Broken Birth

Chapter Eight: Jealousy and Javelins

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I wake up the next morning with a smile on my face, my cheeks flushed. At first, I don't know why, and then I remember. I kissed Maven. Maven kissed me. And it wasn't at all bad.

As I dress in a loose-fitting purple shirt and tight, stretchy black pants, I worry about my recklessness. Obviously, there is no proof that Maven is actually healed or good or whatever, since he hasn't actually helped us in anything important and worthwhile. But how exactly do we prove that he's good? Second, on the chance that he hasn't changed at all, it is good that I am getting an insider perspective on his actions. I keep telling myself I am a spy, trying to get him to trust me so I can report on it if he does anything wrong. I don't know if that's true or right, but I'm not letting myself consider the alternative.

Which is why I tie my hair into a simple ponytail, put on flexible, athletic shoes, and grab a bottle of water. I'm off to train and work off some stress. I enter Whitefire's training room, breathing in deeply and closing my eyes until I see Farley. She smiles at me and beckons me over. I do, and she shows me a wide array of guns. I wrinkle my nose at them, never preferring them, but she says, "Mare, you won't always have your lightning to rely on. You know that." Oh yes, I do know that. Very, very well. Because of him. Because of Maven. My walls immediately grow back up, higher than before to make up for the tiny inch they dropped earlier. But no, I owe him a chance. I have to give him a chance. I have hope. 

I gulp, and look at the guns. "All right," I say, picking up a sleek, light rifle. "I'll try this out." 

Farley just laughs. "You need more than one gun, Barrow. Didn't anyone teach you how to fight without those sparkly hands?" I almost laugh out loud.

"Well yes, but my training has always been more focused on my ability and honing them to different types of soldiers, especially Silver and Newbloods." I reply. She snorts.

"I think it's about time you get training that's not from a Silver, or a Newblood. I think it's time you got trained by a Red." I do smile at that.

"Pick a big one to sling across your back, a smaller one to tuck into your side, and the rifle to hold as your main weapon." I end up picking a hand-held machine gun, which is way too heavy, and a small, silver pistol. Farley teaches me how to put the machine gun's strap across my back, securing it, and how to assemble and disassemble it quickly with a few tricks. I learn how to load it, what bullets it takes, and how to turn the safety on and off. I do the same with the shiny, little pistol, except it just gets tucked in a pouch at my side.

"Okay, lightning girl, let's see your aim," she says with a jeer and a wink. I grin wickedly, and hold up the rifle. My aim is pretty good, I hit a few bullseyes and hit the target every time. Next, I try the machine gun, and it is much too heavy so my aim is not nearly as good. We spend a lot longer on it. Finally, panting, I put it away and get the little, silver pistol. It feels cool in my hands, the perfect weight so it feels like an extension of my hands, my body. I close my eyes and I pretend it's my lightning, hitting the center of the target perfectly, and shoot. 

I am amazing. I am a natural at the pistol, hitting every single bullseye but a couple, and the ones I miss just graze the edges of the circle in the center. Even Farley is impressed. "Well, I guess we know what your weapon of choice is."

I laugh, nodding alond. "Yeah, I guess so."

"If there's ever another battle, which I'm positive there will be, bring that silver pistol with you. It might just save your life." I actually think that's not a bad idea. I think I will. "Well, I've been here longer than you and I think I'm about done for the day. Bye, Mare. Thanks for the fun!" She slaps me on the back and swaggers away, short blonde hair swishing.

"Thanks, Farley. Bye!" I smile and wave at her until the big doors to the training room slam shut. I exhale, feeling my shoulders relax, and do a few stretches. Then I launch into a run, doing laps around the training room. After about a mile or so, I decide to shake things up by starting up the machine that makes the walls and floor start shifting on you, adding another element to training. I find the switch on the wall, and pull it. A lifetime ago when I was Mareena Titanos, training for the first time, it was a Provos lord who did this for us. But now, especially after Julian and I used Lucas to bust out Farley and Kilorn and other guard members, Silvers have stopped relying on their abilites so much. Sometimes, technology is just the best option. Something those of us with red blood, especially the techies, learned long ago. 

I run a few miles with the machine running, until I am panting and red-faced and need a break. I am sitting on the ground, pulling out my water bottle, when the doors open again, and Harlow walks in.

"Oh! I, uh, didn't know you were here, Mare," she exclaims, halfway through braiding her reddish-blonde hair. She's wearing tight leather pants and a synthetic shirt, so I know she's here to train too. 

"It's no problem," I say easily as I stand up, plastering on a pleasant smile born of Mareena's training. "We can both train." She nods and gives a small smile, agreeing. She looks through the weapons, until she picks up a couple spears: javelins. 

"So, how often have you been training?" Harlow asks casually, throwing one of the javelins in a perfect, spiralling movement. It hits dead center in one of the targets. She grabs another spear, and moves to the next target.

"Oh, you know, really started gearing it up in the last few years," I say vaguely, standing back-to-back with her, looking at the other row of targets. I form a ball of lightning, burning, purple sparks, and throw it in a smooth, strong arc at the target. It hits right in the center, charring the bullseye black.

"Nice," she replies coolly, still moving down her row of targets. "I've been training since I was twelve with Montfort, ever since I moved there. I rose up from a cadet in their military until I was a general, one of the Premier's top advisors." The javelin lands with a thunk in the bullseye. 

"Really?" I ask nonchalantly, blasting weaving webs of lightning into the targets. "He never mentioned you before." Each purple strand of electricity hits the bullseye. 

"Ah, right. Before. Before I offered to fix your...friend," she says, emphasizing the last word. We both turn around to look at each other at the same time, and hold each other's glare. 

"He's not my friend," I answer, watching my hands as my purple lightning froths and twists and dances between my fingers. 

"No? Then perhaps something more?" she says, gathering up her javelins for another round. I laugh out loud, turning to the far wall where there are a line of dummies for practicing aiming at humans, at soldiers, at enemies. 

"You must think me a fool," I say with a sneer, ice dripping from my words. "To believe me in love with Maven Calore." I toss a lashing ball of sparks at a dummy, hitting it in the center of its head. 

"I do not believe you in love with him," she replies, brushing off the tip of her javelin. "I know it. And I warn you now, Mare Barrow. Stay away from the younger fire king. I have seen his mind. I have seen his hopes and fears, his dreams and nightmares. You would do well to stay far away from Maven Calore." I stare straight ahead, unblinking, even as I hear the swish and thud of her spear hitting its mark. Even as she scoffs and turns on her heel. I do not look away from my dummy until I hear the training room doors swing shut after her receding footsteps. 

I blow out a gust of air through my nose, and turn to her dummy. The javelin is speared through its heart.

I close my eyes, and my hands ball up into fists. In a second, the machines, the panels, and the lights blow out, sparks flying through the air and then disappearing. Right before I leave, I grab the little, shiny silver pistol and stuff into the pouch, hiding them both under my shirt. 

Then, I storm out the door, leaving the pitch-black training room behind me.

I knew it. Harlow, you son of a bitch.