War Storm

by Aveyard, Victoria

  Between the blood and the ash, the low foothills smell and taste like death. I gulp down the wretched air anyway, trying to catch my breath.

  The remaining raiders know the battle is lost, and their engines begin to ebb away, attempting to escape into the wilderness. As they disappear, so does their influence, and the herd of beasts calms. They turn, charging away into the forest, leaving only corpses and trampled underbrush behind.

  “Was that what you call a bison?” I pant, glancing at Davidson.

  He nods grimly and I swallow around the irony. I can still feel the bison steak in my stomach, heavy as a stone.

  In the distance, some ways down the road, headlights flare out of the plain. I clench a fist, tensing for a second wave.

  But Tyton puts a hand on my arm. He looks down at me with flashing eyes. “It’s the Goldengrove transports. Reinforcements.”

  Relief floods me and I drop my shoulders, exhaling. The movement sends a twinge through the cut on my back. I hiss, wincing, and put up a hand to feel the damage. The gash is long, but not so deep.

  A few yards away, Tiberias watches me take stock of my wounds. He jumps when I meet his gaze and spins on his heel. “I’ll get you a healer,” he mutters, stalking off.

  “If you’re done crying over paper cuts, I could use some help.” Still on the ground, Farley gestures with one hand, her teeth clenched together tightly. Her gun lies in the dirt, surrounded by spent bullet casings. One of them saved my life.

  She leans to one side, careful not to move her right leg.

  Because her knee is . . . wrong.

  My vision swims for a second. I’ve seen many forms of injury, but the way her knee twists, the lower half of her leg out of position, something about it turns my stomach. I immediately forget the ache in my own muscles, the blood on my shoulder, even the touch of Silence, and rush to her side.

  “Don’t move,” I hear myself say.

  “No shit,” she growls back, her hands tight on mine.

  TEN

  Iris

  The mountains are steep and perilous, guarding the valley cities from siege or an army’s onslaught. The thick pines make for dangerous obstacles to any transport that dares to turn off their defended roadways. And the elevation alone is a deterrent, weakening any who might hope to climb their way up into the city’s jaws. They think themselves safe in their fortress of cliff and sky. They see no danger, for no army could hope to march to their door. But we are often made weak by what also makes us strong.

  Montfort is no exception.

  We land to the east outside their borders, well within the bounds of Prairie. Our dropjet is unmarked, freshly painted in Prairie gold for appearance sake. It blends well with the tall grass as it sways like waves beneath the morning light. No one notices our arrival, out on the distant plains. We flew carefully, first through the wilds of the Lakelands before crossing the open and empty landscape. The Prairie lords are far-flung, their lands too vast and sprawling to patrol properly. And they are preoccupied with their own doings. They don’t know we crossed their lands. No one knows we’re here.

  Except the raiders, of course.

  Their involvement is necessary, to lure as many as we can out of Ascendant. With any luck, Tiberias Calore will be one of them. According to Maven, his brother would never pass up an opportunity to fight. To show off, he added, scowling at the idea when we discussed this. I don’t know the exiled prince. I’ve never met Tiberias Calore. But the Lakelands is not a blind country. We collected intelligence on him and all the royal family. They were our enemies for more than a century, after all. The reports revealed an altogether predictable prince. Raised to be a military leader like his father. Hammered by duty and expectation. Formed into a person who values the crown above all else. The brothers have that in common, I think, along with a very peculiar Red girl.

  I have to agree with Maven’s assessment. If Tiberias really is here to bargain with Montfort, to strengthen their alliance, he will certainly try to prove himself and win their loyalty. What better way than to fight for them?

  The raiders meet us at the agreed-upon location, a rise allowing full view of the surrounding landscape. They are masked and veiled, sitting astride smoke-spitting, old-fashioned cycles with even their eyes obscured by riding goggles. Silvers, all of them. Exiled from their own lands when the mountain kingdoms fell. Stripped of their own birthrights as lords and rulers. They outnumber us, but I feel little fear. I am a warrior by birth, bred by the strongest nymphs in my kingdom. And my five escorts are just the same—strong, noble, and useful.

  Jidansa is still with me, eager to serve as well as protect. She’s careful to position herself between me and any raider who might come too close.

  I keep my head down, my own face shadowed. The raiders are an isolated kind, and they probably wouldn’t know a princess of the Lakelands or the queen of Norta on sight, but it’s best this way. The others speak for me, going over the arrangement.

  Our team of six is easy to transport, each of us clinging to one of the raiders as they ferry us across the plain. They know this land better than any of us, and we don’t even need to use our shadow of House Haven to hide our journey. Not yet.

  The mountains in the distance loom closer with every passing second. They look more like a wall than any mountains I’ve ever seen. Fear tries to eat at my resolve, but I don’t let it. Instead I narrow my eyes and sharpen my focus on the task at hand, leaving little room for anything else.

  As the hours bleed together, I run over the plan in my head. Each obstacle to be surmounted.

  Cross the border.

  That is done easily. The raiders know their paths and they know Montfort’s blind spots. They follow a stream through tight, dense pine forest, and only when we start climbing into the foothills do I realize we’re on the other side of the invisible dividing line between Prairie and Montfort.

  Pay for your passage.

  The string of jewels is mine. Sapphire, silver, and diamond. I hand them over at gunpoint. Our Haven shadow, a young, stocky Sentinel on loan from my royal husband, gives up the more valuable piece of the bargain. His own house is split, torn in two by the civil war erupting across Norta. The head of his house fights for Tiberias, but the majority of his kin remain at Maven’s side. An admirable thing, to be loyal to country and king over family. Even if that king is Maven Calore.

  He doesn’t wear his Sentinel mask, leaving the black-jeweled tradition behind. Without it, he seems human. Blue eyes, red hair gleaming in the sunlight. Sentinel Haven gives the raiders the location of our resource drop some miles north. Crates of food, coin, batteries, as well as arms and ammunition to feed their endeavors. The raiders waste no time leaving us on the eastern mountainside, as high as they could ride. I never see their faces. But at least one has blond hair, a few strands of it visible beneath his wrapped head coverings.

  Climb.

  The waterfalls are simple enough. They act as moving ladders, and I use the water to pull us up and over a great many cliffs. I eventually lose count of them. We follow the stream backward, against the current, with little difficulty. Between my ability and that of another nymph, Laeron of the Nortan House Osanos, all six of us manage to get into the high valley as the stars prick to life overhead. Still, the way is rough. The air thins and my breathing turns shallow, making my steps harder with every inch of the ascent. But I am no stranger to physical exertion. I trained at Citadel of the Lakes from childhood.

  The Haven man keeps his hands free, fingers twitching now and then. He blankets us in invisibility, allowing us to move through the pines unseen. It’s an odd thing, to look down at your own feet and see nothing but the underbrush. At least I don’t have to look at Rydal, the Rhambos strongarm. On the way up, his bulk was distorted by the two bodies strapped across his shoulders like a pack. Another part of my own plan. A bloody part.

  Again, I push away a shiver of fear.

  We began our climb farther north of the city, forcing us to
cut back south to reach the river. It is dammed downstream, in the valley where Ascendant lies, creating a crooked lake. I feel some weight lift when we reach the water, its banks quiet and empty. Together, the six of us descend beneath its surface, leaving no trace of ourselves behind.

  I turn my attentions on the current, creating a channel of flowing water along the riverbed. Laeron does as we planned. Bubbles form around our heads, giving each of us a shield of breathable air. It’s an old nymph trick, something a child could do. And so we pass in secret along the waterway, riding the current through the turns of the valley. It’s almost pitch-black, but I trust the water. The last miles pass in forced silence, filled only with the sound of my own breathing and my own pounding heartbeat.

  The Ascendant city lake is deep and full of fish. Once or twice, I jump at the brush of scales in darkness as we navigate to the edge of the water. I shrug off the sensation, focusing on the next step in my plan. Several fine estates have docks on the lake, and we use them as cover. I surface first, raising my eyes just above the waterline. After hours in the wilderness and underwater, even the soft lights of the city are glaring. I don’t blink or flinch. I force my eyesight to adjust as quickly as I can. We have a schedule to keep.

  No alarms yet. No warning signals. Good.

  Sentinel Haven shrouds us again as we leave the water, but even he can’t hide the wet footprints that trail us through the alleyways. That is left to Laeron and me. We wring ourselves dry with a few twists, using our abilities to squeeze every drop out. I condense the resulting puddles, casting away floating orbs of water into the nearest plant or gutter. Leaving no trace.

  I spent the flight to Prairie memorizing the layout of Ascendant, using the map from Bracken. It unsettles me to know so much of my plan is built on someone else’s work. I have to trust the information I was given, even if one wrong piece could mean failure. Though the Montfort capital is confusing, a jagged network of streets and steps along both sides of the valley floor, I was able to trace the quickest route from the dammed lake up to where Bracken’s children are being held.

  Not in the palace, according to the Piedmont spies, but in an observatory.

  From the safety of a dark and silent alleyway, I glance up the stepped slopes to the domed building high on the mountainside.

  My legs shudder at the thought of climbing another few thousand feet. But I push forward without a sound, schooling my breath to a low, even pace. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in tandem with my steps.

  The strongarm has little trouble with the stairs, despite the extra weight of his cargo. And the Haven Sentinel is better trained than any of us; raised to defend the king and his family, he is in prime physical form. The same can be said of Laeron. I’m loath to trust a Nortan, let alone three at my side, but it couldn’t be helped. An even representation was required for politics’ sake.

  Jidansa is the only companion I trust completely. The other Lakelander with us sets my teeth on edge. I loathe Niro of the Eskariol Line, but we need him and his talents. He’s a skin healer, a strange one. A person gifted with the ability to save life should not enjoy taking it as much as he does.

  I can hear him breathing, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as we ascend. Though I’m glad to have a healer as talented as he is at our backs, I wish he weren’t necessary. Niro takes too much delight in what he must do before the night is done.

  “With luck, they won’t be noticed until midday,” he whispers. “My work will be perfect.” His voice is smooth, silken. Niro comes from a long line of diplomats just as adept at healing political alliances as they are at fixing broken bones.

  “Keep silent,” I murmur back at him. The ghost of his presence is somehow colder than the mountain air.

  Ascendant is not undefended. Guard posts and patrols dot the way, though far less than I’ve seen in the Lakelands or the Nortan capital. These foolish Montfortans think their mountains and their secrets are enough to keep them safe.

  I glance over my shoulder, at the other side of the valley. I feel the swish of my black braid but can’t see it. What must be the premier’s palace sprawls across the height opposite us, with other estates and government buildings lining its edges. It gleams white in the starlight, with many lights glowing from balconies, windows, and terraces.

  Mare Barrow is in there. The lightning girl with a knack for survival.

  I thought her a delightful curiosity in Archeon. The Red girl leashed to a Silver king who seemed just as trapped by her as she was by him. I won’t pretend to understand why she bewitches Maven in such a way, but it must be his mother’s doing. No person of sound mind carries such obsession. And it cannot be love. No person capable of love acts the way he does.

  I never thought I would marry for love. I’m not naive enough for such daydreams. My parents grew to love and respect each other through their arrangement, and I hoped for that at least. Of course, Maven makes that hope impossible. I’ve had only small glimpses into his heart, and they are enough to know that his heart is dead.

  If the Bracken children were not our objective, if I actually hoped to maintain my Nortan crown, I might entertain the idea of killing Mare Barrow. Not for spite, but to hopefully give Maven some clarity. She is a motivation now, a carrot for him to follow, but she is a weakness too. And I need him weak. I need him distracted.

  As Mother said, Maven Calore will face the flood.

  They all will.

  The military contingent left ten minutes ago, their transports screaming up the mountain. I can still hear the echoes coming down the slope, reverberating through the streets and allies of the Montfort capital. The rest of the city clangs with alarm bells and warning signals. Just as planned. I blink, still shrouded in Sentinel Haven’s impenetrable shadow.

  The observatory guards abandoned their posts to assist the city, leaving behind a skeleton shift of two Montfort soldiers. At night, their green uniforms seem black. They stand out against the polished moonstone columns holding up the spangled dome of stained glass.

  Without a singer or a whisper to wipe the memories of both guards, we have no choice but to slip by them instead. It isn’t difficult, but I hold my breath as we do, weaving through the observatory columns.

  They flank the entrance, still and steady, accustomed to the clanging alarms. Raider attacks are common, I’m told, and of little threat to the capital.

  “On the plain?” one says to the other, turning his face.

  His compatriot shakes her head. “On the slopes. They hit the plains twice last month.”

  The male guard grins, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Plain. Bet you ten coppers.”

  “Don’t you get tired of losing your money to me?” she replies.

  As they laugh, grins wide, I press my hand to the lock of the door. With my other hand, I flick open the canteen holstered at my side. Under Sentinel Haven’s power, I can’t see what I’m doing, and so must rely on touch. It complicates things, but only enough to slow me down.

  The water swirls around my wrist, kissing my skin, before worming between my fingers and into the keyhole. It fits to the mechanism, filling the space as I exhale. Through the water, I press along the tumblers of the lock, touching each one, forming a key of my own making.

  I nudge sideways with my foot, reaching for Jidansa. She nudges back.

  Some yards away, a tree branch cracks under her ability, crashing to the paved stone. Perfectly masking the sound of a turning lock.

  “Raiders in the city?” the female guard says, her laughter replaced by panic.

  “No bet,” the man responds.

  They rush to investigate, leaving us to slip into the observatory undetected, unseen, unlooked for.

  Wary of any kind of security cameras, Sentinel Haven keeps us shrouded as we enter.

  “Laeron, through,” whispers the Nortan nymph. We sound off in turn, unable to see one another.

  “Jidansa.”

  “Rydal.”

  “Niro.”
/>   “Iris.”

  “Delos,” says the Haven Sentinel.

  Grinning, I ease the door shut behind us.

  Infiltrate the observatory prison. Done.

  I don’t allow myself a sigh of relief. That won’t come until I’m on the ground at home, with Bracken’s children safely returned. And even that is premature. As Mother would say, no use sleeping while there are wars to be won. And we certainly have a war exploding around us.

  Jidansa’s footsteps echo slightly as she rounds the room. Her search takes several long minutes, enough to put us on edge. The tension ratchets with the passing seconds, until she returns. I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “They’re truly foolish,” she says. “No cameras. Not one.”

  “How can that be?” I hear Laeron mutter.

  My teeth grit together. “Perhaps they don’t want a record of the children being here,” I reply, giving the only explanation I can think of. It shouldn’t affect me. Horrible things are done in war, even to Silvers. I know that firsthand. “Or what they’ve done to them.”

  The realization settles over us, another curtain of dread upon the pile.

  I raise my chin, smoothing my unseen hair, tucking pieces behind my ears. “Sentinel Haven, you may cease.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” I can hear him bow, and then I see it.

  We bleed into vision, all of us at once, as if a window has suddenly been wiped clean. Most look at their own limbs, examining themselves, but Niro is staring at me. He looks paler in the dim light filtering through the glass dome, which dapples his face in sickly green. His gaze feels like a challenge or perhaps an amusement. I dislike either option.