Traitor Born (Page 45)

Balmora opens her palm, revealing a whisper orb. She clicks the device, and an iridescent bubble forms around us. The hovering machines seem not to notice. She motions for me to come closer. I do, and she pulls me into a hug. Her blond hair smells like sunshine.

“I need to ask you for something, but I’m afraid,” she whispers.

“What is it?” I whisper, too, though I know I don’t have to be quiet.

“Please tell me I wasn’t wrong—during the attack on your father’s funeral procession, you were afraid—afraid for Gabriel.”

I nod. “He’s not well, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get better.”

“Your brother needs help,” she insists, “and you’re the only one I can trust. I know where he is.”

“He’s in Swords, right?”

“No. He left Swords after your father’s funeral. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He’s in Virtues.”

My hands move to her upper arms. “He can’t be here. If your father finds out, he’s dead!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Her eyes narrow to slits. “I’m desperate to protect him from my father. I need you to find him for me and bring him here. I’ll hide him until we can figure out how to help him.”

“Why would you protect him?” I ask suspiciously. I know I’m not getting the whole picture here.

“Because we’re in love.” I stare at her, not sure if she’s being honest or delusional. “You don’t believe me?” she asks. “I’m not making it up.” She lifts a small gilt-frame miniature of her Sea Fortress and shoves it into my hand. “Look at that!”

“I’ve seen a hundred of them,” I say softly, trying not to provoke her.

“No, I mean really look at it!” she insists.

I stare at it, trying to see whatever it is in it that she wants me to see. My eyes blur. A gasp hitches my breath, and my heart begins to race. I turn the painting upside down. The negative space forms a profile of Gabriel. The water is his face. The fortress is his neck and torso. My lips part. My head snaps up, and I glance at every landscape in the room. They reveal themselves to be portraits of my brother. Now that I see it, it’s as obvious as a six-fingered hand.

“He gave me this,” she says, pulling a necklace from beneath the fabric of her white sundress. A ring hangs from the golden chain. It’s one of Gabriel’s Sword-Fated rings, very old, small enough to fit on a child’s finger. “When Gabriel becomes The Sword, he’s going to change everything. He’s going to marry me. We’ve been planning it since we were children.” Her voice grows frayed and raw. Tears fill her eyes. “It’s always been Gabriel and me. Who do you think he visited when he came here? Grisholm? Fat chance!” Scorn twists her face. “It was me. He loves me.”

I hug her to me as she sobs. “Shh . . . I believe you.”

She sniffles. “You do?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“My father isn’t the only one with spies, Roselle. I’ve been able to locate Gabriel, but no one is willing to bring your brother here.”

“Why not?”

“It would be treason. My father will kill them if he finds out.”

“Where is he, Balmora?”

“You’ll get him and bring him here?” Her eyes are both pleading and suspicious.

“Will he come with me?” I ask. “The last time I saw him, he was certain that I wanted him dead.”

“Make him come with you,” she replies desperately.

“Where is he, Balmora?” I ask again.

Pure fear shows in her eyes. She wants to tell me, but she’s terrified of what I’ll do with the information. This is her battle. I can’t fight it, so I wait silently. Desperation wins out.

“He’s at Club Faraway. He has a private room under the name Firstborn Solomon—” She falters. “Solomon—”

“Solomon Sunday,” I murmur.

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“When Gabriel and I were really young—six and seven—we used to play ‘swords’ with sticks whenever no one was around to scold us. He’d let me be the heroine, Fabriana Friday”—a tear slips from my eye, and my chin wobbles—“and he’d be the villain, Solomon Sunday.” I wipe the tear away. “I’ll find him, and I’ll bring him here if I can. I promise.”

“I have an underground network of people who will help,” Balmora says, relieved. She takes the miniature from me and sets it back on the table. Next to it rests a small box, which she picks it up and hands to me. “Inside is an old wrist communicator. With the new monikers, these have become obsolete, but they’re perfect for modified communication on frequencies that no one seems to be paying attention to. I’ve established a private one for you and me. Whatever you need, I’ll get it for you.”

“I need to know how your network operates.”

Chapter 14

Secondborn Network

The secondborn training camps are set amid agrarian and sylvan landscapes between Purity and Lenity. Only the training and pre-trials are held on solid ground. The Secondborn Trials will take place on one of the nine landmasses suspended in the air a half mile up. These hovering islands are marvels of engineering; some are as big as thirty miles across. They contain vegetation and water sources, with wildlife created specifically for whatever challenge each island is to host. Lakes, valleys, mountains, plains, and deserts comprise the terrain, along with horrific hidden quagmires and automated deathtraps. A single crown-shaped colosseum levitates in the center, above the floating islands. Made of glass and steel, the Silver Halo hosts the opening and closing ceremonies.

Shadows from the floating behemoths above us blot out large areas of sunlight on the training fields below, like a shadow of doom over the secondborns competitors. To compensate, mounted light grids shine down from beneath the floating structures, but the additional light the floating islands provide is much dimmer than direct sunlight.

The training fields are sectioned into fan-shaped areas designated by number, and they meet around a circle reserved for the enjoyment of firstborns. The only secondborns allowed in are those who work there or are accompanied by a firstborn of the aristocracy, like I am.

Reykin offers me his hand as I climb out of his two-seater airship. My Halo stingers hover outside, having followed Reykin’s vehicle to the training grounds. Along with Reykin, the two stingers comprise my security team, and they’re the only reason I was granted permission to leave the Halo Palace without Exo guards in tow.

Grisholm isn’t so lucky. His airship lands next to ours. Fifteen Exo guards and a handful of Halo stingers alight from his vehicle and the several surrounding it. The Exos, thankfully, are not my problem.

The levitating hoverpad gives us an aerial view of the training facilities that stretch out before us for miles. Weapons training is in the section nearest to where we’re standing. Pyrotechnics is farther afield, identifiable by the mushroom-shaped dirt clouds in the distance. Obstacle courses are to the east and west. Special-operations pavilions freckle the terrain. The most curious courses hide under dome enclosures, presumably to regulate temperature. One contains a mountain range, the other a desert.

Dressed in stylish training fatigues as if he’ll be participating, Grisholm bounces boisterously toward us, throwing his arms wide. “Welcome to the ultimate test of champions!” He grasps me by the upper arms. “I wish I were you, Roselle! Getting to experience it all for the first time! What I wouldn’t give!” He grins like a madman.