War Storm

by Victoria Aveyard

  “I won’t be held responsible for anything an alligator does.”

  At this, she truly laughs. “It’s a pity you have no soul, Maven Calore. You could’ve been someone worth saving.”

  Tiberias shifts, unsettled. If someone can fix him, isn’t it worth it to try? He asked me that a few weeks ago, skin to skin. It feels like another life. It isn’t a subject I care for. There is no fixing Maven. No redemption for the boy king, for the false person we both loved. We can’t save him from himself.

  And I don’t think I’ll ever have the heart to tell Tiberias that.

  As broken as Maven’s ability to love is, Tiberias’s is that much stronger. To a fault, perhaps. It makes him cling too tight.

  “First you burn Corvium; now you threaten the Piedmont base?” Maven sneers through the bond. “The Scarlet Guard is so talented at destruction. But then it’s always easier to tear down what is already built.”

  “Especially when what you build is rotten to the core,” Farley sneers back.

  “East gate. The swamps. Dusk,” I repeat. “Or the base burns beneath you.”

  My foot twitches beneath me. How many are on the base now? Soldiers oathed to Maven and Bracken and Iris. Silvers, probably. And Reds too. Their shield wall of innocents following orders.

  At first I tell myself not to think about it. War is difficult enough without weighing how many lives hang in the balance. But closing my eyes isn’t the answer either. No matter how hard it is to see, I have to look. Even if I have to make the hard decision, I must do it with my eyes open. No more pushing down the pain or the guilt. I have to feel it if I want to get through it.

  “Very well,” Maven growls. Again I picture him standing outside a cell. White-faced in the dim light, his eyes rimmed with the usual shadows of exhaustion and doubt. “I am a man of my word.”

  The familiar refrain smarts like his brand, drawing out a dozen harsh memories of his letters and his promise.

  Slowly, I nod.

  “You’re a man of your word.”

  We leave Ibarem with instructions to find us if his brother isn’t freed with the rest, before hurrying along the corridors of Ridge House, trying to navigate our way to the Samos throne room. Tiberias is less helpful than he should be, his mind clearly elsewhere. With his brother in Piedmont, I suspect.

  I do my best to keep up with his long strides and Farley’s, but I keep bumping into his back as he slows, lost in thought.

  “We’re already late,” I grumble, putting a hand to the small of his back on instinct. Shoving him forward.

  He jumps at the contact, as if burned by my touch. His larger hand covers mine when he recovers, pulling my fingers away. Then he drops them quickly as he halts, turning to face me.

  Farley keeps on, outpacing us with an exasperated groan. “Fight when we have the time,” she calls, urging us to keep up.

  He ignores her, glaring down at me. “You were going to speak to him without me.”

  “Do I need your permission to talk to Maven?”

  “He’s my brother, Mare. You know what he still means to me,” he whispers, almost begging. I try not to soften in the face of his pain. It almost works.

  “You have to forget who you thought he was.”

  It kindles something in him, a deeper anger. A desperation. “Don’t tell me how to feel. Don’t tell me to turn my back on him.” Then he straightens, pulling back so I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “Besides, confronting him alone, just the two of you?” He looks over his shoulder at Farley. “It isn’t wise.”

  “Which is why I sent for you,” Farley snaps harshly. “We need to go. That took long enough, and the council started twenty minutes ago. If Samos and your grandmother are scheming, I want to be there.”

  “And what about Iris?” Tiberias says, recovering. He braces his hands on his hips, broadening his frame. To cut off any escape if I try to slip around him. He knows my tricks too well. “What was all that about dogs biting?”

  I hesitate, weighing my options. I could always lie. It might be better to lie.

  “Something Iris said before, when I was still at Whitefire,” I admit. “She knew I was a pet to Maven. A lapdog. And she told me all dogs bite. It was her way of communicating that she knew I would turn on him if I could.” The words catch, but I force them out. Why, I can’t say. “So will she.”

  Instead of thanking me, Tiberias seems to darken. “And you think Maven wouldn’t catch that?”

  I can only shrug. “I think right now he doesn’t care. He needs her, needs her alliance. There’s only today and tomorrow, in his eyes.”

  “I can understand that,” he mutters under his breath, so only I can hear.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  He heaves another sigh, running a hand through his short hair. I wish he would let it grow into dark waves again. He’d look more handsome, less rigid. Less like a king.

  “Do we tell them what just happened?” he asks, pointing a thumb back toward the room.

  I frown. I would rather not retell our conversation to a larger audience, especially one that includes the Samos brood. “If we do, we risk Rash and Ibarem. Volo would enjoy using that particular advantage if he could.”

  “I agree. But it is an advantage. To be able to speak to him, watch him.” He lowers his voice. Gauging my reaction. Letting me make the decision.

  “Leave him in peace. We can relay with the Scarlet Guard on the ground. Get our people back.”

  He nods along. “Of course.”

  “No word about Cameron,” I add, wincing as I say her name. She went back to Piedmont to be with her brother when we went on to Montfort. Chasing peace instead of war. And war found her again.

  Tiberias turns thoughtful—sympathetic, even. Not for show, but truly. I try not to look at his handsome features as he looms above me. “She’ll be okay,” he says, just for me. “Can’t imagine anyone taking her down.”

  Ibarem didn’t mention seeing her among the prisoners, but he didn’t think she was among the dead either. I can only hope she’s among the ones who escaped, hiding in the swamps, slowly making her way back to us. Besides, Cameron can kill a man as easily as I can. More easily. Any Silver hunter would find her to be dangerous prey, with her ability to smother the strongest of their powers. She must have escaped. I will entertain no other possibility. I simply can’t.

  Especially because I need her for what I have planned.

  “Farley might pop a blood vessel if we keep her waiting any longer.”

  “I would prefer not to see that,” Tiberias grumbles after me.

  FIFTEEN

  Evangeline

  Anabel stalls with such talent, as we wait for her chronologically impaired grandson. I’m torn between asking for a lesson and skewering her to the wall with the steel of my throne.

  There are maybe a dozen people in the throne room, only those necessary for a war council. Red and Silver, Scarlet Guard and agents of Montfort alongside noble houses of the Rift and rebel Norta. No matter how many times I see it, I can hardly get used to the sight.

  Neither can my parents. Today, Mother coils on her throne of emeralds like one of her snakes. She sinks back into black silk and rough gems, looking incomplete without some threatening predator pet at her knee. The panther must be indisposed today. She sneers while Anabel spins her wheels.

  Father, on the other hand, sits in rapt attention, his acute focus locked entirely on Anabel even as she steps back. Trying to make her squirm. The head of House Lerolan does not, to her credit. I’m a magnetron. I know steel when I see it. And she has steel in her bones.

  “Tiberias the Seventh needs a capital. A place to plant his flag.” She pauses, pacing for effect as she surveys the throne room. I want to scream, Get on with it, old woman!

  What she should really do is go find Cal, wherever he might be, and drag him back here by the ears. The Piedmont base is lost, and this is a meeting of his own war council, not to mention my father’s court. Making us
wait isn’t just rude; it’s politically stupid. And a waste of my own precious time.

  He’s probably off arguing with Mare again, pretending not to look at her lips while he does it. The prince is terribly predictable, and I hope the pair of them will boil over into some not-so-secret secret relationship once more. Will I be expected to guard the door? I sneer to myself.

  In a flash, I envision the life he wants for us all. The life he would subject all of us to. The crown on my head, his heart in her hand. My children threatened every second by any child she might have. My days spent bending to his will, no matter how gentle it might be. No matter how many days he might let me spend with my Elane, as long as he can spend his with Mare.

  If only he wanted her more. If only I could make him want her more. But, as I told Mare back in Corvium, Cal isn’t the abdicating kind. You weren’t either, I remind myself. Until you had a taste of the other side.

  At the thought, my insides flip. With excitement, with hope—and with exhaustion. I’m already annoyed by the prospect of tangling myself up with Cal and Mare more than I already am. Even if it’s for my own happiness.

  Stop complaining, Samos.

  When General Farley and Mare finally enter the room, with Cal on their heels, I sigh to myself. Mare Barrow is not unfortunate-looking, but she’s no lady. Cal must like that sort of thing. A rougher edge. Warmth, dirt under fingernails, a rotten temper. I don’t see the appeal. But he must.

  “Ah,” Anabel says, turning gracefully on her heel. “Your Majesty.” Her face relaxes in relief as she beckons Cal to join her before the Samos thrones. The rest of the chamber looks on.

  “So kind of you to join us, King Tiberias,” my father says. He runs a hand through his silver beard, pulling at the strands. “I’m sure you’ve been made aware of our dire situation.”

  Cal sweeps into a low bow, surprising us. Kings and queens of the blood do not bow, not even to each other. Still he does it. “My apologies. I was detained,” he says, offering nothing else. And giving us no opportunity to ask further as he waves Farley forward. “I believe General Farley has some good news, at least.”

  “Weighed against the loss of our foothold in Piedmont?” Father scoffs. “As well as any leverage we had over Prince Bracken? It must be very good news.”

  “I consider over a hundred of our people saved from Piedmont to be good news, sir,” she says, also stooping into a quick, pitiful bow. “The Scarlet Guard and our Montfortan allies left only a skeleton garrison behind in Piedmont. There were a few hundred soldiers left behind at the base when Bracken struck. Right now, according to our intelligence, at least a third have made it into the swamps. The Scarlet Guard has contingents all over the region; we are more than able to retrieve and transport those who escaped to safety.”

  “How many dead, do you estimate?” Anabel says, now standing to the side with her hands clasped.

  “A hundred, we think,” she forces out, as if she can run right past the thought. But it seems to catch up to her as she repeats, more slowly, “A hundred dead.”

  “We lost more in Corvium,” I say, tapping my fingers in time. “A hard trade, to be sure,” I add, feigning sympathy before I send the Red woman into a rage spiral.

  “It will be difficult, going forward, without the base,” Ptolemus offers, making the painfully obvious point. Sometimes I think he just wants to hear himself talk, even in situations like this.

  “Yes, that’s true,” Cal offers. “We still have the Rift, and all that entails, but we’ve lost two of our conquests in so many weeks. First Corvium—”

  “We chose to destroy Corvium; we didn’t lose it,” Mare puts in, eyeing him with venom. I’d wager she’s glad to be rid of that city.

  Cal nods in begrudging agreement. “And now Piedmont,” he continues. “It doesn’t exactly present the image of strength, especially to any houses aligned to Maven who might still be swayed.”

  Mother angles on her throne, her knuckles glinting with a ransom of green gems. “What of Montfort?” She raises an eyebrow, searching the room. “I’m told you were successful in procuring their army?”

  “I don’t count my soldiers before they form up,” Cal shoots back, harsher than he should be. “I trust Premier Davidson will deliver what his government promises, but I won’t make decisions based on resources we can’t see yet.”

  “What you need is a capital,” Anabel says, circling the conversation back to her original song and dance. She paces, her red-and-orange regalia matching the light outside as it shifts toward sunset. “The city of Delphie will provide. The seat of House Lerolan will support the rightful king.”

  Cal avoids her gaze. “That’s true. But—”

  “But?” She snaps to him, stopping in her tracks.

  He throws his shoulders wide, self-assured. “It’s too easy.”

  Like a true grandmother, Anabel pats him on the arm with the manner of someone teaching a toddler a syrupy life lesson. “Nothing in life is truly easy, but you take the breaks you manage to find, Tiberias.”

  “I mean it says nothing,” he answers, extricating himself from her grasp. “Not to the people of Norta, not to our allies, and certainly not to our enemies. It’s an empty move. An expected move. Delphie is already mine in all but name, correct? I simply have to raise my flag and proclaim it.”

  “Yes,” she says with a blink. “Why throw away such a gift?”

  He sighs, a little exasperated, and I share the feeling. “I’m not. The gift is already given. You’re right: We do need another stronghold, preferably in Norta. Another victory to prove our strength. Put fear in the Lakelands and Piedmont, as there is already fear in Maven.”

  “Where do you suggest?” I ask, leaning forward. If only to move along his proposal and end this miserable show.

  He nods at me. “Harbor Bay.”

  “That was your mother’s favorite palace,” Anabel mutters at his side, forgetting herself. Cal doesn’t respond, as if he doesn’t hear her. “And governed by families loyal to Maven.”

  “It’s strategic,” he offers.

  General Farley narrows her eyes. “It’s another siege and another battle that could get hundreds of us killed.”

  “It has Fort Patriot,” Cal fires back. “It services the army, the Air Fleet, and the navy armada.” He ticks each one off on his fingers. His fervor is palpable, almost contagious. I can understand why he was made a general at such a young age. Maybe if I were a simple soldier, if I didn’t know any better, I would willingly follow such a man into the jaws of death. “We can choke off a large piece of Maven’s military, and perhaps win some of it in the process. At the very least, we’ll be able to replace what we lost in Piedmont. Weapons, transports, jets. It’s all there for the taking. And the city itself is a Scarlet Guard hot spot.”

  Father arches one sharp eyebrow. He is almost grinning, a ferocious sight. “A wise decision,” he says. King Volo’s agreement seems to take Cal by surprise, but it shouldn’t. I know my father and see the hunger in him, the lust for power that he always keeps close. I bet he already dreams of Harbor Bay laid bare, a Samos flag raised over the conquered city. “Maven has taken a fort from us. We’ll take a city from him.”

  Cal dips his head. “Yes, exactly.”

  “If you can take it,” Mare replies, looking over her shoulder at him. Her brown-and-gray hair spins with her momentum, gleaming with a reddish hue in the sunset.

  He tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  “Attack Harbor Bay. Attempt to overthrow the city. It’s a good risk and we should try,” she says. “But even if we fail, we can still strike a real blow to Maven’s forces.”

  In spite of myself, I find this intriguing. I smooth my skirts, rippled sheets of speckled silver and white silk, as I lean toward her. “How, Barrow?”

  She seems almost grateful, and shows me her teeth in what could be a reluctant smile. “Split open New Town, the techie slum outside Harbor Bay. Loose the Reds. It’s a manuf
acturing hub, and it fuels Norta as much as any Silver fort. If we hit New Town, Gray Town, Merry Town—”

  Again, Father is taken off guard. “You want to get rid of the tech centers?” he sputters, blinking at her like she told him to cut out his own beating heart.

  Mare Barrow stands firm beneath his confounded gaze. “Yes.”

  Anabel eyes Mare in disbelief, almost laughing. “And what about after this war is done, Miss Barrow? Will you pay to rebuild them?”

  Mare almost bites off a chunk of her own tongue to keep back a sudden, unchecked retort. She takes a breath, willing herself to something within the realm of calm.

  “If destroying them means victory?” she says slowly, ignoring Anabel’s questions. “Winning the country?”

  Cal’s eyes shift and he steadily nods his head. Agreeing because she’s right—or because he’s still a lovesick puppy. “Breaking up even one tech center will greatly disrupt Maven’s ability to fight back, and it will spread unrest through his supporters. If the Reds see us as liberators, that can only help us,” he says. “Add that to taking over Fort Patriot—he could lose control of everything north of the Bay, all the way to the Lakelander border.” Thoughtful, he looks to his grandmother, opening his stance to her. “Cut off the entire region. And sandwich Maven between our already loyal Delphie, the Rift, and our new conquest.”

  I imagine Norta in my head, or Norta as she was a year ago. Lines carve across her lands, like a cook slicing up pieces of pie. One chunk to us, two more to Cal. And the rest? My eyes linger on the Red general and Mare Barrow. And I think of that insufferable premier a thousand miles away. Which piece will they take?

  I know what they want, at least.

  The whole damn pie.

  Ptolemus makes a show of mulling over my proposition. He runs a finger around the rim of his water glass, listening to the crystal sing. The sound is haunting, an ethereal echo weaving through our dinner. The sky behind him is blood red against his silhouette. My brother is strong-jawed, broad, with my father’s long nose and mother’s tiny rosebud mouth. He looks more like her in this light, with the growing shadows gathering beneath his eyes, in the hollows of his cheeks and throat. His clothes are fresh and casual for him: clean, white linen, light enough for the summer season.