But my brother shakes his head slowly, staring at me with familiar honey-colored eyes. Shade was always the handsome one, and death has not changed that.
“You’re not dead, Mare,” he says, his voice as smooth as I remember. “Neither am I.”
“How?” is all I can manage, sitting back to examine my brother fully. He looks the same as I remember, without the usual scars of a soldier. Even his brown hair is growing out again, shaking off the military cut. I run my fingers through it, to convince myself he’s real.
But he is not the same. Just like you are not the same.
“The mutation,” I say, letting my hand graze his arm. “They killed you for it.”
His eyes seem to dance. “They tried.”
I don’t blink, time doesn’t pass, but he’s moved at a speed beyond my sight, beyond even that of a swift. Now he sits across from me, next to the still-shackled Cal. It’s like he’s shifting through space, jumping from one spot to another in no time at all.
“And failed,” he finishes from his new seat. His grin is wide now, pleasantly amused by my openmouthed stare. “They said they killed me, they told the captains I was dead and my body burned.” Another split second and he’s sitting next to me again, appearing out of thin air. Teleporting. “But they weren’t fast enough. No one is.”
I try to nod, I try to understand his ability, his simple existence, but I can’t comprehend much more than the circle of his arms around me. Shade. Alive and like me.
“What about the others? Mom, Dad—” But Shade stills me with a smile.
“They’re safe and waiting,” he says. His voice breaks a little, overcome with emotion. “We’ll see them soon.”
My heart swells at the thought. But like all my happiness, all my joy and all my hope, it doesn’t last long. My eyes fall on the Guard bristling with weapons, on Kilorn’s scars, on Farley’s tense face and Cal’s bound hands. Cal, who has suffered so much, escaping one prison for another.
“Let him go.” I owe him my life, more than my life. Surely I can give him some comfort here. But no one budges at my words, not even Cal.
To my surprise, he answers before Farley. “They won’t. And they shouldn’t. In fact, you should probably blindfold me, if you really want to be thorough.”
Even though he’s been cast down, thrown out of his own life, Cal can’t change who he is. The soldier is in him still. “Cal, shut up. You’re not a danger to anyone.”
With a scoff, Cal tips his head, gesturing at the train of armed rebels. “They seem to think otherwise.”
“Not to us, I mean,” I add, shrinking back against my seat. “He saved me up there, even after what I did. And after what Maven did to you—”
“Don’t say his name.” His growl is frightful, putting a chill in me, and I don’t miss Farley’s hand tightening around her gun.
Her words slide out between clenched teeth. “No matter what he did for you, the prince is not on our side. And I won’t risk what’s left of us for your little romance.”
Romance. We flinch at the word. There is no such thing between us anymore. Not after what we did to each other, and what was done to us. No matter how much we might want there to be.
“We’re going to keep fighting, Mare, but Silvers have betrayed us before. We won’t trust them again.” Kilorn’s words are softer, a balm to try to help me understand. But his eyes spark at Cal. Obviously he remembers the torture down in the cells and the terrible sight of frozen blood. “He might be a valuable prisoner.”
They don’t know Cal like I do. They don’t know he could destroy them all, that he could escape in a heartbeat if he really wanted. So why does he stay? When he meets my eyes, somehow he answers my question without speaking. The hurt I see radiating from him is enough to break my heart. He is tired. He is broken. And he doesn’t want to fight anymore.
Part of me doesn’t either. Part of me wishes I could submit to chains, to captivity and silence. But I have lived that life already, in the mud, in the shadows, in a cell, in a silk dress. I will never submit again. I will never stop fighting.
Neither will Kilorn. Neither will Farley. We will never stop.
“The others like us . . .” My voice shakes, but I have never felt so strong. “The others like me and Shade.”
Farley nods and pats a hand to her pocket. “I still have the list. I know the names.”
“And so does Maven,” I reply smoothly. Cal twitches at the name. “He’ll use the bloodbase to trace them, and hunt them down.”
Even though the train sways and shakes, twisting over dark tracks, I force myself to my feet. Shade tries to steady me, but I brush his hand away. I must stand on my own.
“He can’t find them before we do.” I raise my chin, feeling the pulse of the train. It electrifies me. “He can’t.”
When Kilorn steps toward me, his face set and determined, his bruises and scars and bandages seem to fade. I think I see the dawn in his eyes.
“He won’t.”
A strange warmth falls over me, a warmth like the sun though we are deep underground. It’s as familiar to me as my own lightning, reaching out to envelop me in an embrace we can’t have. Even though they call Cal my enemy, even though they fear him, I let his warmth fall on my skin, and I let his eyes burn into mine.
Our shared memories flash before me, parading every second of our time together. But now our friendship is gone, replaced by the one thing we still have in common.
Our hatred for Maven.
I don’t need to be a whisper to know we share a thought.
I will kill him.
Acknowledgments
I’ll do this chronologically, to try to include everyone, because I owe thanks to so many people. First and most of all, my ridiculously supportive parents who encouraged me to do anything and everything I wanted. They remain my greatest teachers, and I’m grateful for every gift, especially letting me watch Jurassic Park at 3 years old. To my brother, Andrew, who joined in on every game and every joke, and made my fantasy worlds so much bigger and brighter. My grandparents—George and Barbara, Mary and Frank—who gave and continue to give more love and memory than I can understand. Too many aunts, uncles, and cousins to name, not to mention friends and neighbors who tolerated me running through their lives and backyards. Natalie, Lauren, Teressa, Kim, Katrina, and Sam, who stuck with me through the rough teen years and questionable clothing choices. Of course, every English and social studies teacher I ever had, who continuously told me to stop writing novels for essays. And I have to thank the ones who influenced me beyond reason, even though they don’t know me. Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, Peter Jackson, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, C.S. Lewis. I grew up in a small town, but because of these people, my world never seemed that way.
The University of Southern California and their incomparable School of Cinematic Arts somehow let me slip in, and completely changed the trajectory of my life. My screenwriting professors, every single one of them, pushed me into the writer I am now, and taught me every trick I know. Not only did I begin to believe this storytelling compulsion of mine was a viable pursuit, but I started becoming who I wanted to be. The screenwriting program itself is the reason I got the chance to be a working writer, and I can’t thank them enough. I was lucky enough to make amazing friends, some of my closest, at SC—Nicole, Kathryn, Shayna, Jen L., Erin, Angela, Bayan, Morgan, Jen R., Tori, the Chez boys, Traddies, etc.—who made me begrudgingly better (and delightfully worse sometimes).
After college, I faced the terrifying prospect of an impossible career choice. Luckily, I had Benderspink at my back, especially my first manager, Christopher Cosmos, who encouraged me to write Red Queen. When I finished the first draft, he sent it along to New Leaf Literary, and set me on another life-changing path. I landed with the best in publishing: Pouya Shahbazian, who continues to guide RQ and me through the waters of the entertainment industry; Kathleen Ortiz, my passport to the world and the reason RQ continues to travel the globe; Jo Volpe, our fearless captain and wonderful friend; Danielle Barthel, Jaida Temperly, Jess Dallow, and Jackie Lindert, who tolerate my weird requests and are completely indispensable; Dave Caccavo, a fellow George Washington and USA soccer enthusiast, and I’m told he’s good at numbers; and sorry guys, I saved the best for last, Suzie Townsend continues to be my literary North Star. Red Queen is now a real book because of so many people, but especially her. She’s the push, pull, and pat on the head I’ll always need.