okay but can we talk about that one part in glass sword when theyâre on the blackrun going to coraunt to find nix marsten. then mare starts freaking out and cal comforts her by rubbing the back of her head and she instantly relaxes. because i feel like that marecal moment doesnât get the attention she deserves
I canât believe I have forgotten that moment. Thanks for the reminder! Youâre right, it doesnât get much attention, so Iâm putting that part here:
âMare?â Cal mutters under his breath, trying not to draw attention to me. The others donât need to see me curling in, punishing myself with every little breath.
Youâre selfish, Mare Barrow. A selfish, stupid little girl.
The low hum of engines, once a slow, steady comfort, becomes a hard weight. It beats against me like waves on the Tuck beach, unending, engulfing, drowning. For a moment, I want to let it consume me. Then I will feel nothing but the lightning. No pain, no memory, just power.
A hand at the back of my head takes a bit of the edge off, pushing warmth into my skin to meet the cold. The thumb draws slow, even circles, finding a pressure point I didnât know existed. It helps a little.
âYou have to calm down,â Cal continues, his voice much closer this time. I glance out the corner of my eye to see him leaning down next to me, his lips almost brushing my ear. âJets are a little sensitive to lightning storms.â
âRight.â The word is so hard to say. âOkay.â
His hand doesnât move, staying with me. âIn through the nose, out through the mouth,â he coaches, his voice low and calming as if heâs talking to a spooked animal. I guess heâs not entirely wrong.
And Mare did the same to Cal when he was having difficulty swimming:
The stream breaks neatly around Calâs ankles, gentle as a motherâs touch, but his face goes pale in the moonlight. He rapidly crosses his arms, trying to hide his shaking hands.
âCal?â I ask aloud, careful to keep my voice low. âWhatâs wrong?â
Already lounging against a tree trunk, Kilorn snorts in the darkness. He zips off his jacket, ringing out the waterlogged material with practiced efficiency. âCome on, Calore, you can fly a jet but you canât swim?â he says.
âI can swim,â Cal replies hotly. He forces another step into the stream, now up to his knees. âI just donât care for it.â
Of course he wouldnât. Cal is a burner, a controller of flame, and nothing weakens him more than water. It makes him helpless, powerless, everything heâs been taught to hate, fear, and fight. I remember him in the arena, how he almost died. Trapped by Lord Osanos, surrounded by a floating orb of water even he could not burn away. It must have felt like a coffin, a watery grave.
I wonder if he thinks of it too, if the memory makes the quiet stream look more like a churning, endless ocean.
My first instinct is to swim back, to help him across with my own two hands, but that would send Kilorn into a laughing fit even Cal wouldnât be able to stomach. And a brawl in the middle of the woods is the last thing we need.
âIn through the nose, Cal.â When he looks up, our eyes locking across the stream, I give him a tiny, supporting nod. Out through the mouth. Itâs just his own advice repeated back, but it soothes him all the same.
He takes another step forward, then another and another, chest heaving with each steadying breath. And then heâs swimming, paddling across the stream like a massive dog. Kilorn shakes with silent laughter, one hand over his mouth. I toss a few stones his way. It shuts him up long enough for Cal to reach the shallows again, and he eagerly sprints out of the water. A bit of steam rises from his skin, driven by the heat of his own embarrassment.
âSâcold,â he mumbles, shaking his head so he doesnât have to look at us. His black hair sticks, plastered to one side of his silver-flushed face. Without thought, I brush it away, smoothing his hair back into a more dignified style. He holds my gaze all the while, looking pleasantly surprised by the action.
Then itâs my turn to blush. We said no distractions.
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