War Storm

by Victoria Aveyard

  Trade, she said.

  I glance at Mare. She feels my gaze and turns, eyes wide in fear as well as confusion.

  Trade for what? I want to ask.

  Or who?

  Something struggles in the circle of Lakelander guards, restrained. I see him through the gap between Cenra and Iris, fighting a losing battle against men much stronger than he is.

  Maven bleeds from the lip, his crown askew on his mop of mussed black hair. He kicks fruitlessly, forcing the Lakelander guards to drag him by the arms. Water coils the length of his body, ready to strike. Next to him, Iris whistles, spinning his bracelets between her hands. The flamemakers, key to his ability, I realize with a swoop of shock. He’s defenseless, at the mercy of those he would never show mercy to.

  The Lakelander princess grins sharply, a chilling sight in an otherwise measured persona. He spits at her, missing wide.

  “Nymph bitch,” he snarls, kicking again. “You’ve made a mistake today.”

  Cenra’s lip curls in a scowl, but she lets her daughter handle herself.

  “Have I?” Iris replies, unperturbed. Slowly, she pulls the crown from his head and casts it into the water. “Or have you? Many, many mistakes, not the least of which was letting me into your kingdom.”

  I can’t believe my eyes. Maven, the betrayer betrayed. The trickster tricked.

  The war.

  Over.

  I might be sick.

  My breathing turns shallow and I wrench my eyes away from Maven to watch his brother. Cal has gone deathly pale. It’s clear he didn’t know anything about this, whatever Anabel and Julian did. Whatever trade they’re about to make in his name.

  Who will they give over in return?

  I need to run. Grab Tolly. Charge right into the sea.

  Quickly, I clamber back down the hill to stand by my brother. The false king should be distraction enough. Don’t make it easy for the nymphs. Get to the jet. Get home.

  “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Evangeline!” Maven crows, contorting himself so he can smooth back his hair. It keeps falling back into his eyes. “You’re not worth me, no matter how highly you think of yourself.”

  At his call, the others turn to look at me as I edge away, Ptolemus tight in my grip. I search for a single friendly face, and find that Mare Barrow comes closest. Her eyes dart between me and my hand on Tolly’s arm. Something like pity wells up in her, and I want to cut it out with a knife.

  “Then who?” I lift my chin, relying on pride as armor. “You trading yourself again, Barrow?”

  She blinks, her pity melting into fury. I prefer it.

  “No,” Julian says, returning with the guards. Like the Lakelanders, they’re dragging a prisoner from their jet.

  The last time I saw Salin Iral, he was stripped of his titles, nearly choked to death at my father’s hand for his foolishness and pride. He killed the Lakelander king outside the walls of Corvium, against orders, for nothing more than a pat on the head. He was too shortsighted to see that that would only strengthen the Lakelander alliance with Maven, and the resolve of both their queens. Now he’ll pay for that mistake with his life.

  Salin hangs loose, his eyes oddly empty. He stares at his feet, and despite the weak grip from either guard, he doesn’t try to run. With Julian Jacos standing close, I can see why. I doubt he’s been given permission to run.

  “What is this—I didn’t authorize any—” Cal sputters, looming over his grandmother. Gently, she puts a hand to his chest, pushing her king backward.

  “But you’ll do it. Won’t you, Cal?” she says sweetly. With only the tenderness a mother can give, she reaches up to cup his face. “We can end this war today, right now. This is the cost. One life, instead of thousands.”

  It isn’t a difficult choice to make.

  “That’s right, Cal. You’re doing this to save lives, aren’t you?” Maven says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Words are the only weapon he has left. “Noble to the last.”

  Slowly, Cal raises his eyes to stare at his brother. Even Maven falls silent, letting the moment stretch and burn. Neither blinks. Neither falters. The younger Calore continues to sneer, daring his brother to react. Cal’s face never changes and he doesn’t say a word. But he speaks volumes as he tips his shoulder, stepping out of his grandmother’s path.

  Julian puts a finger to Salin’s face, lifting his head so their eyes meet. “Walk to the queens,” he says, and I hear the melodious ability of a talented singer. The kind who could bewitch us all if he wanted, and sing his way to a throne. Luckily for all of us, Julian Jacos has no interest in power.

  Despite his haze, Salin Iral is a silk, and his footsteps are graceful. He crosses the meager distance between our party and Maven. The Lakelander queens look like women starved, watching a meal approach. Iris grabs Salin by the neck, kicks the backs of his legs, and forces him to kneel in the water, hands submerged.

  “Send him across,” Cenra says quietly, waving a hand toward Maven.

  All of this seems wrong, as if filtered through smoked glass, too slow to be real. But it is. The Lakelander guards shove Maven ahead, making him stumble toward his brother. He still grins, spitting blood, but tears gleam in his eyes. He’s losing control, and the tight grip he keeps on himself is coming undone.

  He knows this is the end. Maven Calore has lost.

  The guards keep shoving, never letting him catch his balance. It’s a pitiful sight. He starts whispering to himself, harried words between peals of sharp laughter.

  “I did as you said,” he mutters to no one. “I did as you said.”

  Before he can fall at his brother’s feet, Anabel steps forward, planting herself firmly between the pair of them. Protective as a tiger.

  “Not a step closer to the true king,” she growls. The woman is smart not to trust him, even now, with nothing left.

  Maven sinks to a knee and runs a hand through his hair, mussing the dark, wet curls. He glares at his brother with all the fire he can no longer possess. “Afraid of a boy, Cal? I thought you were the warrior.”

  At Cal’s side, Mare tenses, putting a hand to his arm. To stop him or push him on, I don’t know. His throat bobs as he swallows, deciding what to do.

  With aching slowness, the last king standing puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’d kill me if our places were exchanged.”

  Breath whistles between Maven’s teeth. He hesitates just long enough, leaving space for a lie. Or the hope of a lie. There is no predicting the mind of Maven Calore, or what face he allows anyone to see.

  “Yes, I would,” he mutters. He spits blood once more. “Are you proud?”

  Cal doesn’t reply.

  The ice-blue eyes shift, jumping to the girl at his brother’s side. Mare hardens under his gaze, firm as tempered steel. She has every reason to fear him, but hides it all.

  “Are you happy?” Maven asks, almost a whisper. I’m not sure who the question is for.

  Neither says a word.

  A gurgling sound draws my attention, and I look up from Maven to see the queens circling their prey. They move in a kind of circle. Not a dance, not a ritual. There is no pattern to it. Only cold, collected rage. Even Bracken looks unsettled by them. He takes a few steps back, allowing them room to do what they must. Still on his knees, Salin sways between them, his mouth foaming with seawater.

  They take turns pouring water over his face with torturous efficiency. Just enough to keep him breathing. Little by little, drop by drop, his face pales, then purples, then blackens. And he falls, twitching, drowning in half a foot of water, unable to sit up. Unable to save himself. They bend over his body, putting their hands to his shoulders. Making sure they are the last thing he sees as he dies.

  I’ve seen torture before, from people who delight in it. It always unsettles. But this brutality is too measured for me to understand. It terrifies me.

  Iris catches me watching, and I look away, unable to stand it.

  She was certainly right. Maven made a mi
stake letting her into his kingdom and his palace.

  “Are you happy?” Maven asks again, more desperate and ferocious, his teeth like white fangs.

  “Be silent, Maven,” Julian sings, forcing the boy to look at him. For the first time in his twisted life, Maven Calore shuts his weasel mouth.

  I look over my shoulder, only to find Ptolemus as white-faced as I feel. The world has shifted beneath our feet. Alliances broken and remade, leaving borders to be redrawn, betrothals to be carried out.

  And, I realize with a sinking sensation, one more piece of the bargain. There must be.

  I lean into my brother, whispering so only he can hear.

  “This can’t just be for Salin.”

  Iral is a disgraced lord without title or land or any kind of power, in either the Rift or Norta. He isn’t worth anything beyond what he did. And even the Lakelander queens wouldn’t trade Maven to feed their vengeance. They’re strange, not stupid. Anabel said this was the price, but that can’t be true. There must be more. Someone else.

  I keep my face blank as the realization churns through me. No one can see behind my mask of stillness.

  I wasn’t far off the mark, when I feared we were the trade.

  But Maven’s right. A prince and princess for a king? Idiotic. We aren’t worth him.

  Our father certainly is.

  Volo Samos, king of the Rift. Salin stuck a knife in the Lakelander king to please my father and win his favor. It’s his fault as much as anyone. It was done in his name.

  And he is a rival to the Lakelands as much as he is a rival to Cal.

  It would be easy for Anabel to bargain him. A logical move to trade my father’s life.

  I keep my fingers tightly knit to hide their shaking. I weigh the options as best I can, my expression empty and devoid of any emotion.

  If Father dies, the Rift dissolves. It won’t stand without him, not with the way things are. I won’t be a princess anymore. I won’t be his subject, his hand-raised pet, his toy to trade, his sword to use as he pleases.

  I won’t have to marry anyone I don’t love, or live my days as a lie.

  But even against all things, I love my father. I can’t help it. I can’t bear it.

  I don’t know what to do.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Mare

  I refuse to fly in the same dropjet as Maven. So does Cal. Even bewitched as he is, we still can’t look at him. Julian, Davidson, and Anabel fall on that sword for us, escorting Maven in the second jet to give the rest of us some space.

  Still, we can’t speak to each other. The flight back to Harbor Bay passes in stunned silence. Even Evangeline and Ptolemus are shocked and quiet. The trade has thrown everyone off balance. I still can’t believe it. Julian and Anabel, back-channeling with the Lakelanders? Under our noses? Without Cal’s blessing or Davidson’s involvement? It doesn’t make sense. Even Farley, with her vast network of spies, never saw this coming. But she’s the only one of us who seems pleased. She smiles in her seat, almost vibrating out of her skin with excitement.

  It shouldn’t feel like this. The war is won. No more battle, no more death. Maven lost his crown back on Province. No one even bothered to pick it up, abandoning the circle of cold iron to the island. Iris took his bracelets. He couldn’t fight us if he wanted. It’s all over. The boy king is no more. He can’t hurt me for one second longer.

  So why do I feel so terrible? Dread settles in the pit of my stomach, heavy as a stone and just as difficult to ignore. What happens now?

  At first I try to blame it on Iris, her mother, and Bracken too. Despite Cal’s pledge to honor the alliance, I doubt they will. They lost too much, and none of them seem like the kind to go home empty-handed. All have personal reasons to seek vengeance, and Norta is still crippled, divided by civil war. Easy pickings for stronger beasts. Whatever peace we find today exists on borrowed time. I can almost hear the tick of the clock against us.

  That isn’t why you’re afraid, Mare Barrow.

  Last night, Cal and I agreed not to make any choices, or change decisions already made. Certain things could be ignored while the war hung in the balance. But I thought we would have more time. I didn’t think everything would be finished so quickly. I didn’t know our toes were already edging over the precipice.

  With Maven cast down, Cal is truly the king of Norta. He’ll crown himself and take his birthright. He’ll marry Evangeline. Nothing before will matter.

  And we’ll be enemies again.

  Montfort and the Scarlet Guard will not stand for another king ruling Norta.

  Neither can I, no matter how much he pledges to bring change. The pattern will simply repeat, in his children, or his grandchildren, down the line of kings and queens. Cal refuses to see what must be done. He doesn’t have the stomach for the sacrifice required to make a better world.

  I steal a glance at him, looking up through my lashes. Cal doesn’t notice me staring, his focus elsewhere and inward. Thinking about his brother. The price Maven Calore must pay for the bloodshed he caused, and the wounds he tore across us all.

  Before we raided Corros Prison, when Cal thought we might find Maven waiting, he said he would lose control. Go after Maven with everything he had. It frightened him, to have such a tenuous grip on himself. I told him I would kill Maven if he couldn’t. It felt easy to pledge then, but when given the opportunity, when Maven looked up at me from a bathtub, vulnerable as a newborn, I turned away.

  I want him dead. For what he did to me. For all the pain, all the heartache. For Shade. For the Reds used as pawns in his twisted game. Still, I don’t know if I could kill him myself, just to remove the torment of him. And I’m not sure Cal can either.

  But he will, and he must. It’s the only place this road leads.

  The journey back to Harbor Bay seems shorter than before, and we touch down on the edge of the Aquarian Port, the jets crowding what was once a market square at the edge of the water. Soldiers of the coalition ring the pavement, and my stomach flips. So many eyes.

  For once it isn’t me being put on parade. Though he did it to me so many times, I take little satisfaction in watching Maven forced down from a dropjet. He stumbles over himself, limbs heavy with Julian’s ability, looking more like a boy than ever before. Someone binds his hands in manacles. He says nothing, still unable to speak.

  Farley looms, close at his shoulder, grinning proudly, one hand raised in triumph. She seizes him by the scruff of his collar.

  “Rise, red as the dawn!” she shouts. With one foot, she kicks the back of Maven’s leg as Iris did. He falls to his knees, a king brought low. “Victory!”

  The stunned quiet of the square quickly dissipates as the crowd realizes what this means. And the jeers rise, howling in a storm, until shrieks of joy and venom echo so loudly I think the entire city must know.

  Cal’s warmth radiates at my side as he watches the display, his face empty of expression. He doesn’t enjoy this.

  “Get him to the palace,” he murmurs to Anabel when she approaches. “As quickly as we can.”

  She eyes him with an annoyed sigh. “The people must see, Cal. Let them enjoy your victory. Let them love you for it.”

  He flinches. “This isn’t love,” he replies, gesturing at the crowd with his chin. Reds and newbloods greatly outnumber his own Silvers, but all look on Maven with snarls and raised fists. Fury rules the square. “This is hatred. Get him to the palace, and out of the crowd.”

  It’s the right choice. And the easy one. I nod at him, touching his arm with a gentle squeeze. Offering whatever comfort I can, while I still can. Like the alliance, we are on borrowed time.

  Anabel sharpens. “We could march him—”

  “No,” Cal snaps, voice low and snarling. He glances between his grandmother and me. I tighten under his gaze. “I’m not making his mistakes.”

  “Fine,” she spits through gritted teeth. At the edge of the square, transports roll into position, waiting to take us back up to the palace.
Cal beelines for the closest one, and I follow, careful to keep a respectful distance.

  “We still have to send out reports and broadcasts,” Anabel continues as we walk. “Let the people of Norta know their true king has returned. Assemble the High Houses, collect oaths of allegiance. Punish those who won’t swear to your crown—”

  “I know,” he bites out.

  Behind us, I hear scuffling and stumbling. Farley pushes Maven along, with Julian flanking them. A few soldiers throw red scarves at her feet, celebrating our triumph. They cheer and shriek in equal measure.

  The sound is horrible, even from my own people. It brings me back to Archeon, when I was forced to walk the city in chains. A prisoner, a trophy. Maven made me kneel in front of the world. I wanted to vomit then and I want to vomit now. Shouldn’t we be better than they were?

  Even so, I feel the same ugly hunger in me. The desire for revenge and justice. It begs to be fed. I push it away, trying to ignore the monster I carry with me, born of all my wrongs and all the wrongs done to me.

  Anabel jabbers until we reach the transports, and Cal dismisses her with a glare. I don’t bother to look back before climbing into our own vehicle, unable to watch another person face one fraction of what I suffered in Archeon. Even Maven.

  Cal closes the door behind him, slumping into the semidarkness. The divider is raised, separating us from our driver. Leaving us alone together, with no need to perform. It’s almost silent, the sound of jeering muffled to a low drone.

  Cal bends forward, elbows braced on his knees, and buries his face in his hands. The emotions of this moment are simply too much to bear. Fear, regret, shame, and so much relief. All undercut by the churning sense of dread, knowing what is to come. I press back against the seat, putting my palms to my eyes.

  “It’s over,” I hear myself say, tasting the lie. He breathes hard against his hands, as if he’s just returned from a Training session.

  “It isn’t over,” he says. “Not by a long shot.”