War Storm

by Victoria Aveyard

  “I don’t see Maven,” Farley says, shifting closer to me. I find myself facing the full weight of her cerulean stare, clear and bright even in the haze. “Is it done?”

  I bite my lip, almost drawing blood. The sharp pain is better than shame. She reads my hesitation, and her face purples quicker than I thought possible.

  “Mare Barrow—”

  The crackle of the radio at her side cuts her off, saving me from her rage. She rips it free, snarling into the receiver. “This is General Farley.”

  The voice on the other end does not belong to a Command general or a Montfort officer. It isn’t Davidson either.

  I would know that voice anywhere, even punctuated by gunfire.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” Cal says, sounding tinny and far away, distorted by static. The electricity in the air must not be very good for radio waves.

  Breathless, I look from Farley toward the Bridge. Sure enough, one of the shadows in the fog seems to be solidifying. Broad shoulders and a familiar, determined stride move closer and closer. I keep still, my feet rooted in place on our perch above the fray.

  Farley smirks down at her radio. “So nice of you to make time for us.”

  “It’s only polite,” he replies.

  With a sigh, Farley angles herself toward the form on the Bridge, now less than fifty yards away. Cal is surrounded by his guards, and he halts, stopping the group. The Silvers seem tense, their guns ready, waiting for an order. He acknowledges us with a tip of his head. Farley furrows her brow a little, hesitant.

  “I’m guessing you know where things stand, Cal,” she says.

  His response is almost too quick. “I do.”

  Farley bites her lip. “And?”

  A long rush of static drones, before he speaks again. “Mare?”

  The radio is in my hand before I can even think to ask for it.

  “I’m here,” I say, locking eyes with him across a canyon.

  “Is it too late?”

  The question has too many implications to count.

  Purple, white, green, and blue flash through the clouds, enough to penetrate the mist and blind us all for a moment. Shutting my eyes, I smile with the burst of energy as it thrums through me.

  When the lightning passes, I answer him, and everything he means.

  “No, it isn’t,” I tell him, before returning the radio to Farley.

  She doesn’t stop me as I clamber down the steps, and Cal’s guards stand aside when I approach, walking through the broken gates of the ruinous Square.

  He waits at the edge of the Archeon Bridge, unmoving. As before, he lets me come to him. He lets me set the pace, choose the direction, make the decision. He puts it all in my hands.

  I keep an even step, in spite of the rumblings far below. Something smashes, wailing and roaring. One of the ships, maybe, colliding into another. I hardly notice.

  The embrace is short, far too short, but enough. I steady myself against him, holding tightly for as long as I dare, feeling the warm, hard lines of his body pressed against me. He smells like smoke and blood and sweat. His arms cross my back, holding me around the shoulders to pull me into his chest.

  “I’m done with crowns,” he murmurs to the top of my head.

  “Finally,” I whisper.

  We push back in unison, turning to the situation at hand. We don’t have time for anything else, and I certainly don’t have the capacity to think about much more.

  He raises the radio again, one hand still resting on my shoulder. “General, I believe Volo Samos and some of his own soldiers are still in War Command,” he says. Through the mist, I glance at the hulking building on the edge of the Square. “You’ll want to keep an eye on your backs.”

  “Got it, will do,” she answers. “Anything else?”

  She’s on the move, barking orders to her lieutenants, as she relays the advice. Kilorn and Tyton flank her like guards.

  “We’re working on blocking up the river. If the ships can’t turn around . . .”

  “They can’t escape,” I finish for him, glancing out at the destruction on both sides of the city. Missiles spiral overhead, trailing smoke like black ink over paper as they arc and explode.

  In spite of Cal’s soldiers, as well as the jets overhead, the Lakelander armada doesn’t seem to be taking much damage. As I watch, another one of Ella’s storm bolts cracks, but a wave rises with blinding speed, taking the brunt of the blow to save a battleship. It lights up with the eerie glow of electricity before fading and falling harmlessly back into the river. It must be Queen Cenra’s doing, maybe with her daughter’s help. I’ve never seen such a display of power, even from people who delight in that sort of thing.

  Cal watches with me, his face still and grim. “We have to start sinking the ships, but with the river, they have all the shields they’ll ever need. Right now it’s all we can do to minimize the damage to the city.” He curses as a wave knocks back another volley of gunfire. “They have to run out of ammunition eventually, right?” he says dryly.

  I glare at the offending ships, eyes running over their steel hides. “Call up some teleporters. Let’s get Lerolan oblivions and Evangeline onto a ship. Have them tear some holes.”

  “Evangeline is gone.”

  “But you said her father . . .”

  Somehow, Cal looks oddly proud. “She had an opportunity and she took it.”

  An opportunity to run and put all this behind her. I don’t need much of an imagination to guess where she might be running. Or who she’s running with. Like Cal, I feel a strange mix of pride and surprise.

  “The train,” I say, almost smirking to myself. Well done, I can’t help but think.

  He quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

  “In the tunnels, we saw Maven’s escape train on the move. It must have been her,” I answer. It stings to say his name, and I grimace. A sour taste fills my mouth. “He’s here, by the way,” I blurt out.

  The temperature around us rises a few degrees. Cal’s lips drop open in shock. “Maven?”

  I nod. Heat flares up in my cheeks. “He led us back into the city. To spite you.”

  Still sputtering, Cal runs a hand over his face. “Well, too bad I can’t thank him,” he finally mumbles, attempting a smirk. I don’t laugh, unable to do much more than bite my lip. “What’s that look for?”

  It’s no use lying. “He slipped us.”

  He blinks at me. Another missile whines past. “This is a very odd time for a very odd joke, Mare.”

  I waver, dropping my gaze. I’m not joking.

  The flamemaker bracelet on his wrist sparks, and he turns the spark to a ball of flame. Angry, surprised, exasperated, he tosses the fiery orb over the edge of the Bridge, letting it singe the fog as it fades.

  “So he’s somewhere in the city,” he snaps. “Fantastic.”

  “You keep an eye on Kilorn and Farley. I’ll find him,” I say quickly, putting a hand to his arm. The plates of steel beneath my touch feel like they’ve been sitting in an oven.

  Cal brushes me away gently. He glances back toward the Square again, teeth gritted. “No, I will.”

  I’ve always been faster than he is. I dodge his hands with ease, planting myself firmly between him and the Square. Putting my palm on his chest, I hold him at arm’s length. “You’re a little busy,” I say, jerking my chin toward the armada below us.

  “A little,” he grinds out.

  “I can finish this.”

  “I know you can.”

  His armor warms beneath my hand, and he covers my fingers with his own.

  Then the Bridge buckles beneath us as something slams into it, a dozen times, from all angles. Above, below. Missiles, shells. A crashing wave sends spray up the supports and onto the level where we stand. Heavier in his armor, Cal loses his balance, falling flat while I fight to stay upright.

  Except there is no such thing as upright.

  The three-tiered Bridge of Archeon, massive stone and steel, bows towa
rd its center, drooping downward. It isn’t difficult to guess why. Another explosion shudders, and a spray of debris plummets outward, falling with the central supports of the Bridge.

  Cal scrambles, trying to get his feet, and I seize him beneath the arm. I would drag him if I could, but the armor is too heavy.

  “Help!” I shout, looking for his guards.

  The Lerolan soldiers, his grandmother’s own kin, waste no time dragging Cal to his feet. But the Bridge fights us, falling faster and faster, roaring against its own demise.

  I scream when the pavement under our feet gives way, slamming into the next tier thirty feet below. I land hard on my side and something cracks in my ribs, sending spiderwebs of pain over me. Hissing, I try to roll and get my bearings. Get off the Bridge, get off the Bridge drums in my head.

  Cal is already on his knees, a hand outstretched. Not to grab me.

  To stop me.

  “Don’t move!” he screams, fingers splayed.

  I freeze midstep, my arm wrapped around my rib cage.

  His eyes stand out sharply, so afraid, his pupils blown wide and dark.

  Instead of the armada, their guns raining concussive hell upon us, I can only hear one thing. Like a whisper, but worse.

  Cracking. Crumbling.

  “Cal—”

  Everything collapses beneath us.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Cal

  I fall like a stone.

  The useless, patronizing armor that never did anything but slow me down won’t protect me from a hundred-foot drop into raging water. It can’t save me, and I can’t save her. My hands claw through open air, reaching for anything to grab, but the fog just whistles through my fingers. I can’t even shout.

  Debris tumbles with us, and I brace for the impact of solid concrete. Maybe it’ll crush me before I get the chance to drown. What a small mercy that would be.

  I try to see her, even as the river rises up to meet me.

  Someone grabs me around my middle, arms squeezing so tightly the breath is crushed from my lungs. My vision spots. I might be passing out.

  Or not.

  I howl as the river and the fog and the crumbling bridge disappear, swallowed up by a blackness. My entire body tightens, tensing up, and when I hit something solid, I expect all my bones to shatter into dust.

  But nothing breaks.

  “I didn’t know kings could scream like that.”

  My eyes fly open to see Kilorn Warren standing over me, his face pale behind a friendly smile. He offers a hand and I take it gladly, letting him pull me up.

  The Montfort teleporter looks on, panting slightly in her green uniform. She’s small, almost as small as Mare, and gives me a curt nod.

  “Thanks,” I gasp, still trying to wrap my brain around surviving.

  She shrugs. “Just following orders, sir.”

  “Will we ever get used to that?” Mare says from a few feet away, still on her knees. She spits a little, looking a green in the face.

  Her teleporter, the Montfort officer Arezzo, looks down at her with a smirk. “Would you prefer the alternative?”

  Mare just rolls her eyes. She glances at me and sticks out her hand, gesturing for help. Kilorn takes one side, with me on the other, and we pull her to her feet. She pats dirt from her own uniform, the bloodred color of the Scarlet Guard, if only to do something for a moment. She’s just as unsettled as I am, though she is loath to show it. I suppose you never get used to being plucked from the jaws of death, no matter how many times it happens.

  “How many fell?” she asks, still not looking up.

  I bite my lip and glance around, spotting a few Lerolan guards recovering alongside us. But teleporters can only do so much, and I had hundreds of soldiers on the Bridge, with even more below. My stomach churns with the implication. Gritting my teeth, I get my bearings and realize we’re back at the edge of the Square, embedded within Farley’s troops now rapidly fortifying the cliff. Beyond, a skeleton of the Archeon Bridge remains, collapsed in the middle, with the river boiling below. One of the Lakelander ships is pinned, sinking beneath the weight of a bridge support that fell like a tree in a storm, crashing down on the steel hull. Too heavy, even for the Lakelander queens.

  Through the fog, I can’t see the far end of the Bridge, but I can only hope the bulk of my forces made it to one of the surviving edges. We didn’t have much of an army to begin with, but every life lost is another weight on my shoulders. I feel as if the burden might crush me already, and this battle is far from over.

  Mare shifts to stand at my side, looking out as I do. Her fingers lace with mine for a second before she reluctantly pulls away. “I need to find him,” she whispers.

  As much as I want to help her in such an endeavor, I simply can’t. Not unless I want to leave Nanabel in command or, by my colors, Julian. Neither is equipped to defend Archeon properly, especially in conjunction with Diana Farley.

  “Go,” I tell Mare, putting my hand on the small of her back. With a heavy sigh, I give her the slightest push. Toward my brother. To kill him. “Be rid of him.”

  I should be the one to do it. I should have the spine for that.

  But I can’t bear it. I can’t bear the weight of killing him. Not Mavey.

  As she goes, Kilorn tagging along with her, I shut my eyes and draw in a long, rattling breath.

  How many times do I have to say good-bye to him?

  How many times have I lost him?

  “The river!” someone barks.

  I snap to attention, letting instinct take hold. I trained for years to be a warrior and a general, to see battle inches in front of me and from miles away. Immediately I try to picture the city in my head, split down the middle by the Capital River, now choked with the Lakelander armada. We’re cut off from the other side of Archeon, isolated here, with only teleporters for transport. How many, I don’t know. But it certainly isn’t enough if the Lakelanders decide to turn their attention on the cliffs and the people there.

  Farley still holds her perch, a long gun slung over one shoulder. She presses her eyes to a pair of binoculars, looking downward, unmoving. Like a statue, silhouetted by mist and smoke.

  “Is it still rising?” I ask, stepping up next to her for a better look. She passes me the binoculars without breaking her stare.

  “And rising faster. Look downriver,” she adds, jerking her thumb to the south.

  It isn’t hard to spot what she means. Whitecaps approach, waves breaking in choppy motion, as the Lakelanders pull in more and more water from the ocean. The river surges forward at a steady pace, solidifying into a wall of water like a single, unbroken ripple twenty feet high. I’d bet the river here has risen at least thirty feet so far, and it’s about to rise a lot more.

  In spite of the Scarlet Guard fortifications, the cliffs take a beating, pieces of rock shearing away as another volley of missiles hits home. I duck, raising an arm to block the debris as it sprays over us. Farley simply turns her head.

  “Julian’s running the infirmary at the barracks with Sara Skonos. Better get some runners ready,” I instruct, watching as a few soldiers turn away from the cliffs, their faces bloody.

  “And Anabel?” she replies. Her tone is forcibly neutral.

  “War Command.”

  “With Samos?”

  I hesitate, thinking about what Evangeline told me before my coronation. That Julian and Anabel were scheming to kill him. Remove the Rift from the equation. And maybe buy us some peace with his corpse. If that’s the price, I won’t stop her.

  “Perhaps” is all I can manage before I try to change the subject. “What’s your plan?” I ask her. I’ve never known Diana Farley to strike without some kind of idea, maybe even an outright trick up her sleeve. Especially not with someone like Davidson backing her, not to mention the entire Scarlet Guard. “You’ve got one, right?”

  “We might,” she replies. “And you?”

  “We were trying to clog up the armada, trap them maybe, force a c
ease-fire, but those nymph queens are unbeatable on the water.”

  “Are they?” Farley narrows her eyes at me. “I think that Iris gave you a good scare back in Harbor Bay.”

  I try not to think about it. The crushing weight of water, pulling me down faster than I thought possible. “Perhaps.”

  “Well then, we should return the favor.”

  “Fine. I’ll take some oblivions, some teleporters, see if we can—”

  To my surprise, she waves me off. I flush, taken aback by her dismissal. “There’s no need for that,” Farley says, turning away from me. She raises her radio and twists the knob to some corresponding channel. “Premier, how’s your side of things?”

  Davidson’s voice filters back in reply, and I hear echoes of gunfire on his end. “Holding steady for now. Some Piedmontese tried the cliffs, but they didn’t expect to run into us. Sent them back.”

  I imagine Piedmont soldiers in purple and gold, falling from the bank. Split apart by newblood troops.

  “What about your end, General?” Davidson presses.

  Farley grins. “I’ve got the more reasonable Calore with me here, and Barrow is going after the other one.”

  “Premier,” I say into the radio, “I have a few hundred Silvers of my own spread between the Bridge ruins and still fighting down on the ships. Can you give them cover?”

  “I can do you one better. They need to get off the water, and I’ll send my teleporters in now,” he replies.

  “Mine as well,” Farley clips back. “Grab as many as we can before things really heat up.”

  I glance at her, brow furrowed. “Another wave of ships?”

  Her smile spreads. “Something like that.”

  “Now isn’t really the time for surprises.”

  “Honestly, it’s like you’ve forgotten what we’re capable of,” she chuckles. It’s an odd sight, to see her laughing against the backdrop of war and destruction. “We had to wait until the water was high enough. And luckily for us, those nymph queens were happy to oblige.”