War Storm

by Victoria Aveyard

  “You okay?” she says over the noise, so only I can hear.

  Mouth tight, I shake my head slightly. No.

  I search the tall grass covering the dunes of the beach, half expecting a contingent of Sentinels to spring out and surround us. Force our surrender, force me back into manacles. Bile rises in my throat, the taste almost making me retch. The sensation of Silent Stone against my skin returns with smirking vengeance. I can’t go back there. I turn my face away, hiding in my whipping hair. Trying to breathe and take the precious seconds I need to stabilize.

  Farley’s hand clasps my shoulder, her grip firm but soft. “I’m not going to tell you to get over it,” she whispers in my ear. “But you have to get through it. Just for now.”

  Get through it.

  I grit my teeth and turn back to her, my eyes mercifully clear. “Just for now,” I echo. I’ll fall apart later. After all this is done.

  Behind her, Cal hangs back, watchful but hesitant to interrupt. I hold his gaze over her shoulder and give him the slightest nod. I can do this. I have to do this.

  We look strange, a contingent of Silver royals, a Red general, and two newbloods, all flanked by guards in our varying colors. While no one is willing to trust Maven to obey the rules of war, we know that the Lakelander queen probably will. Still, I keep close to Farley and her two Scarlet Guard officers. I trust their guns and their loyalty.

  Evangeline and Ptolemus step down from their own jet, looking merely inconvenienced by the meeting. As if they have something more important to do. It’s an act, of course. Evangeline wants to see Maven as much as I don’t. She would never pass up the chance to sneer in his face. The dropjet engines rustle her hair as she stands, eyes sharp and keen on the grass around us.

  We agreed to meet at the interior of the island. A chance for the Lakelander nymphs to show good faith. It is a short but silent walk through the dunes toward a sparse forest of gnarled, stubborn trees. I’m reminded of Tuck, now abandoned to the waves. Shade is buried there, with no one to watch over him.

  Cal leads us, with Davidson at one shoulder and Farley at the other. To present a united front of our coalition. Red blood allied with Silver. Evangeline and Ptolemus follow at his heels, surprisingly unbothered by their secondary position.

  I’m glad so many walk in front of me, giving me a few extra seconds to gather every ounce of bravery I can find. My best comfort is my lightning, webbing beneath my skin, known only to me. I imagine it behind my eyes, the forked, blinding lines of purple and white. It isn’t going away and no one can take it from me, not even him. I’ll kill him if he tries.

  Months ago, I watched Maven make peace with the Lakelanders in a similar fashion. Even though the scenery was vastly different, the endless minefields of the Choke instead of a grassy island between a brightening sky and a calm blue sea, it feels the same. We march toward the unknown, toward people of great and terrible power. At least now I won’t be sitting on Maven’s side of the table. I’m not his pet anymore.

  As in the meeting with the Lakelanders, a platform has been constructed in the middle of a field. Wooden planks, smoothly fit together. There’s a circle of chairs on it, half of them occupied. I almost vomit into the grass at my feet.

  The person closest to me touches my hand. Julian.

  I glance up at him, quietly begging. For what, I don’t know. I can’t turn around. I can’t run away. I can’t do anything my body is screaming at me to do. All he offers is a kind look and a nod of understanding.

  Get through it.

  Two Sentinels plant themselves in our path, their faces inscrutable behind their masks. The sea breeze plays through their flaming robes.

  “We request that you discard your weapons before approaching His Majesty, the king of Norta,” one says, gesturing to Farley and her officers. None of them move. Farley doesn’t even blink.

  Queen Anabel tosses her head back with a sneer. She peers around Cal, barely taller than his shoulder. “The king of Norta is standing right here, and he doesn’t fear Red weapons.”

  At that, Farley laughs outright, her disdain directed at the Sentinels. “Why do you care about our guns?” she crows. “These people are more dangerous than anything we might have.” With one hand, she gestures around at us, the newbloods and the Silvers. Armed with abilities much more destructive than any guns. “Don’t tell me your little king is afraid of a few Reds with pistols?”

  Next to her, the two Scarlet Guard officers shift a little, as if they can somehow distract from the automatic machine guns clasped in their hands.

  But Cal doesn’t laugh, or even smile. He senses something amiss and it chills me. “I assume,” he says slowly, deliberately, “that we’re going to enter a Silent Circle. Is that right, Sentinel Blonos?”

  My blood seems to freeze and the air goes clean out of me. No.

  Julian slowly puts an arm out, giving me something to grab.

  The Sentinel flinches, reacting to Cal’s use of his house name. I focus on him, if only to keep myself from spiraling out. It’s no use. My heart rams a thundering beat and air catches in my throat. A Silent Circle. I want to tear my skin off. My fingers twitch on Julian’s arm as I tighten my grip past the point of comfort. The whites of my knuckles stand out sharply.

  He covers my hand with his own, trying to stem some of my fear.

  In front of us, Cal doesn’t turn around, but he does angle his chin, eyes flashing. As if he wants to look at me. With pity? With frustration? Or with understanding?

  “That’s correct,” the Sentinel replies, his voice muffled. “King Maven has provided Silent Stone to ensure the meeting is without any harsher disagreements.”

  A muscle twitches in Cal’s cheek as he tightens his jaw. “That isn’t protocol,” he grinds out. The growl in him seems to ripple on the air, like the warning of a beast. Part of me wants him to snap and burn these two, burn the island, burn Maven and Iris and her mother. Remove every obstacle in our way with a destructive, devouring fire.

  The Sentinel straightens and fists both hands in his robes. He’s taller than Cal, but nowhere near as imposing. His partner does the same, standing shoulder to shoulder to block our path. “That is the king’s wish. It is not a request. Sir,” he adds, sounding awkward and stilted. They used to protect Cal, as they protected his father and protect Maven now. I suppose confronting their former charge is one of the few things they aren’t trained for.

  Cal looks back and forth, searching both Farley and Davidson. My teeth grit together, bone on bone, as I suck in tiny gasps of air through my nose. I can almost feel the Silent Stone again, threatening to drown me. Not if we refuse. If we turn around. Or if Maven bows, allowing us to pass without suffering.

  Of course he won’t. Because that’s why he brought the Stone in the first place. Not to protect himself. The rules of war are protection enough, especially with his horribly noble brother leading one side. He did this to hurt us. To hurt me. He knows what kind of prison he trapped me in for six months of my life. How I spent every day wasting, dying so slowly, cut off from half of myself. Trapped behind glass that would never break, no matter how hard I fought.

  My stomach sinks when Farley nods begrudgingly. At least she won’t feel it. Silent Stone has no effect on her or any other Reds without abilities.

  Davidson is decidedly less keen, his spine straight and shoulders tight when he looks at Cal. But he nods with a jarring motion, agreeing to the terms.

  “Very well.” I barely hear Cal say it, as a roaring rises in my ears.

  The ground beneath me spins in a dizzying circle. Only my grip on Julian’s arm keeps me steady. At the front of the line, Farley and her officers loudly discard their weapons, making a show of their guns and knives. I flinch as each one drops, useless, disappearing into the dune grass.

  “Come on,” Julian whispers so only I can hear, as we move.

  He forces me to take a step. My limbs tremble, threatening to give out. And I lean on him as surreptitiously as I can,
letting him guide me forward.

  Get through it.

  I raise my eyes as best I can, trying not to shake or fall or run away.

  Iris stands out brightly, her armored gown a glowing, radiant blue like cornflower. It spreads around her, artfully draped over her seat. She is the perfect balance between warrior and queen, even in comparison to Evangeline. Her gray eyes track us as we approach, narrowed to predatory slits. She was never unkind to me, by Silver standards. Still, I feel hatred for her, and for what she’s done. With the Stone looming close, I have to fill myself with rage. It’s the only thing to block out the fear.

  I step into the circle of Silent Stone, the unnatural sensation falling over me like a curtain. I bite my lip closed to keep from screaming. My gut turns again when the old, aching weight lands hard on my shoulders. I falter in my step, my eyelids flickering, the only outward show of my intense pain. Inside, my body screams, every nerve alight. Instinct tells me to run, to leave this circle of torture. Sweat trickles down my spine as I force one footstep after another, trying to keep pace with everyone else. If not for the Stone, I would explode in a burst of electric fury to set all my storms to shame. Lightning has no mercy. Neither do I.

  I glare, eyes narrowed against the need to weep.

  I look at anyone but Maven. Iris’s mother, Queen Cenra, is more subdued, a smaller woman than her daughter, with the same coloring but a plain face. Like Iris’s, her armored dress is deep blue, banded with gold to match the crown on her own brow. They lean together, tucked close, in each other’s confidence as only mother and daughter can be. I want to rip them apart.

  The fourth royal isn’t someone I’ve seen before, but I can guess his identity easily enough. Prince Bracken towers in his chair, his skin the polished, flawless blue-black of a precious gemstone. His robes are amethyst-edged purple, artfully draped across a breastplate of solid gold. His dark eyes rest not on Cal or me, but on Davidson. The prince looks as if he might turn the premier inside out, clearly craving revenge for his children.

  Along with Iris, he flanks Maven.

  I try not to look at him at first, but he is impossible to ignore. Even though the sight of him sends hot knives along my skin, so sharp I expect to start bleeding.

  Get through it. Hold on to the anger.

  My heart stops when I glance to him and find him already staring, a familiar, cursed smirk twisting on his pale lips.

  Maven bobs his head as we take our seats, his eyes sweeping between me and Cal, as if no one else exists. Premier Davidson sits between us, a firm divide. Maven seems to enjoy that immensely, grinning at the buffer between his brother and me. The sea breeze ruffles his hair, still longer than Cal’s and curling softly beneath the weight of his wretched black-iron crown.

  I want to kill him.

  His uniform is familiar, raven black, hung with the usual ill-gotten medals of state. He smirks at Cal’s jacket, noting the reversed colors with glee. Probably happy to have chased his brother out of their symbols. He regards us with cool and open delight, eager to make this as painful as possible. The mask of the cruel king is firmly set in place.

  I must loosen it.

  Leaning toward Davidson, I put my elbow on the arm of my chair and jut my collarbone forward. The brand is clear for all to see, burned into my skin. M for Maven. M for monster. His gaze snags on the ruined flesh, faltering for a moment. Those ice eyes go blank and faraway. It’s like pushing him off a path, or sending him down a long, dark, hallway.

  He recovers, blinking at the rest of our coalition, but it’s a good start.

  Our seating was arranged, so everyone falls in without incident. To my surprise and discomfort, Farley has Cal on one side and none other than Ptolemus on the other. I grimace. If she doesn’t fly across the platform to strangle Maven, she might just kill one of her own allies instead.

  Farley’s glare burns as much as any Calore as she stares down the boy king. They’ve met before, long ago in the summer palace, when Maven fooled us all with an easy lie, the one we all wanted to believe. He tricked her as much as he tricked me.

  “It’s truly fascinating to see how high you can rise, General Farley,” Maven says, addressing her first. I know what he’s trying to do. Put cracks in us before we’ve barely even sat down. “I wonder where you thought you would be now, if I were to ask you a year ago. What a journey.” His eyes tick between Farley and Ptolemus, the implication clear.

  When I was his prisoner, he cracked my head open, looking through my memories with the help of a Merandus cousin. He saw Shade die at Ptolemus’s hands, and he knows what he meant to Farley. How much my brother left behind. It isn’t difficult for him to poke and prod at that open wound.

  Farley bares her teeth, a predator even without her claws, but Cal answers before she can toss back acid. “I think all of us find ourselves in strange places,” he says, his voice stern and even. Diplomatic to the bone. I can’t imagine the effort it must require. “It isn’t often a Nortan king sits next to Lakelander queens.”

  Maven only sneers. He’s far better at this than Cal will ever be. “It isn’t often firstborn sons sit anywhere but the throne. Eh, Brother?” he shoots back, and Cal shuts his mouth with an audible click. “What do you think of all this, Grandmother?” Maven adds, glaring daggers at Anabel. “Your own flesh and blood, warring with each other.”

  She responds with equal venom. “You’re no blood of mine, boy. You lost the right when you helped kill my son.”

  Maven just clucks, as if pitying her. “Cal raised that sword, not me,” he says, tipping his chin at the similar sword at Cal’s hip. “Such an imagination. Old women are so prone to their fancies.”

  At his side, Queen Cenra arches a single, smooth eyebrow. She says nothing, letting Maven spin his web—or knot his own noose.

  “Well,” he says, clapping his hands together. “I did not request this meeting. I believe that means you present whatever terms you came to offer. Surrender, perhaps?”

  Cal shakes his head. “Yes. Yours.”

  Laughter from Maven is an odd sound. Forced. The air pushed out, the sound calculated and formed, an imitation of what he thinks a laugh should sound like. It rankles his brother, and Cal shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.

  Bracken doesn’t smile either. His lips tug into a scowl. He rests his chin on one balled fist. I don’t know his ability, but I assume it is a powerful one, restrained only by the Stone slowly choking all of us. “I did not come all this way, at such haste, to entertain nonsense, Tiberias Calore,” the prince says.

  “It isn’t nonsense, Your Highness,” Cal replies, with a shallow dip of his head. Showing deference and respect.

  In his seat, Maven scoffs low and deep. “You see my allies here.” He spreads his white hands wide. “Both Silver royals, with the might of their entire nations sworn to our cause. I hold the capital, the wealthiest lands of Norta—”

  “You don’t hold the Rift,” Evangeline snaps, cutting him off. Despite the Stone, her metals are all in place. They’re truly made, locked into form, not held together by her ability alone. She prepared for this. As I should have. “You don’t hold Delphie. You lost Harbor Bay yesterday. You lose more, until all you have left are the people sitting next to you, with no way to repay what they give.” Her smile spreads, showing teeth capped with pointed silver. I think she would feast on his heart if she could. “You’ll be a king without a crown or a throne before long, Maven. Best give up while you still have something to bargain.”

  Maven raises his nose. It makes him look like a petulant child. “I will bargain for nothing.”

  “Not even your own life?” I mutter, my voice small but firm enough to carry. I keep still as he turns his eyes on me, letting the ice pour over my flesh. No flinching, no blinking. Get through it.

  He just laughs again. “Your bluff is entertaining, to say the least,” he chuckles. “I see what you have, who you’ve swayed to your side. State your terms, Cal. Or go back to Harbor Bay and force us to k
ill you all.”

  “Very well,” Cal replies. His fist clenches. If not for the Stone, he would probably burst into flame. “Step down, Maven. Step down, and I’ll let you live.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Maven sighs, rolling his eyes at Iris. She doesn’t return the gesture.

  Cal forges on, undeterred. “The alliance with the Lakelands and Piedmont will stand. We’ll have peace on our coast, from the frozen shores to the islands of the south. Time to rebuild, regrow what this war has destroyed. Heal wounds and right wrongs that have plagued us for centuries.”

  “You speak of Red equality?” Iris says. Her voice is as I remember it. Calm, measured. She is a creature of self-control.

  “I do,” Cal says steadily.

  Bracken laughs deep and long, one hand pressed against the sculpted gold on his stomach. If not for the circumstance, I would think the sound comforting and warm. Cenra and Iris remain quiet, unwilling to betray their intentions or thoughts so easily.

  “You’re ambitious, I’ll give you that,” Bracken says, pointing a finger at Cal. “And young. And distracted.” His dark eyes dart to mine, making his point clear. I squirm under his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking us to do.”

  Farley isn’t so easily cowed. She claws her hands on the arms of her chair, almost rising out of her seat. A flush tinges her cheeks. “Are you so threatened by the people you spit on that you can’t allow them simple freedom?” she sneers, looking from Bracken to Cenra and Iris. “Is that how tenuous your grip on power truly is?”

  The queen of the Lakelands widens her eyes, the whites a livid contrast to the bronze of her skin and the dark brown of her irises. She looks truly surprised. I doubt a Red has ever addressed her in such a way, and it shows. “How dare you speak to us—” she blurts out.

  Dear Julian is the quickest, evenly speaking over her before she can bait Farley into something more drastic. “History favors the underfoot and the oppressed, Your Majesty,” he says. He sounds enchanting and methodic, wise, even beneath the weight of Silent Stone. The queen is reluctant, but shuts her mouth slowly to listen. “The years are long, but eventually, always, fortunes shift. The people rise. Such is the way of things. Either let change come willingly, help it along, or face the wrath of such force. It might not be you, or even your children. But the day will come when Reds storm the gates of your castles, break your crowns, and slit the throats of your descendants as they beg for the mercy you will not show now.”