For the first time in my life, I truly wonder what will happen if Tiberias Calore dies.
I think Iris is going to kill him.
TWENTY
Mare
The miles are few, but they feel endless. I keep my grip on the door handle, ready to spring out the second we roll onto the Port Road, wheels spinning beneath us. It’s just me, the electricons, and our driver. Even Ella is silent, staring out the window at the darkening sky. The smoke of New Town gives way to black, acrid clouds the closer we get to Harbor Bay. At first I’m grateful that I don’t have to speak to anyone. But as the minutes wear on, the silence grows thicker, heavier, pressing down on me. It makes it difficult to think of anything beyond the city ahead and the battle raging there. In the distance, the horizon seems to burn.
My mind spins out, filling in the blanks of what we might find. Each scenario is worse than the last. Surrender. Defeat. Farley dying. Tiberias pale and bleeding, his blood a silver halo.
The last time I was in Harbor Bay, I traveled through tunnels and alleyways. I didn’t tear through the streets in a military transport, escorted like some kind of dignitary or noble. I barely recognize the place.
I expect opposition as we roll into the city, but the battle lines are farther in than I thought. The streets are largely empty of everything but soldiers. All ours, marching to their posts or working their patrols. Once or twice, I spot a contingent of coalition soldiers flanking prisoners. Silvers handcuffed in iron, being led away to wherever we might be keeping them. Davidson’s orders, I assume. He knows how to leverage prisoners best.
The transport angles beneath me, beginning the gentle descent to the harbor.
“The coalition is forming up on the waterfront, fortifying our position before they try to push back into the fort,” our driver calls back to us. A radio in his console blares mostly static, but a few jumbled words get through. He relays what he can. “Sounds like the Air Fleet is holding the Nortan jets out at sea, and we’re doing what we can to win the warships in the harbor, but there’s Lakelander ships on the horizon.”
Across from me, Rafe curses under his breath. “Well out of range,” he mutters.
“Let me be the judge of that,” Ella replies sternly, still at the window.
Tyton leans back in his seat, his lips pursed. “So we hold the city. For now.”
“Seems like it,” I reply, still wary as ever.
The transport rolls on, passing larger buildings and more important-looking places. My body is tight as a coiled wire, ready to react if this calm is just a trap. A feint to lure Tiberias and the others into a false sense of security. I keep my teeth gritted together and the feel of lightning close. My fellow electricons do the same, each of them stern and ready to fight.
The churning waters of the harbor flash at the end of the street, beyond a scurrying crowd of soldiers. It looks like a storm has just passed through. Every surface is wet, and dark gray clouds are breaking up overhead, blown off by a furious gale. Waves lap at the curved shoreline, still foaming white like the surface of a boiling pot. I can see now that out in the harbor, Fort Patriot is a ruin, one half flooded, the other half burning. I can smell it, even across the water. The bridge to the fort is just as obliterated, parts of it overtaken by the sea.
My forehead touches the glass of the window as I strain to see more. Our soldiers busy themselves clearing debris, building makeshift walls, or setting machine guns. I search their ranks, looking for familiar faces as we drive onto the paved plaza lining the waterfront. They all look the same, even in their differing uniforms. Dirty-faced, bleeding both colors, exhausted and ready to drop. But alive.
Their ranks part for the transport as we round the water, heading toward the center of the waterfront and the now-smashed gates of the fort bridge. Ella and I bunch up at the right-hand window, craning for a better view. Across from us, Rafe does the same. Only Tyton remains still, glaring at his dirty boots.
“The ships are firing on each other,” Ella breathes, pointing out the battleships still in the harbor. “Look, three to one.”
I bite my lip, confused for only a moment. In the distance, the gray hulks bob in the water, rocking with the force of their own heavy guns. Indeed, three of them seem to be shooting at the fourth. I wonder which side has the upper hand. Our coalition—or Maven’s. Smaller boats venture into the choppy waters, carrying soldiers toward the battleships.
The transport barely halts before my boots hit the wet pavement, each step slick and precarious. I keep my balance, shoving through the crowd of soldiers. The other electricons follow. We make for the knot of officers near the waterline, watching over the boats moving across the harbor. In the distance, the fourth battleship rides the waves, tipping back and forth beneath the force of bombardment. I barely glance at it, hunting for familiar faces among the soldiers.
I see Farley first, her golden hair gleaming against the gray of battle. Binoculars dangle around her neck, forgotten for a moment. She barks orders in steady rhythm, gesturing between her officers. She doesn’t seem to notice the men stacking up crates, building a meager wall to protect their general. Some of the tension in my chest releases, and I breathe a bit easier.
Julian is here as well, to my relief. He and Queen Anabel hang close, both of them transfixed by the battleships in the harbor. Their stare is unwavering, and Anabel clutches Julian’s arm, her knuckles white against his sleeve.
The sight unsettles me, but I can’t say why.
“Where do you need us?” I clip, entering their circle as calmly as I can.
Farley rounds on me, sputtering, and I brace for the inevitable rebuke. “What are you doing here?” she snaps. “Is something wrong in New Town—”
“New Town is won,” Ella offers, crossing her arms at my side.
Rafe nods. “Put us to work here, General.”
“It’s Iris Cygnet out there,” Farley snarls, gesturing to the ships. Then she hesitates, teeth on edge. It makes me uneasy.
I put a hand to her arm. Maven’s queen is formidable, but not unbeatable. “Iris doesn’t scare me. Farley, let us help—”
Out in the harbor, a burst of red flame runs the length of the fourth ship, moving strangely. A massive, unnatural wave rises up to meet it, breaking across the deck. Another curl of fire erupts, spiraling in the air as more tongues of water twist and spray. They move together, an elemental dance that could only be the work of two very specific people.
My heart drops in my chest, frozen with fear. And fury.
The sky turns black above the harbor, clouds re-forming in an instant. Purple flashes deep within, matching the rhythm of my beating heart.
“What is he doing?” I snarl to no one, taking a step toward the water. Something snaps apart inside me. Any objective I might have had, all thoughts of the city, disappear in an instant.
“Easy, Mare,” I hear Ella say, trying to catch my arm, but I shove her off. I have to get to that ship. I have to stop him. “You don’t have the aim to help him from here!” she shouts, her voice fading. I’m faster in a crowd, more agile. They can’t keep up.
I work my way to the water’s edge. Desperation might swallow me whole. Cal is fighting a nymph, a powerful nymph. His greatest weakness. It terrifies me.
Boats shuttle back and forth across the harbor, the empty ones returning to load more soldiers. I watch with my teeth gritted so tightly they might shatter. Too slow.
“Teleporters!” I shout, desperate and in vain. The sound of the guns all but drowns me out. “Teleporters!” I scream again. No one comes running.
The boats might be slow-moving, but they’re my best chance. I have a foot in one when Farley catches up to me, seizing me by the shoulders. She all but drags me backward, my boots splashing through the shallow water of the docks.
I shrug her off, twisting with motions I learned a long time ago in the alleys of the Stilts. She stumbles but catches herself, hands outstretched. Her face flushes scarlet.
“Get m
e on that ship, Farley.” My voice shakes with anger. I feel like I might explode. “I’m not asking for your permission.”
“Okay,” she concedes, her eyes wide with a fear of her own. “Okay—”
A flash out on the water stills us both, and Farley’s words die on her lips. We watch in stunned silence as a succession of explosive rounds pummel into Iris’s ship, rocking the craft. Waves rise up to stabilize it, even as the explosions spread, red and angry, each an inferno reaching skyward. Smoke billows, black and reeking, as another wave pulls over the ship. Soldiers fall from the deck, splashing into the harbor below. From this distance, I can’t distinguish their uniforms. Red, green, or blue, I can’t tell.
But his armor flashes brightly against the fire, impossible to miss.
Without thinking, I rip the binoculars off Farley’s neck and press them to my eyes.
I feel frozen by what I see, rooted, unable to move.
Iris dodges a fireball, dipping with liquid motion, faster than Tiberias ever was. She dances out of his reach, circling even as the ship beneath them moves, churning its way toward the mouth of the harbor and the open ocean. The valiant, stupid Calore pursues.
Another wave hits him head-on, crashing blue and white with the full force of Iris Cygnet’s power. My heart stops in my chest as I imagine him crushed against the metal ship, drowning before my eyes.
He falls, his armor broken, splintered by battle, his scarlet cape torn to pieces. For such a large man, Tiberias makes such a tiny splash.
My vision spots, hazy with every emotion as my own brain overloads. Everything narrows, edged with black, until I can’t hear the crowd around me. Even Farley’s voice fades, her barking orders disappearing. I want to scream but find my teeth welded together. If I move, if I speak, all my restraint will disappear too. The lightning will have no mercy. All I can do is stare, stand, and pray to whoever might be listening.
Warm hands hold my shoulders as the electricons surround me, close enough to react if I lose control. Blue, green, white. Ella, Rafe, Tyton.
Cal, Cal, Cal.
Survive.
Nothing matters but the water, blue-and-white waves foaming with battle. Most of the soldiers who fell from the ships are still alive, bobbing up and down. But they aren’t wearing armor. They aren’t terrified of water. They didn’t face Iris Cygnet and lose. The glare from the sun makes it impossible to see much, but I squint anyway, until I can’t stand it anymore. Until I can’t open my eyes. The binoculars drop from my hands and smash.
The chaos on the water’s edge grows, until every soldier stands in wait, breathless to see the fate of the Calore prince. When they gasp as one, I force my eyes open and turn. Tyton’s grip on me turns viselike, his fingers pressed against my neck. He’ll knock me out if he has to, to protect everyone else from my sorrow.
I don’t know who dragged Tiberias out of the water, or which teleporter brought him to the shore. I don’t watch the healer as she bends, terrified, trying to save his life. I don’t care about Iris, still out in the harbor, making her escape. I can only look at him, even though I never want to see him like this. Each passing second is a ruin. I’ve been shot; I’ve been stabbed; I’ve been hollowed out. This is a thousand times worse.
Silver skin is a colder color than our own, as if drained of warmth. But I’ve never seen a Silver look like he does. His lips are blue, his cheeks like glowing moonlight, every inch of him soaking or bleeding. His eyes are shut. He isn’t breathing. Tiberias looks like a corpse. He could be a corpse.
Time stretches. I live in this cursed second, trapped, doomed to watch little pieces of his life ebb away. Kilorn survived in New Town. Will I lose Tiberias in Harbor Bay?
The healer puts her palms to his chest, sweat beading on her brow.
I pray to any god who might exist. To anyone who might listen.
Then I beg.
Water sprays from his mouth as he coughs violently, his eyes flying open at the same time. I almost collapse, and only the electricons keep me standing against the sudden rush. Gasping, I put a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound, only to feel tears on both my cheeks.
The crowd of people around him surges, Anabel moving to kneel at his side. Julian is there too. They croon over their boy, smoothing his hair, bidding him to lie still as the healer continues her work.
He nods weakly, still getting his bearings.
I turn away before he sees me and realizes how much I want to stay.
Ocean Hill was a favorite of Coriane, the dead queen I never knew. It’s a favorite of her son as well.
The palace is polished white stone with blue domed roofs crowned in silver flames, still magnificent even through the trailing smoke and falling ash. We circle the plaza in front of the palace gates, usually a mess of traffic. The only activity seems to be at the neighboring Security Center, now overrun with coalition soldiers. As we pass, they rip down the red, black, and silver banners, as well as the hung images of Maven Calore. One by one, they set fire to the symbols. I watch his face burn, blue eyes locked on mine through a devouring tangle of red flame.
The streets themselves are empty, and the fountain I remember, beautiful beneath a dome of crystal, is dry. War walks the stones of Harbor Bay.
The palace gates are already open, yawning wide for Farley and me. We’ve been here before, as intruders. Fugitives. Not today.
When the transport slows, Farley is quick to clamber out, gesturing for me to follow. But I hesitate, still haunted by the events of the morning. It’s only been a few hours since I watched Tiberias almost die. I can’t get the sight out of my head.
“Mare,” she prods, her voice low. It’s enough to snap me into action.
The cerulean doors of the palace swing open on silent hinges, revealing two members of the Scarlet Guard keeping watch. Their ripped scarves are ruby bright, hopelessly out of place, and a sharp, unmistakable sign.
We have returned here as conquerors.
Ocean Hill still reeks of disuse and abandonment. I don’t think Maven ever set foot inside once he became king. Coriane’s faded golden colors hang from the walls and vaulted ceiling. It remains a tomb to a forgotten queen, empty but for her memory and perhaps even her ghost.
I see an odd reversal as I walk, noting the faces around me. A few Reds of the Scarlet Guard keep watch, their weapons openly displayed, but most seem without purpose. Recovering in the wake of battle, dozing against opulent columns or lazily exploring the many salons and chambers branching off the central gallery. It’s the Silvers who busy themselves with more menial work, probably on Anabel’s orders. They have to prepare Tiberias’s new seat, his palace, to mark him as a legitimate ruler and king. They open windows, pull the covers from furniture, even dust off sills and statues. I blink at the sight, overwhelmed. Silvers doing housework. What a concept. The Red servants must have fled, and the Reds still here certainly won’t do it for them.
I don’t recognize anyone in passing. No Julian. Not even Anabel supervising as her sworn soldiers prepare the palace. It worries me, because there’s only one other place they could be. And clearly they have to be there.
I’m almost sprinting when Evangeline catches me, springing out from around a corner. Her armor is gone, discarded for lighter underclothes. If the battle was difficult for her, she certainly doesn’t look it. While everyone else is dirty, if not still bloody, Evangeline Samos looks fresh from a cold bath.
“Get out of my way” is all I can manage, trying to step around her. Farley halts, looking on with a glare.
“Let her go, Samos,” she snarls.
Evangeline ignores her. Instead she seizes my shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eye. I resist the familiar urge to deck her and instead let her look. To my surprise, she searches me over, eyes lingering on my many cuts and bruises.
“You should see a healer first; we have plenty,” she says. “You look horrible.”
“Evangeline—”
She sharpens. “He’s fine. I promise yo
u that.”
My eyes snap to hers. “I know that,” I hiss. “I saw him with my own eyes.” Even so, I clench my teeth at the memory, too fresh and still too painful.
He’s alive; he survived her, the nymph princess, I remind myself. His brother’s deadly queen. I could wring his neck for doing it, challenging a nymph in the middle of the Bay. I’ve seen Tiberias Calore balk at swimming across a stream. He hates water, fears it like nothing else. It’s the worst and easiest way for him to die.
Evangeline bites her lip, watching me. She likes something in what she sees. When she speaks again, her voice is changed, softened. A featherlight whisper. “I can’t forget it. How he sank like a stone, armor and all,” she says, moving close enough to speak in my ear. The words twist around me, prickling on my skin. “How long was it until the healers got him breathing again?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to remember. I know what you’re doing, Evangeline. And it’s working. Tiberias, pale and dead, his body soaked through. Mouth parted, eyes open and empty. Unseeing. Shade’s body was the same, and it haunts me still. When I open my eyes again, Tiberias’s corpse is still there, hovering in my mind. I can’t shake the sight.
“That’s enough,” Farley says, stepping bodily between us. She all but hauls me away, with Evangeline smirking.
She falls into step behind us, prodding me in the right direction like I’m a cow being led to pasture. Or slaughter.
I don’t know Ocean Hill, but I know palaces well enough to know what I’m looking for. We climb a garish, winding stairwell to the residences, a floor dotted with royal chambers and apartments. Up here, away from the more public levels, the dust is worse than ever. It puffs up from the carpet in clouds. Coriane’s colors are all over. Gold and yellow, pale and worn. Forgotten everywhere but here. I wonder if they bring her son pain. Her son who almost joined her in death.
War Storm Page 32