* * *
I DON’T SLEEP. I pace until my heels ache and my skull can’t hold any more bad thoughts.
Finally, there’s a click in the door. The handle jiggles a little, and then the door opens and Amir is standing in the space, holding his nasty little metal shocker in one hand.
“Did you think about what you did?” he asks me.
I nod.
“Good,” he says.
When I move towards him I see the house Pip standing in the hall. He’s holding a silver tray and in the center, on a white lacy mat, are two meal pills.
“Put it on the ground,” Amir tells him.
When he does, Amir points at it.
“Eat.”
“I’m not a dog,” I say. My throat is parched. It has been too long since I’ve had water. When he pours some in a little cup beside the pills, my tongue seems to grow thicker in my mouth.
“No talking,” he says. “Bad girl!”
He jams the silver box into my belly and presses the button. It sends a bolt of lightning straight through my insides. My face screws up in pain. For moments after, I’m still twitching.
I want to take that box and smash it to pieces. Or maybe shock him with it, give him a little of what he’s doling out, see how he likes it.
But I don’t.
Memories of the Garden are pouring back over me. All I did was try to get out. I never played along and this is where I ended up. But all the girls who did—who followed the rules and did what the Governess said—they all got what they wanted. They got chosen.
I kneel. Something inside of me breaks, but I do it anyway. I bend over, grab the cup with my teeth and swing it back. Water streams from the corners of my mouth as I gulp it down greedily. I shove the meal pills in my mouth too. My stomach is gurgling now, and I can already feel the pills start to expand.
I don’t know the person who is doing this. She is weak. Desperate.
“Good girl,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s play a hiding game.”
He makes it sound like it’s his idea.
“You hide first. If I catch you, you’re getting marked!” With that he runs away into the room next to mine and slams the door. The Pip remains in the hallway, a pointed stare on me.
I rise to my feet and step by him.
I walk slowly down the hall to the stairs, feeling the sensors in the ceiling above me adjust as I walk by. The Pip stays where I left him, still with that snooty look on his face.
Slowly, I descend the steps. One floor, then two, and another window appears on the stone wall. Trying to keep a cool head, I make my way towards it, careful not to touch the glass.
I’m still several floors up, but through the green-tinted glass I see a courtyard. A fountain sits in the middle of a garden, shooting streams of water into the air. Surrounding it all is a high stone fence.
Horses, led by men in day suits, move from a silver-roofed barn towards a sloped, twisty iron gate that opens as they approach. Drivers move amongst them—hunched, carrying the weight of this low, coal sky on their shoulders. They tend to their stock and hold them still while the Magnates climb up into their fancy saddles.
My heart races. Frantically I search for Kiran, straining my eyes, but none of them look familiar. The mayor probably has his own Driver staff. Why wouldn’t he? He has everything else.
Despite this, the open gate renews the urgency within me, and before I can stop myself I’m padding down the stairs. I descend two levels, and then a third. Finally I reach a wide, open room, fancier than any I’ve ever been in, with green-glass walls. There are five Pips cleaning these, and two more dusting the cozy chairs scattered around the room. They all look up as I step into the room.
Somewhere above me, in the distance, I hear Amir’s demanding yell: “Where are you?” It’s like someone’s pulling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.
I’m on the ground level. Out the two sliding doors, directly across from the stairwell, are the horses, and the gates are already beginning to close behind them.
I spot Mr. Greer in the shadow of the barn, talking to the mayor, who is wearing a long gray suit jacket for the occasion. Something’s not right between them; the mayor’s posture is stiff and his arms are crossed over his chest. He throws his hands up and walks away, and after a moment of staring at his back, Greer turns away as well. He nearly runs into a Driver attempting to load a carriage with supplies, then stalks around the side of the house, his maroon scarf waving in the breeze until he is out of view.
My gaze returns to the carriage. From where I’m standing, it’s hard to see what was in the box the Driver loaded in the back compartment, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s preparing to leave. He’s made his way to the front and has begun adjusting the straps that attach the contraption to his horse.
Maybe he’s following the hunters into the mountains with extra supplies. Maybe he’s just going back to the city. I don’t care. All I know is that there is room in that back compartment for me to hide and if I get there quick enough, I’m going with him.
I move for the door, but stop short as a few men in lavish embroidered coats enter the room through the sliding doors from outside. Magnates, like the hunter who captured me in the wild.
A Pip rushes to their assistance.
“Come with me,” says one of the cleaners, grabbing my elbow. “You aren’t supposed to be down here.” His little mouth is drawn in a tight frown.
I am dragged from the entryway, away from the carriage, into a shiny silver kitchen manned by Pips who prepare food—real food. Savory-smelling meats and soups that make my stomach grumble. Distracted by their tasks, they barely glance up at me, much like the serving Pips from the preparation room upstairs. I feel panic swelling in my chest. I hadn’t counted on this moment to escape, but now that it’s passing, I can’t help feeling as though I’ve let something crucial slip away.
The cleaning Pip backs me into a corner and tells me to stay out of the way. When he leaves, he shuts the door behind him. I want to scream. I tell myself to focus—Amir is still looking for me. I need to think, plan my next move.
On the far side of the kitchen is a sliver of gray light, and my panic turns to steel. There’s a slider door on the other side of this room. It must open to the outside, behind the house.
All that stands between me and the outside are the Pips, who chop strange-looking vegetables and arrange decorative morsels on serving trays. There are at least ten weapons nearby. Knives. Forks. Even that steaming basin on the stove can be used to my advantage. If I can get my hands on something, I might be able to force my way through, but too much of a stir will surely bring more Pips, and maybe even one of those Watchers guarding the gate.
I step forward and my ears register a buzzing from above as the scanner eye on the ceiling shifts positions.
The Pips are still focused on their duties.
One deep breath in, and I start to walk. I keep my head down, but my eyes moving and my hands ready. I make it past the first Pip, who hardly gives me a sideways glance. Another two give me dirty looks, but don’t stop what they’re doing. Maybe they think I’m too stupid to try to escape. Another scanner buzzes as it points my direction. My heartbeat is thumping in my ears.
I tell myself to slow down, but I can’t. I walk faster, and when a Pip makes a sudden turn away from his station, we collide. Small yellow pastries fly off of his tray across the floor, and in his anger, he throws the metal sheet at me.
I block my face, but before I can lower my arms, he’s got me by the wrist and is dragging me outside.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he says, following up with the longest stream of pips I’ve ever heard. I trip over the threshold of the door, but catch myself before I fall. When I look up, I see gray sky and wish I’d decided to grab a weapon.
I don’t need it. I can take one single Pip on my own. I have to.
He winds back to hit me in the face, but stops short. He’s lookin
g at something over my shoulder, and when I glance back I’m sure I’m going to see either the kid or a Watcher. But it’s neither. It’s a tall, thin man in a black velvet coat and a maroon scarf wrapped around his head.
He stops a little ways away and gives a curt nod to the Pip, who seems to take this as a dismissal and reenters the kitchen. There are no scanners back here, no eyes watching me. We are blocked from the front of the building, between the perimeter wall and a trash incinerator. Alone.
The dread rises up and crashes over me.
“You didn’t get to go?” I ask, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. He’s changed since I saw him just moments ago; his coat must not have been suitable for the mayor’s Magnate friends.
He stares at me. Just stares. His hands are rubbing down his chest—the drink must be starting to wear off. After a moment, one hand lifts to the side of his face as if he’s going to take off the scarf, and though I’ve seen what lies beneath it, I’m petrified for him to do this.
Before he can speak, I lower and try to run past him.
Quick as a flash, one hand shoots forward and his strong fingers wrap around my forearm. He pulls me towards him.
I lock my knees. My feet slide over the walkway. I try to pry his hand open and see that his knuckles are smeared black with polish of some kind. His mayor brother must be pretty upset if Greer can’t even find someone to shine his shoes.
Without thinking, I attack. My fist wheels around and knocks him in the jaw. One of his hands flies to his face while the other slides down around my wrist. I wriggle free and try to kick him, but he grabs my leg, yanks it, and I slam to my back on the ground.
I will not let him better me.
My legs are flailing and I’m trying to push him back, but he’s on me now, pinning me down with his body weight.
“No!” But the word is no louder than a breath. I struggle, harder than I ever have, and he releases me suddenly. His hand has flown back to his face, to the wrap, which is beginning to sag. I must have hit him hard.
“Stop, stop!” he hisses. I freeze. This voice isn’t low and graveled. It’s sharp, and warped by an accent I’ve never heard.
This isn’t Mr. Greer.
I swipe at the scarf and jerk it down. Suntanned skin, smeared with dirt across the jaw. Lips drawn tight. And here, up close, those eyes I would recognize anywhere.
“Kiran?”
He scoops me up to standing in one swift motion.
“Come on, Aiyana,” he says. “We’ve got to go.”
CHAPTER 14
“YOU CAN TALK?” I say.
Without thinking, my hands clasp his face and pull his jaw back open, as though this will somehow make him speak again. His skin is dirty, but the space around his eyes that shows through the scarf has been recently scrubbed. He forces his mouth shut and winces.
“I didn’t make it up, I know I didn’t,” I tell him. “Say something.”
“We don’t have time for this.” His hurried words are warped by a strange accent so different from my own. They seem stretched, pulled. My smile must be a mile wide.
And then it vanishes, like ashes in the wind.
“Oh no.” I swallow, but the lump won’t go down my throat. All the things I’ve told Kiran fill my mind. The secrets, the stories about my life. I’ve laid it all out for him to listen to in the way I listen to Brax whimper: knowing what he feels, but not what he says.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask weakly.
“I couldn’t.” He glances to the side.
I want him to say more, but this isn’t the place.
“Your voice is all wrong,” I whisper. It isn’t at all like I heard it in my head.
“Sorry to disappoint.” He snorts, and I quiet him with my fingers over his lips.
They’re soft and warm, and I draw back immediately because I didn’t mean to touch him just then.
“I saw a carriage in front of the barn,” I whisper. “You can hide me inside.”
His brows raise as if he’s impressed, but then he shakes his head. I take this to mean he has a better plan.
He’s here. I can hardly believe it. Here, at the mayor’s huge house, surrounded by men who could have him hanged for impersonating one of them. I think back to how he tried to help me at auction, too. Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me.
I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, and suddenly I’m thinking about the way I acted the last time we were together. I take a step back so I can breathe, and look up the side of the house for any outside scanners. I don’t see any, but know we should keep quiet all the same.
“Where are you?” calls a voice in the distance. Amir is outside.
“We have to go,” I say. “Now.”
My fright reflects in his eyes. He adjusts the wrap over his face—now that he’s standing before me it’s obvious he’s taller than Greer. I hadn’t thought to look too closely once I saw the wrap on his face.
We creep along the side of the house, keeping to the language we both know well: points and nods and the little gestures that we’ve learned over the last month. With my heart in my throat, I let Kiran take me by the arm and lead me straight around the corner into the open courtyard before the barn. The house Pips that scurry around outside pretend they’re not watching, but they are, I can feel their eyes upon me. I look for Amir, but he must have gone back inside because I don’t see him. I keep walking, one step at a time, out of the shadows of the house and into the dim sunlight.
Kiran’s moving so fast that I’m struggling to keep up. It’s cooler here than behind the kitchen and the air smells different, like the cleaning products they use at the Garden. The grass smashes beneath my boots, too soft to be real, more like hair than the real thing. I step on the hem of my dress and would go sprawling if not for Kiran’s firm grip pulling me back to a stand.
The other Magnates have all gone now, along with the carriage I’d planned on sneaking out in. The iron gates are closed, and two Watchers are activating some kind of security system that buzzes to life, then makes the air shimmer just beyond the property’s threshold.
We head to the barn, and my eyes are drawn to the support beams, where horses, rearing up and pawing the air, are carved into the wood. The sweet, musty scent of hay greets us. Soon we cross under the threshold, and I immediately scan for sensors on the ceiling.
My pulse is racing. We are just a gate away from the city.
Inside one of the stalls is the chestnut mare I recognize from the Driver barn. She snorts and paws the ground as Kiran approaches, as if she’s been waiting for him to return. He slides the door open and we duck inside, and the way she greets him, nuzzling his neck with her soft nose, makes me miss Brax terribly.
“How’d you get in?” I say quietly, standing clear of the mare’s front hooves.
He points behind him, down through the breezeway, but then seems to remember he can talk.
“There’s a separate entrance for the animals.” He clears his throat. “The mayor had extra stock brought in for today’s hunt.”
I stare at his mouth as he talks. It’s still so strange to me. The questions are building, one atop the next—Do all Drivers talk? Why hide it? Why didn’t Kiran tell me earlier?—but we don’t have time. Mention of the hunt has me ready to run.
“Can we get out that way?”
“I can,” he says in a way that makes me realize that I can’t.
He’s already adjusting the wrap back on his face. He nods in the direction of the front gates.
“How?” I ask, remembering the Watcher guards.
He points to the scarf wrapped around his face. It’s drooping on one side so I reach forward to help him. The back of my hand skims over his, and he pulls away. I guess it’s too much to think that he’s forgotten what happened in the solitary yard.
When the scarf is fixed, I step back. “The mayor’s brother—have you seen him?”
He gives a small cough. His voice is a little rough when he answer
s. “Drunk,” he says. “He’s laid out by the delivery gates.”
I remembered the argument outside with the mayor. Bet that didn’t make a good impression with his fancy friends.
“Wait,” I say. “You stole his clothes?”
Kiran shakes his head. “I brought ’em.”
He planned this. He came here for me.
“Aiyana,” he says, and I grow even warmer. It’s been so long since someone said my true name. “You can’t tell.”
“About the talking. I know,” I say. But I don’t really know. I don’t understand any of it, though I want to. I expect a full explanation as soon as we get out of here.
Soon the chestnut mare is saddled, and Kiran is pulling me up behind him. I sit sideways on account of the dress, and hold on tight around his waist so I don’t go spilling over the other side.
He’s all muscle. Long, lean muscle. I can tell even through this suit he’s managed to find. He sits rigid, and I do too, careful not to press my chest against his back. But it doesn’t matter. It’s as if Kiran is his own shock box, just like the one Amir has, only this one doesn’t hurt, it just makes me tingle straight through.
“What will you say?” I ask.
He shakes his head. I feel his heart thumping in his chest and know he’s afraid. If the Watchers catch us, we’re as good as dead.
He makes a clicking sound, and the mare steps forward into the light. He’s left the carriage of supplies back against the side of the breezeway. I stare at our shadow, feeling the movement of the horse’s hindquarters beneath my legs.
As we approach the gate, I pinch my eyes shut.
“Sir,” says one of the Watchers. “I thought you were staying in today.”
Kiran says nothing. My fists, filled with his shirt, are trembling. He stares at the Watcher, stares like he’s a Magnate. Like nothing in the world scares him. But I know better.
After a moment the gate makes a quick clicking sound, then slides open.
We ride straight into the heart of the business district, leaving those Watchers behind to pay the price of my escape.
The Glass Arrow Page 17