilight now.”

“So, you’re taking me to Twilight?” I didn’t think I could feel worse, but my fear of combat raises the bile in my throat.

“There’s no reason to return you to Tritium 101. In the last few days, I’ve permanently phased out your duties there. You’ll have a place closer to me now. You’ll move in tonight.”

“You already have a place for me?”

“I’ve had it for a while.” I wonder if he’s had it since he decided to kill Hawthorne’s brother, and then I wonder if he’s been making sure that no messages come to me from Hawthorne. “We’ll return to my office, and then I’ll take you home.”

True to his word, Clifton masterminds my alibi. He contacts only the Diamond reporters that he has in his pocket. When we arrive on the rooftop landing pad of Salloway Munitions Conglomerate’s headquarters, the press already have their drone cameras strategically positioned. They capture me disembarking with Clifton’s assistance, huddled in Mags’s shabby cloak.

The amassing correspondents ambush me with hundreds of questions all at once. Clifton shields my face, walking me to the private entrance of his empire in the sky. “Roselle has had a trying day,” he calls to them. “All of your questions will be answered in due course.”

The entire top floor of the headquarters is Clifton’s personal domain. I haven’t been to his secluded suite before. When I consult on weapons, it’s usually in a manufacturing facility, in a laboratory, or in the field. I wander around, studying the prototype weapons behind thick security glass. Clifton contacts his personal Atom-Fated physician, demanding to know his estimated arrival time. When he’s done, he asks me, “Can I get you a drink, Roselle?”

“Water, please.”

He turns on the visual screen. Commentators are already narrating the thirty seconds of “Roselle” footage they received only a few minutes ago. My fusionmag ad campaign and the campaign I did for the newest version of our dual-bladed sword are spliced into the footage, along with old news items. The strike against the Fate of Swords on my failed Transition Day is among them.

I don’t want to relive that, so I walk to the window overlooking the balcony. It faces the sword-shaped Heritage Building. The windows of Clifton’s office are mirrored on the outside, so no one can see me. I take in the view. What I find is telling. Every day, Clifton looks down on the hilt of the Heritage Building from these windows. The Heritage Council is the sole occupant of the spherical penthouse just a few floors beneath me.

I’m about to turn from the window when one of the sword-shaped doors of the Heritage Building opens below. A tall man with sandy-blond hair in an Exo uniform emerges. He takes a few steps onto the penthouse’s grassy balcony, scanning the buildings around him until he finds ours. His face tilts upward. Hawthorne.

My hand presses against the glass. Then Gabriel joins Hawthorne at the railing. The shock of seeing them together brings a rush of blood to my head. My hand slides down the window as I crumble onto the floor.