Текст книги "The Earth Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Chapter Eleven

Siena

I can’t believe I’m looking at Lara right now. She looks great, tougher’n bones, as always.

Adele and Tristan and Wilde all went to sleep a while ago, curled up on tugskin mats, but although I’m exhausted, I can’t waste this chance to catch up with my friend. Even Skye wandered back in and dozed off. Now it’s just me, Lara, and Hawk.

“When did you become a spy?” I ask.

“A few weeks back,” Hawk says with a smirk.

“Not you, wooloo baggard,” I say, but I’m smiling as I say it. Although not that long ago I wished Hawk’d curl up in a hole and die, he’s truly turned things ’round for himself. I even sorta like the guy now. Not that that means I’ll cut him any slack.

“Almost right after you left for ice country,” Lara says. “You know me, I can’t sit still for long.”

“Don’t I know it,” I say, taking a sip of water.

“Have some of this,” Hawk says, passing me a water skin. I take a sniff.

“Whew! What’s this, fire juice? Should you really be drinking on the job, you shanker? Don’t you need your wits—however dim—’bout you in case the Glassies do something unexpected?”

“Told you,” Lara says, glaring at Hawk.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Hawk says, looking scareder’n a mouse under the shadow of a vulture with no hole in sight.

“Nah,” I say. “I should just be happy you’re not lighting ants on fire and beating up defenseless Midders.”

“Defenseless like you and Circ?”

“Circ was never defenseless,” I say. “And now, neither am I.” I grab my bow and fit it with a pointer faster’n you can say Reformed bully baggard. Hawk’s hands are up and over his head and he’s standing and backing away, but I shoot him anyway, right through the heart.

Only it’s a play pointer, made of braided wildgrass for the shaft and bark for the tip. It bounces harmlessly off his left breast.

“Bullseye,” I say. “Oh blaze, you shoulda seen your face. Better check your britches, make sure you didn’t grizz yourself!” Lara’s cracking up, which makes me crack up.

I put up with Hawk’s bullying for so long it’s nice to see the tents turned on him every now and again.

“Ha ha. Hilarious,” Hawk says. “If Lara’s staying up and taking my shift, then I’m getting some shuteye. Perhaps you should, too, Skinny.”

I ignore the parting shot, his old nickname for me. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt the way it used to. We also ignore his advice, talking and laughing and catching up like the old friends that we are, reminiscing ’bout our days spent training with the Wilde Ones, back when it was new and exciting.

We talk until the hole in the cave roof starts getting lighter, the sky above it split with streaks of red and gold. Lara wakes Hawk for his watch shift. Only then do we flop down next to each other and sleep.

~~~

I awake to a scream.

“Holy freakin’ son of a—”

I’m on my feet and blinking away the sleep and grabbing my bow ’fore I even have the slightest clue what’s going on.

Tristan and Adele are on their feet too, staring at their tugskin mats like they’re covered in fire ants. Beyond ’em, Skye’s practically going into convulsions, laughing her head off. What the scorch?

Then I see it.

The ’zard. Rough, gray skin with green spots. A pink tongue that’s flicking out, almost like a snake. Sitting right on Adele’s blanket. I start laughing too.

“You ain’t scared of that little thing, are you?” I say. “It ain’t even full grown yet.”

Adele looks at me, at the ’zard, back at me. “What is it?”

“What? You don’t recognize it? You gobbled it up last night right quick.”

Tristan looks ’round Adele, a look of horror on his face. “Not the soup,” he says.

“The soup,” I say, holding back another laugh. I rub my belly. “And guess what’s for breakfast?”

The ’zard, as if suddenly realizing we’re all staring at it, takes off, running right at Adele. She leaps aside and it passes by, scurrying out through the camouflaged skin that apparently didn’t fool it for one second.

Although the cave is already heating up from the morning sun, Adele shivers, her face all screwed up like she might be sick. “I can’t believe I ate one of those,” she says.

“Well, not a whole one. Just pieces of one, all chopped up. The tail, the legs, the eyeballs…” I trail off when Wilde, who’s awake now, too, gives me a look.

Adele’s hand is over her mouth. “There were eyeballs in that soup?” she says through her fingers.

“Quit messin’ with her, Sie,” Lara says, rolling over and rubbing her eyes. “There were no eyeballs, just the meat. ’Zards give you long-lasting energy.”

Adele doesn’t look convinced, but she manages to keep the prickler salad and soup down, so I give her credit for that.

“Do we want to know what pricklers are?” Tristan asks, one cheek scrunched up. Even with the weird expression on his face, he’s a good looking guy: wavy, yellow-sand colored hair, sparkling blue eyes—though he’s got nothing on Circ, who’s smokier’n a bramble fire.

“We passed ’bout a hundred of ’em last night, but in the dark you mighta missed ’em. Some are green, some gray, some brownish. Each one looks a little different, like people, I guess. But most every one of ’em have these nasty little prickles coming out of their skin. Trust me, you don’t want to run into ’em. Once, when my baggard father sent me to Confinement, I managed to break out, but not without running smack into a searin’ prickler. It hurt like a thousand fire ant bites, but later I found out the prickler’s name was Perry, and we sorta became friends, or at least acquaintances, and I mostly liked him ’cept when he ragged on me, which was most of the time…”

I stop when I realize everyone’s staring at me with the strangest expressions, like maybe I’ve caught the Fire, and it’s eating away at my skin. I check my arms, my hands—my skin looks normal. Brown. Just brown. Like always.

“You made friends with a prickler?” Hawk says, standing just inside the secret opening, apparently having come inside during my story.

“I’m confused,” Adele says. “At first I thought pricklers were some kind of plant, but are they an animal? Or some weird kind of person?”

“We ate your friend?” Tristan says, his handsome face screwed up even more.

Some things you just can’t explain, so for the first time since I sprang outta bed, I keep my mouth shut tighter’n a Killer’s mouth on a bone.

~~~

When the whole thing ’bout Perry the Prickler blows over, and Adele and Tristan have had a chance to peek outside to see what pricklers look like—they’re sticking to eating plants from now on; ’zards are out—we have a real meeting, which is the reason we came in the first place.

As usual, Wilde kicks things off, and she doesn’t waste any time with small talk. “You’re not going to last long up here breathing this air.”

Adele and Tristan nod in unison, their faces even.

“I believe your story. I believe you,” she adds. I glance at Skye, whose eyes flick to mine, ’fore returning to Wilde’s. Ain’t she gonna say something? “Skye and I have talked it over, and we agreed we can’t hold you here against your will.”

“You have?” I blurt out, once more looking at Skye. She doesn’t look at me this time.

“Yes,” Wilde says. I raise my eyebrows. I guess Adele saving Skye’s life went a lot further with her’n I first thought.

Adele and Tristan exchange a look. “We’ve talked things over, too,” Tristan says. They have? When has all this talking been happening? And where was I? I like talking things over, too. “We don’t want to go back yet.” I stop breathing. What? “We’ve got as much to gain as you do from seeing Lecter defeated. We’d hoped there might be a chance to talk to him, to understand his point of view, but it’s clear now that he’s set on violence. We want to help you.”

“But you’ll die!” I say, unable to hold it in any longer.

“If we don’t help you, you all might die. And we won’t die right away,” Adele says. “We’ll last long enough to help you.”

I shake my head. “You can go back down and get more of your people to help.” You can do anything but stay up here and die! Even as I’m thinking it, I’m wondering why I care so much. I barely know these two. They could be enemy spies for all I know. But something deep inside of me knows they’re not, that they’re good, that they’re really on our side.

“There’s no time,” Tristan says. “This war is happening now. And if we go back there’s no guarantee anyone will follow us. We can’t make them. They have enough of their own problems to deal with. We will stay. We will help.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wilde says, an unexpected smile creasing her face, “but we may have a solution to the whole toxic air thing. Show them, Lara.”

Then, to my amazement, Lara unfolds a blanket on her lap. And inside are five of the strangest looking objects I’ve ever seen in my sixteen-year life.

Chapter Twelve

Dazz

“No!” I say, not caring that my voice is raised.

Curly Mustache Man looks incredulous. “No? Last time I checked, young man, you’re not a member of the consortium. You’re here to inform, not to decide.”

“This is wrong,” I say, pleading. “I’ve already discussed this with one of the leaders of the Tri-Tribes—Wilde. She’s the one who helped save my sister, who helped my mother…but that’s not what’s important. The point is, we came to an agreement. The Unity Alliance. Us and the Tri-Tribes. It’s our only hope against the Glassies. Strength in numbers.”

“Not. Your. Decision,” the White District rep says. “I put it to a vote. Two options. One: Do the smart thing and ally ourselves with the winning side, to a people who are slightly mysterious, yes, but who have been a valuable and amicable trade resource to us. Namely, the Glassies. Or two: Take this boy’s advice and ally ourselves with the very people who were involved in the distasteful slave trade that ultimately led to the overthrow and execution of King Goff. Two options, my friends, I need not tell you which option I’ll be voting for.”

My face is on fire. My knuckles hurt and I realize my fists are clenched at my sides. The old Dazz is back, and if I let him loose I’m pretty sure he’ll charge off the platform, break this man’s freezin’ jaw, and rip every last icin’ hair of his curly mustache from his skin, one by one. Breathe, Dazz. Breathe. Focus. Words, not actions.

“If I may,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, to mimic the air of confidence and slight arrogance my adversary just displayed. “While…”—I almost say Curly Mustache Man, but I catch myself—“…our honorable Blue District member has been sitting in his parlor room drinking hot tea and eating bear fritters, I’ve been in the middle of the action, seeing things that would shock and disgust you all. I might not be as old, might not have as much experience, but I am more informed than anyone in this room. Without the Tri-Tribes, Goff never would’ve been exposed or overthrown. Without the Tri-Tribes, my little sister would be dead. Without the Tri-Tribes, the dictatorial Admiral of the Soakers would still be enslaving Heater children on his ships. So, if you want to make an informed decision, I advise you to take option two.”

When I finish a shiver runs through me, and I realize my fists are still clenched, my face still on fire, and I’m leaning forward, all the way to the edge of the raised platform. Who was that? Where did those words come from? I almost want to jump up and pump my fist. I never knew words could have such power, not when my fists are so good at what they do.

“Hmm, well met, boy,” Mustache Man says. “But it will still be decided by a vote. And your plan is still teetering on the edge of crazy and insane. Voting begins now. You can choose one of the two options presented to you today, or you may, as always, choose to abstain.” Things are moving much quicker than I expected. Too freezin’ quick. “All those in favor of option two, an alliance with the Tri-Tribes…”

I also didn’t expect my option to be presented first. I hold my breath.

Abe’s hand is the first one up. He even drops his cigarette on the floor, stomps on it with his heel, and folds out of the current hand of cards he’s playing. Yo’s hand is up a second later, followed by another Brown District member. Although the three other Black District reps seem oblivious to the vote, Abe grab’s each of their arms in turn, lifting them above their heads. Six out of sixteen votes.

I stare at the two unvoted Brown District reps. They’re looking at their feet. Yo nudges one of them, but she doesn’t react, just keeps staring down. The other guy is equally nonresponsive when Yo says something to him. Yo looks up at me, lips pursed, eyebrows narrowed. I’m sorry, he mouths.

It’s not over. Everyone might just be abstaining, because they’re unsure, or scared, or whatever. As long as the other option gets less than six votes we’re okay.

“Six votes,” Curly Mustache says with half a smile, as if we can’t count. “Now for the first option, the smart choice. All those in favor of an alliance with our old friends, the Glassies…”

Four White District hands go up. Two Blue District hands. Six votes. All tied. The final four are evidently abstaining. How do they break ties?

But my question is lost on my lips, because just then, very late, a final hand goes up from one of the Blue District reps.

No.

No.

It’s not a stretch, or a yawn, or a question—it’s a vote. The seventh vote.

No.

This can’t be happening. It can’t.

It is. It’s over.

“An alliance with the Glassies, it is,” Mustache Man says. “Fortunately, I had the foresight and intelligence to send a message with our decision to the Glassy leader earlier today. President Lecter should be receiving it any moment, if he hasn’t already.”

“You can’t do that,” I say, but the fire’s gone from my voice. Was it a whisper? Did I even speak?

“I can and I did. It was a risk, yes, but one that clearly paid off. District reps—please inform the people you represent of the decision. I fully expect the Glassies to send some of their forces to ice country to protect us from any backlash from the Tri-Tribes as a result of our decision. The people will have to get used to having them around.”

Chapter Thirteen

Adele

“Where’d you get those?” I ask, staring at the gasmasks like they’re precious gems.

“Off dead Glassies,” Lara says. “The last time they attacked us we killed a bunch of ’em. They were wearing these. There’re more in New Wildetown.”

“And they’re not broken?” Tristan asks, his voice equally full of amazement.

“See for yourself,” Wilde says, handing him one. She gives me one too.

I turn it over in my hands, inspecting it for damage. It’s a little scuffed, a little dusty, but seems okay. I give it a try, strap it around the back of my head, feel it suction around my nose and lips. Take a breath. Whoosh! The air comes in with a rush. It doesn’t taste any different, except maybe a little plasticky. “I think it’s working,” I say, my voice coming out muffled and warped.

Tristan’s got his on, too. “Cool,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh at the way his voice sounds, deeper and garbled. And then he laughs at my laugh, which sounds all husky and throaty.

It’ll be annoying wearing the masks all the time, but at least we won’t die from the air. “Why don’t you wear these?” I ask.

“There aren’t enough of them,” Wilde says. “And we’re not as affected by the air as your people; we’re more used to it. Eventually we die from it, but not until we’re at least thirty.”

Thirty? Gosh, I had no idea. So young. And I thought the moon dwellers dying in their fifties was bad. It’s not right that the Glassies, I mean the earth dwellers, should live inside their bubble, unwilling to share their air-filtering technology with the people they share the land with. And worse still, attacking them and trying to annihilate them? A fresh swathe of anger roils down the rivers of hot blood running through my veins. We have to help them. For their sake and for the sake of the dwellers below, who deserve the truth and a chance to live aboveground.

“Thank you,” I say, biting back a twinge of emotion. Now’s the time to stay levelheaded.

“Don’t make us regret it,” Skye says, but there’s not as much bite in her voice as before. Is that a hint of a smile on her lips?

“You won’t,” Tristan says.

“Now that you can breathe freely,” Wilde says, “we have much to discuss. Hawk, what’s the latest?”

Hawk, still shirtless, clears his throat, looking a little awkward. It seems every time he’s around Wilde he can’t stop fidgeting. Maybe he’s got a thing for her. “Well, uh…” he stammers.

“The Glassies have been sending out soldiers,” Lara prods.

“Uh, yeah,” Hawk agrees. “There are at least ten groups around fire country already, and more ride out on their fire chariots every day.”

“Fire chariots?” Tristan says.

“They’re very advanced in what they can build,” Lara says. “They ride ’em. Metal chariots with wheels. They roll with no one pushin’ or pullin’ ’em. Dark smoke pours from a tube in the back, so we think they must be powered by fire somehow.”

“Trucks,” I say. “That’s what we call them. It’s not fire, not exactly, but you’ve got the right idea. We have them down below, too, although they’re very expensive and not everyone can afford them.”

“They’re looking for us in these…trucks,” Wilde says.

Hawk nods. “That’s what we figured, too. And eventually they’ll find us.”

“And then it’s over, like a game of feetball after Circ takes the field,” Siena says.

“You have to hit them first,” I say. “And harder.”

Skye nods, her teeth clenched, says, “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” At least we agree on something. It’s a start, anyway.

“Have the Glassies been riding south, too?” Wilde asks.

“Yeah,” Hawk says.

“That explains seein’ the burnin’ Killers this far north,” Skye says. “The baggards are drivin’ ’em from their lands.”

“They’ve been killin’ off the tug hurds, too,” Lara adds. “We’ve seen ’em carryin’ the dead animals back to the Glass City on their fire ch—their…trucks.”

“They think if they kill off the hurds that we’ll run out of food and have to move out of hiding,” Wilde says.

“Is that true?” I ask.

Wilde shakes her head. “Not that long ago it might’ve been. But now, the Wilde Ones have taught the Heaters and Marked to be self-sufficient, to grow their own food, to not rely on meat alone.”

“Wilde Ones? Heaters? The Marked?” Tristan says. “Sorry, you lost me there.” I’m every bit as far behind and would’ve asked if Tristan didn’t.

“There will be time for all of that later,” Wilde says. “You’ve been very patient with us.”

“But first, you want to know what we think you should do?” Tristan says.

Wilde smiles. “You are most perceptive. You know more about the Glassies than we do.”

I look at Tristan and he looks at me. This is his call. He’s seen them, met them. He gets politics in a way I never will. He might not like the way the world works, but at least he understands it, so he can change it. Me, I’d say let’s throw rocks at their damn glass bubble until it shatters. Then they’ll see what it means to live in fire country for real.

Jaw tight, he says, “Like Adele said, we have to hit them first and hard. But our only chance is to do it from the inside at the same time as the outside.”

Skye’s eyes light up. “You mean, like a spy?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Tristan says, and I know he’s right. And there’s only one of us who stands a chance on the inside.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

Chapter Fourteen

Siena

“I’m coming with you,” Tristan says.

“No,” Adele says. “Two spies will only increase our chances of being caught.” Tristan opens his mouth to respond, but Adele rushes on. “And…they might recognize you. After all, you’re the President of the Tri-Realms now, not exactly a nobody like me.”

“Sounds smart to me,” Skye says.

“No,” Tristan says. “It’s too dangerous. Adele, no.” His last two words are less firm, like a desperate plea when you know you’ve been beaten.

“It was your idea,” Adele says, taking his hand. I feel a burn in my gut. It’s the way I’d touch Circ if we were in a similar situation. Can we really send her into the belly of the enemy? I know the answer is yes, but I still hafta ask the question.

“Isn’t there another way?” I say. “One where she’s not all alone?”

“I’d go with her,” Skye says quickly, “but I’d stick out like a red bird in a flock of crows.”

“No,” Adele says. “This is my mission alone.”

“Come back to me,” Tristan says. “Promise it.”

Adele forces a smile. “Have I ever not?”

~~~

Through the hole, the sky’s a mass of yellow clouds, with only the smallest dots of red sky poking through. The wind is heavy, whipping swirls of dust and the occasional brambleweed overhead.

Everything’s happening too fast for Tristan, who hasn’t said much since the decision was made to send Adele in as the spy. We say spy, but what we really mean is assassin. We want her to kill Lecter, but if she can’t, she needs to find a way to help us bring down his forces from the inside.

While Lara and Hawk went looking for an old Glassy suit stripped off of one of the dead soldiers, I’ve been watching as he holds her in his arms for a long time.

Funny how things can change in a heartbeat. Not funny ha ha, but funny strange, funny wooloo. Just yesterday I had a pointer aimed at this girl’s chest, ready to kill her if she tried to do anything to my sister. And now…now she’s aiming the pointer at her own heart.

Her green eyes’re shining as she looks over Tristan’s shoulder, but there’re no tears. They’re shining with determination, with readiness.

“These will help you blend in,” Wilde says, holding some Glassy clothes in her arms. “They should fit.”

Adele pulls herself from Tristan’s arms, lifts to her tiptoes, and peels back her mask to kiss him on the cheek, ’fore turning to Wilde. “Thank you,” she says.

“No. Thank you,” Wilde says. “You’ve given us hope.”

“Everyone deserves a little hope. But there’s no hope unless I get some information. I need to know more about your countries, about your history. The more I know the better, before I go in.”

“Siena,” Wilde says. “You know as much about things as anyone. Can you answer her questions?”

“Is Perry a baggard?” I say.

Wilde just looks at me, an eyebrow raised. “Well, yeah, he is,” I say. “Sit your butt down and I’ll tell you everything you wanna know.”

Adele sits and Tristan slides down next to her. I flop down in front of ’em, crossing my legs. “Whaddya wanna know?” I ask.

“How are you even here?” Adele says. “We thought the dwellers were the only humans left.”

I laugh. Not that long ago, I thought my people were the only ones left. I start from the beginning. “When the Meteor God crash-landed on the earth, my ancestors hid from Him, hoping He’d pass us by. At the time, they lived in these camps, called Rezervayshuns.”

“Holy crap, you’re descended from Native Americans,” Adele says. “We learned about that in school. You were the first people to live here, but then Europeans came and they didn’t treat you too well and—”

There’s not much time and she’s speaking ’bout things I don’t think I need to know, not now anyway, so I cut her off. “That all sounds plenty interesting, but I don’t know nothing ’bout Or-rope-ians, or whatever you called ’em. All I know is my people hid from Meteor for a long time in caves in the desert rock formations. A long, long time. Like years and years.”

“People who didn’t get picked in the Lottery…” Tristan murmurs.

“The what?” I ask.

“You mean, you don’t know about the Lottery?” Adele says, sharpening her gaze.

I shake my head. “Lot of what?”

Tristan looks at Adele. Adele looks at Tristan. Tristan says, “When…Meteor God…was on his way, the people who used to live here—both our ancestors—picked people to save, those who would go down below. Into the Tri-Realms.”

I give ’em my best frown. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“There wasn’t room for everyone, so they thought it was the most fair,” Adele says. “But I don’t disagree with you. I can’t believe your people don’t know about it.”

“It’s been almost five hundred years since Meteor came,” I say. “And most of the years we’ve been trying to survive, ’specially in the beginning. Some things just get lost.”

“Hmm. Well, regardless, some of you survived anyway,” Tristan says.

“S’pose so. We called our tribe the Heaters,” I say. So I tell ’em as much as I know. ’Bout living in fire country, barely surviving, the Fire killing more’n more of us each year; the Call, where sixteen-year-old girls were paired with guys for the sole purpose of baby-making. I explain how the Wildes broke away from the Heaters, how the Marked were formed, ’bout my adventures in fire and ice and water and storm country. How all kinds of people survived Meteor, forming their own tribes. Anything I forget to tell ’em, they draw out of me with questions.

While I’m talking, some of t’others, Skye and Lara and Hawk and Wilde, pop in and out, sometimes to listen, sometimes to eat, sometimes whispering their own conversations, but I barely notice ’em ’cause I’m reliving the past, almost like I’m creating history all over again.

When I finish, Adele says, “Wow,” and Tristan says, “Is that it?” but I know he’s kidding ’cause I told ’em a scorch of a lot of stuff. Days and days and days’ worth in just a few hours.

“Thank you,” Adele says. “It’s a lot to take in, but it helps. I hope I get to meet the rest of your people some—”

But she doesn’t get to finish that thought, and I don’t get to answer her, ’cause Skye comes rushing in, her eyes hard and her fists harder, and she says, “An Icer just showed up at the Glass City…and they let him in.”

~~~

We’re all peeking over the rocks, blanketed by thick skins that blend right in. It’s hot as scorch ’cause the sun goddess is still a long way from sleep. Sweat’s running down my forehead and into my eyes, but I endure the stinging so I don’t miss anything.

Nothing’s happened since the big doors opened and the Icer went inside the city. We’ve been mumbling the same questions back and forth and up and down and ’round in circles to pass the time.

Why’d an Icer go to see the Glassies?

Is he a Glassy spy, sent to get information for ’em?

Does he know ’bout the Unity Alliance, how Dazz and Buff are getting the Icers to fight with us?

Have they killed him?

Though none of us wanna admit it, it’s the last question that’s the most important.

When the sun goddess gets tired and starts her long journey home, something finally happens. There’s a whirring sound, like heavy winds are rushing over us, only there ain’t even the tiniest breeze to cool things down. Then, right ’fore our very eyes, the giant metal door in the side of the Glass City begins to open.

“Another group of soldiers looking for us?” I ask to anyone who might be listening.

“Shhh!” Skye hisses sharply, even louder’n I was.

“I betcha my whole skin of water that Icer ain’t dead,” I say. Is that really what I believe? Or am I just saying it to try to make it true? I think it’s what my mother used to call wishful thinking.

“Sister, I swear on the sun goddess that if you don’t shut yer tug-lovin’ mouth I’ll shut it fer ya!” Again, her saying that was louder’n I was.

So, though I’ve got half-a-dozen other things to say, I stuff ’em down deep, saving ’em for another time. Then I wait.

But I don’t hafta wait long, ’cause outta the door comes a fire chariot—what’d Adele call it? A cluck or truck or some wooloo nonsense—spitting up rocks and pushing a cloud of dust in its wake. And on that…truck…there’re a bunch of soldiers, all dressed in uniforms splotched with browns and greens. And sitting amongst ’em, like he belongs there, like he’s ONE OF ’EM, is that no-good Icer, who I suddenly wish were dead.

~~~

“What the scorch was an Icer”—Skye says it like it’s a curse—“doin’ with a bunch of Glassies?”

We’re back inside the hideaway now, setting in a circle. Hawk’s drinking fire juice and keeps trying to pass it ’round until Wilde gives him a look that makes him put it away right quick.

“Maybe he’s pretending to help ’em,” I say, “but really he’s spying on ’em.”

“That’s the searin’ woolooist thing I ever heard in my life,” Skye says.

I frown, chewing on my lip. Why’s she being so tough on me lately? Is it ’cause I gave her a hard time ’bout her thing with Dazz? If so, I’d ’poligize a thousand times—I was just joking ’round to pass the time.

“It’s possible,” Wilde says, and I give her a grateful smile.

“The bigger question,” Tristan says through his mask, leaning forward, his hands on his knees, “is where are they going?”

“Which means starting my mission as soon as possible is even more important now,” Adele says.

Now it’s Tristan’s turn to frown. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You can go with her as far as a rock outcropping near the Glass City,” Wilde says. “Then she’s on her own. May the sun goddess be with her.”

“Oh, she won’t need the sun goddess,” Tristan says. “She’s got everything she needs with her.”

Adele’s only response to that is a wry smile.