War Storm

by Victoria Aveyard

  I reach Kilorn first. He rolls to a stop two floors down, landing sprawled across several rows of steps. The first thing I see is his chest, rising and falling. Shallow, but moving. Breathing. He’s choking on blood. Red and crimson, scarlet, ruby. The color so bright I want to shut my eyes. He coughs violently, flecking both Cameron and me. The hot droplets pepper my face.

  “Get him up—we have to get him up,” I mumble, scrambling over him. Cameron follows, deathly quiet. I want to scream.

  He can’t speak but tries to rise on his own. I almost slap him. “Let us,” I bark, throwing his arm around me. “Cam, the other side.”

  She’s already there, heaving. He’s an anchor, a deadweight.

  Kilorn jolts and hacks, painting the steps with his own blood. I don’t bother trying to assess the damage. I just know I have to get him out, get him down, get him to any one of the healers all over the city. I need Davidson, I need someone. My chest tightens, but I refuse to feel the agony or the strain of him. My legs burn with every new step. Down, down, down, down.

  “Mare—” Cameron sobs.

  “STOP IT.”

  He’s still warm, still breathing, still retching blood all over himself. That’s enough for me. Probably broken ribs, cracked bone, sharp and digging into his organs. Stomach, lungs, liver. Stay away from the heart, I beg. We don’t have time to survive a pierced heart.

  I taste salt and realize I’m crying, washing my face of his blood with my tears.

  The floors pass in a blur, sliding by. Kilorn sucks down a wet, rattling breath; his face and hands are paler by the second. All we can do is run.

  More guards charge up the stairs, baying like hounds on a scent. I barely see them, barely feel their nerves as they shred beneath my lightning. Some fall quickly, bleeding from the eyes and mouth and ears as Cameron hammers her ability through their bodies. But there are so many, too many, flooding up to meet us.

  “This way!” Cameron barks, her voice still tear-filled as she slams her body through a door on the next landing.

  I follow without thought, crossing through a cramped and meager apartment. Where Cameron is taking us, I can’t say. All I can do is keep hold of Kilorn and my lightning, the only two things in my world.

  “Hold on,” I hear myself whisper to Kilorn, too low for anyone to hear.

  Cameron leads us to the closest window, another square of grimy glass. But this one opens onto an adjoining rooftop. She knocks out the window, using one long leg to kick the pane free. My lightning holds our backs from pursuing Silvers, allowing us enough time to clamber out and onto the roof.

  The officers follow, squeezing their larger and broader bodies through the broken window and onto the ashy roof behind us. Beneath the torturous, thundering sky.

  Once there’s enough distance between us and the guards, I gently lower Kilorn, laying him down against the concrete. His lashes flutter, eyes glassy, as Cameron stands over him, her stance wide and defensive.

  I put my back to her, facing down the Silvers struggling onto the roof. I count six already on the roof, with more squeezing through. What their abilities might be, if they belong to any family I recognize, I don’t know. And I don’t care.

  As soon as the last Silver’s feet hit the concrete, I unleash.

  The storm opens above me, purple and violent, blinding with my fury. I’m screaming, but the force absorbs all sound, all thought. The lightning swallows the bodies, killing them so quickly I don’t even feel them. Not their nerves, not their skeletons. Nothing.

  When the lightning clears, it’s the smell that brings me back. Kilorn’s blood, ash, burned hair, and cooked flesh. Behind me, Cameron makes a gulping sound, like she’s trying not to vomit. I have to look away from the charred remains. Only their buttons and guns remain intact, smoking with heat.

  I barely heave a breath before a deafening crack splits the singed air, and the roof shudders beneath our feet. Cameron drops, covering Kilorn with her body as the entire building lurches. Starts to lean. Slowly at first, then faster and faster.

  I fall to my knees, reaching for Cameron and Kilorn as the structure buckles. My storm was too strong, the apartment building too poorly made. The walls are crumbling on one side, making us tip. All I can do is hang on as the roof snaps and falls, sliding forward at a steady incline. I slide with it, scrabbling, fingers grasping for anything to hold on to. My fist closes on the collar of Kilorn’s jacket, sticky with hot, wet blood. His breath rattles, weaker than ever, as we move with the collapsing roof.

  The ground rises up to meet us, a fist of concrete. Silver officers wait below, ready to kill us if the collapse doesn’t. I clench my teeth, bracing for impact. I’ve never felt so helpless and afraid.

  At first I can only blink at the sudden, translucent blue glow in front of me. It hovers, holding up the edge of the tipping roof, stopping the falling slab. But not us. We slide along the angle, dragged through the ash until we smack against the shield. Bullets sound below, and out of instinct I squeeze my eyes shut, curling up.

  They ping harmlessly off the shield, sending ripples of force dancing beneath us.

  Davidson.

  One eye opens to see a massacre below us, a smoky haze of blue and green and white lightning as it branches among the Silvers. Tyton’s white darts fell four of them in an instant, while Ella and Rafe batter the rest with their whipping electricity. The shield moves as they fight, letting the roof down gently. We hit the ground with a low thud, sending up a curtain of gray dust.

  Kilorn is tall, lean but heavy. My adrenaline makes him almost weightless. I barely notice the strain as I lift him again, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder. Still breathing, still breathing. Cameron takes his other side and we charge through the ash, without thought for the lightning or the Silvers still fighting.

  “Healers!” I roar, screaming as loudly as I can to be heard over the din. “We need healers!”

  Cameron echoes my cries, her voice carrying. She’s stronger and taller than I am, taking the brunt of Kilorn’s weight. He doesn’t slow her down.

  The premier meets us head-on, his personal guard fanned out around him. There’s a smear of blood on his cheek. Red blood. I don’t have time to wonder who it belongs to.

  “We need—” I gasp out, but Kilorn shudders, doubling over on himself. He almost tumbles out of our grasp and forces us to stop. Another wave of blood spatters the ground, painting my boots.

  I almost faint with relief when the healer charges forward from Davidson’s soldiers. The red-haired newblood has a familiar face, but I don’t have enough energy to remember his name.

  “Lay him down,” the man barks, and we gratefully obey.

  The only thing I can do is hold Kilorn’s hand, his skin cold against the flame of my own. He’s still alive. We made it in time. We were enough.

  Cameron kneels over him, silent and staring, hands knitted in her lap. Afraid to touch him.

  “Internal bleeding,” the healer mutters, ripping open Kilorn’s shirt. His abdomen is almost black with bruises. As the healer dances his fingers, pressing and prodding, they begin to recede. Kilorn grimaces, teeth gritted against the strange sensation. “It’s like someone took a hammer to your ribs.”

  “Feels like it,” he grinds out.

  His voice is strained but alive. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I wish I had gods to thank for his life. His grip tightens on my hand, squeezing my fingers. Forcing me to look at him.

  Bottle-green eyes meet mine. Eyes that have followed me my entire life. Eyes almost shut forever.

  “It’s okay, Mare. I’m fine,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  We stay by him, silent guardians, as the healer works. I flinch in time with the distant rumble of explosions and artillery. Some of it far away, beyond New Town, muffled by the miles. The assault of Harbor Bay has begun, a three-pronged attack to take the city. Will they win the day? Will we?

  The electricons close in on us, picking their way back through the
dozen Silver corpses littering the road. Tyton idles, turning over a few with his foot, while Rafe looks on.

  Ella gives me the smallest wave as she approaches. Her scarf is gone and ash colors her blue hair in streaks of gray, aging her. One hand twists idly at her side, and the thunderheads above, silent for now, spin with the motion. She winks at me, trying to put on a brave face.

  Rafe and Tyton are more blatant in their grimness. Both keep their hands free, ready to push back any assault.

  But no one seems to be coming. Either the fighting is concentrated elsewhere, or it’s already over.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, my voice cracking.

  Tyton’s reply is swift. “We protect our own.”

  “Still more to go, but out of the woods.”

  I look back to see the healer ease Kilorn into a sitting position.

  Cameron helps gingerly, putting a hand to the bare skin on his back. Suddenly I feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t. With the back of my hand, I quickly swipe away the blood, sweat, and tears dirtying my face.

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I mumble, getting to my feet before anyone can protest.

  My boots crunch through the debris as I beeline for the electricons. Rafe offers a weak grin. He rips the covering off his head and runs a hand over his closely cropped green hair.

  “Looks like he’ll be okay?” he says, jutting his chin back at Kilorn.

  I exhale slowly. “Looks like it. What about you all?”

  Ella puts an arm around me, lithe as a sapphire cat. “Had less trouble than you, that’s for sure. I think we brought a bit more firepower than anyone might expect for a place like this.”

  “The Nortans here were outnumbered and unprepared.” Tyton spits at the street. “Silver kings don’t expect anyone to care, let alone fight, for a Red slum.”

  I blink at the implication, surprised. “So we won?”

  “They’re certainly acting like we did,” Tyton replies. He gestures with a hand, pointing to the Montfort and Guard soldiers now holding the street. They could be Red techies, if not for the machine guns hanging off them. A few seem to be laughing, exchanging pleasantries with the premier as he walks among them.

  “Wonder how they’re doing in Harbor Bay,” Ella says, kicking up a puff of dust.

  I lower my eyes. My heart still thunders in my chest, pumping adrenaline through my veins. It makes it hard to think about anything beyond the street. Let alone the people I love, fighting and perhaps dying a few miles away. For a second, I try to forget. Collect myself. Breathe deep and easy. It doesn’t work.

  “Premier,” I bark, crossing to him with force.

  He looks back, smiling, and even waves a hand to motion me over. Like I need an invitation. “Barrow,” he says. “Congratulations on a job well done.”

  It’s hard to feel celebratory with Kilorn lying a few feet away, even with a healer patching him up. That was far too close.

  “What about the city? Any word from Farley?”

  His smile freezes in place. “Some.”

  Something tightens in my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand. “Is she alive?”

  Davidson indicates one of his soldiers, her pack a mess of wires and radio equipment. “As of a few minutes ago, yes. I spoke to the general myself.”

  And Tiberias? I bite back the urge to ask about him, at least by name. “Did everything go to plan?” I force out, my mind flying over the many facets of the Harbor Bay invasion.

  The premier’s face tightens. “Did you expect it to?” he murmurs.

  I almost snarl in frustration. Another round of artillery thunders miles away.

  As the adrenaline in me ebbs, a cold takes over, threatening to numb my body. I look back for a moment, watching Cameron as she kneels with Kilorn. They aren’t talking. Both of them are wide-eyed, nearly pinned down by exhaustion and the aftertaste of fear. Then I glance to the electricons. All three of them stare back, resolute.

  Ready to follow. Ready to protect their own.

  My decision only takes a split second.

  “Get me a transport.”

  NINETEEN

  Evangeline

  I’ve never liked Harbor Bay. It stinks of fish and salt water, even in the Silver districts. Soon it will smell only of blood.

  The two weeks of rest in the Rift flew by, each minute passing faster than the last. Only last night I was home, nestled against Elane, whispering my good-byes. I wasn’t afraid then. I believed Father wouldn’t let his heirs anywhere close to true danger. Ptolemus and I would be safe, held in reserve to watch the siege and wade in when the fighting ebbed.

  I was wrong.

  His hunger is deeper than I ever imagined.

  He put us on the front lines without a thought.

  Now our boats race over the ocean waves, skimming along the stormy blue, cresting with each flash of white foam. I narrow my eyes against the spray, even behind my goggles. The wind tears at my hair with the damp chill of seawater. It would knock me over if my boots weren’t fused to the steel deck below my feet. My ability courses, a low pulse in time with my boat skipping over the water.

  We ride with the fog, hidden for now. Montfort’s storm soldiers are talented and powerful. I note ours at the corner of my eye, tall and willowy in her green uniform tightened by ballistic armor. She is helmeted too, only her hands bare, fingers splayed at her sides to drag the fog. No more coveralls or training outfits for anyone. This is real.

  House Samos leads the assault from the water, pushing on our metal crafts at high speed. Father is willing to risk our house for victory. Three cousins form the diamond wedge of our frontal assault, their crafts slicing ahead of us. Behind me in my boat, Ptolemus stands firm, his body weighed down with mirrored armor and weaponry. Gun belts crisscross my hips, snug against my muscles. I have a pistol, though I prefer to throw the bullets myself if need be. My cousins of House Samos vary, carrying rifles as well as shard explosives. I picture the seawalls of Fort Patriot, high against the waves. Our first obstacle. My focus sharpens as we approach, narrowing to this place and our objective.

  Win the city.

  Survive.

  Go home.

  They will see us coming. Or at least they’ll see the fog rolling off the water. It’s early morning, though, when the air is still heavy and gray. A natural fog wouldn’t seem out of place. It could give us cover longer than anything else. And when Cal strikes from the land, and House Laris from the air, the city guards and the Patriot garrison won’t know where to turn. Which front to fight.

  Everything is well coordinated, from the grander assault to each individual boat. Our ranks are well organized. Two magnetrons, one storm, one gravitron at least to each craft, supplemented by trained Red soldiers or other newbloods of Montfort. As well as a few healers sprinkled through each battalion.

  Everyone has their job, and if we’re all going to survive, we’re going to do them well.

  Fort Patriot looms, a hazy shadow darkening as our fog pushes on. The seawall rises from a breaking rush of white waves. No land below. No foothold. No matter.

  For all my anger and rage, I wish my father were here. There is no safer place than his side.

  My concentration breaks for a moment as my focus shifts to my brother. I can sense him behind me, and easily trace the shape of his armor. We each carry a small but solid disk of copper tucked into our belts. An odd metal for an attack. Easy to distinguish and feel. Easy to track. I hold on to the sensation of his and mine, memorizing it. If things go wrong, I want to be able to find Tolly as quickly as I can.

  The fog outstrips us, easing against the fast-approaching seawall. Whatever clock ticks inside me grows louder, more insistent. It’s time.

  Shivering, I turn with a jolt and wrap my arms around Tolly’s shoulders. The hug is quick, sharp, and not gentle. The clang of metal on metal as our armor meets is swallowed by the roaring waves and the rising thunder of my heartbeat.

&nbs
p; “Stay alive,” he whispers. I can only nod as I turn back around.

  No movement on the seawall, either above or below. Just the waves. Maybe the fog has worked.

  “Ready?” I hiss over the din, looking to the barrel-chested Montfort gravitron.

  He dips his chin in assertion before crouching against the boat, putting his hand to each side. His palms go flat. Ready to lift.

  In the other boats, the other gravitons do the same.

  The soldiers behind me kneel. The storm, our two oblivions of Lerolan, and Ptolemus brace for the leap. No Reds in my boat. I want to survive this, and do it without relying on the weakness of red blood, no matter how trained they might be.

  I bend down with the rest, my muscles tensing, dreading the chance of impact, if the gravitron isn’t up to snuff. At this speed, I might not be able to stop the boat from slamming into the seawall.

  Waves break along the base of the wall, steel gray beneath the fog. They lap high, higher than the crusted saltwater line worn against the wall. Higher than any high tide.

  My heart drops in my chest.

  “Nymph strike!” I manage to scream as another towering wave crashes—backward.

  So begins the battle of Harbor Bay.

  The sudden, furious wall of water tosses the lead boats like toys, spilling soldiers of the Rift and Montfort across the churning ocean break. Only the gravitons escape, bouncing up and out of the water’s grasp. I spot the Samos cousins utilizing control of their armor to stay afloat or skim the waves, but they’re weighed down, and not strong enough to pull themselves out of harm’s way. I don’t know about the rest.

  We have nymphs of our own, Montfort-born Silvers. But far fewer and far weaker than whoever must be on the Patriot walls. Whatever we do to calm the boiling waves isn’t enough.

  Another wave rises, half as high as the wall, blocking out the graying light, casting a shadow across our line of craft. It will flatten us, drown us, slam us against the seabed.

  “Push through!” I command, clenching my fists on the prow of our boat. Pouring myself and my ability into the hull. I hope the gravitron can hear me. I know Ptolemus does.