PRAISE FOR VICTORIA LEE’S
THE FEVER KING
“A standout. Diverse characters, frank discussions about sexual and mental abuse, and reasonably plausible science-based magic elevate this above many dystopian peers.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Lee thoughtfully gives the subject of refugee and immigration policies center stage . . . The setup of this new world and planned series is genuinely compelling, and it’s filled with striking moments . . . Readers will be absorbed as the book melds fantasy and action with psychology and political intrigue.”
—The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
“This fast-paced, issue-driven thriller will collect readers who will eagerly anticipate the sequel. With references to the Holocaust as well as present-day issues of immigration, deportation, martial law, and racism, Lee has worked philosophical and current-day realities into a promising series opener.”
—Booklist
“Adults and older teens who appreciate stories with close ties among magic, science, and political machinations will find this first novel appealing.”
—Library Journal
“This is a book for teens of today wrestling with the political unrest in the United States. Written from the refugee perspective, it explores topics of abuse, suicide, intergenerational trauma, mass plague outbreaks, and more. Lee’s writing is advanced, sophisticated, and full of emotion. This is for true lovers of sci-fi and dystopian [fiction] who enjoy deep character development mixed with a little romance. Fans of Neal Shusterman and Veronica Roth will be drawn to this novel. Highly recommended.”
—School Library Journal
“A plague as scary as Stephen King and a romance as complicated and compelling as all my favorites.”
—Sarah Rees Brennan, award-winning author of In Other Lands
“My kind of sci-fi: sharp, smart and political, with something important to say about our own world. Lee offers a fresh twist on magic that makes The Fever King feel totally new and unique. I was absorbed in Noam’s world from the first page—and was dreading leaving it by the last.”
—Natasha Ngan, New York Times bestselling author of Girls of Paper and Fire
“Deliciously fierce and unforgiving, Victoria Lee’s The Fever King is a merciless story that fans of V. E. Schwab’s Vicious should not miss. I will never be over this book.”
—Ashley Poston, author of Heart of Iron and Geekerella
“Brutal yet thoughtful, The Fever King is a nuanced, unblinking study of the complex structures of power in a world where magic itself is a disease that few survive. Lee’s science-based, gritty world and sky-high stakes meld perfectly with the timely political intrigue of this book’s twisting, devastating plot.”
—Emily Suvada, author of This Mortal Coil
ALSO BY VICTORIA LEE
The Fever King (Feverwake: Book One)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Victoria Lee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Skyscape, New York
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542005081 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1542005086 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781542005074 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1542005078 (paperback)
Cover design by David Curtis
First Edition
For the survivors
CONTENTS
MAP
NOTE
Digital copy of...
Transmissions received in...
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CAROLINIA HERALD
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATION OF CAROLINIA...
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
10 DOWNING STREET
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Video file stolen...
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Recovered from digital...
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Flyer hidden alongside...
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stolen from the...
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
From an interview...
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Video footage stolen...
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A heavily revised...
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
An encrypted email...
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Audio-recorded interview clips...
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CONTENT NOTES
RESOURCES
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NOTE
This book contains content that might be disturbing to some readers. For more details, please see the content notes at the back of the book.
Digital copy of a filmed interview dated May 2019, stolen by Noam Álvaro from the apartment of Calix Lehrer.
The video opens onto an image of a young man, recognizable as Calix Lehrer. He’s about twenty or twenty-one years old, wearing a dove-gray suit that reflects its color into his eyes, making them appear steady and slate. He wears a slim gold circlet atop his brow; he was recently crowned king.
INTERVIEWER: “Thank you for meeting with us today, Your Majesty.”
LEHRER: “Of course. Thank you for having me.”
INTERVIEWER: “This is the first private interview you’ve granted since your coronation. There have been rumors about why you’ve been so relatively reclusive.”
LEHRER: “As one might imagine, it has been rather time consuming to build a solid foundation for this country to stand on. I have taken a great deal of that responsibility upon myself.”
INTERVIEWER: “And of course, you are still mourning your brother.”
Lehrer is still for a moment, unspeaking, then—
LEHRER (steadily): “We all miss Adalwolf very much.”
INTERVIEWER: “He was a great leader.”
Silence follows.
INTERVIEWER: “So tell me, Your Majesty, what is your vision for Carolinia as a young nation? With the war over, where do we go from here?”
LEHRER (smiling again): “I’m glad you asked. Carolinia itself was founded, of course, on resistance: against fascism, against tyranny—most particularly, against the persecution of those who managed to survive the magic virus.”
INTERVIEWER: “Yes—I believe many have reclaimed the term witching to describe survivors.”
LEHRER: “I suppose it’s better than some of the alternatives.”
INTERVIEWER: “At any rate, I’m sorry for
interrupting—please continue.”
LEHRER: “At the Boulder Summit, when our neighboring states demanded we exterminate eighty percent of the Carolinian witching population as a gesture of goodwill, I refused. Shortly thereafter, I publicly declared Carolinia as a witching state—and I stand by that to this day. Above all else, Carolinia should model itself as a haven for witchings. When the rest of the world aims to destroy us, witchings will know that in Carolinia, they will be safe. Our borders might be closed now for security reasons, but an exception will always be made for witching refugees fleeing persecution in Texas, or York, or England, or anywhere else.”
INTERVIEWER: “A laudable goal. However, some have expressed concern that the positioning of Carolinia as a witching state will come at the expense of baseline citizens. Do you have a statement on that?”
LEHRER: “I understand the concern. However, it is unfounded. Carolinia will continue to protect all its citizens, baseline and witching alike.”
End of tape.
Transmissions received in Dallas, July 2123.
07.13.2123. SACHA DEAD. LEHRER’S FORCES VICTORIOUS IN CAROLINIA. MILITARY JUNTA HAS TAKEN POWER.
07.14.2123. ATLANTIAN REFUGEES IN CAROLINIA GRANTED CITIZENSHIP.
07.16.2123. SACHA SUPPORTERS PUBLICLY EXECUTED. AWAITING EXTRACTION ORDERS.
07.17.2123. PRO-SACHA RESISTANCE RIOTS QUASHED. HUNDREDS DEAD.
07.20.2123. JUNTA HAS ANNOUNCED SPECIAL ELECTION CYCLE. LEHRER LIKELY TO BE ELECTED CHANCELLOR. STILL NO WORD ON EXTRACTION ORDERS.
07.22.2123. ANOTHER SKIRMISH ENDS IN BLOODSHED.
07.24.2123. SPECIAL ELECTION TO BE HELD IN ONE MONTH. WILL AGENTS BE EXTRACTED PRIOR TO THAT DATE? PLEASE RESPOND.
08.09.2123. AGENTS DESCRIBE AN OUTBREAK OF MAGIC IN GOLDSBORO THAT HAS NOT BEEN REPORTED IN CAROLINIAN MEDIA. CAN YOU CONFIRM?
08.15.2123. EARLY POLLS SUPPORT LEHRER. IS ANYONE RECEIVING THESE MESSAGES? PLEASE RESPOND.
08.24.2123. LEHRER IS CHANCELLOR.
CHAPTER ONE
NOAM
The trees grew dense and close together in the quarantined zone, magic humming through their branches and stretching in their roots beneath soil and snow. At dusk everything was shadow, shifting shapes merging and diverging on the forest floor—near impossible to tell which were human and which were tricks of the light. Magic shivered through the ambient air. Noam felt it like a physical thing all around him, connected to his own power somehow, the virus infecting everything it touched. It crystallized on his breath and prickled his skin like static.
The target hid behind that copse of trees at Noam’s four o’clock; electromagnetism eddied and tugged around him the same way it did everything else, betraying his location. Noam sensed the iron in the target’s veins, his magic a silvery glimmer that nearly bled into the snow.
It would be tempting to think this was an easy kill, but Noam knew better. This target was strong. He’d drawn Noam’s blood twice already—still sticky on Noam’s face, although the cuts were healed.
But he couldn’t wait forever. Noam counted his heartbeats and closed his eyes, feeling along the wires of that electromagnetic tension and looping it like fabric around the target’s body. He heard the whump of weight hitting the ground, air displaced from lungs.
That didn’t last. A burst of energy, plasma-like, exploded through the trees, cutting through branches and trunks. Noam pulled up a defensive shield just in time, twisting gravity and magnetism as he deflected the magic away to crackle like fire through the deadwood overhead.
Which, fuck, exposed his position. Noam stepped out from behind his tree and sent lightning across the space between him and the target, who huddled in wet snow with sweat turning to frost on his hair.
The bolt made contact. Finally. Noam wasn’t tired, but he certainly was cold. Better to end this quickly.
He pushed harder, another burst of force behind the lightning, drawing as much as he could from static and electromagnetism. The target was deflecting some of Noam’s magic, but not all. He dropped to his knees with a grunt, body shaking with the effort of holding Noam off.
The man was almost out of energy. Noam could tell. A little longer and Noam would exhaust the last of his resources, have him seizing on the ground as chaotic electrical impulses swarmed his brain.
Then he’d die.
Just not yet. Noam moved closer, ice crunching beneath his boots and magic swarming round his ankles like white water.
The vessels had burst in the target’s eyes, whites shot through with red, mouth slack and drool smearing his chin. His muscles twitched uncontrollably as their nerves misfired, thousands of volts searing through his brain. When he lost balance, crumpling onto his side—when Noam felt his magic falter—that was when Noam let go.
In the absence of power, the forest was too silent. The animals had fled; all that was left were the sound of tree branches cracking in the ice and fire—and the heavy, arrhythmic gasps of the target struggling to breathe.
No—not breathe. Speak.
Noam moved closer, but he kept one hand on the butt of his gun and his power near. Just in case.
The target fumbled over his own tongue, gargling on spit. With veins bulging out of his neck, he looked like a caricature of himself. Noam crouched in the snow at his side.
“I know this isn’t the only lab left. Where are the rest?”
The target made a convulsive movement; it took Noam a second to realize he was shaking his head. “No. You . . . listen.” He could barely move, but he managed to grab the leg of Noam’s pants anyway.
Noam drew his gun quicker than humanly possible, his magic doing half the work, pointing the barrel at the man’s head as he clicked off the safety.
“Take your hand off me.” The man let go, but Noam kept the gun where it was. “Answer the question.”
“You can’t . . . trust him.” A garbled noise, and the man spat out a mouthful of blood. Then: “Lehrer. Don’t. Trust him.”
Noam tapped the gun against the man’s temple. “Thanks for the advice. Now tell me about the labs.”
The man pressed his lips together hard enough the skin blanched around his mouth. He glared at Noam with all the heat he could muster—which wasn’t much, at this juncture. Fuck it, Noam thought. He was going to have to start yanking out fingernails, which was fucking disgusting—
Suddenly the color drained from the target’s face. Noam didn’t need telepathy to feel the man’s terror—it bled out of him like a sickness—and he didn’t need to turn around to know why. But he did anyway, twisting to track the target’s red gaze as Lehrer stepped out from between the trees. He was tall, nearly blending in with their shadows. A specter dressed in black.
Their gazes met. Lehrer gestured with one gloved hand. “Let me finish this, Noam.”
Noam got to his feet and made room.
Lehrer knelt at the man’s side. There was something gentle about the way Lehrer rested his fingers along the curve of the man’s neck, thumb skirting the windpipe. He could’ve been human, almost, if it weren’t for the strange colorlessness of his eyes—and the fact there was nothing behind them.
“What is your name?” Lehrer said.
The man stared at him and didn’t speak, trembling visibly under Lehrer’s touch. Of course the target was afraid. How could he have predicted that Lehrer would come into the quarantined zone and do his own dirty work? Noam holstered his weapon and clasped his hands behind his back, watching and feeling nothing—not even when Lehrer smiled, the expression thin and sickly insincere on his face.
“Your name,” Lehrer said again.
“M-Michael.”
“Michael, why don’t you tell us where the other labs are?”
The sounds Michael made were pathetic. Wet, snuffling noises, like a wounded animal. Lehrer’s thumb rubbed against his skin, a soothing motion.
Noam wondered if Michael felt Lehrer’s presence in his mind the same way Noam had: like a shadow version of himself tangling its fingers up
in the threads of his thoughts, twisting and braiding them into new patterns. Or maybe that was the wrong metaphor.
Stain, Noam thought. Lehrer’s persuasion left a stain.
At least Michael wouldn’t be unclean for much longer.
Noam saw it in Michael’s eyes the moment his will snapped, the humiliation and self-loathing Michael felt when he opened his mouth and the information spilled out like sea bursting past stone.
When it was finished, when Michael was finally left wordless and sobbing in the snow, Lehrer unfolded back to his full height and looked at Noam. He didn’t have to say anything. Still, Noam waited until Lehrer had stepped out of spatter range to draw his gun again and pull the trigger.
He hit the target right in the skull: a clean kill shot that sent blood and brain matter bursting out across the white ground like a brilliant red star.
For a moment Noam was reminded of Brennan, the scarlet mess on the wall behind his desk. That first kill was half a year ago now—long enough that Noam had started to forget the details. Had Brennan’s tie been gray or blue? Had Noam been able to smell the gunpowder? The memory was like water in cupped hands.
Lehrer waited ten feet away, already impatient by the time Noam holstered his gun. “Get the samples,” Lehrer reminded him.
The samples were in the satchel the target had looped over his head and shoulder, a black leather construction pinned beneath dead weight. Noam had to push the corpse out of the way, rolling him over to lie facedown in the snow while Noam tugged the bag’s strap over the ruined skull and slung it over his own shoulder instead. He checked its contents, just to be safe.
There they were: Six vials of blood swarming with the virus. Two of its milky vaccine.
Noam pulled a vial free and turned it over in his palm, the thick fluid contents slipping along the glass walls. Was that really all it would take? Just a few centiliters of this strange substance would protect someone from the same death that had killed Noam’s father. One injection could take down even the strongest witching.
“Noam.”
He startled, badly enough he almost dropped the satchel—and its precious contents. Telekinesis caught the vaccine vial before it could hit the ground. “Shit—sorry.”
THE ELECTRIC HEIR Page 1