Windrunner's Daughter Read Free Page B

not uneducated. I can run the whole of Avalon and I'll be Sphere-Mistress one day-”
    “Useless.” Win spat again. “Get out of here.” He drove her through the gateway and towards the nearest airlock.
    “Wait.” Wren tried to pull free as his grip left marks on her skin. “I need you to get permission for me to use the communicator. I have to contact Father. He’s in Convocation at Lake Lyot.”
    Win snorted. “Ridiculous. The whole point of having Runners is that we don’t need to overuse the communicators.”
    “It’s essential that I get hold of him.”
    He strode on, dragging her behind him. “I do nothing for any of your brood. Mia knows that.”
    Wren heaved a breath. “She’s sick.”
    Win hesitated for only one step. “So what?”
    Wren closed her eyes and spoke the words she could barely make herself say out loud. “I think she’s dying.”
    Win yanked Wren in front of him and her eyes flew open. “Are you lying to me?” His nose, with its network of tiny veins, almost brushed hers as he bent to look into her face.
    “No,” Wren whispered. “She’s had a fever for three days.”
    The old man straightened up. “Let your father deal with it.” He renewed his hold and marched on toward the edge of the settlement.
    “Lyot’s the longest Run there is and who knows how long Convocation will be convened. He might not be back for a month. He’ll be too late.” Wren gasped. “I have to get word out. I need help.”
    “Help yourself,” he spat. “I told Mia to get pregnant before the Choosing.” His eyes swum with nostalgia and Wren could almost see a picture of her young mother in the dark of them. Then he shook his head. “She could have been married to an honourable Grounder. She could have joined the exchange programme and increased the genetic diversity of the colony, but she disobeyed me. She accepted your father’s offer to become Sphere-Mistress when his sister died and now she’s paying the price.”
    Wren blinked at him. “You’d rather she was in the Exchange programme than married to Father?” She tried to pull away, but her grandfather’s grip was pitiless.
    “She allowed herself to be chosen by that Runner, so let him take care of her. Living in that Runner-sphere, exposed to the storms, our every conversation monitored in case ‘the ex-Grounder’ reveals the secrets of flight. She might as well be dead.”
    Wren gasped. “But she might really die. She’s your daughter.”
    “She disobeyed me; she’s no daughter of mine.”
    And now, finally, their raised voices attracted attention. Loping around the corner like Creatures scenting blood, the boys. They took position around the airlock, lounging, bodies relaxed but eyes sharp, predatory. Seeking entertainment.
    Wren’s vision blurred. “She never asked you for anything,” she shouted.
    Win made no reply, only dragged her past the line of watching eyes. One pair in particular snatched at her attention. Green eyes that burned through a long curtain of hair with more than scorn: they glittered with hatred.
    Wren’s eyes snagged on the face below the eyes. The whole left side was scarred; a twisted landscape of grey islanded with patches of pink skin. When he curled his lip, the flesh pulled tight. Painful. Caro’s disease, untreated for too long. He covered himself with his hair, but everyone knew that face, even Wren. The boy's name was Raw.
    Wren stumbled as her grandfather pinned her against the airlock and slapped his palm onto the pad.
    “Looks like you’re cleaning house, Councillor,” Raw murmured and Wren clenched her fists. She and Raw were the same age: fifteen. The other boys were younger. Despite, or perhaps because of, his scarring, Raw inspired worship. There was something about him. His cruelty fascinated.
    Her grandfather ignored him, simply waited for the airlock to cycle green as though Wren wasn’t struggling beneath his arm. As soon as it opened, he tossed her through.
    “Don’t come