I fall backward, almost missing a step in my anguish, but Cal steadies me. I wish he wouldn’t. I want to fall down, to feel something hard and real so the pain in my head won’t hurt so badly. My hand strays to my ear, grazing over the three stones I hold so dearly. The third, Shade’s stone, feels cold against my skin.
“We didn’t want to tell you in a letter,” Gisa whispers, picking at her splint. “He died before the discharge came.”
The urge to electrify something, to pour my rage and sorrow into a single bolt of biting power, has never felt so strong. Control it, I tell myself. I can’t believe I was worried about Cal burning the house down; lightning can destroy as easily as flame.
Gisa fights tears, forcing herself to say the words. “He tried to run away. He was executed.”
My legs give way so quickly even Cal doesn’t have a chance to catch me. I can’t hear, I can’t see, I can only feel. Sorrow, shock, pain, the whole world spinning around me. The lightbulbs buzz with electricity, screaming at me so loudly I think my head might split. The fridge crackles in the corner, its old, bleeding battery pulsing like a dying heart. They taunt me, tease me, trying to make me crack. But I won’t. I won’t.
“Mare,” Cal breathes in my ear, his arms warm around me, but he might as well be talking to me from across an ocean. “Mare!”
I heave a painful gasp, trying to catch my breath. My cheeks feel wet, though I don’t remember crying. Executed. My blood boils under my skin. It’s a lie. He didn’t run. He was in the Guard. And they found out. They killed him for it. They murdered him.
I have never known anger like this. Not when the boys left, not when Kilorn came to me. Not even when they broke Gisa’s hand.
An earsplitting whine screeches through the house, as the fridge, the lightbulbs, and the wiring in the walls kick into high gear. Electricity hums, making me feel alive and angry and dangerous. Now I’m creating the energy, pushing my own strength through the house just like Julian taught me.
Cal yells, shaking me, trying to get through somehow. But he can’t. The power is in me and I don’t want to let go. It feels better than pain.
Glass rains down on us as the lightbulbs explode, popping like corn in a skillet. Pop pop pop. It almost drowns out Mom’s scream.
Someone pulls me to my feet with rough strength. Their hands go to my face, holding me still as they speak. Not to comfort me, not to empathize, but to snap me out of it. I would know that voice anywhere.
“Mare, pull yourself together!”
I look up to see clear green eyes and a face full of worry.
“Kilorn.”
“Knew you’d stumble back eventually,” he mumbles. “Kept an eye out.”
His hands are rough against my skin, but calming. He brings me back to reality, to a world where my brother is dead. The last surviving lightbulb swings above us, barely illuminating the room and my stunned family.
But that’s not the only thing lighting up the darkness.
Purple-white sparks dance around my hands, growing weaker by the moment, but plain as day. My lightning. I won’t be able to lie my way out of this one.
Kilorn pulls me to a chair, his face a storm cloud of confusion. The others only stare, and with a pang of sadness, I realize they’re afraid. But Kilorn isn’t afraid at all—he’s angry.
“What did they do to you?” he rumbles, his hands inches from mine. The sparks fade away entirely, leaving just skin and shaking fingers.
“They didn’t do anything.” I wish this was their fault. I wish I could blame this on someone else. I look over Kilorn’s head, meeting Cal’s eyes. Something releases in him and he nods, communicating without words. I don’t have to lie about this.
“This is what I am.”
Kilorn’s frown deepens. “Are you one of them?” I’ve never heard so much anger, so much disgust, forced into a single sentence. It makes me feel like dying. “Are you?”
Mom recovers first and, without a glimmer of fear, takes my hand. “Mare is my daughter, Kilorn,” she says, fixing him with a frightening stare I didn’t know she could muster. “We all know that.”
My family murmurs in agreement, rallying to my side, but Kilorn remains unconvinced. He stares at me like I’m a stranger, like we haven’t known each other all our lives.
“Give me a knife and I’ll settle this right now,” I say, glaring back at him. “I’ll show you what color I bleed.”
This calms him a bit and he pulls back. “I just—I don’t understand.”
That makes two of us.
“I think I’m with Kilorn on this one. We know who you are, Mare, but—” Bree stumbles, searching for the right thing to say. He’s never been one for words. “How?”
I barely know what to say, but I do my best to explain. Again, I’m painfully aware of Cal standing over me, always listening, so I leave out the Guard and Julian’s findings, to lay out the last three weeks as plainly as possible. Pretending to be Silver, being betrothed to a prince, learning to control myself—it sounds preposterous, but they listen intently.
“We don’t know how or why, just that this is,” I finish, holding out my other hand. I don’t miss Tramy flinch away. “We might never know what this means.”
Mom’s hand tightens on mine in a display of support. The small comfort does wonders for me. I’m still angry, still devastatingly sad, but the need to destroy something fades. I’m gaining back some semblance of control, enough to keep myself in check.
“I think it’s a miracle,” she murmurs, forcing a smile for my sake. “We’ve always wanted better for you and now, we’re getting it. Bree and Tramy are safe, Gisa won’t have to worry, we can live happy, and you”—her watery eyes meet mine—“you, my dear, will be someone special. What more can a mother ask?”
I wish her words were true but I nod anyway, smiling for my mother and my family. I’m getting better at lying and they seem to believe me. But not Kilorn. He still seethes, trying to hold back another outburst.
“What’s he like, the prince?” Mom prods. “Maven?”
Dangerous ground. I can feel Cal listening, waiting to hear what I have to say about his younger brother. What can I say? That he’s kind? That I’m beginning to like him? That I still don’t know if I can trust him? Or worse, that I can never trust anyone again? “He’s not what I expected.”