As if my eyes on him are an invitation, he pushes away from the counter and prowls nearer. Stopping a foot away, he takes my left hand, bringing it to his lips. He kisses the crown of my birthmark, causing my silver sword moniker to shine on the bridge of his nose. My heartbeat hammers in my ears.
“Roselle,” he murmurs, “Clifton Salloway. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” Behind him, on the screen, the co-anchors of the Daily Diamond are in a frenzy, commentating on the “primal chemistry” between Clifton and me. Clifton gives a soft chuckle. “We’ve been found out, Roselle,” he teases.
My laugh is more nervous. “I hate when that happens, Patr?n. It ruins the fun.”
“Someone as lovely as you should never have her fun ruined. And I insist that you call me Clifton.” Clifton looks to be in his midtwenties, although his clean-shaven cheeks might be making him look younger than he is. Sultry green eyes, with flecks of gold that resemble the tails of shooting stars, stare back at me from beneath a whiplash of blond hair swept to the side. His eyes grow brighter as he releases my hand with some reluctance.
“So, this is your apartment, Clifton?” I ask as he straightens.
“One of them. It’s where I stay when I’m required to fulfill my active duty tours.”
“I see. Thank you for the use of your apartment. It was generous of you.”
“It was no trouble, I assure you. I am a fan of yours.”
My eyebrow lifts. “A fan of mine?”
“You have taught me a fair number of sword maneuvers. Tell me, would you consider giving me private lessons?”
“I—” I look away from his handsome face in utter bewilderment. Surely he must know that I’m not in charge of my own destiny. I’m told when I must rise and when I’m to sleep, when to eat and when to train, when to study and when to bathe. It’s all out of my control—everything about my life is out of my control.
Hawthorne joins me. “I believe they’re ready for you outside, Roselle.” His hand gently angles me toward the glass doors.
“Excuse me, Patr?n,” I murmur to Clifton.
“Of course,” Clifton replies with a wink.
As I turn away, Hawthorne growls low to Clifton. “She doesn’t give private lessons. Go find someone your own age to train with.”
I glance over my shoulder at them. Clifton stares at my backside. “I’m bored with my trainers. They lack the kind of ferociousness that I see in Roselle. She would give me quite a workout.”
“She’s only eighteen.” Hawthorne stands rigidly between us.
“So it’s okay to send her to war, but not to allow her to—”
“If it were up to me, she’d never see a battlefield.”
“Then tell her to consider training with me, and I’ll make sure she never sees combat.”
Hawthorne turns. “Gilad, this Exo wants private lessons. He’s looking for ferociousness. You up for a training session?”
Gilad looks like a malignant hobgoblin with his scarred face and his dead man’s stare. “Anytime,” Gilad replies.
“Are you her unit commander?” Clifton asks Hawthorne with a speculative look.
“No. I’m just someone who looks out for secondborns.”
Emmitt is positively gleeful beside me. He claps his hands and whirls me toward the drone cameras outside, whispering in my ear. “You are fast becoming my favorite person in the entire fatedom! Gah! Clifton Salloway and that gorgeous Sword are fighting over my little Roselle. What’s next?” He stops at the threshold, drunk on the testosterone in the room. “Now,” he says as he puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes, “keep your wits about you, and you’ll survive this to live another day.”
Another day may be the best that I can hope for. The doors open, and he gives me a little shove out onto the balcony. The doors close behind me, and I’m alone with a wall of reporters. The sun rises slowly beside us. I squint a little as my eyes adjust. I pull the leather coat tighter around me. Squaring my shoulders, I walk a few more steps to meet the strobe flashes and jockeying reporters beyond the railing.
Questions are shouted from many angles. “Roselle, are you and Clifton Salloway lovers? Where have you been for the past four days? How did you and Clifton meet? Did Clifton rescue you from the Gates of Dawn soldiers? Does Clifton Salloway know that you’re secondborn? How long have you been keeping this affair a secret? What does your brother think of your affair with Firstborn Salloway? Does Gabriel feel threatened by this relationship?”
“Hello,” I greet them. I look at everyone, allowing the photographers and drones to get their pictures, pausing a few seconds in as many directions as I can.
“Roselle, Roselle.” Desdemona Diamond vies for my attention. I shift in her direction, and she asks, “Is Firstborn Clifton Salloway your lover?”
Instead of frowning or scowling as I’d like to do, I laugh softly. “I only just met Firstborn Salloway a few moments ago. He very charmingly introduced himself near the door there.” I point over my shoulder at the silhouette of Clifton in the glass. He waves to the reporters. “And I could no more have a relationship with him or any other man of my acquaintance without violating a hundred different laws. The last time I checked, that was forbidden.”
Suki Diamond shouts the loudest. “How do you explain your appearance in his apartment, then?” The reporters crowd toward her.
“Firstborn Salloway was gracious enough to offer his apartment to us last night to prepare for this press conference.”
“Who is the us you’re referring to?”
“The team of secondborn soldiers who have accompanied me to the press conference.”
“How come you need a team of soldiers to accompany you while in the Stone Forest Base? Do they fear for your safety? Are you a target for the Gates of Dawn?”
“I don’t have an answer for that question. You’ll have to address it to the company commander or the admiral of the Stone Forest Base.”
“Do you believe that the Gates of Dawn were specifically targeting you in the attack on the Sword capital of Forge?” asks a dark-haired secondborn man with a small scar through the center of his top lip. He doesn’t look at me but holds an audio dictator out, reading its screen as it takes notes for him.
“The enemy soldiers were along my route to the Stone Forest Base, so to a certain extent, I believe they targeted me for the media appeal of the event.”
“How did you know they were enemy soldiers?” he asks.
“They had visors and helmets that were different from Sword soldiers.”
“Why would they attack you, do you think?”
“I don’t see this as a personal attack. I believe they wanted to do as much damage as possible and scare as many people as they could. My Transition fit that profile.”
The man looks impressed by my interpretation. “Do you have any insight as to how they entered the Fate of Swords?”
“No.”
“But if you had to guess?” he presses.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Did you like the white flowers they brought you?”
I don’t answer right away. His question brings unbidden tears to my eyes. I swallow hard and look down at my ring, trying to look bored rather than shocked by his callousness. The platforms have grown quiet. The clicks of drone cameras are loud and rapid. When I’m certain my voice won’t betray me, I look up and give my best impersonation of my father’s fatal smirk. “I find calla lilies more appealing than roses. I’ll be sure to bring them some in return the next time we meet.”
The reporters swarm, understanding my meaning. Voices shout questions. “Will you deploy with the next wave of Swords to the battlefield?”
“I haven’t yet gotten my orders.”
“Did you witness the explosion that brought down the airships?”