A jet screams through the clouds, circling the thunderheads dissipating over the fort. Two more give chase, their wings tipped in Laris yellow. As I watch, the hunted plane bursts into flame, shearing apart before crashing into the distant waves. A strong wind tears across the harbor as other Laris jets dot the sky, flying low over the city. The sound of them threatens to rip my head open, but I would cheer them on if I could. The fleet is our real advantage.
Especially with Patriot half underwater.
Most of the fort is flooded, including the jetways. Only the navy ships survived intact, still operational. They turn their guns on the Laris jets as they pass, spitting hot iron. One of the jets falls, a wing obliterated, before two more follow.
“We have to disable the battleships,” I mutter flatly, already exhausted by the prospect.
Tolly looks at me like I’m crazy.
I very well may be.
We sprint the edge of the harbor as fast as we can, moving in and out of a full-blown battle. Cal’s land assault was the biggest of the three planned, utilizing hundreds of soldiers from our entire coalition, not to mention agents of the Scarlet Guard and their contacts already in the city. Trained soldiers grapple alongside thieves and criminals as guerrilla warfare overwhelms Harbor Bay from every gutter and alley. A city of white stone and blue roofs turns black and red, smoke and fire. Calore colors, I think bitterly. But for which brother?
The Nortan Silvers and conscripted Reds find themselves bogged down in the streets, restricted by their own regimented training. Bottlenecked, their numbers neutralized, but still dangerous. Tolly and I risk our lives as we run, re-forming our armor from whatever we can salvage. Rusty bits and all. If I had the time, I would feel disgusted with my own poor work.
Out on the water, maybe a mile out to sea, the Laris jets meet Nortan and Piedmont jets. Cal’s orders again. Keep the worst of their weapons and our own from the city. Even from this distance, I can hear the roar as they dance through the air at blinding speed. Bursts of fire and smoke spread across the aerial battle, sandwiched between the clouds and the horizon. I don’t envy the pilots, especially the ones who must contend with Laris windweavers. It’s difficult enough flying a jet without fighting the wind itself.
Iris must still be near the War Port, protecting the battleships from rough waves. As we approach, I can see that the water around the four massive steel hulls is still and smooth. The rest of the port boils and tosses, throwing back any attempts to take the ships from the mainland. Soon the Lakelander princess will turn the big guns on the jets out at sea, or the city itself. Destroy Harbor Bay the way she broke the fort. Leave nothing but a ruin, useless to either Calore brother.
Bright red slashes across my vision, jumping out onto the road from an alley. I never thought I’d be so relieved to find an armed squadron of Scarlet Guard. Especially one led by General Farley.
Her band of criminals rounds on us, guns raised. Reluctant but quick, I raise my hands, meeting her eyes. “Just us,” I pant, gesturing for Ptolemus to do the same.
She looks between us, eyes ticking like a pendulum. A scale settling on balance. My relief melts in an instant as I realize exactly what she could be weighing.
My brother’s life.
She could try to kill him, kill us, right here, and no one would know. We could just be casualties of the battle. And she would have her revenge.
It’s what I would do, if someone took Tolly from me.
The blond woman’s hand strays, finding the gun at her hip, fastened to a half-empty ammunition belt. She’s been busy. I hold her shivering blue gaze, saying nothing, barely daring to breathe. Trying not to tip her in the wrong direction.
I set my teeth on edge, reaching out with every piece of my exhausted ability I can muster. Grabbing for her gun, her remaining bullets, the knives hidden all over her body. To stop her if she decides to strike.
“Cal’s this way,” she finally says, snapping the string of tension between us. “We need to get those ships out of their hands.”
“Of course,” Ptolemus replies, and I almost punch him in the teeth.
Be quiet, I want to hiss.
Instead I step in front of him slightly, shielding his body from her wrath. Farley only twitches, staring at him for another blistering second. “Fall in, soldiers,” she sneers, before turning her back on us.
Soldiers. Not Your Highness, not our titles.
If that’s the worst she’s going to do, I’ll take it gladly.
We do as commanded, sliding into formation with the rest of her band. I don’t recognize any of them, and her Guard are distinguished only by red sashes tied around arms or waists or wrists. The Guard look ragtag, hastily thrown together, their clothes common. They could be servants or laborers, dockworkers, low traders, cooks, drivers. But they share her steely disposition and determination. And they’re armed to the teeth. I wonder how many Silvers kept such wolves in their own houses.
I wonder how many there still are in mine.
Our coalition holds a stretch of the Port Road as it curves around the harbor, looking out on the battleships blocking up the War Port. Behind us are more barracks and military outbuildings, all overtaken. Many of our soldiers take up defensive positions, poking out of windows and doorways, and others form up at the port side, waiting for orders.
Have we won the city?
Cal stalks among his lieutenants and guards, more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him, his hair slick with sweat, the rest of him striped with ash and blood. I can barely discern the armor beneath, shimmering a deep ruby red between the dirty patches. He paces at the edge of the water, harried and frustrated. And careful to keep out of reach of the surging waves.
Calore princes hold no love for water. It makes them uncomfortable.
Right now, Cal looks like he might crawl out of his own skin.
His grandmother watches as he paces, her silks and gowns discarded for a simple uniform with no insignia to mark her rank. Not even her colors. She could be just an old woman who wandered into the wrong crowd, but anyone with eyes knows better. Anabel Lerolan is not to be underestimated. At her side, Julian Jacos keeps silent, his lips pursed together, eyes fixed on the battleships. Waiting to be of some use.
My brother and I shoulder through the fray, entering Cal’s line of vision. His brow rises at the sight of us. He might be as relieved as I am, and just as surprised by the sensation.
“Good to see you standing,” he says, offering us both nods. “What about your battalion?”
I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t know. Iris tossed us both into the port while our team was crossing the bridge. We had to swim out or drown.” He watches me as I speak, intent and sharp. Almost accusatory. As if I should feel shame for staying alive when others couldn’t. I push past it. “Did any make it to the city?”
“Hard to say. I sent out the word as best I could to regroup here. We’ll see who gets the message and who can get back.” He frowns at his hands, then back at the battleships. Out on the water, they steer clear of their docks, idling instead of heading out to sea. Setting their sights on us. “You’re the only magnetrons we have right now.”
No Samos cousins left. None but us.
Next to me, Ptolemus scowls. “We’ll do what we can with the missiles.”
Cal looks back to my brother, his dark hair flicking with the motion. “I’m not wasting either of you catching missiles. We have enough Montfort bombers to destroy what can be destroyed.” He points with a single finger, gesturing to the harbor. “I want you on those ships.”
I know we have to stop the battleships, but getting on them? I pale so quickly I can feel it, an icy cold spreading across my cheeks despite the heat of flame and ash and my own sweat.
“I don’t fancy killing myself this late in the day, Calore,” I snap. With a sneer, I angle my chin toward the battleships, safe on the water. “Iris will sink us like stones before we even get close. Even gravitrons—”
Cal just
hisses to himself, frustrated. “When we win the city, remind me to give every Silver officer a crash course in newblood abilities. Arezzo,” he adds, barking out the strange word over his shoulder.
A woman shoulders forward in reply, her uniform the dark green of Montfort, covered in foreign insignia. “Sir,” she says, ducking her chin.
“Get your teleporters ready,” Cal commands. He seems almost amused, watching as I seethe, angry with him. And with myself for forgetting exactly what kind of army we’re working with. Is there no end to these newblood peculiars? “Prepare to jump to those ships.”
“Yes, sir,” she says brusquely. With a wave, she draws forward other Montfort soldiers. Other teleporters, I assume.
I glance at my brother sidelong, to gauge his reaction. Tolly seems more preoccupied with the Red general. He keeps his eyes on her, never wavering. As if she might kill him if he drops his guard. It isn’t entirely an irrational fear.
“And when we’re on board?” I step forward, putting myself toe-to-toe with my wretched betrothed. “You’ll need more than two magnetrons to take apart a battleship. And more than a few minutes. We’re good but we’re not that good.”
Jerking, Cal steps back from a particularly exuberant wave, keeping his toes dry. He blinks rapidly, swallowing. “You don’t need to take it apart. I want those ships. I need those ships. Especially because Iris is here.” He licks his lips, a brush of terror flashing in his eyes. “Her mother won’t leave her out to dry.”
Ugh. Does he try to make such awful puns?
“If the Lakelander fleet gets here before we have real artillery protecting the harbor, we’re done for,” Cal adds, looking over my head to the water.
I raise a hand, pointing out past the flooded fort to the ocean hazed by smoke and the still-dancing forms of airjets. “You think four ships can hold back a Lakelander armada?”
“They’ll have to.”
“Well, they won’t. You know that.”
Only a muscle in his cheek twitches, jumping as he tightens his jaw. You’re going to have to get your hands dirty, Calore. Dirtier than they already are.
I move again, planting myself in his eye line. “You said yourself, the queen of the Lakelands won’t abandon her daughter. So we trade her.”
Cal pales like I did, all color draining from his face in shock.
“For the city,” I push on. He must understand. “Ptolemus and I can lock the guns in position, make them fire on her. Pin her down. Keep her cornered. Shouldn’t be difficult for a fire king to subdue her, should it?”
Again, nothing. Cal doesn’t even blink, his face stubborn in its stillness. Coward, I sneer in my head. He doesn’t want to face her. The Flame of the North is afraid of a bit of rain.
“When we have Iris, we bargain. Her life for the Bay.”
That snaps his restraint in half. “I don’t do that,” he barks, his voice rough, all edges. In spite of myself, I take a step back, almost cowed by his sudden fury. “I’m not him, Evangeline.”
At that, I have to scoff. “Well, he’s winning.”
“I’m not doing it,” he says again, the words shaking with anger. Princes aren’t used to repeating themselves. “I’m not taking hostages.”
I’m not giving Maven a reason, you mean, I think to myself, a bitter echo in my head. A reason to take her back. To bend all his resources on one particular person.
He has the unthinkable gall to put a finger in my face. “Get the ships, get the guns. And get Iris out of the Bay. That’s an order.”
“I’m not your soldier and I’m not your wife yet, Calore. You don’t get to order me around,” I snarl, feeling as if I could take a bite out of him. “Her mother will drown this city and us if you let her.”
He stares at me, furious, his hand trembling. So angry he doesn’t notice when a wave hits his ankles. When he jumps, cursing, I want to laugh in his ridiculous face.
“Her mother will let this city be, if her daughter is able to escape,” a voice pipes up behind him. Granny to the rescue, Calore?
The prince frowns, forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“She’s right,” his uncle says, his voice far softer than Anabel’s.
Cal’s eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. “Julian?” he asks, almost inaudible.
Jacos just shrugs, crossing his hands over his thin chest. “I have little talent on the battlefield, but that doesn’t make me talentless. It’s a good plan, Cal. Drive Iris out to sea.” Then his eyes fall on me. “Get to a ship, Evangeline,” he says slowly, his voice empty of his ability.
I realize the threat all the same. I have no choice in this, not with the loaded gun of a singer staring me down. I do this of my own volition or I do it of his.
“Fine.”
For all his shortcomings, Cal certainly is noble to a fault. Usually it makes me hate him all the more. Except now. As he pledged before in Montfort, he won’t let anyone fight for him unless he’s fighting for himself. He won’t make anyone do what he isn’t willing to do with them. So when the teleporters gather, hands outstretched, he is next to me, armed and ready to storm a battleship.
“The first time isn’t pleasant,” my teleporter says to me, his face grim and lined with age. A veteran of many battles.
I can only grit my teeth at him and take his hand.
It feels like being squeezed down to my marrow, all my organs twisting, my balance thrown off, my perception turned on its head. I try to gasp and find I can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think, can’t exist—until it disappears, as fast as it came. I gulp down air, knees to the steel-plated deck of a battleship, while the teleporter stands over me. He reaches to cover my mouth but I swat him away, shooting him a murderous glare at the same time.
We’re behind the forward gun turret, crouched alongside cold steel and smooth, cylindrical gun barrels. They’re red hot and still smoking from their barrage on the fort, and now trained on the city. My ability rushes their length, feeling out the rivets and bolts, jumping from one barrel to another, into the powder magazine—almost full—and the artillery shells waiting—more than a dozen ready. I assume the same for the two other turrets fore and aft, dotting the length of the ship.
“There’s enough ammunition to turn Harbor Bay to ash,” I mutter, if only to myself.
The teleporter responds only with a fuming glare. He reminds me of my father. Flint-eyed, focused.
I do as I must. With a grimace, I put my hands to the turret and pull.
It strains against me, already locked and aimed elsewhere. But once I get the gears moving in their track, it goes easily, shifting at my touch. Turning, facing another target.
Iris’s own battleship.
She paces the deck of the boat farthest out to sea, a silhouette in dark blue. Her own Lakelanders flank her, their uniforms easy to pick out. Farther down the ship, at the prow, a figure in red blinks into existence, a teleporter and his own soldiers at his back.
“Almost,” I hiss, sliding the turret into place, its barrels now aimed at Iris’s broadside. With a clenching fist, I fuse the steel and iron plate together, locking the turret into position. No one but a magnetron, or someone with a blowtorch, could aim this gun now. “Next gun.”
With another sickening jump, we land alongside the second turret. I do the same again, shifting the guns. This time, a pair of Red conscripts find us. They rush at me, but the teleporter grabs them both and disappears. He flashes at the corner of my eye, out over the water. Both Reds plummet into the Bay. The teleporter returns before I hear their splashes.
The third turret fights worse than the others, straining against my ability, refusing to move as smoothly as the others. “They figured us out,” I growl, breaking a sweat. “The gunner is trying to keep the turret in place.”
“Are you a magnetron or not?” the teleporter sneers at me.
I hope Ptolemus got someone less mouthy, I think, wincing. With a burst of force, I get the turret turning, and I crush it into position with
more fervor than necessary. The base crumples inward, stuck on its track.
“It’s done. Give the signal.”
It’s easier to trip the gun mechanism than I thought it would be. Like pulling a gigantic trigger.
The resulting boom of a single artillery shell sends me sideways, clutching my ears. Everything rings and dulls in succession. I fight to my feet, watching as the round hits home, exploding on the deck of Iris’s battleship.
Fire races its length, a vicious snake coiling with hissing fury. Larger than a blow from a single shell. A few soldiers jump into the Bay to escape its wrath.
Cal’s wrath.
The Lakelanders are less deterred, drawing an arcing wave up and over the ship. Letting it crash and consume, dousing the fire.
Only for another shell to hit them dead-on, this time from Ptolemus’s ship on their opposite side. I can’t help but grin, almost cheering him on.
Again Cal runs flame across the battleship. More flee, more jump. Another wave. Another shell. Another flame. The rhythm pulls back and forth.
My teleporter jumps us between the turrets, and each time we find more soldiers to fight off. Reds, mostly. Silvers don’t work ships in great numbers, only as officers. They’re easy to deflect, between my ability and the Montfortan’s.
If I could, I would have him jump me to Cal. He doesn’t have the stomach to kill Iris, but I certainly do. The Lakelands are already furious with us after their king’s death. It won’t matter if she dies too. In fact, it might send them scurrying back to their lakes and farms, to rethink standing against the might of Samos and Calore.
But my job is to man the guns. Hold the ship.
With Cal battling Iris, her attention is off the Bay, and our soldiers begin the crossing. During our third pass down the ship, more teleporters jump onto the deck, bringing with them six soldiers each. And more soldiers arrive in the boats below, fast on the approach.
I squint at the far battleship, watching as I land another round. This one hits hard, punching a smoking hole in the hull a few yards above the waterline. On deck, the sight is terrifying. The clouds darken overhead, thick with lightning. Fire and water collide over the battleship, inferno and tidal wave. The ship tips with the force of such a battle, one royal Silver against another. Warriors equally matched and unevenly set.
War Storm Page 31