Secondborn

“He made it pretty far, but he blew himself up when he attempted to use an incendiary to take out a bridge in the ‘Up You Go’ challenge. He misjudged his fuse timer.” Hawthorne’s voice rumbles through his chest as I lie against it. It’s such a lovely sound—I could lie here forever and listen to him talk. “How did it go tonight?” he asks.

“Better than expected—and worse.”

“What do you mean? Will he help you keep Protium 445 off your back?” he asks anxiously.

“He’ll take care of them.” I kiss the fabric of his shirt over his chest. “Clifton is part of a secret club that plans to kill my brother. I don’t know how to stop them short of exposing them—and I need them, so you can see my dilemma.”

“He told you that?” Hawthorne asks incredulously.

“No. He said he wants to protect me should anything accidentally happen to Gabriel.”

“How do you know they’ll try to kill him?”

“I don’t, but it’s the logical next step. Secure me. Make me an ally. Take out the weak player. Put your ally in a position of power. It’s a good strategy. They just haven’t accounted for my mother. She’ll eviscerate them if she hears a hint of this Rose Garden Society.”

“If your brother dies without an heir, you’re firstborn.”

“It will never happen.”

“But if it did, you’d leave.”

“Theoretically, I’d have to return to Forge—to the Sword Palace.”

Hawthorne rubs his hand over my arm. It’s comforting. I had no idea how nice this could be, snuggling with him. His voice vibrates my ear. “I’ll be twenty next year—old enough to enter the Secondborn Trials. If I win, I could elevate to firstborn status.”

“That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard, Hawthorne.” I rise up on my elbow and glare at him. “Don’t ever say that to me again. Don’t even think it!”

“Why not? If I win, we’d never have to sneak around. We’d be able to be together. I could bring you with me. I could marry—”

“You could die for the entertainment of firstborns everywhere!” I snap. “One person wins The Trials. One. That’s it! One out of close to a thousand entrants—you have only the slightest chance of making it out alive!” I rest my cheek against his chest again. “I can’t do anything right now about the Rose Garden Society. I need Clifton’s help. I’ll have to rely on Mother to keep Gabriel safe.” He kisses the top of my head. “Hawthorne, I have something to tell you, but I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

“What is it?”

“I did something good and bad. I meddled in your life.”

“What did you do?” he asks.

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

“I can’t promise that. You’re going to have to tell me what you did and hope for the best.”

“I gave Clifton a list of demands. One is that you be pulled off active duty and placed in pilot training—flying medical rescue airships. It’s dangerous, but it’s noncombat. You won’t have to kill anyone—you can save them instead.”

His hand stills. “How did you know that was a goal of mine?”

“I made Clifton give me access to your file. You made Meso—they plan on telling you next week.”

“You read my private files.” He sounds angry.

“Not all of them—and you’re not allowed to be mad about that.”

“Why not?” he growls.

“Because you’ve been watching me since you were a child without my permission.”

“True,” he mutters between tight lips. “But it feels wrong to be taken out of active combat duty when my entire regiment is still in it. They count on me.”

“I know—that’s why I pulled your closest friends, too.”

“So what’s the good part?”

“That was the good part, Hawthorne.”

He sighs. “What’s the bad part, then?”

“Clifton knows how to hurt me now—he can hurt you and that will hurt me. It was a risk. I don’t know if I should’ve taken it. I can’t see his next move yet.”

“You’re worried about what he can do to me? Aren’t you afraid they’ll get to you?”

“I don’t know who they are. Until I do, I’m vulnerable. You have to know that if you intend to be anywhere near me. I just made your life extremely complicated and incredibly dangerous.”

Chapter 16

Where They Bury Me

ONE YEAR LATER

Risk-taking is becoming more and more a part of my DNA. I see it in every secondborn Sword. We’re adrenaline junkies, living for the highs because the lows are so low. Too low. Most of us don’t expect to make it past the next birthday. The average life expectancy of a Sword during wartime is a year and six months. If that’s the case, I only have a few months left to live. My friends are all past due.

I’ve made it through two tours of active duty, and my third is fast approaching. Trained in combat rescue aviation, I’m now able to fly all types of airships. At first, my job was dangerous, but nothing compared to what a normal soldier faces on the ground. Clifton made sure of that. Mostly, I’ve been relegated to resupply runs that don’t require me to be near the front line. The same can’t be said for my friends. Hawthorne, Gilad, and Edgerton fly rescue missions that often require them to pass into enemy territory.