Hissing, I sit back down, quietly grateful for the end. Even breathing hurts my back. I have to lean forward on my knees, clenching my fists against the pain.
Cal takes a step toward me, then collapses as well, falling back on his elbows. He pants heavily, chest rising and falling with exertion. Not even enough strength to offer a smile. Sweat coats him from head to toe.
“Without an audience, if possible,” Davidson adds. Behind him, as the smoke clears, another blue wall of something divides the spectators from our spar. With a wave of Davidson’s hand, it blinks out of existence. He gives a tight, bland smile and indicates the symbol on his arm, his designation. A white hexagon. “Shield. Quite useful.”
“I’ll say,” Kilorn barks, charging toward me. He crouches at my side. “Reese,” he adds over his shoulder.
But the red-haired skin healer stops a few yards away. He holds his ground. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“Reese, stop it!” Kilorn hisses. He clenches his teeth in exasperation. “She’s burned all down the back and he can barely walk.”
Cal blinks at me, still panting. His face pulls in concern and regret, but also pain. I’m in agony and so is he. The prince does his best to look strong and tries to sit up. He just hisses, immediately falling back down.
Reese holds firm. “Sparring has consequences. We’re not Silver. We need to know what our abilities do to each other.” The words sound rehearsed. If I weren’t in so much pain, I would agree. I remember the arenas where Silvers battled for sport, without fear. I remember my Training at the Hall of the Sun. A skin healer was always waiting, ready to patch up every scrape. Silvers don’t care about hurting another person because the effects don’t last. Reese looks us both over and all but wags a scolding finger. “It’s not life-threatening. They spend twenty-four hours this way. That’s protocol, Warren.”
“Normally, I would agree,” Davidson says. With sure footing, he crosses to the healer’s side and fixes him with an empty stare. “But unfortunately I need these two sharp, and I need it now. Get it done.”
“Sir—”
“Get it done.”
The dirt squeezes through my fingers, the smallest relief as I claw my hands in the ground. If it means ending this torture, I’ll listen to whatever the premier wants, and I’ll do it with a smile.
My coverall uniform is itchy and it smells like disinfecting chemicals. I would complain, but I don’t have the brain capacity. Not after Davidson’s operatives’ latest briefing. Even the premier looks shaky, pacing back and forth in front of the long table of military advisers, including Cal and me. Davidson balls his fist beneath his chin and stares at the floor with his unreadable eyes.
Farley watches him for a long moment before glancing down to read Ada’s meticulous handwriting. The newblood woman with perfect intelligence is an officer now, working closely with Farley and the Scarlet Guard. I wouldn’t be surprised if baby Clara were made an officer too. She dozes against her mother’s chest, wrapped tightly in a cloth sling. A crown of dark brown fuzz spots over her head. She really does looks like Shade.
“Five thousand Red soldiers of the Scarlet Guard and five hundred newbloods of Montfort currently hold the Corvium garrison,” Farley recites from Ada’s notes. “Reports put Maven’s forces in the thousands, all Silver. Massing at Fort Patriot in Harbor Bay, and outside Detraon in the Lakelands. We don’t have exact numbers, or an ability count.”
My hands tremble on the flat of the table, and I quickly shove them under my legs. In my head, I tick off who could possibly be aiding Maven’s attempt to retake the fortress city. Samos is gone; Laris, Iral, Haven too. Lerolan, if Cal’s grandmother can be believed. As much as I want to disappear, I force myself to speak. “He has strong support in Rhambos and Welle. Strongarms, greenwardens. Arvens too. They’ll be able to neutralize any newblood attack.” I don’t explain further. I know what Arvens can do firsthand. “I don’t know the Lakelanders, beyond the nymph royals.”
The Colonel leans forward, bracing his palms on the table. “I do. They fight hard, and they endure. And their loyalty to their king is unyielding. If he throws his support to the wretch—” He stops himself and glances sidelong at Cal, who doesn’t react. “To Maven, they won’t hesitate to follow. Their nymphs are deadliest of course, followed by storms, shivers, and windweavers. Stoneskin berserkers are a nasty bunch too.”
I flinch as he names each one.
Davidson spins on his heel to face Tahir in his seat. The newblood looks incomplete without his twin, and leans oddly, as if to compensate for his absence. “Any update on the time frame?” the premier barks. “Within the week isn’t narrow enough.”
Squinting his eyes, Tahir focuses elsewhere, far beyond the room. To wherever his twin might be. Like many of the operations here, Rash’s location is classified, but I can guess. Salida was once embedded in Maven’s newblood army. Rash is a perfect replacement for her, probably working as a Red servant somewhere in the court. It’s quite brilliant. Using his link to Tahir, he can ferry information as quickly as any radio or communication link, without any of the evidence or possibility of interception.
“Still confirming,” he says slowly. “Whispers of . . .” The newblood stills, and his mouth drops into an O of surprise. “Within the day. An attack from both sides of the border.”
I bite my lip, drawing blood. How could this happen so quickly? Without warning?
Cal shares my sentiment. “I thought you were keeping watch on troop movements. Armies don’t mass overnight.” A low current of heat ripples from him, baking along my right side.
“We know the bulk of the force is in the Lakelands. Maven’s new bride and her alliance put us in a bit of a bind,” Farley explains. “We don’t have nearly enough resources there, now that most of the Guard is here. We can’t monitor three separate countries—”
“But you’re sure it’s Corvium? You’re absolutely sure?” Cal snaps.
Ada nods without hesitation. “All intelligence points to yes.”
“Maven likes traps.” I hate saying his name. “It could be a ploy to draw us out in force, catch us in transit.” I remember the scream of our jet torn apart midflight, sheering into jagged edges against the stars. “Or a feint. We go to Corvium. He hits the Lowcountry. Takes our foundation out from under us.”
“Which is why we wait.” Davidson clenches a fist in resolve. “Let them move first so we can make our counter. If they hold, we’ll know it was a trick.”
The Colonel flushes, skin red as his eye. “And if it’s an offensive, plain and simple?”
“We’ll move quickly once intentions are known—”
“And how many of my soldiers die while you move quickly?”
“As many as mine,” Davidson sneers. “Don’t act like your people are the only ones who will bleed for this.”
“My people . . . ?”
“Enough!” Farley shouts them both down, loud enough to wake Clara. The infant is better tempered than anyone I know, and just blinks sleepily at the interruption of her nap. “If we can’t get more intelligence, then waiting is our only option. We’ve made enough mistakes charging in headfirst.”
Too many times to count.
“It’s a sacrifice, I admit.” The premier looks as sober as his generals, all stoic and stone-faced at the news. If there were another way, he would take it. But none of us see one. Not even Cal, who remains silent. “But a sacrifice of inches. Inches for miles.”
The Colonel sputters in anger, slamming a fist on the council table. A glass pitcher full of water wobbles, and Davidson calmly rights it with quick, even reflexes.
“Calore, I’ll need you to coordinate.”
With his grandmother. With Silvers. People who stared at me and my chains and did nothing until it was convenient. People who still think my family should be their slaves. I bite my tongue. People we need to win.
Cal dips his head. “The Kingdom of the Rift has pledged support. We’ll have Samos soldiers, Iral, Laris,
and Lerolan.”
“The Kingdom of the Rift,” I say under my breath, almost spitting. Evangeline got her crown after all.
“What about you, Barrow?”
I look up to see Davidson staring, still with that blank expression. He is impossible to read.
“Do we have you as well?”
My family flickers before my eyes, but only for a moment. I should feel ashamed that my own anger, the rage I keep burning in the pit of my stomach and the corners of my brain, outweighs them all. Mom and Dad will kill me for leaving again. But I’m willing to join a war to find some semblance of peace.
“Yes.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Mare
It is not a trap and it is not a trick.
Gisa shakes me awake sometime after midnight, her brown eyes wide and worried. I told my family what was going to happen over dinner. As expected, they weren’t exactly happy about my decision. Mom twisted the knife as much as she could. She wept over Shade, still a fresh wound, and my capture. Told me how selfish I was. Taking myself from them again.
Later, her reproaches turned into apologies and whispers of how brave I am. Too brave and stubborn and precious for her to let me go.
Dad just shut down, his knuckles white on his cane. We’re the same, he and I. We make choices and follow through, even if the choice is wrong.
At least Bree and Tramy understood. They weren’t called for this mission. That’s comfort enough.
“Cal is downstairs,” Gisa whispers, her keen hands on my shoulders. “You have to go.”
As I sit up, already dressed in my uniform, I pull her into one last embrace.
“You do this too much,” she mutters, trying to sound playful around the choking sobs in her throat. “Come back this time.”
I nod, but I don’t promise.
Kilorn meets us in the hall, bleary-eyed in his pajamas. He isn’t coming either. Corvium is far past his limits. Another bitter comfort. As much as I used to complain about dragging him along, worrying about the fish boy good at knots and nothing else, I’ll miss him dearly. Especially because none of that is true. He protected and helped me more than I ever did him.
I open my mouth to say all this, but he shuts me up with a quick kiss on the cheek. “You even try to say good-bye and I’ll throw you down the stairs.”
“Fine,” I force out. My chest tightens, though, and it becomes harder to breathe with every step down to the first floor.
Everyone waits in congregation, looking grim as a firing squad. Mom’s eyes are red and puffy, as are Bree’s. He hugs me first, lifting me clean off the floor. The giant lets loose one sob into the crook of my neck. Tramy is more reserved. Farley is in the hallway too. She holds Clara tightly, rocking her back and forth. Mom is going to take her, of course.
Everything blurs, as much as I want to hold on to every inch of this moment. Time passes far too quickly. My head spins, and before I know what’s happening, I’m out the door, down the steps, and tucked safely into a transport. Did Dad shake Cal’s hand or did I imagine that? Am I still asleep? Am I dreaming? The lights of the base stream through the dark like shooting stars. The headlights cut the shadows, illuminating the road to the airfield. Already I hear the roar of engines and the scream of jets taking to the skies.
Most are dropjets, designed to transport large numbers of troops at speed. They land vertically, without runways, and can be piloted directly into Corvium. I’m seized by a terrible sense of familiarity as we board ours. The last time I did this, I spent six months as a prisoner, and came back a ghost.
Cal senses my unease. He takes over buckling me into my jet seat, fingers moving swiftly as I stare at the metal grating beneath my feet. “It won’t happen again,” he murmurs, low enough so only I can hear. “This time is different.”
I take his face in my hands, making him stop and look at me. “So why does it feel the same?”
Bronze eyes search mine. Searching for an answer. He finds none. Instead, he kisses me, as if that can solve anything. His lips burn against my own. It lasts longer than it should, especially with so many people around, but no one makes a fuss.
When he pulls back, he pushes something into my hand.
“Don’t forget who you are,” he whispers.
I don’t need to look to know it’s an earring, a tiny bit of colored stone set in metal. Something to say farewell, to say stay safe, to say remember me if we are parted. Another tradition from my old life. I keep it tight in my fist, almost letting the sharp sting pierce my skin. Only when he sits down across from me do I look.
Red. Of course. Red as blood, red as fire. Red as the anger eating us both alive.
Unable to punch it through my ear right now, I tuck it away, careful to keep the tiny stone safe. It will join the others soon.
Farley moves with a vengeance, taking her seat near the Montfort pilots. Cameron follows closely, offering a tight smile as she sits down. She finally has an official green uniform, as does Farley, though Farley’s is different. Not green, but dark red, with a white C on her arm. Command. She shaved her head again in preparation, shedding inches of blond hair in favor of her old style. She looks severe, with her twisting facial scar and blue eyes to pierce any armor. It suits. I understand why Shade loved her.
She has a reason to stop fighting, more than any of us. But she keeps on. A bit of her determination floods into me. If she can do this, so can I.
Davidson boards our jet last, rounding out the forty of us aboard the drop. He follows a troop of gravitrons marked by downward lines of insignia. He’s still wearing the same battered uniform, and his normally smooth hair is unkempt. I doubt he slept. It makes me like him a bit more.
He nods at us as he passes, stomping the length of the jet to sit with Farley. They duck their heads together in thought almost immediately.
My electrical sense has improved since my work with the electricons. I can feel the jet down to its wiring. Every spark, every pulse. Ella, Rafe, and Tyton are coming of course, but no one dares put us all on a single dropjet. If the worst should happen, at least we won’t all die together.
Cal fidgets in his seat. Nervous energy. I do the opposite. I try to feel numb, to ignore the hungry fury begging to be set loose. I still haven’t seen Maven since my escape, and I imagine his face as it was then. Shouting for me through the crowd, trying to turn around. He didn’t want to let me go. And when I wrap my hands around his throat, I won’t let him go. I won’t be scared. Only a battle stands in my way.
“My grandmother is bringing as many with her as she can,” Cal mutters. “Davidson already knows, but I don’t think anyone filled you in.”
“Oh.”
“She has Lerolan, the other rebelling houses. Samos too.”
“Princess Evangeline,” I mutter, still laughing at the thought. Cal sneers with me.
“At least now she has her own crown, and doesn’t have to steal her way to someone else’s,” he says.
“You two would’ve been married by now. If . . .” If, meaning so many things.
He nods. “Married long enough to go absolutely crazy. She’d make a good queen, but not for me.” He takes my hand without looking. “And she would be a terrible wife.”
I don’t have the energy to follow that thread of implication, but a burst of warmth blooms in my chest.
The jet lurches, spooling into high gear. Rotors and engines whir, drowning out all conversation. With another lurch we’re airborne, rising into the hot summer night. I shut my eyes for a moment and imagine what is to come. I know Corvium from pictures and broadcasts. Black granite walls, gold and iron reinforcements. A spiraling fortress that used to be the last stop for any soldier heading into the Choke. In another life, I would have passed through. And now it’s under siege for the second time this year. Maven’s forces set out a few hours ago, landing at their controlled strip in Rocasta before heading overland. They should be at the walls soon. Before us.
Inches for miles, Davidson said.
>
I hope he’s right.
Cameron tosses her cards into my lap. Four queens smolder up at me, all of them teasing. “Four ladies, Barrow,” she snickers. “What next? Going to bet your bleeding boots?”
I grin and swipe the cards into my pile, discarding my useless hand of red numbers and a single black prince. “They wouldn’t fit you,” I answer. “My feet aren’t canoes.”
She cackles loudly, tossing her head back as she kicks her toes out. Indeed, her feet are very long and thin. I hope, for the sake of resources, Cameron is all done growing. “Another round,” she goads, and holds out a hand for the cards. “I bet a week of laundry.”
Across from us, Cal stops his preparatory stretching to snort. “You think Mare does laundry?”
“Do you, Your Highness?” I snap back, grinning. He just pretends not to hear me.
The easy banter is both a balm and a distraction. I don’t have to dwell on the battle facing us if I’m being robbed blind by Cameron’s card skills. She learned in the factories, of course. I barely even understand how to play this game, but it helps me stay focused in the moment.
Beneath us, the dropjet sways, bouncing on a bubble of air turbulence. After many hours in flight, it doesn’t faze me, and I continue shuffling cards. The second bump is deeper, but no cause for alarm. The third sends the cards flying out of my hands, fanning out in midair. I slam back against my seat and fumble for my harness. Cameron does the same while Cal snaps himself back, his eyes flashing to the cockpit. I follow his gaze to see both pilots working furiously to keep the jet level.
More concerning is the view. It should be sunrise by now, but the sky ahead of us is black.
“Storms,” Cal breathes, meaning both the weather and the Silvers. “We have to climb.”
The words barely leave his lips before I feel the jet tip beneath me, angling upward to higher altitudes. Lightning flashes deep within the clouds. Real lightning, born of the thunderheads and not a newblood’s ability. I feel it thumping like a faraway heart.
I tighten my grip on the straps crossing over my chest. “We can’t land in that.”
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