《King鈥檚 Cage (Red Queen Book 3)》


 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 1

    <i ss="calibre4">I rise to my</i>feet when he lets me.


    The chain jerks me up, pulling on the thorned cor at my throat. Its points dig in, not enough to draw blood¡ªnot yet. But I¡¯m already bleeding from the wrists. Slow wounds, worn from days of unconscious captivity in rough, ripping manacles. The color stains my white sleeves dark crimson and bright scarlet, fading from old blood to new in a testament to my ordeal. To show Maven¡¯s court how much I¡¯ve suffered already.


    He stands over me, his expression unreadable. The tips of his father¡¯s crown make him seem taller, as if the iron is growing out of his skull. It gleams, each point a curling me of ck metal shot with bronze and silver. I focus on the bitterly familiar thing so I don¡¯t have to look into Maven¡¯s eyes. He draws me in anyway, tugging on another chain I can¡¯t see. Only feel.


    One white hand circles my wounded wrist, somehow gentle. In spite of myself, my eyes snap to his face, unable to stay away. His smile is anything but kind. Slim and sharp as a razor, biting at me with every<span id="page_2" title="2">tooth. And his eyes are worst of all. Her eyes, ra¡¯s eyes. Once I thought them cold, made of living ice. Now I know better. The hottest fires burn blue, and his eyes are no exception.


    The shadow of the me. He is certainly aze, but darkness eats at his edges. Bruise-like splotches of ck and blue surround eyes bloodshot with silver veins. He has not slept. He¡¯s thinner than I remember, leaner, crueler. His hair, ck as a void, has reached his ears, curling at the ends, and his cheeks are still smooth. Sometimes I forget how young he is. How young we both are. Beneath my shift dress, the<i ss="calibre4">M</i>brand on my corbone stings.


    Maven turns quickly, my chain tight in his fist, forcing me to move with him. A moon circling a.


    ¡°Bear witness to this prisoner, this victory,¡± he says, squaring his shoulders to the vast audience before us. Three hundred Silvers at least, nobles and civilians, guards and officers. I¡¯m painfully aware of the Sentinels on the edge of my vision, their fiery robes a constant reminder of my quickly shrinking cage. My Arven guards are never out of sight either, their white uniforms blinding, their silencing ability suffocating. I might choke on the pressure of their presence.


    The king¡¯s voice echoes across the opulent stretches of Caesar¡¯s Square, reverberating through a crowd that responds in kind. There must be microphones and speakers somewhere, to carry the king¡¯s bitter words throughout the city, and no doubt the rest of the kingdom.


    ¡°Here is the leader of the Scarlet Guard, Mare Barrow.¡± In spite of my predicament, I almost snort.<i ss="calibre4">Leader.</i>His mother¡¯s death has not stemmed his lies. ¡°A murderer, a terrorist, a great enemy to our kingdom. And now she kneels before us, bare to her blood.¡±


    The chain jerks again, sending me scuttling forward, arms outstretched to catch my bnce. I react dully, eyes downcast. So much<span id="page_3" title="3">pageantry. Anger and shame curl through me as I realize the amount of damage this simple act will do to the Scarlet Guard. Reds across Norta will watch me dance on Maven¡¯s strings and think us weak, defeated, unworthy of their attention, effort, or hope. Nothing could be further from the truth. But there isn¡¯t anything I can do, not now, not here, standing on the knife edge of Maven¡¯s mercy. I wonder about Corvium, the military city we saw burning on our way to the Choke. There was rioting after my broadcast message. Was it the first gasp of revolution¡ªor thest? I have no way of knowing. And I doubt anyone will bother to bring me a newspaper.


    Cal warned me against the threat of civil war a long time ago, before his father died, before he was left with nothing but a tempestuous lightning girl.<i ss="calibre4">Rebellion on both sides,</i>he said. But standing here, leashed before Maven¡¯s court and his Silver kingdom, I see no division. Even though I showed them, told them of Maven¡¯s prison, of their loved ones taken away, of their trust betrayed by a king and his mother¡ªI am still the enemy here. It makes me want to scream, but I know better. Maven¡¯s voice will always be louder than mine.


    <i ss="calibre4">Are Mom and Dad watching?</i>The thought of it brings a fresh wave of sorrow, and I bite hard against my lip to keep more tears at bay. I know there are video cameras nearby, focused on my face. Even if I can¡¯t feel them anymore, I know. Maven would not miss the opportunity to immortalize my downfall.


    <i ss="calibre4">Are they about to see me die?</i>


    The cor tells me no. Why bother with this spectacle if he¡¯s just going to kill me? Another might feel relieved, but my insides turn cold with fear. He will not kill me. Not Maven. I feel it in his touch. His long, pale fingers still cling to my wrist, while his other hand still holds my leash. Even now, when I am painfully his, he won¡¯t let go. I would<span id="page_4" title="4">prefer death to this cage, to the twisted obsession of a mad boy king.


    I remember his notes, each one ending with the same strangement.


    <i ss="calibre4">Until we meet again.</i>


    He continues speaking, but his voice dulls in my head, the whine of a hoing too close, making every nerve stand on edge. I look over my shoulder. My eyes drift through the crowd of courtiers behind us. All of them stand proud and vile in their mourning ck. Lord Volo of House Samos and his son, Ptolemus, are splendid in polished, ebony armor with scaled silver sashes from hip to shoulder. At the sight of thetter, I see scarlet, raging red. I fight the urge to lunge and rip the skin from Ptolemus¡¯s face. To stab him through his heart the way he did my brother Shade. The desire shows, and he has the spine to smirk at me. If not for the cor and the silent guards restricting everything I am, I would turn his bones to smoking ss.


    Somehow his sister, an enemy of so many months ago, isn¡¯t looking at me. Evangeline, her gown spiked with ck crystal, is ever the glittering star of such a violent constetion. I suppose she¡¯ll be queen soon, having suffered her betrothal to Maven long enough. Her gaze is on the king¡¯s back, dark eyes fixed with burning focus on the nape of his neck. A breeze picks up, stirring her glossy curtain of silver hair, blowing it back from her shoulders, but she doesn¡¯t blink. Only after a long moment does she seem to notice me staring. And even then, her eyes barely flick to mine. They are empty of feeling. I am no longer worthy of her attention.


    ¡°Mare Barrow is a prisoner of the crown, and she will face the crown and council¡¯s judgment. Her many crimes must be answered for.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">With what?</i>I wonder.


    The crowd roars in response, cheering his decree. They are Silvers,<span id="page_5" title="5">but mon,¡± not of noble descent. While they revel in Maven¡¯s words, his court does not react. In fact, some of them turn gray, angry, stone-faced. None more so than House Merandus, their mourning garb shed with the dark blue of the dead queen¡¯s wretched colors. While Evangeline did not notice me, they fix on my face with startling intensity. Eyes of burning blue from every direction. I expect to hear their whispers in my head, a dozen voices burrowing like worms through a rotten apple. Instead, there is only silence. Perhaps the Arven officers nking me are not just jailers, but protectors as well, smothering my ability as well as the abilities of anyone who would use them against me. Maven¡¯s orders, I assume. No one else may hurt me here.


    No one but him.


    But everything hurts already. It hurts to stand, hurts to move, hurts to think. From the jet crash, from the sounder, from the crushing weight of the silencing guards. And those are only physical wounds. Bruises. Fractures. Pains that will heal if given the time. The same cannot be said of the rest. My brother is dead. I am a prisoner. And I don¡¯t know what really happened to my friends however many days ago when I struck this devil¡¯s bargain. Cal, Kilorn, Cameron, my brothers Bree and Tramy. We left them behind in the clearing, but they were wounded, immobilized, vulnerable. Maven could have sent any number of assassins back to finish what he started. I traded myself for them all, and I don¡¯t even know if it worked.Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org.


    Maven would tell me if I asked him. I can see it in his face. His eyes dart to mine after every vile sentence, punctuating every lie performed for his adoring subjects. To make sure I¡¯m watching, paying attention, looking at him. Like the child he is.


    I will not beg him. Not here. Not like this. I have pride enough for that.


    <span id="page_6" title="6">¡°My mother and father died fighting these animals,¡± he rails on. ¡°They gave their lives to keep this kingdom whole, to keep you safe.¡±


    Defeated as I am, I can¡¯t help but re at Maven, meeting his fire with a hiss of my own. We both remember his father¡¯s death. His murder. Queen ra whispered her way into Cal¡¯s brain, turning the king¡¯s beloved heir into a deadly weapon. Maven and I watched as Cal was forced to be his father¡¯s killer, cutting off the king¡¯s head and any chance Cal had of ruling. I have seen many horrible things since then, and still the memory haunts me.


    I don¡¯t remember much of what happened to the queen outside the walls of Corros Prison. The state of her body afterward was testament enough to what unbridled lightning can do to human flesh. I know I killed her without question, without remorse, without regret. My ravaging storm fed by Shade¡¯s sudden death. Thest clear image I have of the Corros battle is of him falling, his heart pierced by Ptolemus¡¯s needle of cold, unforgiving steel. Somehow Ptolemus escaped my blind rage, but the queen did not. At least the Colonel and I made sure the world knew what happened to her, disying her corpse during our broadcast.


    I wish Maven had some of her ability, so he could look into my head and see exactly what kind of ending I gave his mother. I want him to feel the pain of loss as terribly as I do.


    His eyes are on me as he finishes his memorized speech, one hand outstretched to better disy the chain binding me to him. Everything he does is methodical, performed for an image.


    ¡°I pledge myself to do the same, to end the Scarlet Guard and the monsters like Mare Barrow, or die in the attempt.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Die, then,</i>I want to scream.


    The roar of the crowd drowns out my thoughts. Hundreds cheer<span id="page_7" title="7">on their king and his tyranny. I cried on the walk across the bridge, in the face of so many ming me for their loved ones¡¯ deaths. I can still feel the tears drying on my cheeks. Now I want to weep again, not in sadness, but anger. How can they believe this? How can they stomach these lies?


    Like a doll, I am turned from the sight. With thest of my strength, I crane my neck over one shoulder, hunting for the cameras, the eyes of the world.<i ss="calibre4">See me,</i>I beg.<i ss="calibre4">See how he lies.</i>My jaw tightens, my eyes narrow, painting what I pray is a picture of resilience, rebellion, and rage.<i ss="calibre4">I am the lightning girl. I am a storm.</i>It feels like a lie. The lightning girl is dead.


    But it is thest thing I can do for the cause, and for the people I love still out there. They will not see me stumble in this final moment. No, I will stand. And though I have no idea how, I have to keep fighting, even here in the belly of the beast.


    Another tug forces me to spin around to face the court. Cold Silvers stare back, their skin undertoned by blue and ck and purple and gray, leached of life, with veins of steel and diamond rather than blood. They focus not on me, but on Maven himself. In them I find my answer. In them I see hunger.


    For a split second, I pity the boy king alone on his throne. Then, deep down, I feel the teasing breath of hope.


    <i ss="calibre4">Oh, Maven. What a mess you¡¯re in.</i>


    I can only wonder who will strike first.


    The Scarlet Guard¡ªor the lords anddies ready to slit Maven¡¯s throat and take everything his mother died for.


    He hands my leash over to one of the Arvens as soon as we flee the Whitefire steps, retreating into the yawning entrance hall of the pce.<span id="page_8" title="8">Strange. He was so fixated on getting me back, on putting me into his cage, but he tosses my chains away without so much as a nce.<i ss="calibre4">Coward,</i>I tell myself. He can¡¯t bring himself to look at me when it isn¡¯t for spectacle.


    ¡°Did you keep your promise?¡± I demand, breathless. My voice sounds raspy from days of disuse. ¡°Are you a man of your word?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t answer.


    The rest of the court falls in behind us. Their lines and rows are well practiced, based on theplicated intricacies of status and rank. Only I am out of ce, the first one to follow the king, walking a few steps behind where a queen should be. I could not be further from the title.


    I nce at therger of my jailers, hoping to see something besides blind loyalty in him. He wears a white uniform, thick, bulletproof, zipped tight up his throat. Gloves, gleaming. Not silk, but stic¡ªrubber. I flinch at the sight. Despite their silencing ability, the Arvens won¡¯t take any chances with me. Even if I manage to slip a spark past their continuous onught, the gloves will protect their hands and allow them to keep me cored, chained, caged. The big Arven doesn¡¯t meet my gaze, his eyes focused ahead while his lips purse in concentration. The other is just the same, nking me in perfect step with his brother or cousin. Their naked scalps gleam, and I¡¯m reminded of Lucas Samos. My kind guard, my friend, who was executed because I existed, and because I used him. I was lucky then, that Cal gave me such a decent Silver to keep me prisoner. And, I realize, I am lucky now. Indifferent guards will be easier for me to kill.


    Because they must die. Somehow. Some way. If I am to escape, if I want to reim my lightning, they are the first obstacles. The rest are easy to guess. Maven¡¯s Sentinels, the other guards and officers posted throughout the pce, and of course Maven himself. I¡¯m not leaving<span id="page_9" title="9">this ce unless I leave behind his corpse¡ªor mine.


    I think about killing him. Wrapping my chain around his neck and squeezing the life from his body. It helps me ignore the fact that every step takes me deeper into the pce, over white marble, past gilded, soaring walls, beneath a dozen chandeliers with crystal lights carved of me. As beautiful and cold as I remember. A prison of golden locks and diamond bars. At least I won¡¯t have to face its most violent and dangerous warden. The old queen is dead. Still, I shiver at the thought of her. ra Merandus. Her shadow ghosts through my head. Once she tore through my memories. Now she¡¯s one of them.


    An armored figure cuts through my re, sidling around my guards to nt himself between the king and me. He keeps pace with us, a dogged guardian even though he doesn¡¯t wear the robes or mask of a Sentinel. I suppose he knows I¡¯m thinking about strangling Maven. I bite my lip, bracing myself for the sharp sting of a whisper¡¯s assault.


    But no, he is not of House Merandus. His armor is obsidian dark, his hair silver, his skin moon white. And his eyes, when he looks over his shoulder at me¡ªhis eyes are empty and ck.


    <i ss="calibre4">Ptolemus.</i>


    I lunge teeth first, not knowing what I¡¯m doing, not caring. So long as I leave my mark. I wonder if Silver blood tastes different from Red.


    I never find out.


    My cor snaps backward, pulling me so violently my spine arches and I crash to the floor. A bit harder and I would¡¯ve broken my neck. The crack of marble on skull makes the world spin, but not enough to keep me down. I scramble, my sight narrowing to Ptolemus¡¯s armored legs, now turning to face me. Again I lurch for them, and again the cor pulls me back.


    ¡°Enough of this,¡± Maven hisses.


    <span id="page_10" title="10">He stands over me, halting to watch my poor attempts to repay Ptolemus. The rest of the procession has stopped too, many crowding forward to see the twisted Red rat fight in vain.


    The cor seems to tighten, and I gulp against it, reaching for my throat.


    Maven keeps his eyes on the metal as it shrinks. ¡°Evangeline, I said enough.¡±


    Despite the pain, I turn to see her at my back, one fist clenched at her side. Like him, she stares at my cor. It pulses as it moves. It must match her heartbeat.


    ¡°Let me loose her,¡± she says, and I wonder if I misheard. ¡°Let me loose her right here. Dismiss her guards, and I¡¯ll kill her, lightning and all.¡±


    I snarl back at her, every inch the beast they think I am. ¡°Try it,¡± I tell her, wishing with all my heart that Maven would agree. Even with my wounds, my days of silence, and my years of inferiority to the maron girl, I want what she offers. I beat her before. I can do it again. It is a chance, at least. A better chance than I could ever hope for.


    Maven¡¯s eyes snap from my cor to his betrothed, his face falling into a tight, searing scowl. I see so much of his mother in him. ¡°Are you questioning the orders of your king, Lady Evangeline?¡±


    Her teeth sh between lips painted purple. Her shroud of courtly manner threatens to fall away, but before she can say something truly damning, her father shifts just so, his arm brushing her own. His message is clear:<i ss="calibre4">Obey.</i>


    ¡°No,¡± she growls, meaning<i ss="calibre4">yes</i>. Her neck bends, inclining her head. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±


    The cor releases, widening back to size around my neck. It might even be looser than before. Small blessing that Evangeline is not so<span id="page_11" title="11">meticulous as she strives to appear.


    ¡°Mare Barrow is a prisoner of the crown, and the crown will do with her as it sees fit,¡± Maven says, his voice carrying past his vtile bride. His eyes sweep through the rest of the court, making his intentions clear. ¡°Death is too good for her.¡±


    A low murmur ripples through the nobles. I hear tones of opposition, but even more agreement.<i ss="calibre4">Strange.</i>I thought all of them would want me executed in the worst way, strung up to feed vultures and bleed away whatever ground the Scarlet Guard has gained. But I suppose they want worse fates for me.


    <i ss="calibre4">Worse fates.</i>


    That¡¯s what Jon said before. When he saw what my future held, where my path led. He knew this wasing. Knew, and told the king. Bought a ce at Maven¡¯s side with my brother¡¯s life and my freedom.


    I find Jon standing in the crowd, given a wide berth by the others. His eyes are red, livid; his hair prematurely gray and tied into a neat tail. Another newblood pet for Maven Calore, but this one wears no chains that I can see. Because he helped Maven stop our mission to save a legion of children before it could even begin. Told Maven our paths and our future. Gift-wrapped me for the boy king. Betrayed us all.


    Jon is already staring at me, of course. I don¡¯t expect an apology for what he did, and do not receive one.


    ¡°What about interrogation?¡±


    A voice I do not recognize sounds to my left. Still, I know his face.


    Samson Merandus. An arena fighter, a savage whisper, a cousin to the dead queen. He shoulders his way toward me, and I can¡¯t help but flinch. In another life I saw him make his arena opponent stab himself to death. Kilorn sat by my side and watched, cheering, enjoying thest hours of his freedom. Then his master died, and our entire world<span id="page_12" title="12">shifted. Our paths changed. And now I sprawl across wless marble, cold and bleeding, less than a dog at the feet of a king.


    ¡°Is she too good for interrogation, Your Majesty?¡± Samson continues, pointing one white hand in my direction. He catches me beneath the chin, forcing me to look up. I fight the urge to bite him. I don¡¯t need to give Evangeline another excuse to choke me. ¡°Think of what she¡¯s seen. What she knows. She¡¯s their leader¡ªand the key to unraveling her wretched kind.¡±


    He¡¯s wrong, but still my heartbeat thrums in my chest. I know enough to be of great damage. Tuck shes before my eyes, as well as the Colonel and the twins from Montfort. The infiltration of the legions. The cities. The Whistles across the country, now ferrying refugees to safety. Precious secrets carefully kept, and soon to be revealed. How many will my knowledge put in danger? How many will die when they crack me open?


    And that¡¯s just military intelligence. Worse still are the dark parts of my own mind. The corners where I keep my worst demons. Maven is one of them. The prince I remembered and loved and wished were real. Then there¡¯s Cal. What I¡¯ve done to keep him, what I¡¯ve ignored, and what lies I tell myself about his allegiances. My shame and my mistakes eat away, gnawing on my roots. I can¡¯t let Samson¡ªor Maven¡ªsee such things inside me.


    <i ss="calibre4">Please,</i>I want to beg. My lips do not move. As much as I hate Maven, as much as I want to see him suffer, I know he¡¯s the best chance I have. But pleading for mercy before his strongest allies and worst enemies will only weaken an already-weak king. So I keep quiet, trying to ignore Samson¡¯s grip on my jaw, focusing only on Maven¡¯s face.


    His eyes find mine for the longest and shortest of moments.


    ¡°You have your orders,¡± he says brusquely, nodding to my guards.


    <span id="page_13" title="13">Their grip is firm but not bruising as they lift me to my feet, using hands and chains to guide me out of the crowd. I leave them all behind. Evangeline, Ptolemus, Samson, and Maven.


    He turns on his heel, heading in the opposite direction, toward the only thing he has left to keep him warm.


    A throne of frozen mes.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 2

    <i ss="calibre4">I am never alone.</i>


    The jailers do not leave. Always two, always watching, always keeping what I am silent and suppressed. They don¡¯t need anything more than a locked door to make me a prisoner. Not that I can even get close to the door without being manhandled back to the center of my bedchamber. They¡¯re stronger than I am, and forever vignt. My only escape from their eyes is the small bathroom, a chamber of white tile and golden fixings, with a forbidding line of Silent Stone along the floor. There are enough of the pearly gray bs to make my head pound and my throat constrict. I have to be quick in there, and make use of every strangling second. The sensation reminds me of Cameron and her ability. She can kill someone with the strength of her silence. As much as I hate my guards¡¯ constant vigil, I will not risk suffocating on a bathroom floor for a few extra minutes of peace.


    Funny, I used to think my greatest fear was being left alone. Now I am anything but, and I¡¯ve never been more terrified.Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org.


    <span id="page_15" title="15">I have not felt my lightning in four days.


    Five.


    Six.


    Seventeen.


    Thirty-one.


    I notch each day in the baseboard next to the bed, using a fork to dig the passing time. It feels good to leave my mark, to inflict my own small injury on the prison of Whitefire Pce. The Arvens don¡¯t mind. They ignore me for the most part, focused only on total and absolute silence. They keep to their ces by the door, seated like statues with living eyes.


    This is not the same room I slept in thest time I was at Whitefire. Obviously it wouldn¡¯t be proper to house a royal prisoner in the same ce as a royal bride. But I¡¯m not in a cell either. My cage isfortable and well furnished, with a plush bed, a bookshelf stocked with boring tomes, a few chairs, a table to eat at, even fine curtains, all in neutral shades of gray, brown, and white. Leached of color, as the Arvens leach power from me.


    I slowly get used to sleeping alone, but nightmares gue me without Cal to keep them away. Without someone who cares for me. Every time I wake up, I touch the earrings dotting my ear, naming each stone. Bree, Tramy, Shade, Kilorn. Brothers in blood and bond. Three living, one a ghost. I wish I had an earring to match the one I gave Gisa, so I could have a piece of her too. I dream of her sometimes. Nothing<span id="page_16" title="16">concrete, but shes of her face, her hair red and dark as spilled blood. Her words haunt me like nothing else.<i ss="calibre4">One day people are going toe and take everything you have.</i>She was right.


    There are no mirrors, not even in the bathroom. But I know what this ce is doing to me. Despite the hearty meals and theck of exercise, my face feels thinner. My bones cut beneath skin, sharper than ever as I waste. There isn¡¯t much more to do than sleep or read one of the volumes on Nortan tax code, but still, exhaustion set in days ago. Bruises blossom from every touch. And the cor feels hot even though I spend my days cold, shivering. It could be a fever. I could be dying.


    Not that I have anyone to tell. I barely even speak through the days. The door opens for food and water, for the change in my jailers, and nothing more. I never see a Red maid or servant, though they must exist. Instead, the Arvens retrieve meals, linens, and clothes deposited outside, bringing them in for me to use. They clean up as well, grimacing as they perform such a lowly task. I suppose letting a Red in my room is too dangerous. The thought makes me smile. So the Scarlet Guard is still a threat, enough to warrant such rigid protocol that even servants aren¡¯t allowed near me.


    But then, it seems no one else is either. No onees to gawk or gloat over the lightning girl. Not even Maven.


    The Arvens do not talk to me. They don¡¯t tell me their names. So I give them some of my own. Kitten, the older woman smaller than me, with a tiny face and keen, sharp eyes. Egg, his head round, white, and bald like the rest of his guardian kin. Trio has three lines tattooed down his neck, like the dragging of perfect ws. And green-eyed Clover, a girl near my age, unwavering in her duties. She is the only one who dares look me in the eye.


    When I first realized Maven wanted me back, I expected pain, or<span id="page_17" title="17">darkness, or both. Most of all I expected to see him and endure my torment under his zing eyes. But I receive nothing. Not since the day I arrived and was forced to kneel. He told me then he would put my body on disy. But no executioners havee. Neither have the whispers, men like Samson Merandus and the dead queen, to pry my head open and unspool my thoughts. If this is my punishment, it is a boring one. Maven has no imagination.


    There are still the voices in my head, and so many, too many memories. They cut with a de¡¯s edge. I try to dull the pain with even duller books, but the words swim before my eyes, letters rearranging until all I see are the names of the people I left behind. The living and the dead. And always, everywhere, Shade.


    Ptolemus might have killed my brother, but I was the one to put Shade in his path. Because I was selfish, thinking myself some kind of savior. Because, once again, I put my trust in someone I shouldn¡¯t have and traded lives as a gambler does ying cards.<i ss="calibre4">But you liberated a prison. You freed so many people¡ªand you saved Julian.</i>


    A weak thought, an even weaker constion. I know now what the cost of Corros Prison was. And every day Ie to terms with the fact that, if given the choice, I would not pay it again. Not for Julian, not for a hundred living newbloods. I wouldn¡¯t save any of them with Shade¡¯s life.


    And it was all the same in the end. Maven had asked me to return for months, begging with every bloodstained note. He had hoped to buy me with corpses, with the bodies of the dead. But I¡¯d thought there was no trade I would make, not even for a thousand innocent lives. Now I wish I¡¯d done as he asked long ago. Before he thought toe for the ones I truly care for, knowing I would save them. Knowing that Cal, Kilorn, my family¡ªthey were the only bargain I was willing to<span id="page_18" title="18">make. For their lives, I gave everything.


    I guess he knows better than to torture me. Even with the sounder, a machine made to use my lightning against me, to split me apart, nerve by nerve.


    My agony is useless to him. His mother taught him well. My onlyfort is knowing that the young king is without his vicious puppeteer. While I am kept here, watched day and night, he is alone at the head of a kingdom, without ra Merandus to guide his hand and protect his back.


    It¡¯s been a month since I¡¯ve tasted fresh air, and almost as long since I saw anything but the inside of my room and the narrow view my single window affords.


    The window looks out over a courtyard garden, well past dead at the end of autumn. Its grove of trees is twisted by greenwarden hands. In leaf, they must look marvelous: a verdant crown of blossoms with spiraling, impossible branches. But bare, the gnarled oaks, elms, and beeches curl into talons; their dry, dead fingers scraping against one another like bones. The courtyard is abandoned, forgotten. Just like me.


    <i ss="calibre4">No,</i>I growl to myself.


    The others wille for me.


    I dare to hope. My stomach lurches every time the door opens. For a moment, I expect to see Cal or Kilorn or Farley, perhaps Nanny wearing another person¡¯s face. The Colonel, even. Now I would weep to see his scarlet eye. But no onees for me. No one ising for me.


    It¡¯s cruel to give hope where none should be.


    And Maven knows it.


    As the sun sets on the thirty-first day, I understand what he means to do.


    <span id="page_19" title="19">He wants me to rot. To fade. To be forgotten.


    Outside in the courtyard of bones, early snow drifts in flurries born of an iron-gray sky. The ss is cold to the touch, but it refuses to freeze.


    So will I.


    The snow outside is perfect in the morning light, a crust of white gilding barer trees. It¡¯ll melt by afternoon. By my count, it¡¯s December 11. A cold, gray, dead time in the echo between autumn and winter. The true snows won¡¯t set in until next month.


    Back home we used to jump off the porch into snowdrifts, even after Bree broke his leg when hended on a buried pile of firewood. Cost Gisa a month¡¯s wages to get him fixed up, and I had to steal most of the supplies our so-called doctor needed. That was the winter before Bree was conscripted, thest time our entire family was together. Thest time. Forever. We¡¯ll never be whole again.


    Mom and Dad are with the Guard. Gisa and my living brothers too.<i ss="calibre4">They¡¯re safe. They¡¯re safe. They¡¯re safe.</i>I repeat the words as I do every morning. They are afort, even if they might not be true.


    Slowly, I push away my te of breakfast. The now-familiar spread of sugary oatmeal, fruit, and toast holds nofort for me.


    ¡°Finished,¡± I say out of habit, knowing no one will reply.


    Kitten is already at my side, sneering at the half-eaten food. She picks up the te as one would a bug, holding it at arm¡¯s length to carry it to the door. I raise my eyes quickly, hoping for a single glimpse of the antechamber outside my room. Like always, it¡¯s empty, and my heart sinks. She drops the te on the floor with a tter, maybe breaking it, but that¡¯s not her concern. Some servant will clean it up. The door shuts behind her, and Kitten returns to her seat. Trio upies the other<span id="page_20" title="20">chair, his arms crossed, eyes unblinking as he stares at my torso. I can feel his ability and hers. They feel like a nket wrapped too tight, keeping my lightning pinned and hidden, far away in a ce where I cannot even begin to go. It makes me want to tear my skin off.


    I hate it. I hate it.


    I. Hate. It.


    <i ss="calibre4">Smash.</i>


    I throw my water ss against the opposite wall, letting it stter and splinter against horrible gray paint. Neither of my guards flinches. I do this a lot.


    And it helps. For a minute. Maybe.


    I follow the usual schedule, the one I¡¯ve developed over thest month of captivity. Wake up. Immediately regret it. Receive breakfast. Lose appetite. Have food taken away. Immediately regret it. Throw water. Immediately regret it. Strip bed linens. Maybe rip up the sheets, sometimes while shouting. Immediately regret it. Attempt to read a book. Stare out window. Stare out window. Stare out window. Receive lunch. Repeat.


    I¡¯m a very busy girl.


    Or I guess I should say woman.


    Eighteen is the arbitrary divide between child and adult. And I turned eighteen weeks ago. November 17. Not that anyone knew or noticed. I doubt the Arvens care that their charge is another year older. Only one person in this prison pce would. And he did not visit, to my relief. It¡¯s the single blessing to my captivity. While I am held here, surrounded by the worst people I¡¯ll ever know, I don¡¯t have to suffer his presence.


    Until today.


    The utter silence around me shatters, not with an explosion, but<span id="page_21" title="21">with a click. The familiar turn of the door lock. Off schedule, without warrant. My head snaps to the sound, as do the Arvens¡¯, their concentration breaking in surprise. Adrenaline bleeds into my veins, driven by my suddenly thrumming heart. In the split second, I dare to hope again. I dream of who could be on the other side of the door.


    My brothers. Farley. Kilorn.


    <i ss="calibre4">Cal.</i>


    I want it to be Cal. I want his fire to consume this ce and all these people whole.


    But the man standing on the other side is no one I recognize. Only his clothes are familiar¡ªck uniform, silver detailing. A Security officer, nameless and unimportant. He steps into my prison, holding the door open with his back. More of his like gather outside the doorway, darkening the antechamber with their presence.


    The Arvens jump to their feet, just as surprised as I am.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Trio sneers. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve ever heard his voice.


    Kitten does as she is trained to do, stepping between me and the officer. Another burst of silence knocks into me, fed by her fear and confusion. It crashes like a wave, eating at the little bits of strength I still have left. I stay rooted in my chair, loath to fall down in front of other people.


    The Security officer says nothing, staring at the floor. Waiting.


    She enters in reply, in a gown made of needles. Her silver hair has beenbed and braided with gems in the fashion of the crown she hungers to wear. I shudder at the sight of her, perfect and cold and sharp, a queen in bearing if not yet title. Because she¡¯s still not a queen. I can tell.


    ¡°Evangeline,¡± I murmur, trying to hide the tremors in my voice,<span id="page_22" title="22">both from fear and disuse. Her ck eyes pass over me with all the tenderness of a cracking whip. Head to toe and back again, noting every imperfection, every weakness. I know there are many. Finally her gazends on my cor, taking in the pointed metal edges. Her lip curls in disgust, and also hunger. How easy it would be for her to squeeze, to drive the points of the cor into my throat and bleed me bone-dry.


    ¡°Lady Samos, you are not permitted to be here,¡± Kitten says, still standing between us. I¡¯m surprised by her boldness.


    Evangeline¡¯s eyes flicker to my guard, her sneer spreading. ¡°You think I would disobey the king, my betrothed?¡± She forces a coldugh. ¡°I am here on his orders. Hemands the presence of the prisoner at court. Now.¡±


    Each word stings. A month of imprisonment suddenly seems far too short. Part of me wants to grab on to the table and force Evangeline to drag me out of my cage. But even istion has not broken my pride. Not yet.


    <i ss="calibre4">Not ever,</i>I remind myself. So I stand on weak limbs, joints aching, hands quivering. A month ago I attacked Evangeline¡¯s brother with little more than my teeth. I try to summon as much of that fire as I can, if only to stand up straight.


    Kitten keeps her ground, unmoving. Her head tips to Trio, locking eyes with her cousin. ¡°We had no word. This is not protocol.¡±


    Again Evangelineughs, showing white, gleaming teeth. Her smile is beautiful and violent as a de. ¡°Are you refusing me, Guard Arven?¡± As she speaks, her hands wander to her dress, running perfect white skin through the forest of needles. Bits of it stick to her like a ma, and shees away with a handful of spikes. She palms the clinging slivers of metal, patient, waiting, one eyebrow raised. The Arvens know better than to extend their crushing silence to a Samos<span id="page_23" title="23">daughter, let alone the future queen.


    The pair of them exchange wordless nces, clearlying down on either side of Evangeline¡¯s question. Trio furrows his brow, ring, and finally Kitten sighs aloud. She steps away. She backs down.


    ¡°A choice I¡¯ll not forget,¡± Evangeline murmurs.


    I feel exposed before her, alone in front of her piercing eyes despite the other guards and officers looking on. Evangeline knows me, knows what I am, what I can do. I almost killed her in the Bowl of Bones, but she ran, afraid of me and my lightning. She is certainly not afraid now.


    Deliberate, I take a step forward. Toward her. Toward the blissful emptiness that surrounds her, allowing her ability. Another step. Into the free air, into electricity. Will I feel it immediately? Will ite rushing back? It must. It has to.


    But her sneer bleeds into a smile. She matches my pace, moving back, and I almost snarl. ¡°Not so fast, Barrow.¡±


    It¡¯s the first time she¡¯s ever said my real name.


    She snaps her fingers, pointing at Kitten. ¡°Bring her along.¡±


    They drag me like they did the first day I arrived, chained at the cor, my leash tightly grasped in Kitten¡¯s fist. Her silence and Trio¡¯s continue, beating like a drum in my skull. The long walk through Whitefire feels like sprinting miles, though we move at an easy pace. As before, I am not blindfolded. They don¡¯t bother to try to confuse me.


    I recognize more and more as we get closer to our destination, cutting down passages and galleries I explored freely a lifetime ago. Back then I didn¡¯t feel the need to sort them. Now I do my best to map the pce in my head. I¡¯ll certainly need to know itsyout if I ever n to get out of here alive. My bedchamber faces east, and it is on the fifth floor; that much I know from counting windows. I remember<span id="page_24" title="24">Whitefire is shaped like interlocking squares, with each wing surrounding a courtyard like the one my room looks out on. The view out the tall, arched windows changes with every new passageway. A courtyard garden, Caesar¡¯s Square, the long stretches of the training yard where Cal drilled with his soldiers, the distant walls and the rebuilt Bridge of Archeon beyond. Thankfully we never pass through the residences where I found Julian¡¯s journal, where I watched Cal rage and Maven quietly scheme. I¡¯m surprised by how many memories the rest of the pce holds, despite my short time here.


    We pass a block of windows on anding, looking west across the barracks to the Capital River and the other half of the city beyond it. The Bowl of Bones nestles among the buildings, its hulking form too familiar. I know this view. I stood in front of these windows with Cal. I lied to him, knowing an attack woulde that night. But I didn¡¯t know what it would do to either of us. Cal whispered then that he wished things were different. I share thement.


    Cameras must follow our progress, though I can no longer feel them. Evangeline says nothing as we descend to the main floor of the pce with her officers in tow, a flocking troop of ckbirds around a metal swan. Music echoes from somewhere. It pulses like a swollen and heavy heart. I¡¯ve never heard such music before, not even at the ball I attended or during Cal¡¯s dancing lessons. It has a life of its own, something dark and twisting and oddly inviting. Ahead of me, Evangeline¡¯s shoulders stiffen at the sound.


    The court level is oddly empty, with only a few guards posted along the passages. Guards, not Sentinels, who will be with Maven. Evangeline doesn¡¯t turn right, as I expect, to enter the throne room through the grand, arching doors. Instead, she surges forward, all of us in tow, pushing into another room I know all too well.


    <span id="page_25" title="25">The council chamber. A perfect circle of marble and polished, gleaming wood. Seats ring the walls, and the seal of Norta, the Burning Crown, dominates the ornate floor. Red and ck and royal silver, with points of bursting me. I almost stumble at the sight of it, and I have to shut my eyes. Kitten will pull me through the room, I have no doubt of that. I¡¯ll dly let her drag me if it means I don¡¯t have to see any more of this ce. Walsh died here, I remember. Her face shes behind my eyelids. She was hunted down like a rabbit. And it was wolves that caught her¡ªEvangeline, Ptolemus, Cal. They captured her in the tunnels beneath Archeon, following her orders from the Scarlet Guard. They found her, dragged her here, and presented her to Queen ra for interrogation. It never got that far. Because Walsh killed herself. She swallowed a murderous pill in front of us all, to protect the secrets of the Scarlet Guard. To protect me.


    When the music triples in volume, I open my eyes again.


    The council chamber is gone, but the sight before me is somehow worse.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 3

    <i ss="calibre4">Music dances on the</i>air, undercut with the sweet and sickening bite of alcohol as it permeates every inch of the magnificent throne room. We step out onto anding elevated a few feet above the chamber floor, allowing a grand view of the raucous party¡ªand a few moments before anyone realizes we¡¯re here.


    My eyes dart back and forth, on edge, on defense, searching every face and every shadow for opportunity, or danger. Silk and gemstones and beautiful armor wink beneath the light of a dozen chandeliers, creating a human constetion that surges and twists on the marble floor. After a month of imprisonment, the sight is an assault on my senses, but I gulp it in, a girl starved. So many colors, so many voices, so many familiar lords anddies. For now they take no notice of me. Their eyes do not follow. Their focus is on one another, their cups of wine and multicolored liquor, the harried rhythm, the fragrant smoke curling through the air. This must be a celebration, a wild one, but for what, I have no idea.


    Naturally, my mind flies. Have they won another victory? Against<span id="page_27" title="27">Cal, against the Scarlet Guard? Or are they still cheering my capture?


    One look at Evangeline is answer enough. I¡¯ve never seen her scowl this way, not even at me. Her catlike sneer turns ugly, angry, full of rage like I can¡¯t imagine. Her eyes darken, shifting over the disy. They are ck like a void, swallowing up the sight of her people in a state of ultimate bliss.


    Or, I realize, ignorance.


    At someone¡¯smand, a flurry of Red servants push off the far wall and move through the chamber in practiced formation. They carry trays of crystal goblets with liquid like ruby, gold, and diamond starlight. By the time they reach the opposite side of the crowd, their trays are empty and are quickly refilled. Another pass, and the trays empty again. How some of the Silvers are still standing, I have no idea. They continue in their revelry, talking or dancing with hands wed around their sses. A few puff on intricate pipes, blowing oddly colored smoke into the air. It doesn¡¯t smell like tobo, which many of the elders in the Stilts jealously hoard. I watch sparks in their pipes with envy, each one a pinprick of light.


    Worse is the sight of the servants, the Reds. They make me ache. What I would give to take their ce. To be only a servant instead of a prisoner.<i ss="calibre4">Stupid,</i>I scold myself.<i ss="calibre4">They are imprisoned same as you. Just like all of your kind. Trapped beneath a Silver boot, though some have more room to breathe.</i>


    Because of him.


    Evangeline descends from thending, and the Arvens force me to follow. The stairs lead us directly to the dais, another elevated tform high enough to denote its ultimate importance. And of course a dozen Sentinels stand upon it, masked and armed, terrifying in every inch.


    I expect the thrones I remember. Diamondss mes for the<span id="page_28" title="28">king¡¯s seat, sapphire and polished white gold for the queen¡¯s. Instead, Maven sits upon the same kind of throne I saw him rise from a month ago, when he held me chained in front of the world.


    No gems, no precious metals. Just bs of gray stone swirled with something shiny, t-edged, and brutally absent of insignia. It looks cold to the touch and ufortable, not to mention terribly heavy. It dwarfs him, making him seem younger and smaller than ever. To look powerful is to be powerful. A lesson I learned from ra, though somehow Maven didn¡¯t. He seems the boy he is, sharply pale against his ck uniform, the only color on him the bloodred lining of his cape, a silver riot of medals, and the shivering blue of his eyes.


    King Maven of House Calore meets my gaze the moment he knows I¡¯m here.


    The instant hangs, suspended on a thread of time. A canyon of distractions yawns between us, filled with so much noise and graceful chaos, but the room might as well be empty.


    I wonder if he notices the difference in me. The sickness, the pain, the torture my quiet prison has put me through. He must. His eyes slide over my pronounced cheekbones to my cor, down to the white shift they dress me in. I¡¯m not bleeding this time, but I wish I were. To show everyone what I am, what I¡¯ve always been. Red. Wounded. But alive. As I did before the court, before Evangeline a few minutes ago, I straighten my spine, and stare with all the strength and usation I have to give. I take him in, looking for the cracks only I can see. Shadowed eyes, twitching hands, posture so rigid his spine might shatter.


    <i ss="calibre4">You are a murderer, Maven Calore, a coward, a weakness.</i>


    It works. He tears his eyes away from me and springs to his feet, both hands still gripping the arms of his throne. His rage falls like the blow from a hammer.


    <span id="page_29" title="29">¡°Exin yourself, Guard Arven!¡± he erupts at my closest jailer.


    Trio jumps in his boots.


    The outburst stops the music, the dancing, and the drinking in the span of a heartbeat.


    ¡°S-Sir¡ª¡± Trio sputters, and one of his gloved hands grips my arm. It bleeds silence, enough to make my heartbeat slow. He tries to find an exnation that doesn¡¯t ce me on himself, or the future queen, butes up short.


    My chain trembles in Kitten¡¯s hand, but her grip is still tight.


    Only Evangeline is unaffected by the king¡¯s wrath. She expected this response.


    He didn¡¯t order her to bring me. There was no summons at all.


    Maven is not a fool. He waves a hand at Trio, ending his mumbling with a single motion. ¡°Your feeble attempt is answer enough,¡± he says. ¡°What do you have to say for yourself, Evangeline?¡±


    In the crowd, her father stands tall, watching with wide, stern eyes. Another might call him afraid, but I don¡¯t think Volo Samos has the power to feel emotion. He simply strokes his pointed silver beard, his expression unreadable. Ptolemus is not so gifted at hiding his thoughts. He stands on the dais with the Sentinels, the only one without fiery robes or a mask. Though his body is still, his eyes dart between the king and his sister, and one fist clenches slowly.<i ss="calibre4">Good. Fear for her as I feared for my brother. Watch her suffer as I watched him die.</i>


    Because what else can Maven do now? Evangeline has deliberately disobeyed his orders, leaping past the allowances their betrothal allows. If I know anything, I know that to cross the king is to be punished. And to do it here, in front of the entire court? He might just execute her on the spot.


    If Evangeline thinks she¡¯s risking death, she doesn¡¯t show it. Her<span id="page_30" title="30">voice never cracks or wavers. ¡°You ordered the terrorist to be imprisoned, shut away like a useless bottle of wine, and after a month of council deliberation, there has been no agreement on what is to be done with her. Her crimes are many, worthy of a dozen deaths, a thousand lifetimes in our worst jails. She killed or maimed hundreds of your subjects since she was discovered, your own parents included, and still she rests in afortable bedchamber, eating, breathing¡ªalive without the punishment she deserves.¡±


    Maven is his mother¡¯s son, and his court facade is nearly perfect. Evangeline¡¯s words don¡¯t seem to bother him in the slightest.


    ¡°The punishment she deserves,¡± he repeats. Then he looks to the room, one corner of his chin raised. ¡°So you brought her here. Really, are my parties that bad?¡±


    A thrum ofughter, both genuine and forced, ripples through the rapt crowd. Most of them are drunk, but there are enough clear heads to know what¡¯s going on. What Evangeline has done.


    Evangeline pulls a courtly smile that looks so painful I expect her lips to start bleeding at the corners. ¡°I know you are grieving for your mother, Your Majesty,¡± she says without a hint of sympathy. ¡°As we all are. But your father would not act this way. The time for tears is over.¡±


    Thosest are not her words, but the words of Tiberias the Sixth. Maven¡¯s father, Maven¡¯s ghost. His mask threatens to slip for a moment, and his eyes sh with equal parts dread and anger. I remember those words as well as he does. Spoken before a crowd just like this, in the wake of the Scarlet Guard¡¯s execution of political targets. Targets chosen by Maven, fed to him by his mother. We did their dirty work, while they added to the body count with an atrocious attack of their own. They used me, used the Guard to eliminate some of their enemies<span id="page_31" title="31">and demonize others in one fell swoop. They destroyed more, killed more than any of us ever wanted.


    I can still smell the blood and smoke. I can still hear a mother weeping over her dead children. I can still hear the words framing the rebellion for it all.


    ¡°Strength, power, death,¡± Maven murmurs, his teeth clicking. The words scared me then, and they terrify me now. ¡°What do you suggest, mydy? A beheading? A firing squad? Do we take her apart, piece by piece?¡±


    My heart gallops in my chest. Would Maven allow such a thing? I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know what he would do. I have to remind myself, I don¡¯t even know<i ss="calibre4">him</i>. The boy I thought him to be was an illusion. But the notes, brutally left, but full of pleas for me to return? The month of quiet, gentle captivity? Perhaps those were false too, another trick to ensnare me. Another kind of torture.


    ¡°We do as thew requires. As your father would have done.¡±


    The way she says<i ss="calibre4">father</i>, using the word as brutally as she would any knife, is confirmation enough. Like so many people in this room, she knows Tiberias the Sixth did not end the way the stories say.


    Still, Maven grips his throne, white-knuckling the gray bs. He nces at the court, feeling their eyes upon him, before sneering back at Evangeline. ¡°Not only are you not a member of my council, but you did not know my father well enough to know his mind. I am a king as he was, and I understand the things that must be done for victory. Ourws are sacred, but we are fighting two wars now.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Two wars.</i>


    Adrenaline pulses through me so quickly I think my lightning has returned. No, not lightning. Hope. I bite my lip to keep from grinning.<span id="page_32" title="32">Weeks into my captivity the Scarlet Guard continues, and thrives. Not only are they still fighting, but Maven admits it openly. They are impossible to hide or dismiss now.


    Despite the need to know more, I keep my mouth shut.


    Maven burns a stare through Evangeline. ¡°No enemy prisoner, especially not one as valuable as Mare Barrow, should be wasted onmon execution.¡±


    ¡°You waste her still!¡± Evangeline argues, firing back so quickly I know she must have practiced for this argument. She takes a few more steps forward, closing the distance between herself and Maven. It all seems a show, an act, something yed out on the tform for the court to witness. But for whose benefit? ¡°She sits collecting dust, doing nothing, giving us nothing, while Corvium burns!¡±


    Another jewel of information to keep close.<i ss="calibre4">More, Evangeline. Give me more.</i>


    I saw the fortress city, the heart of the Nortan military, erupt in riots with my own eyes a month ago. It¡¯s still happening. Mention of Corvium sobers the crowd. Maven does not miss it, and he fights to keep his calm.


    ¡°The council is days away from a decision, mydy,¡± he says through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty. I know you wish to honor your council as best you can, even the weakest parts of it. Even the cowards who cannot do what must be done.¡± Another step closer, and her voice softens to a purr. ¡°But you are the king. The decision is yours.¡±


    Masterful, I realize. Evangeline is just as adept at maniption as any other. In a few words, she¡¯s not only saved Maven from appearing weak, but also forced him to follow her will to maintain an image of strength. In spite of myself, I draw in a harried breath. Will he do as<span id="page_33" title="33">she bids? Or will he refuse, throwing fuel on the fire of insurrection already zing through the High Houses?


    Maven is no fool. He understands what Evangeline is doing, and he keeps his focus on her. They hold each other¡¯s gaze,municating with forced smiles and sharp eyes.


    ¡°Queenstrial certainly did bring forth the most talented daughter,¡± he says, taking her hand. Both of them look disgusted by the action. His head snaps to the crowd, looking to a lean man in dark blue. ¡°Cousin! Your petition of interrogation is granted.¡±


    Samson Merandus snaps to attention and emerges from the crowd, clear-eyed. He bows, almost grinning. Blue robes billow, dark as smoke. ¡°Thank you, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    The word wrenches itself from me.


    ¡°No, Maven!¡±


    Samson moves quickly, ascending the tform with controlled fury. He closes the distance between us in a few determined strides, until his eyes are the only thing in my world. Blue eyes, ra¡¯s eyes, Maven¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Maven!¡± I gasp again, begging even though it will do nothing. Begging even though it burns my pride to think I¡¯m asking him for anything. But what else is there to do? Samson is a whisper. He¡¯ll destroy me from the inside out, search everything I am, everything I know. How many people will die because of what I¡¯ve seen? ¡°Maven, please! Don¡¯t let him do this!¡±


    I¡¯m not strong enough to break Kitten¡¯s grasp on my chain, or even struggle much when Trio seizes my shoulders. Both of them hold me in ce with ease. My eyes sh from Samson to Maven. One hand on his throne, one hand in Evangeline¡¯s.<i ss="calibre4">I miss you,</i>his notes said. He is<span id="page_34" title="34">unreadable, but at least he¡¯s looking.


    Good. If he won¡¯t save me from this nightmare, I want him to see it happen.


    ¡°Maven,¡± I whisper onest time, trying to sound like myself. Not the lightning girl, not Mareena the lost princess, but Mare. The girl he watched through the bars of a cell and pledged to save. But that girl isn¡¯t enough. He drops his eyes. He looks away.


    I am alone.


    Samson takes my throat in his hand, squeezing above the metal cor, forcing me to look into his wretched, familiar eyes. Blue as ice, and just as unforgiving.


    ¡°You were wrong to kill ra,¡± he says, not bothering to temper his words. ¡°She was a surgeon with minds.¡±


    He leans in, hungry, a starving man about to devour a meal.


    ¡°I am a butcher.¡±


    When the sounder device leveled me, I wallowed in agony for three long days. A storm of radio waves turned my own electricity against me. It resounded in my skin, rattling between my nerves like bolts in a jar. It left scars. Jagged lines of white flesh down my neck and spine, ugly things that I¡¯m still not used to. They twinge and tug at odd angles, making benign movements painful. Even my smiles are tainted, smaller in the wake of what was done to me.


    Now I would beg for it if I could.This text is property of N?/velD/rama.Org.


    The screeching click of a sounder as it peels me apart would be a heaven, a bliss, a mercy. I would rather be broken in bone and muscle, shattered down to teeth and fingernails, obliterated in every inch, than suffer another second of Samson¡¯s whispers.


    I can feel him. His mind. Filling up my corners like a corruption or<span id="page_35" title="35">a rot or a cancer. He scrapes inside my head with sharp skin and even sharper intentions. Any part of me not taken by his poison writhes in pain. He enjoys doing this to me. This is his revenge, after all. For what I did to ra, his blood and his queen.


    She was the first memory he tore from me. Myck of remorse incensed him, and I regret it now. I wish I could¡¯ve forced some sympathy, but the image of her death was too frightening for much more than shock. I remember it now. He forces me to.


    In an instant of blinding pain, sucking me backward through my memories, I find myself back in the moment I killed her. My ability draws lightning out of the sky in ragged lines of purple-white. One strikes her head-on, cascading into her eyes and mouth, down her neck and arms, from fingers to toes and back again. The sweat on her skin boils to steam, her flesh chars until it smokes, and the buttons on her jacket turn red hot, burning through cloth and skin. She jerks, tearing at herself, trying to be rid of my electric rage. Her fingertips rip clean, exposing bone, while the muscles of her beautiful face go ck, drooping from the relentless pull of jumping currents. Ash-white hair burns ck and smolders, disintegrating. And the smell. The sound. She screams until her vocal cords pull apart. Samson makes sure the scene passes slowly, his ability manipting the forgotten memory until every second brands itself into my conscience. A butcher indeed.


    His rage sends me spinning with nothing to cling to, caught in a storm I cannot control. All I can do is pray not to see what Samson is searching for. I try to keep Shade¡¯s name from my thoughts. But the walls I put up are little more than paper. Samson rips through them gleefully. I feel each one being torn away, another part of me mangled. He knows what I¡¯m trying to keep from him, to never live through again. He chases through my thoughts, faster than my brain,<span id="page_36" title="36">outrunning every weak attempt to stop him. I try to scream or beg, but no soundes from my mouth or mind. He holds everything in the palm of his hand.


    ¡°Too easy.¡± His voice echoes in me, around me.


    Like ra¡¯s ending, Shade¡¯s death is captured in perfect, painful detail. I must relive every awful second in my own body, unable to do anything but watch, trapped inside myself. Radiation tangs the air. Corros Prison is on the edge of the Wash, close to the nuclear wastnd forming our southern border. Cold mist shrouds morning against a gray dawn. For a moment, all is still, suspended in bnce. I stare out, unmoving, frozen midstep. The prison yawns at my back, still shuddering with the riot we began. Prisoners and pursuers bleed from its gates. Following us to freedom, or something like it. Cal is already gone, his familiar form a hundred yards away. I made Shade jump him first, to protect one of our only pilots, and our only manner of escape. Kilorn is still with me, frozen as I am, his rifle tucked against his shoulder. He aims behind us, at Queen ra, her guards, and Ptolemus Samos. A bullet explodes from the muzzle, born of sparks and gunpowder. It, too, hangs in midair, waiting for Samson to release his grip on my mind. Overhead, the sky swirls, heavy with electricity. My own power. The feel of it would make me cry if I could.


    The memory begins to move, slowly at first.


    Ptolemus forges himself a long, gleaming needle in addition to the many weapons already at hand. The perfect edge glitters with Red and Silver blood, each droplet a gemstone warbling through the air. Despite her ability, Ara Iral is not fast enough to dodge its lethal arc. It slices through her neck in one lingering second. She falls a few feet away from me, sluggishly, as if through water. Ptolemus means to kill me in the same motion, using the momentum of his blow to turn the<span id="page_37" title="37">needle on my heart. Instead, he finds my brother in the way.


    Shade jumps back to us, to teleport me to safety. His body materializes from thin air: first his chest and head, then his extremities paint into existence. Hands outstretched, eyes focused, his attention only on me. He doesn¡¯t see the needle. He doesn¡¯t know he¡¯s about to die.


    It was not Ptolemus¡¯s intent to kill Shade, but he doesn¡¯t mind doing it. Another enemy dead makes no difference to him. Just another obstacle in his war, another body with no name and no face. How many times have I done the same thing?


    He probably doesn¡¯t even know who Shade is.


    Was.


    I know whates next, but no matter how hard I try, Samson won¡¯t let me shut my eyes. The needle pierces my brother with clean grace, through muscle and organ, blood and heart.


    Something in me erupts and the sky responds. As my brother falls, so does my rage. But I never feel the bittersweet release of it. The lightning never strikes the earth, killing ra and scattering her guards as it should. Samson never allows me that small mercy. Instead, he pulls the scene backward. Again it ys. Again my brother dies.


    Again.


    Again.


    Each time he forces me to see something else. A mistake. A misstep. A choice I could¡¯ve made to save him. Small decisions. Step here, turn there, run a bit faster. It is torture of the worst kind.


    <i ss="calibre4">Look what you did. Look what you did. Look what you did.</i>


    His voice ripples, all around me.


    Other memories splinter through Shade¡¯s death, visions bleeding into one another. Each ys on a different fear or weakness. There¡¯s the tiny corpse I found in Templyn, a Red baby murdered by Maven¡¯s<span id="page_38" title="38">newblood hunters at Maven¡¯smand. In another instant, Farley¡¯s fist connects with my face. She screams horrible things, ming me for Shade¡¯s death while her own anguish threatens to consume her. Steaming tears run down Cal¡¯s cheeks as a sword trembles in his hand, the de edged against his father¡¯s neck. Shade¡¯s meager grave on Tuck, alone beneath the autumn sky. The Silver officers I electrocuted in Corros, in Harbor Bay, men and women who were only following orders. They had no choice. No choice.


    I remember all the death. All the heartache. The look on my sister¡¯s face when an officer broke her hand. Kilorn¡¯s bleeding knuckles when he found out he was going to be conscripted. My brothers taken to war. My father returning from the front half a man in mind and body, exiling himself to a rickety wheelchair¡ªand a life apart from us. My mother¡¯s sad eyes when she told me she was proud of me. A lie. A lie now. And finally the sick ache, the hollow truth that dogged every moment of my old life¡ªthat I was ultimately doomed.


    I still am.


    Samson sweeps through it all with abandon. He pulls me through useless memories, drawn up only to subject me to more pain. Shadows jump through the thoughts. Moving images behind every painful moment. Samson spools through them, too fast for me to truly grasp. But I gather enough. The Colonel¡¯s face, his scarlet eye, his lips forming words I can¡¯t hear. But surely Samson can. This is what he¡¯s looking for. Intelligence. Secrets he can use to crush the rebellion. I feel like an egg with a cracked shell, slowly seeping my innards. He pulls whatever he wants from me. I don¡¯t even have the ability to feel ashamed at what else he finds.


    Nights spent curled against Cal. Forcing Cameron to join our cause. Stolen moments rereading Maven¡¯s sickening notes. Memories of who I<span id="page_39" title="39">thought the forgotten prince was. My cowardice. My nightmares. My mistakes. Every selfish step I took that led me here.


    <i ss="calibre4">Look what you did. Look what you did. Look what you did.</i>


    Maven will know it all soon enough.


    This was always what he wanted.


    The words, scrawled in his looping hand, burn through my thoughts.


    <i ss="calibre4">I miss you.</i>


    <i ss="calibre4">Until we meet again.</i>

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 4

    <i ss="calibre4">I still can¡¯t believe</i>we survived. I dream about it sometimes. Watching them drag Mare away, her body held tightly between a pair of gigantic strongarms. They were gloved against her lightning, not that she tried to use it after she made her bargain. Her life for ours. I didn¡¯t expect King Maven to follow through. Not with his exiled brother on the line. But he kept his deal. He wanted her more than the rest.


    Still, I wake up from the usual nightmares, afraid he and his hunters have returned to kill us. The snores from the rest of my bunk room chase the thoughts away.


    They told me the new headquarters was a bleeding ruin, but I expected something more like Tuck. A once-abandoned facility, isted but functional, rebuilt in secret with all the amenities a burgeoning rebellion might need. I hated Tuck on sight. The block barracks and guard-like soldiers, even if they were Red, reminded me too much of Corros Prison. I saw the ind as another jail. Another cell I was being forced into, this time by Mare Barrow instead of a Silver officer. But at least on Tuck I had the sky above me. A clean breeze in my lungs.<span id="page_41" title="41">Compared to Corros,pared to New Town,pared to this, Tuck was a reprieve.


    Now I shiver with the rest in the concrete tunnels of Irabelle, a Scarlet Guard stronghold on the outskirts of the Laknder city of Trial. The walls feel frozen to the touch, and icicles dangle from rooms without a heat source. A few of the Guard officers have taken to following Cal around, if only to take advantage of his radiating warmth. I do the opposite, avoiding his lumbering presence as best I can. I have no use for the Silver prince, who looks at me with nothing but usation.


    As if I could have saved her.


    My barely trained ability was nowhere near enough.<i ss="calibre4">And you weren¡¯t enough either, Your Bleeding Highness,</i>I want to snap at him every time we cross paths. His me was no match for the king and his hunters. Besides, Mare offered the trade and made her choice. If he¡¯s angry at anyone, it should be her.


    The lightning girl did it to save us, and for that I am always thankful. Even if she was a self-centered hypocrite, she doesn¡¯t deserve what¡¯s happening to her.


    The Colonel gave the order to evacuate Tuck the moment we were able to radio back to him. He knew any interrogation of Mare Barrow would lead directly to the ind. Farley was able to get everyone to safety, either in boats or the massive cargo jet stolen from the prison. We were forced to travel ovend ourselves, hightailing from the crash site to rendezvous with the Colonel across the border. I say<i ss="calibre4">forced</i>because, once again, I was told what to do and where to go. We had been flying to the Choke in an attempt to rescue a legion of child soldiers. My brother was one of them. But our mission had to be abandoned.<i ss="calibre4">For now,</i>they told me every time I got enough courage to refuse another step away from the war front.


    <span id="page_42" title="42">The memory makes my cheeks burn. I should¡¯ve kept going. They wouldn¡¯t have stopped me. Couldn¡¯t have stopped me. But I was afraid. So close to the trench line, I realized what it meant to march alone. I would have died in vain. Still, I can¡¯t shake the shame of that choice. I walked away and left my brother yet again.


    It took weeks for everyone to reunite. Farley and her officers arrivedst of all. I think her father, the Colonel, spent every day she was gone pacing the frigid halls of our new base.


    At the very least, Barrow¡¯s making her imprisonment useful. The distraction of such a prisoner, not to mention the boiling mess of Corvium, has stalled any troop movements around the Choke. My brother is safe. Well, as safe as a fifteen-year-old can possibly be with a gun and a uniform. Safer than Mare certainly is.


    I don¡¯t know how many times I¡¯ve seen King Maven¡¯s address. Cal took over a corner of the control room to y it again and again once we arrived. The first time we saw it, I don¡¯t think any of us dared to breathe. We all feared the worst. We thought we were about to watch Mare lose her head. Her brothers were beside themselves, fighting tears, and Kilorn couldn¡¯t even look, hiding his face in his hands. When Maven dered execution was too good for her, I think Bree actually fainted in relief. But Cal looked on in deafening silence, his brows knit together in focus. Deep down he knew, like we all did, that something much worse than death waited for Mare Barrow.


    She knelt before a Silver king and stood still while he put a cor around her throat. Said nothing, did nothing. Let him call her a terrorist and murderer before the eyes of our entire nation. Part of me wishes she¡¯d snapped, but I know she couldn¡¯t put a toe out of line. She just red at everyone around her, eyes sweeping back and forth between the Silvers crowding her tform. They all wanted to get<span id="page_43" title="43">close to her. Hunters around a trophy kill.


    In spite of the crown, Maven didn¡¯t look so kingly. Tired, maybe sick, definitely angry. Probably because the girl next to him had just murdered his mother. He tugged at Mare¡¯s cor, forced her to walk inside. She managed onest look over her shoulder, eyes wide and searching. But another tug turned her around for good, and we haven¡¯t seen her face since.


    She¡¯s been there, and I¡¯ve been here, rotting, freezing, spending my days rewiring equipment older than I am. All of it a bleeding waste.


    I steal onest minute in my bunk to think about my brother, where he might be, what he¡¯s doing. Morrey. My twin in nothing but appearance. He was a soft boy in the hard alleys of New Town, constantly sick from the factory smoke. I don¡¯t want to imagine what military training has done to him. Depending on who you ask, techie workers were either too valuable or too weak for the army. Until the Scarlet Guard started their meddling, killed a few Silvers, and forced the old king into some meddling of his own. We were both conscripted, even though we had jobs. Even though we were only fifteen. The bloody Measures enacted by Cal¡¯s own father changed everything. We were selected, told to be soldiers, and we were marched away from our parents.


    They split us up almost immediately. My name was on some list and his wasn¡¯t. Once, I was grateful I was the one sent to Corros. Morrey would have never survived the cells. Now I wish we could trade ces. Him free, and me on the lines. But no matter how many times I petition the Colonel for another attempt at the Little Legion, he always turns me away.


    So I might as well ask again.


    The tool belt is a familiar weight around my hips, thunking with every step. I walk with purpose, enough to deter anyone who might<span id="page_44" title="44">bother to stop me. But for the most part, the halls are empty. No one is around to watch me stalk past, gnawing on a breakfast roll. More captains and their units must be out on patrol again, scouting Trial and the border. Looking for Reds, I think, the ones lucky enough to make it north. Somee here to join up, but they¡¯re always of military age or workers with skills useful to the cause. I don¡¯t know where the families are sent: the orphans, the widows, the widowers. The ones who would only be in the way.


    Like me. But I get underfoot on purpose. It¡¯s the only way to get any kind of attention.


    The Colonel¡¯s broom closet¡ªI mean office¡ªis one floor above the bunk rooms. I don¡¯t bother to knock, trying the doorknob instead. It turns easily, opening into a grim, cramped room with concrete walls, a few locked cabs, and a currently upied desk.


    ¡°He¡¯s over in control,¡± Farley says, not looking up from her papers. Her hands are ink-stained, and there are even smudges on her nose and under her bloodshot eyes. She pores over what look like Guardmunications, coded messages and orders. From Command, I know, remembering the constant whispers about the upper levels of the Scarlet Guard. No one knows much about them, least of all me. Nobody tells me anything unless I ask a dozen times.


    I frown at her appearance. Despite the table hiding her stomach, her condition has begun to show. Her face and fingers look swollen. Not to mention the three tes piled with food scraps.


    ¡°Probably a good idea to sleep now and then, Farley.¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡± She seems annoyed by my concern.


    <i ss="calibre4">Fine, don¡¯t listen.</i>With a low sigh, I turn back to the doorway, putting her behind me.


    ¡°Let him know Corvium is on the edge,¡± Farley adds, her voice<span id="page_45" title="45">strong and cutting. An order but also something else.


    I nce over my shoulder at her, an eyebrow raised. ¡°Edge of what?¡±


    ¡°There have been riots, sporadic reports of Silver officers turning up dead, and ammunition depots have developed a nasty habit of exploding.¡± She almost smirks at that. Almost. I haven¡¯t seen her smile since Shade Barrow died.


    ¡°Sounds like familiar work. Is the Scarlet Guard in the city?¡±


    Finally she looks up. ¡°Not to our knowledge.¡±


    ¡°Then the legions are turning.¡± Hope res sharp and raw in my chest. ¡°The Red soldiers¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s thousands of them stationed at Corvium. And more than a few have realized they substantially outnumber their Silver officers. Four to one, at least.¡±


    Four to one. Just like that, my hope sours. I¡¯ve seen what Silvers are and what they can do firsthand. I¡¯ve been their prisoner and their opponent, able to fight only because of my own ability. Four Reds against a single Silver is still suicide. Still an outright loss. But Farley doesn¡¯t seem to agree.


    She senses my unease and softens as best she can. Like a razor turning into a knife. ¡°Your brother isn¡¯t in the city. The Dagger Legion is still behind the lines of the Choke.¡±


    Stuck between a minefield and a city on fire. Fantastic.


    ¡°It¡¯s not Morrey that I¡¯m worried about.¡±<i ss="calibre4">At the moment.</i>¡°I just don¡¯t see how they can expect to take the city. They might have the numbers, but the Silvers are . . . well, they¡¯re Silvers. A few dozen marons could kill hundreds without blinking.¡±


    I picture Corvium in my head. I¡¯ve only seen it in brief videos, snippets taken from Silver broadcasts or report footage filtered down<span id="page_46" title="46">through the Scarlet Guard. It¡¯s more fortress than city, walled with foreboding ck stone, a monolith looking north to the barren wastes of war. Something about it reminds me of the ce I reluctantly called home. New Town had walls of its own, and so many officers overseeing our lives. We were thousands too, but our only rebellions were beingte to shift or sneaking out after curfew. There was nothing to be done. Our lives were weak and meaningless as smoke.


    Farley turns back to her work. ¡°Just tell him what I said. He¡¯ll know what to do.¡±


    I can only nod, shutting the door as she tries and fails to hide a yawn.


    ¡°Have to recalibrate the video receivers, Captain Farley¡¯s orders¡ª¡±


    The two Guardsmen nking the door to central control step back before I even finish my sentence, my usual lie. Both look away, avoiding my gaze, and I feel my face burn with an ashamed flush.


    Newbloods scare people as much as Silvers do, if not more so. Reds with abilities are just as unpredictable, just as powerful, just as dangerous, in their eyes.


    After we first got here and more soldiers arrived, the whispers about me and the others spread like disease.<i ss="calibre4">The old woman can change her face. The twitchy one can surround you with illusions. The techie girl can kill you with thought alone.</i>It feels terrible to be feared. And worst of all, I can¡¯t me anyone for it. We are different and strange, with powers not even Silvers can im. We are frayed wires and glitching machines, still learning ourselves and our abilities. Who knows what we might be?


    I swallow the familiar difort and step into the next room.


    Central control usually buzzes with screens andmunication equipment, but for now the room is oddly quiet. Only a single broadcaster whirs, spitting out a long strip of correspondence paper printed<span id="page_47" title="47">with a decrypted message. The Colonel stands over the machine, reading as the strip lengthens. His usual ghosts, Mare¡¯s brothers, sit close by, both of them jumpy as rabbits. And the fourth upant of the room is all I need to know about whatever report ising in.


    This is news of Mare Barrow.


    Why else would Cal be here too?


    He broods, as usual, his chin resting on interlocked fingers. Long days underground have taken their toll, paling his already-pale skin. For a prince, he really lets himself go in times of crisis. Right now he looks like he needs a shower and a shave, not to mention a few well-aimed ps to wake him out of his stupor. But he¡¯s a soldier still. His eyes snap to mine before the others¡¯.


    ¡°Cameron,¡± he says, doing his best not to growl.


    ¡°Calore.¡± He¡¯s an exiled prince at best. No need for titles. Unless I really want to piss him off.


    Like father, like daughter. Colonel Farley doesn¡¯t look up from themunication, but he acknowledges me with a dramatic sigh. ¡°Let¡¯s save ourselves some time, Cameron. I have neither the manpower nor the opportunity to attempt rescuing an entire legion.¡±


    I mouth the words along with him. He says them to me almost every day.


    ¡°A legion of barely trained children who Maven will ughter once given the opportunity,¡± I counter.


    ¡°So you keep reminding me.¡±


    ¡°Because you need to be reminded! Sir,¡± I add, almost wincing at the word.<i ss="calibre4">Sir.</i>I¡¯m not oathed to the Guard, no matter how much they treat me like a member of their club.


    The Colonel¡¯s eyes narrow in on part of the message. ¡°She¡¯s been interrogated.¡±


    <span id="page_48" title="48">Cal stands so quickly he knocks over his chair. ¡°Merandus?¡±


    A tremor of heat pulses through the room, and I feel a ripple of sickness in me. Not because of Cal, but because of Mare. Because of the horrors happening to her. Upset, I knit my hands together behind my head, pulling the curly dark hair at the nape of my neck.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Colonel replies. ¡°A man named Samson.¡±


    The prince curses quite colorfully for a royal.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Bree, Mare¡¯s burly eldest brother, dares to ask.


    Tramy, the other surviving Barrow son, frowns deeply. ¡°Merandus is the queen¡¯s house. Whispers¡ªmind readers. They¡¯ll pull her apart to find us.¡±


    ¡°And for sport,¡± Cal murmurs with a low rumble. Both Barrow brothers flush red at the implication. Bree blinks back fierce, sudden tears. I want to take his arm, but I stay still. I¡¯ve seen enough people flinch away from my touch.


    ¡°Which is why Mare knows nothing of our operations outside Tuck, and Tuck has been thoroughly left behind,¡± the Colonel says quickly. It¡¯s true. They abandoned Tuck with blinding speed, casting off anything that Mare Barrow knew of. Even the Silvers we captured from Corros¡ªor rescued, depending on who you ask¡ªwere left at the coast. Too dangerous to keep hold of, too many to control.


    I¡¯ve only been with the Scarlet Guard a month, but I already know their words by heart.<i ss="calibre4">Rise, red as the dawn</i>, of course, and<i ss="calibre4">know only what you need</i>. The first is a battle cry, the second a warning.


    ¡°Whatever she gives them will be peripheral at best,¡± he adds. ¡°Nothing important about Command, and little about our dealings outside Norta.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">No one cares, Colonel.</i>I bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him.<span id="page_49" title="49"><i ss="calibre4">Mare is a prisoner. So what if they don¡¯t get anything about the Laknds, Piedmont, or Montfort?</i>


    Montfort. The distant nation ruled by a so-called democracy, an equal bnce of Reds, Silvers, and newbloods. A paradise? Maybe, but I have long since learned that paradise does not exist in this world. I probably know more about the country than Mare now, what with the twins, Rash and Tahir, always squawking about Montfort¡¯s merits. I¡¯m not stupid enough to trust their word. Not to mention it¡¯s pure torture holding a conversation with them, always finishing each other¡¯s thoughts and sentences. Sometimes I want to use my silence on them both, to sever the ability that binds their thoughts into one. But that would be cruel, not to mention idiotic. People are already wary of us without watching newbloods ability-bicker.


    ¡°Does what they get out of her really matter right now?¡± I force through gritted teeth. Hopefully the Colonel understands what I¡¯m trying to say.<i ss="calibre4">At least spare her brothers this, Colonel. Have some shame.</i>


    He just blinks, one good eye and one destroyed. ¡°If you can¡¯t stomach intelligence, then don¡¯te to control. We need to know what they got out of her in interrogation.¡±


    ¡°Samson Merandus is an arena fighter, though he has no reason to be,¡± Cal says in a low voice. Trying to be gentle. ¡°He enjoys using his ability to inflict pain. If he is the one to interrogate Mare, then . . .¡± He stumbles over the words, reluctant to speak. ¡°It¡¯ll be torture, in and simple. Maven has given her to a torturer.¡±


    Even the Colonel looks disturbed by the thought.This text is property of N?/velD/rama.Org.


    Cal stares at the floor, silent for a long, stoic moment. ¡°I never thought Maven would do that to her,¡± he mutters finally. ¡°She probably didn¡¯t either.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Then you¡¯re both stupid,</i>my brain screams.<i ss="calibre4">How many times does one<span id="page_50" title="50">wicked boy have to betray you people before you learn?</i>


    ¡°Did you need something else, Cameron?¡± Colonel Farley asks. He rolls up the message, spooling it like a circle of thread. The rest is clearly not for my ears.


    ¡°It¡¯s about Corvium. Farley says it¡¯s on the edge.¡±


    The Colonel blinks. ¡°Those were her words?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said.¡±


    Suddenly I¡¯m no longer the focus of his attention. Instead, his eyes sweep to Cal.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s time to push.¡±


    The Colonel looks eager, but Cal could not seem more reluctant. He keeps still, knowing that any twitch might betray his true feelings. Theck of movement is just as damning. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I cane up with,¡± he finally forces out. That seems to be enough for the Colonel. He ducks his chin in a nod before turning his attention to Mare¡¯s brothers.


    ¡°Best let your family know,¡± he says, putting on a show of being gentle. ¡°And Kilorn.¡±


    I shift, ufortable watching them digest the painful news of their sister and ept the burden of carrying it to the rest of their family. Bree¡¯s words stick, but Tramy has strength enough to speak for his older brother. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he replies. ¡°Though I don¡¯t know where Warren gets to these days.¡±


    ¡°Try the newblood barracks,¡± I offer. ¡°He¡¯s there more often than not.¡±


    Indeed, Kilorn spends most of his time with Ada. After Ketha died, Ada took on the arduous task of teaching him to read and write. Though I suspect he sticks with us because he has no one else. The Barrows are the closest thing he has to family, and they are a family<span id="page_51" title="51">of ghosts now, haunted by memories. I¡¯ve never even seen her parents. They keep to themselves, deep in the tunnels.


    We take our leave of the Colonel together, four of us trooping out of the control room in awkward, stilted single file. Bree and Tramy peel away quickly, stomping their way toward their family¡¯s quarters on the other side of the base. I do not envy them. I remember how my mother screamed when my brother and I were taken away. I wonder what hurts more¡ªto hear nothing of your children, knowing they are in danger, or to be fed news of their pain piece by piece.


    Not that I¡¯ll ever find out. There is no ce for children, especially children of mine, in this stupid, ruined world.


    I give Cal space, but quickly think better of it. We¡¯re nearly the same height, and catching up to his harried stride is no problem.


    ¡°If your heart¡¯s not in this, you¡¯re going to get a lot of people killed.¡±


    He whirls, almost knocking me on my ass with the speed and force of his movement. I have seen his fire firsthand, but never so strongly as the me zing in his eyes.


    ¡°Cameron, my heart is quite literally in this,¡± he hisses through gritted teeth.


    Swooning words. A romantic deration. I can barely stop my eyes from rolling.


    ¡°Save it for when we get her back,¡± I grumble.<i ss="calibre4">When</i>, not<i ss="calibre4">if</i>. He nearly set the control room on fire when the Colonel denied his request to explore ways to get messages to Mare within the pce. I don¡¯t need him melting the hallway over a poor choice of words.


    He starts walking again, his pace doubled, but I¡¯m not as easily left behind as the lightning girl.


    ¡°I just mean to say that the Colonel has strategists of his own . . . people at Command . . . Scarlet Guard officers who don¡¯t have¡±¡ªI<span id="page_52" title="52">search for the proper term¡ª¡°conflicting allegiances.¡±


    Cal huffs loudly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. Clearly any etiquette lessons he may have had took a backseat to military training.


    ¡°Show me an officer who knows as much as I do about Silver protocols and the Corvium defense system and I¡¯ll dly step back from this mess.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s someone, Calore.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s fought with newbloods? Knows your abilities? Knows how best to use you in a fight?¡±


    I bristle at his tone. ¡°¡®Use,¡¯¡± I spit.<i ss="calibre4">Use</i>indeed. I remember those of us who didn¡¯t survive Corros. Newbloods recruited by Mare Barrow, newbloods she promised to protect. Instead, Mare and Cal threw us into a battle we were not prepared for, and it became clear Mare couldn¡¯t even protect herself. Nix, Gareth, Ketha, and others from the prison I didn¡¯t even know. Dozens dead, discarded like pieces on a game board.


    That¡¯s how it¡¯s always worked with the Silver masters, and that¡¯s how Cal was taught to fight. Win at all costs. Pay for every inch in Red blood.


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    I snort. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why I¡¯m not exactly confident.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Harsh, Cameron.</i>


    ¡°Listen,¡± I continue, switching tactics. ¡°I know I¡¯d burn everyone here if it meant getting my brother back. And luckily, that¡¯s not a decision I have to make. But you¡ªyou actually have that option. I want to make sure you don¡¯t take it.¡±


    It¡¯s true. We¡¯re here for the same reason. Not blind obedience to the Scarlet Guard, but because they are our only hope of saving the ones we love and lost.


    Cal quirks a crooked smile, the same one I¡¯ve seen Mare moon<span id="page_53" title="53">over. It makes him look like more of a fool. ¡°Don¡¯t try to sweet-talk me, Cameron. I¡¯m doing everything I can to keep us out of another massacre. Everything.¡± His expression turns harsh. ¡°You think it¡¯s just Silvers who care only about victory?¡± he mutters. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the Colonel¡¯s reports. I¡¯ve seen correspondence with Command. I¡¯ve heard things. You¡¯re embedded with people who think exactly the same way. They¡¯ll burn all of us to get what they want.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Maybe true,</i>I think,<i ss="calibre4">but at least what they want is justice.</i>


    I think of Farley, the Colonel, the oathed soldiers of the Scarlet Guard, and the Red refugees they protect. I¡¯ve seen them ferry people across the border with my own eyes. I sat on one of their airjets as it screamed toward the Choke, intent on rescuing a legion of child soldiers. They have objectives with high costs, but they are not Silver. They kill, but not without reason.


    The Scarlet Guard are not peaceful, but peace has no ce in this conflict. No matter what Cal might think of their methods and their secrecy, theirs is the only way anyone can hope to fight Silvers and win. Cal¡¯s people brought this upon themselves.


    ¡°If you¡¯re so worried about Corvium, don¡¯t go,¡± he says with a forced shrug.


    ¡°And miss the chance to paint my hands in Silver blood?¡± I snap at him. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m making a poor attempt to joke or threatening him outright. My patience has worn through yet again. I already had to deal with the whining of a walking lightning rod. I¡¯m not going to tolerate the attitude of a mopey matchstick prince.


    Again his eyes ze with anger and heat. I wonder if I¡¯m fast enough with my ability to incapacitate him. What a fight that would be. Fire against silence. Would he burn or would I?


    ¡°Funny thing, you telling me not to be careless with human life. I<span id="page_54" title="54">remember you doing everything you could to kill back in the prison.¡±


    A prison where I was kept. Starved, neglected, forced to watch the people around me wither and die because they were born . . . wrong. And even before I entered Corros, I was a prisoner of another jail. I am a daughter of New Town, conscripted to a different army since the day I was born, doomed to live my life in shadow and ash, at the mercy of the shift whistle and the factory schedule. Of course I tried to kill the ones who held me captive. I would do it again if given the choice.


    ¡°Proud of it,¡± I tell him, setting my jaw.


    He despairs of me. That much is clear. Good. There¡¯s no amount of speechmaking that will ever sway me to his thinking. I doubt anyone else will listen much either. Cal is a prince of Norta. Exiled, yes, but different from us in every way. His ability is to be used as much as mine, but he is a barely tolerated weapon. His words can only travel so far. And even then they fall on deaf ears. Mine especially.


    Without warning, he sets off down a smaller passage, one of the many burrowing through the warren of Irabelle. It branches off from the wider hall, angling upward to the surface in a gentle slope. I let him go, puzzled. There¡¯s nothing in that direction. Just empty passages, abandoned, unused.


    Yet something tugs.<i ss="calibre4">I¡¯ve heard things,</i>he said. Suspicion res in my chest as he walks away, his broad form getting smaller by the second.


    For a moment, I hesitate. Cal is not my friend. We¡¯re barely on the same side.


    But he is nothing if not annoyingly noble. He won¡¯t hurt me.


    So I follow.


    The corridor is obviously unused, cluttered with scraps and dark in ces where the lightbulbs are burned out. Even from a distance, Cal¡¯s presence warms the close air with every passing second. It¡¯s actually a<span id="page_55" title="55"></spanfortable temperature, and I make a mental note to speak with a few other escaped techies. Maybe we can figure out a way to warm up the lower passages using pressurized air.


    My eyes trail the cabled wires along the ceiling, counting them. More there than there should be, to feed a few lightbulbs.


    I hang back, watching as Cal shoulders some wood pallets and scrap metal from a wall. He reveals a door beneath, with the cables running overhead and into whatever room it hides. When he disappears, pulling the door shut behind him, I dare to get a little closer.


    The tangle of cableses into sharper focus. Radio array. Now I see it, clear as the nose on my bleeding face. The telltale braid of ck wires that means the room inside has the ability tomunicate beyond the walls of Irabelle.


    But who could he possibly bemunicating with?


    My first instinct is to tell Farley or Kilorn.


    But then . . . if Cal thinks that whatever he¡¯s doing will keep me and a thousand others from a suicide attack on Corvium, I should let him continue.


    And hope I don¡¯t regret it.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 5

    <i ss="calibre4">I drift on a</i>dark sea, and shadows drift with me.


    They could be memories. They could be dreams. Familiar but strange, and something wrong with each. Cal¡¯s eyes are shot with silver, bleeding hot, smoking blood. My brother¡¯s face looks more skeleton than flesh. Dad gets out of his wheelchair, but his new legs are spindle thin, knobbled, ready to splinter with every shaking step. Gisa has metal pins in both hands, and her mouth is sewn shut. Kilorn drowns in the river, tangled in his perfects. Red rags spill from Farley¡¯s slit throat. Cameron ws at her own neck, struggling to speak, trapped in a silence of her own making. Metal scales shudder over Evangeline¡¯s skin, swallowing her whole. And Maven slumps on his odd throne, letting it tighten and consume him until he is stone himself, a seated statue with sapphire eyes and diamond tears.


    Purple eats at the edge of my vision. I try to turn in to its embrace, knowing what it holds. My lightning is so close. If only I could find the memory of it and taste onest drop of power before plunging back into darkness. But it fades like the rest, ebbing away. I expect to feel<span id="page_57" title="57">cold as the darkness presses in. Instead, heat rises.


    Maven is suddenly too close to bear. Blue eyes, ck hair, pale as a dead man. His hand hovers inches from my cheek. It trembles, wanting to touch, wanting to pull away. I don¡¯t know which I would prefer.


    I think I sleep. Darkness and light trade ces, stretching back and forth. I try to move, but my limbs are too heavy. The work of manacles or guards or both. They weigh me down worse than before, and the terrible visions are the only escape. I chase what matters most¡ªShade, Gisa, the rest of my family, Cal, Kilorn, lightning. But they always dance out of my grip or flicker to nothing when I reach them. Another torture, I suppose¡ªSamson¡¯s way of running me ragged even as I sleep. Maven is there too, but I never go to him, and he never moves. Always sitting, always staring, one hand on his temple, massaging an ache. I never see him blink.


    Years or seconds pass. The pressure dulls. My mind sharpens. Whatever fog held me captive recedes, burning off. I am allowed to wake up.


    I feel thirsty, bled dry by bitter tears I do not remember shedding. The crushing weight of silence hangs heavy as always. For a moment it¡¯s too difficult to breathe, and I wonder if this is how I die. Drowned in this bed of silk, burned by a king¡¯s obsession, smothered by open air.


    I¡¯m back in my prison bedchamber. Maybe I¡¯ve been here the entire time. The white light streaming from the windows tells me it has snowed again, and the world outside is bright winter. When my sight adjusts to it, letting the roome into clearer focus, I risk looking around. shing my eyes left and right, not moving more than I have to. Not that it matters.


    The Arvens stand guard at the four corners of my bed, each one staring down. Kitten, Clover, Trio, and Egg. They exchange nces with one another as I blink up at them.


    <span id="page_58" title="58">Samson is nowhere I can see, though I expect him to loom over me with a malicious smile and a snappy wee. Instead, a small woman in in clothes, with wless blue-ck skin like a polished gem, stands at the foot of my bed. I don¡¯t know her face, but there¡¯s something familiar about her features. Then I realize what I thought were manacles were actually hands. Hers. Each one tight around an ankle, soothing against my skin and the bones beneath.


    I recognize her colors. Red and silver crossed on her shoulders, representing both kinds of blood. Healer. Skin healer. She¡¯s of House Skonos. The sensation I feel from her touch is healing me¡ªor at least keeping me alive against the onught of four pirs of silence. Their pressure must be enough to kill me, if not for a healer. A delicate bnce to be sure. She must be very talented. She has the same eyes as Sara. Bright, dark gray, expressive.


    But she isn¡¯t looking at me. Her eyes, instead, are on something to my right.


    I flinch when I follow her gaze.


    Maven sits as I dreamed him. Still, focused, one hand on his temple. The other hand waves in silent order.


    And then there really are manacles. The guards move quickly, fastening strange braided metal studded with smoothly polished orbs around my ankles and wrists. They lock each one with a single key. I try to follow the key¡¯s path, but in my daze, it flickers in and out of focus. Only the manacles stand out. They feel heavy and cold. I expect one more, a new cor to mark my neck, but my neck is left blissfully bare. The jeweled thorns don¡¯te back.


    To my eternal surprise, the healer and the guards take their leave of me, walking from the room. I watch them go in confusion, trying to hide the sudden leap of excitement sending my pulse into overdrive.<span id="page_59" title="59">Is everyone really this stupid? Will they leave me alone with Maven? Does he think I won¡¯t try to kill him in a heartbeat?


    I turn to him, trying to get out of bed, trying to move. But anything faster than sitting up feels impossible, as if my very blood has turned to lead. I quickly understand why.


    ¡°I¡¯m quite aware of what you¡¯d like to do to me,¡± he says, his voice barely a whisper.


    My fists clench, fingers twitching. I reach for what still won¡¯t respond. What can¡¯t respond. ¡°More Silent Stone,¡± I mumble, saying the words like a curse. The polished orbs of my wearable prison gleam. ¡°You must be running low by now.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your concern, but the supply is well in order.¡±


    As I did in the cells beneath the Bowl of Bones, I spit in his direction. Itnds harmlessly at his feet. He doesn¡¯t seem to mind. In fact, he smiles.


    ¡°Get it out of your system now. The court will not take kindly to such behavior.¡±


    ¡°As if I¡ª Court?¡± Thest word sputters out.


    His smile spreads. ¡°I did not misspeak.¡±


    My insides cringe at the sight of his grin. ¡°Lovely,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re tired of keeping me caged up where you can¡¯t see me.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I find it difficult being this close to you.¡± His eyes flicker over me with an emotion I don¡¯t want to ce.


    ¡°The feeling is mutual,¡± I snarl, if only to kill the strange softness in him. I would rather face his fire, his rage, than any quiet word.


    He doesn¡¯t rise to the bait. ¡°I doubt that.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s my leash, then? Do I get a new one?¡±


    ¡°No leash, no cor.¡± He angles his chin at my manacles. ¡°Nothing but those now.¡±


    <span id="page_60" title="60">What he¡¯s getting at, I cannot begin to fathom. But I¡¯ve long stopped trying to understand Maven Calore and the twists of hisbyrinthine brain. So I let him keep talking. He always tells me what I need, in the end.


    ¡°Your interrogation was very fruitful. So much to learn about you, about the terrorists calling themselves the Scarlet Guard.¡± My breath catches in my throat. What did they find? What did I miss? I try to remember the most important pieces of my knowledge, to figure out which will be the most harmful to my friends. Tuck, the Montfort twins, the newblood abilities?


    ¡°Cruel people, aren¡¯t they?¡± he continues. ¡°Bent on destroying everything and everyone who is not like them.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± The Colonel locked me up, yes, and fears me still, but we are allies now. What could that mean to Maven?


    ¡°Newbloods, of course.¡±


    I still don¡¯t understand. There¡¯s no reason for him to care about Reds with abilities beyond what he must do to get rid of us. First he denied we existed, calling me a trick. Now we are freaks, threats. Things to be feared and eradicated.


    ¡°It¡¯s such a shame, to know you were treated so badly you felt the need to run from that old man calling himself a colonel.¡± Maven enjoys this, exining his n in slivers, waiting for me to piece it together. My head is still foggy, my body weak, and I try my best to figure out what he means. ¡°Worse still, that he debated shipping you off to the mountains, discarding you all like garbage.¡± Montfort. But that wasn¡¯t what happened. That wasn¡¯t what was offered to us. ¡°And of course I was very upset to learn the true intentions of the Scarlet Guard. To make a Red world, a Red dawn, with room for nothing else. No one else.¡±


    <span id="page_61" title="61">¡°Maven.¡± The word quivers with all the rage I have strength to call. If not for my manacles, I would explode. ¡°You can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t what? Tell the truth? Tell my country the Scarlet Guard is luring newbloods to its side only to kill them? To make a genocide of them¡ªof you¡ªas well as us? That the infamous rebel Mare Barrow came back to me willingly, and that this was discovered during an interrogation where the truth is impossible to hide?¡± He leans forward, well within striking distance. But he knows I can barely lift a finger. ¡°That you are on our side now, because you have seen what the Scarlet Guard truly is? Because you and your newbloods are feared as we are, blessed as we are, Silver as we are, in everything but the color of blood?¡±


    My jaw works, opening and closing my mouth. But I can¡¯t find the words to match my horror. All this done without Queen ra¡¯s whispers. All this with her dead and cold.


    ¡°You¡¯re a monster¡± is all I can say. A monster, all on his own.


    He draws back, still smiling. ¡°Never tell me what I cannot do. And never underestimate what I will do¡ªfor my kingdom.¡±


    His hand falls on my wrist, drawing one finger down the manacle of Silent Stone keeping me prisoner. I tremble out of fear, but so does he.


    With his eyes on my hand, I¡¯m given time to study him. His casual clothes, ck as always, are rumpled, and he does not stand on ceremony. No crown, no badges. An evil boy, but a boy still.


    One I must figure out how to fight. But how? I¡¯m weak, my lightning is gone, and anything I might say will be twisted beyond my control. I can barely walk, let alone escape unaided. Rescue is all but impossible, a hopeless dream that I can¡¯t waste any more time on. I¡¯m stuck here, trapped by a lethal, conniving king. He dogged me over months, haunting me from afar in everything from broadcasts to his deadly notes.


    <i ss="calibre4"><span id="page_62" title="62">I miss you. Until we meet again.</i>


    He said he was a man of his word. Perhaps, in this alone, he is.


    With a deep breath, I poke at the only weakness I suspect he might still have.


    ¡°Were you here?¡±


    Blue eyes snap to mine. It¡¯s his turn to look confused.


    ¡°Through this.¡± I nce at the bed, and then far away. It¡¯s painful to remember Samson¡¯s torture, and I hope it shows. ¡°I dreamed you were here.¡±


    The warmth of him recedes, drawing back to leave the room cold with oing winter. His eyelids flutter, darkshes against white skin. For a second, I remember the Maven I thought he was. I see him again, a dream or a ghost.


    ¡°Every second,¡± he answers.


    When a gray flush spreads across his cheeks, I know it¡¯s the truth.


    And now I know how to hurt him.


    The manacles make it too easy to fall asleep, so merely pretending to do so is difficult. Beneath the nket, I clench a fist, digging my nails into my palm. I count the seconds. I count Maven¡¯s breaths. Finally, his chair creaks. He stands. He hesitates. I can almost feel his eyes, their touch burning against my still face. And then he goes, footsteps light against the wood floor, sweeping through my bedroom with the grace and quiet of a cat. The door shuts softly behind him.


    So easy to sleep.


    I wait instead.


    Two minutes pass, but the Arven guards don¡¯t return.


    I suppose they think the manacles are enough to keep me here.


    They are wrong.


    My legs wobble when they hit the floor, bare feet against cold<span id="page_63" title="63">wood in parquet designs. If there are cameras watching, I don¡¯t care. They can¡¯t stop me from walking. Or trying to walk.


    I don¡¯t like doing things slowly. Especially now, when every moment counts. Every second could mean another person I love dead. So I shove off the bed, forcing myself to stand on weak, trembling legs. An odd sensation, with Silent Stone weighing down my wrists and ankles, leaching what little strength my anger gives me. It takes a long moment to bear the pressure. I doubt I¡¯ll ever get used to it. But I can get past it.


    The first step is the easiest. A lunge to the little table where I take my meals. The second is more difficult, now that I know how much effort it takes. I walk like a man drunk or hobbled. For a split second, I envy my father¡¯s wheelchair. The shame of such thoughts fuels my next steps, across the length of the room. Panting, I reach the other side, almost copsing against the wall. The burn in my legs is pure fire, sending a prickle of sweat down my spine. A familiar feeling, like I¡¯ve just run a mile. The nausea in the pit of my stomach is different, though. Another side effect of the Stone. It makes every beat of my heart feel heavier, and wrong somehow. It tries to empty me out.


    My forehead touches the paneled wall, letting the cold soothe. ¡°Again,¡± I force out.


    I turn and stumble across the room.


    <i ss="calibre4">Again.</i>


    <i ss="calibre4">Again.</i>


    <i ss="calibre4">Again.</i>


    By the time Kitten and Trio deliver my lunch, I¡¯m drenched with sweat and I have to eat lying on the floor. Kitten doesn¡¯t seem to care, toeing the te of evenly bnced meat and vegetables toward me. Whatever¡¯s going on outside the city walls, it doesn¡¯t seem to have any<span id="page_64" title="64">effect on food supply. A bad sign. Trio leaves something else on my bed, but I focus on eating first. I force down every single bite.


    Getting up is a bit easier. My muscles are already responding, adjusting to the manacles. There¡¯s a small blessing in them. The Arvens are living Silvers, their ability fluctuating with their own concentration, as changing as crashing waves. Their silence is much harder to adapt to than the constant press of the Stone.


    I rip open the parcel on my bed, discarding the thick, luxurious wrapping. The gown slithers out, falling against my nkets. I take a step back slowly, my body going cold as I¡¯m seized by the familiar urge to jump out the window. For a second I shut my eyes, trying to will the dress away.


    Not because it¡¯s ugly. The dress is shockingly beautiful, a gleam of silk and jewels. But it forces me to realize a terrible truth. Before the dress, I was able to ignore Maven¡¯s words, his n, and what he means to do. Now it stares me in the face, a mocking piece of artistry. The fabric is red.<i ss="calibre4">As the dawn,</i>my mind whispers. But that is wrong too. This is not the color of the Scarlet Guard. Ours is a lurid, bright, angry red, something to be seen and recognized, almost shocking to the eye. This gown is different. Worked in darker shades, crimson and scarlet, beaded with chips of gemstones, woven with intricate embroidery. It shimmers in the darkest way, catching the light overhead like a pool of red oil.


    Like a pool of red blood.


    The dress will make me¡ªand what I am¡ªimpossible to forget.


    Iugh bitterly to myself. It¡¯s almost funny. My days as Maven¡¯s betrothed were spent hiding, pretending to be Silver. At least now I won¡¯t have to be painted into one of them. A very, very small mercy in the light of all else.


    <span id="page_65" title="65">So, I am going before his court, and the world, the color of my blood bare for all to see. I wonder if the kingdom will realize I am nothing more than a lure hiding a steel-sharp hook.


    He doesn¡¯te back until the next morning. When he enters, he frowns at the dress, balled up in the corner. I couldn¡¯t stand to look at it. I can¡¯t really look at him either, so I keep at my exercises: currently a very stunted, slow version of sit-ups. I feel like a clumsy toddler, my arms heavier than usual, but I force through it. He takes a few steps closer, and I clench a fist, willing myself to send a spark in his direction. Nothing happens, just as nothing happened thest dozen times I tried to use my electricity.


    ¡°Good to know they got the bnce right,¡± he muses, settling into his seat at the table. Today he looks polished, with his badges bright and shining on his chest. He must¡¯vee from outside. There¡¯s snow in his hair, and he removes his leather gloves with his teeth.


    ¡°Oh yes, these bracelets are just lovely,¡± I bite back at him, waving one heavy hand in his direction. The manacles are loose enough to spin, but tight enough that I could never pull them off, even if I dislocated a thumb. I considered it, until I realized it would be pointless.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give Evangeline yourpliments.¡±


    ¡°Of course she made them,¡± I scoff. She must be so pleased to know she is the literal creator of my cage. ¡°Surprised she has the time, though. She must be spending every second making crowns and tiaras to wear. Dresses too. I bet you cut yourself every time you have to hold her hand.¡±


    A muscle in his cheek ticks. Maven has no feelings for Evangeline, something I¡¯ve always known. Something I can easily exploit.


    ¡°Have you set a date?¡± I ask, sitting up.


    <span id="page_66" title="66">Blue eyes sh to mine. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I doubt a royal wedding is something you can do on short notice. I assume you know exactly when you¡¯re marrying Samos.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± He shrugs, brushing it off with a wave. ¡°nning the wedding is her business.¡±


    I hold his gaze. ¡°If it were her business, she¡¯d have been queen months ago.¡± When he doesn¡¯t reply, I push harder. ¡°You don¡¯t want to marry her.¡±


    Instead of crumbling, his facade strengthens. He even chuckles, projecting an image of abject disinterest. ¡°That¡¯s not why Silvers get married, as well you know.¡±


    I try a different tactic, ying on the pieces of him I used to know. The pieces I hope are still real. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t me you for stalling¡ª¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t stalling to postpone a wedding in wartime.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not who you would¡¯ve chosen¡ª¡±


    ¡°As if there¡¯s choice in the matter.¡±


    ¡°Not to mention the fact that she was Cal¡¯s before she was yours.¡±


    The mention of his brother stills hiszy protesting. I can almost see the muscles tighten beneath his skin, and one hand flicks the bracelet at his wrist. Every gentle ting of the metal rings as loud as a warning bell. One spark from it and he will burn.


    But fire doesn¡¯t scare me anymore.


    ¡°Based on your progress, it should take another day or so for you to learn how to walk properly with those.¡± His words are measured, forced, calcted. He probably rehearsed them before he came in here. ¡°And then you¡¯ll finally be of some use to me.¡±


    As I do every day, I nce around the room, looking for cameras. I still don¡¯t see them, but they must be there. ¡°Do you spend all day spying on me, or does a Security officer give you a summary? Some<span id="page_67" title="67">kind of written report?¡±


    Maven lets the remark nce off. ¡°Tomorrow you will stand up and say exactly what I tell you to.¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡± I force myself to my feet without any of the grace or agility I used to im. He watches every inch. I let him. ¡°I¡¯m already your prisoner. You can kill me whenever you like. And quite frankly, I¡¯d prefer that to luring newbloods into your to die.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you, Mare.¡± Even though he¡¯s still sitting, I feel like he towers over me. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to kill them either.¡±


    I understand what the words mean, but not when theye from Maven¡¯s mouth. It makes no sense. No sense at all. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never fight for us, I know that. But your kind . . . they¡¯re strong, stronger than many Silvers could ever be. Imagine what we will do with an army of them,bined with an army of mine. When they hear your voice, they¡¯lle. How they are treated once they arrive depends on your behavior, of course. And yourpliance.¡± Finally, he stands. He¡¯s grown in the past few months. Taller and leaner, taking after his mother, as he does in most things. ¡°So I have two choices, and you get to pick which one I follow. Either you bring me newbloods, and they join with us, or I continue finding them on my own, and killing them.¡±


    My pnds weakly, barely moving his jaw at all. My other hand smacks against his chest, just as inconsequential. He almost rolls his eyes at the effort. He might even enjoy it.


    I feel my face turn bright red, flushing both in anger and helpless sorrow. ¡°How can you be like this?¡± I curse, wishing I could tear him apart. If not for the manacles, my lightning would be everywhere. Instead, words pour out of me. Words I can barely think about before they rage from me. ¡°How can you still be like this? She¡¯s dead. I killed<span id="page_68" title="68">her. You are free from her. You¡ªyou shouldn¡¯t be her son anymore.¡±


    His hand grips my chin hard, shocking me into silence. The force of it makes me bend, lean backward, almost lose bnce. I wish I would. I wish I could fall out of his hands, hit the floor, and splinter into a thousand pieces.


    Back at the Notch, in the warmth of the cot I shared with Cal, deep in the night, I thought of moments like this. Being alone with Maven again. Getting the chance to see what he truly was beneath the mask I remembered and the person his mother forced him to be. In that strange ce between sleep and waking, his eyes followed me. Always the same color, but somehow changing. His eyes, her eyes, eyes I knew and eyes I could never know. They look the same now, burning with a cold fire, threatening to consume me.


    Knowing it¡¯s what he wants to see, I let the tears of frustration overwhelm me and fall. He tracks their paths with hunger.


    Then he shoves me away. I stagger to a knee.


    ¡°I am what she made me,¡± he whispers, leaving me behind.


    Before the door shuts behind him, I notice guards on either side. Clover and Egg this time. So the Arvens are not far away, even if I somehow manage to free myself.


    I sink slowly to the floor and sit back on my heels. I put one hand over my face, hiding the fact that my eyes are suddenly dry. As much as I wished ra¡¯s death would change him, I knew it would not. I¡¯m not that stupid. I cannot trust anything where Maven is concerned.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org.


    The smallest of his ceremonial badges bites in my other hand, hidden by my curling fingers. Even Silent Stone cannot take away a thief¡¯s instincts. The badge¡¯s metal pin digs into skin. I¡¯m tempted to let it break through, to bleed crimson and scarlet, to remind myself and anyone watching what I am, and what I am capable of.


    <span id="page_69" title="69">Under the guise of straightening up, I slip the badge under my mattress. Along with the rest of my plunder: hairpins, broken fork tines, shards of shattered ss and porcin tes. My arsenal, humble as it is, will have to do.


    I re at the dress in the corner, as if the dress is somehow at fault for this.


    <i ss="calibre4">Tomorrow,</i>he said.


    I return to my sit-ups.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 6

    <i ss="calibre4">The cards are carefully</i>typed, outlining what I must say. I can¡¯t even look at them, and leave them lying on my bedside table.


    I very much doubt I¡¯ll get the benefit of maids to make me up into whatever Maven imagines presenting to the court. It looks like an arduous task, buttoning and zipping myself into the scarlet gown. It has a high cor, trailing hem, and long sleeves to hide not just Maven¡¯s brand on my corbone but the manacles still attached to my wrists and ankles.


    No matter how many times I escape this elegant pageantry, I seem doomed to y a role in it. The dress will be too big when I finally get it on, loose around the arms and waist. I¡¯m thinner here, no matter how much I force myself to eat. Based on what I can glean from my reflection in the window, my hair and skin have also suffered under the weight of silence. My face is yellowed and sunken, sickly-looking, while red rims my eyes. And my dark brown hair, still tinged by the slow creep of gray at the ends, is rattier than ever, tangled to the root. I braid it back hastily, working the knotted strands.


    <span id="page_71" title="71">No amount of silk can change what I look like beneath Maven¡¯s costume. But it¡¯s no matter. I¡¯ll never wear it, if all goes to n.


    The next step in my preparation makes my heart pound. I do my best to look calm, for the cameras in my bedroom at least. They cannot know what I¡¯m about to do, not if it¡¯s going to work. And even if I manage to fool my guards, there¡¯s another ratherrge obstacle.


    This could kill me.


    Maven did not put cameras in my bathroom. Not to protect my privacy, but to cate his own jealousy. I know enough of him to realize he won¡¯t let another person see my body. The added weight of Silent Stone, the bs set into walls, is confirmation. Maven made sure guards would never have a reason to escort me in here. My heart beats sluggishly in my chest, but I push through it. I have to.


    The shower hisses and steams, scalding hot as soon as I turn it on to full st. If not for the bathroom Stone, I would have spent many days enjoying the singrfort of a hot wash. I must work quickly, or let myself be smothered.


    Back at the Notch we were lucky to bathe in cold rivers, while on Tuck the showers were timed and lukewarm. Iugh at the thought of what passed for bathing at home. A tub filled from the kitchen faucet, warm in the summer, cold in the winter, with stolen soap to clean with. I still don¡¯t envy my mother¡¯s job of helping my father wash.


    With any luck¡ªlots of luck¡ªI¡¯ll see them again soon.


    I push the showerhead, angling it away from the basin and onto the floor of the bathroom. The water pelts against white tile, drenching it. The spray hits my bare feet, and the heat shivers my skin, gentle and inviting as a warm nket.


    As water seeps out beneath the bathroom door, I work quickly. First I put the long shard of ss on the counter, well within arm¡¯s length.<span id="page_72" title="72">Then I reach for the true weapon.


    Whitefire Pce is a marvel in every inch, and my bathroom is no exception. It¡¯s lit by a modest chandelier, if there is such a thing: worked in silver, with curling arms like tree branches giving bud to a dozen lightbulbs. I have to stand on the sink, precariously bnced, to get at it. A few forceful but focused tugs pull the dangling fixture forward, its wiring peeling through the ceiling. Once I have enough ck, I crouch, the still-lit chandelier in hand. I brace it on the sink to wait.


    The pounding starts a few minutester. Whoever is watching my room has noticed the water spilling out from underneath my bathroom door. Ten secondster, two sets of feet troop into my bedroom. Which Arvens, I¡¯m not sure, but it doesn¡¯t really matter.


    ¡°Barrow!¡± a man¡¯s voice calls, apanied by a fist knocking on the bathroom door.


    They waste no time when I don¡¯t respond, and neither do I.


    Egg pushes the door in, his white face almost blending into the tiled walls as he steps inside, sloshing through. Clover does not follow, but stands with one foot in the bathroom, the other in my bedchamber. It doesn¡¯t matter. Both her feet are in the puddle of steaming water.


    ¡°Barrow . . . ?¡± Egg says, ck-jawed at the sight of me.


    It doesn¡¯t take much to let the chandelier drop, but the action feels heavy all the same.


    It smashes against the wet tile. When the electricity hits the water, a surge pulses through the room, shorting out not just the other bathroom lights, but the lights in my bedroom. Probably this entire wing of the pce.Property belongs to N?vel(D)r/ama.Org.


    Both Arvens jump and twitch as the sparks dance through their flesh. They crumple quickly, muscles seizing.


    I vault over the water and their bodies, almost gasping as the weight<span id="page_73" title="73">of the bathroom¡¯s Silent Stone melts away. The manacles still weigh on my limbs, and I waste no time searching the Arvens, careful to keep out of the water. I turn out their pockets as quickly as I can, searching for the key that haunts my waking moments. Shaking, I feel a curl of metal beneath Egg¡¯s cor, lying flush to his breastbone. With trembling hands, I yank it free and set to loosening my manacles one by one. As they drop away, the silence lifts, bit by bit. I gasp down air, trying to force lightning into myself. It¡¯sing back. It must.


    But I still feel numb.


    Egg¡¯s body is at my mercy, warm and alive beneath my hands. I could cut his throat and Clover¡¯s, slice their jugrs with any one of the jagged bits of ss I keep well hidden.<i ss="calibre4">I should do it,</i>I tell myself. But I¡¯ve already wasted too much time. I leave them living.


    As expected, the Arvens are trained enough in their duties to have locked my bedroom door behind them. No matter. A hairpin is just as good as a key. I pop the lock in a second.


    It¡¯s been a few days since I stepped outside my prison, and then I was leashed to Evangeline, guarded on all sides. Now the hallway is empty. Dead lightbulbs march down the hall overhead, taunting in their emptiness. My electrical sense is weak, barely a spark across the darkness. It has toe back. This won¡¯t work if it doesn¡¯te back. I fight a swell of panic¡ªwhat if it¡¯s gone for good? What if Maven took my lightning from me?


    I sprint as fast as I can, holding on to what I know of Whitefire. Evangeline took me left, to the ballrooms and the great halls and the throne room. Those ces will be crawling with guards and officers, not to mention the nobility of Norta, dangerous on their own. So I go right.


    Cameras follow, of course. I spot them at every corner. I wonder if<span id="page_74" title="74">they shorted out too, or if I¡¯m entertainment for a few officers. They might be making bets on how far I get. The doomed endeavor of a doomed girl.


    A service stair takes me down anding, and I almost knock over a servant in my haste.


    My heart leaps at the sight of him. A boy, my age, maybe, his face already flushing as he holds on to his tea tray. Flushing red.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trick!¡± I shout at him. ¡°What they¡¯re going to make me do, it¡¯s a trick!¡±


    At the top of the stairs, and the bottom, a pair of doors bang open in session. Cornered again. A bad habit I¡¯ve developed.


    ¡°Mare¡ª¡± the boy says, my name trembling on his lips. I frighten him.


    ¡°Find a way; tell the Scarlet Guard. Tell whoever you can. It¡¯s another lie!¡±


    Someone seizes me around my middle, pulling me backward, up and away. I keep my focus on the serving boy. The uniformed officers ascending from below shove him away, pressing him up against the wall without thought. His tray tters to the floor, spilling tea.


    ¡°It¡¯s all a lie!¡± I manage to get out before a hand mps over my mouth.


    I try to spark, reaching for lightning that I still barely feel. Nothing happens, so I bite down hard enough to taste blood.


    The Security officer drops his hand, swearing, while anotheres up in front of me, deftly grabbing my kicking legs. I spit blood in her face.


    When she backhands me, the action full of deadly grace, I recognize her.


    <span id="page_75" title="75">¡°Good to see you, Sonya,¡± I hiss. I try to kick her in the stomach, but she dodges with boredom.


    <i ss="calibre4">Please,</i>I beg in my mind, as if the electricity can hear me. Nothing responds, and I choke back a sob. I¡¯m too weak. It¡¯s been too long.


    Sonya is a silk, too swift and agile to be bothered with the resistance of a weak girl. I nce at her uniform. ck piped with silver, with the blue and red of House Iral on her shoulders. Judging by the badges on her chest and the pins on her cor, she¡¯s a ranking officer of Security now. ¡°Congrattions on the promotion,¡± I growl in frustration,shing out because it¡¯s all I can do. ¡°Done with Training so soon?¡±


    She tightens her grip on my feet, her hands like pincers.


    ¡°Too bad you never finished Protocol.¡± Still carrying my legs, she rubs her face on her shoulder, trying to wipe away the silver blood on her cheek. ¡°You could use some manners.¡±


    It¡¯s only been a few months since Ist saw her. Standing with her grandmother Ara and Evangeline, dressed in mourning ck for the king. She was one of many who watched me in the Bowl of Bones, who wanted to see me die. Her house is famed for their skill not just in body, but in mind. Spies all, trained to discover secrets. I doubt she believed Maven when he told everyone I was a trick, a Scarlet Guard creation sent to infiltrate the pce. And I doubt she¡¯ll believe what¡¯s about to happen.


    ¡°I saw your grandmother,¡± I tell her. A daring card to y.


    Her wlessposure does not change, but I feel her grip on my legs weaken, if only a little. Then she dips her chin.<i ss="calibre4">Continue,</i>she¡¯s trying to say.


    ¡°In Corros Prison. Starved, weakened by Silent Stone.¡±<i ss="calibre4">Like I am now.</i>¡°I helped free her.¡±


    <span id="page_76" title="76">Another might call me a liar. But Sonya remains quiet, her eyes anywhere but me. To anyone else, she looks disinterested.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long she spent in there, but she put up more of a fight than anyone else.¡± I remember her now, shing across my memories. An old woman with the vicious strength of her namesake, the Panther. She even saved my life, plucking a razor-sharp wheel out of the air before it could take my head. ¡°Ptolemus got her in the end, though. Right before he killed my brother.¡±


    Her gaze falls to the floor, brow furrowed slightly. Every inch of her tightens. For a second I think she might cry, but the threatening tears never spill. ¡°How?¡± I barely hear her.


    ¡°Through the neck. Quickly.¡±


    Her next p is well aimed, but without much strength behind it. A show, like everything else in this hellish ce.


    ¡°Keep your filthy lies to yourself, Barrow,¡± she hisses, ending our conversation.


    I end up in a heap on my bedroom floor, both cheeks stinging, with the crushing weight of four Arven guards washing over me. Egg and Clover look a bit rumpled, but healers have already seen to their injuries, whatever they were. Pity I didn¡¯t kill them.


    ¡°Shocked to see me?¡± I drawl at them, chuckling at the horrific joke.


    In response, Kitten forces me into the scarlet gown, making me strip in front of them all. She takes her time in the humiliation. The dress smarts as it pulls across my brand.<i ss="calibre4">M</i>for<i ss="calibre4">Maven</i>,<i ss="calibre4">M</i>for<i ss="calibre4">monster</i>,<i ss="calibre4">M</i>for<i ss="calibre4">murder</i>.


    I can still taste the Security officer¡¯s blood when Kitten shoves the speech cards into my chest.


    <span id="page_77" title="77">The full strength of the Silver court has been summoned to the throne room. The High Houses press together in their usual riot. Every color is an assault, a firework of gems and brocade. I join the chaos, adding blood red to the collection. The doors to the throne room seal shut behind me, caging me in with the worst of them. The houses part to let me pass, forming a long corridor from the entrance to the throne. They whisper as I go, noting every imperfection and every rumor. I catch snippets. Of course they all know about my little adventure this morning. The Arven guards, two in front, two behind, are confirmation enough of my continued status as prisoner.


    So Maven¡¯s newest lie is not for them this time. I try to puzzle out his motives, the turns of hisbyrinthine maniptions. He must have weighed the costs of what to tell them¡ªand decided bringing his closest nobles in on such a delicious secret was worth the risk. They won¡¯t mind his lies if he isn¡¯t lying to them.


    As before, he sits on his throne of gray stone bs, both hands wed to the armrests. Sentinels have his back, lining the wall behind him, while Evangeline takes his left, standing proud. She glitters, a lethal star, with a cape and shed gown of intricate silver scales. Her brother, Ptolemus, matches in a new suit of armor, close as a guardian for both his sister and the king. Another bitterly familiar face holds Maven¡¯s right. He does not wear armor. He does not need armor. His mind is weapon and shield enough.


    Samson Merandus grins at me, a vision in dark blue and whitece, colors I hate above all others. Even silver.<i ss="calibre4">I am a butcher,</i>he warned me before my interrogation. He was not lying. I will never fully recover from the way he carved me up: a pig on a hook, bled dry.


    <span id="page_78" title="78">Maven notes my appearance, pleased with it. The same Skonos healer attempted to do something with my hair, pulling it back into a neat tail while swiping a bit of makeup across my frazzled features. She didn¡¯t take long, but I wish she¡¯d lingered. Her touch was cool and soothing, fixing up whatever bruises I earned in my doomed escape.


    I feel no fear as I approach, walking before the eyes of dozens of Silvers. There are far worse things to be afraid of. Like the cameras ahead, for example. They aren¡¯t trained on me yet, but they will be soon. I can hardly stomach the thought.


    Maven stops us short with a single gesture, holding up his palm. The Arvens know what it means and peel away, leaving me to walk thest few yards by myself. That¡¯s when the cameras switch on. To show me walking alone, unguarded, unleashed, a free Red standing with Silvers. The image will be broadcast everywhere, to everyone I love, and anyone I could ever hope to protect. This simple action might be enough to doom dozens of newbloods, and strike a heavy blow against the Scarlet Guard.


    ¡°Come forward, Mare.¡±


    That is Maven¡¯s voice. Not Maven, but Maven. The boy I thought I knew. Gentle, tender. He keeps that voice stored away, ready to be drawn and used against me like a sword. It strikes me to my core, as he knows it will. In spite of myself, I feel the familiar longing for a boy who does not exist.


    My footsteps echo on the marble. In Protocol, thete Lady Blonos tried to teach me how to hold my face at court. Her ideal expression was cold, emotionless, beyond unfeeling. I am none of those things, and I fight the urge to slip behind such a mask. Instead, I try to school my features into something that will both satisfy Maven and somehow let the country know this is not my choice at all. A hard line to walk.


    <span id="page_79" title="79">Still grinning, Samson takes a step sideways, leaving space next to the throne. I shiver at the intention, but do as I must. I take Maven¡¯s right side.


    What a picture this must be. Evangeline in silver, me in red, with the king in ck between.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 7

    <i ss="calibre4">The so-called ¡°lightning alert¡±</i>echoes through the main floor of Irabelle, up and down the scaffoldedndings, back and forth between passages. Runners go out, seeking those of us deemed important enough to get updates on Mare. Usually I¡¯m not a priority. No one drags me down to be debriefed with the rest of her club. The kids find meter on, at work, and hand me a paper detailing whatever snippets the Guard spies gathered on precious Barrow¡¯s cell time. Useless stuff. What she ate, her guard rotation, that kind of thing. But today the runner, a little girl with slick, straight ck hair and russet skin, tugs on my arm.


    ¡°Lightning alert, Miss Cole. Come with me,¡± she says, adamant and cloying.


    I want to snap that my priority is to get the heat working in my barracks, not find out how many times Mare used the bathroom today, but her sweet face stops the impulse. Farley must¡¯ve sent the cutest bleeding kid in the base.<i ss="calibre4">Damn her.</i>


    ¡°All right, I¡¯ll go,¡± I huff, tossing my tools back into their case. When she takes my hand, I¡¯m reminded of Morrey. He¡¯s shorter than I<span id="page_81" title="81">am, and back when we were kids working the assembly line, he used to hold my hand when the noisy machines frightened him. But this little girl shows no signs of fear.


    She pulls me through curling passages, proud of herself for knowing which way to go. I frown at the red scrap tied around her wrist. She¡¯s too young to be oathed to rebels, let alone living in their tactical headquarters. But then, I was sent to work when I was five, sorting scrap from the junk piles. She¡¯s twice that age.


    I open my mouth to ask what brought her here, but think better of it. Her parents, obviously, either by their life¡¯s choices or their life¡¯s ending. I wonder where they might be. Just like I wonder about mine.


    <i ss="calibre4">Passages 4 and 5 and Sub 7 need wire stripping. Barracks A needs heat.</i>I repeat the always-growing list of tasks to dull the sudden pain. My own parents fade from my thoughts as I push away their faces. Daddy driving a transport truck, his hands sure as ever on the wheel. Mama in the factory alongside me, quicker than I¡¯ll ever be. She was sick when we left, her hair thinning while her dark skin seemed to gray. I almost choke on the memory. Both of them are out of my reach. But Morrey isn¡¯t. Morrey I can get to.


    <i ss="calibre4">Passages 4 and 5 and Sub 7 need wire stripping. Barracks A needs heat.</i>Morrey Cole needs to be saved.


    We reach the passage to central control the same time Kilorn does. His own runner trails behind, sprinting to keep up with thenky boy tearing around the corner. Kilorn must have been topside, out in the frozen air of oing winter. His cheeks bloom red from the cold. As he walks, he pulls off a knit hat, upending uneven tawny locks.


    ¡°Cam.¡± He nods at me, stopping where our paths cross. He vibrates with fear, eyes vividly green in the fluorescent lights of the passage. ¡°Any ideas?¡±


    <span id="page_82" title="82">I shrug. I know less than anyone where Mare is concerned. I don¡¯t even know why they bother to keep me in the loop. Probably to make me feel included. Everyone knows I don¡¯t want to be here, but I have nowhere else to go. Not back to New Town, not to the Choke. I¡¯m stuck.


    ¡°None,¡± I reply.


    Kilorn nces back at his runner, offering a smile. ¡°Thanks,¡± he says, kindly dismissive. The kid takes a hint, turning away with relief. I do the same to mine, gesturing with a bob of my head and a grateful smile. She takes off in the other direction, disappearing around a bend.


    ¡°Starting them young,¡± I can¡¯t help but whisper under my breath.


    ¡°Not as young as we were,¡± Kilorn replies.


    I frown. ¡°True.¡±


    In the past month or so, I¡¯ve learned enough about Kilorn to know I can trust him as much anyone down here. Our lives are simr. He started apprenticing at a young age, and, like me, he had the luxury of a job to keep him from conscription. Until the rules changed on us both, and we ended up pulled into the lightning girl¡¯s orbit. Kilorn would argue that his presence here is by choice, but I know better. He was Mare¡¯s best friend, and he followed her into the Scarlet Guard. Now blind stubbornness¡ªnot to mention his fugitive status¡ªkeeps him here.


    ¡°But we weren¡¯t indoctrinated into something, Kilorn,¡± I continue, hesitating to take the next few steps. The control-room guards wait a few yards away, silent in their duties at the door. They¡¯re watching us both. I don¡¯t like the feeling.


    Kilorn offers a strange, sad twitch of a smile. His eyes lower to my tattooed neck, where I am permanently marked with my profession<span id="page_83" title="83">and ce. The ck ink stands out, even against my dark skin. ¡°Yes, we were, Cam,¡± he says quietly. ¡°Come on.¡±


    He slips an arm around my shoulders, moving us both forward. The guards stand aside, letting us pass through the door.


    This time, the control room is more crowded than I¡¯ve ever seen. Every technician sits in rapt attention, their focus on the several screens at the front of the room. Each disys the same thing: the Burning Crown, the emblem of Norta, its mes of red, ck, and silver. Usually the symbol bookends official broadcasts, and I assume I¡¯m about to be subjected to thetest message from King Maven¡¯s regime. I¡¯m not the only one to think so.


    ¡°We might see her,¡± Kilorn breathes, his voice tempered by equal parts longing and fear. On-screen, the image jumps a little. Frozen, paused. ¡°What are we waiting for?¡±


    ¡°More like who,¡± I reply, casting a look about the room. As far as I can see, Cal is here already, stoically folded at the back of the room, keeping his distance from everyone. He feels me watching, but doesn¡¯t do much more than nod.


    To my dismay, Kilorn waves him over. After a second of hesitation, Calplies, moving gently through the room as it crowds full. For whatever reason, this lightning alert has drawn many to control, all of them as on edge as Kilorn. Most of them I don¡¯t recognize, but a few newbloods join the mix. I spot Rash and Tahir at their usual position, seated with their radio equipment, while Nanny and Ada stick close together. Like Cal, they upy the back wall, reluctant to draw any attention to themselves. As the prince gets closer, Red officers all but jump out of his way. He pretends to ignore it.


    Cal and Kilorn trade weak smiles. Their usual rivalry is long gone,<span id="page_84" title="84">but reced by trepidation.


    ¡°Wish the Colonel would move his ass a little faster,¡± a voice says on my right.


    I turn to see Farley sidle up to us, doing her best to remain inconspicuous despite her belly. It¡¯s mostly hidden by herrge jacket, but it¡¯s hard to keep secrets in a ce like this. She¡¯s close to four months and doesn¡¯t care who knows. Even now, she bnces a te of fried potatoes in one hand, a fork in the other.Property belongs to N?vel(D)r/ama.Org.


    ¡°Cameron, boys,¡± she adds, nodding at us in turn. I do the same, as does Kilorn. She gives Cal a mock salute with her fork, and he barely grunts a response. His jaw clenches so tightly his teeth might shatter.


    ¡°Thought the Colonel slept in here,¡± I reply, fixing my gaze on the screen. ¡°Typical. The one time we need him around.¡±


    Any other day, I would wonder if his absence was a ploy. Maybe to let us know who¡¯s in charge. As if any of us could forget. Even next to Cal, a Silver prince and general, or a host of newbloods with a terrifying array of abilities, he somehow manages to hold all the cards. Because here, in the Scarlet Guard, in this world, information is more important than anything, and he¡¯s the only one who knows enough to keep control of us all.


    I can respect that. Parts of a machine don¡¯t need to know what the other pieces are doing. But I¡¯m not just a gear. Not anymore.


    The Colonel enters, nked by Mare¡¯s brothers. Still no sign of her parents, who remain stowed away somewhere, alongside her sister with the dark red hair. I thought I saw her once, a smart, quick thing darting through the mess hall, but I never got close enough to ask. I¡¯ve heard rumors, of course. Whispers from the other technicians and soldiers. A Security officer crushed the girl¡¯s foot, forcing Mare to beg at the summer pce. Or something like that. I have a feeling that asking Kilorn<span id="page_85" title="85">for the real story would be inconsiderate.


    The control center turns to watch for the Colonel, eager for him to start whatever we¡¯re here to see. So we react together, stifling gasps or surprised expressions when another Silver follows the Colonel into the already-crowded room.


    Every time I see him, I want to hate him. He was the reason Mare forced me to join her, forced me to return to my prison, forced me to kill, forced others to die so this insignificant dry twig of a man could live. But those choices weren¡¯t his. He was a prisoner as much as I was, doomed to the cells of Corros and the slow, crushing death of Silent Stone. It¡¯s not his fault the lightning girl loves him, and he must bear the curse that love brings with it.


    Julian Jacos does not shrink against the back wall with the newbloods, and he doesn¡¯t take the spot next to his nephew Cal either. Instead, he keeps close to the Colonel, allowing the crowd to part so that he might see this broadcast as best he can. I focus on his shoulders as he settles into ce. His posture reeks of Silver decadence. Straight-backed, perfect. Even in the hand-me-down uniform, faded by use, with gray in his hair and the pallid, cold look we all take on underground, there¡¯s no denying what he is. Others share my sentiments. The soldiers around him touch their holstered guns, keeping one eye on the Silver man. The rumors are more pointed where is he concerned. He¡¯s Cal¡¯s uncle, a dead queen¡¯s brother, Mare¡¯s old tutor. Woven into our ranks like a thread of steel among wool. Embedded, but dangerous and easily pulled free.


    They say he can control a man with his voice and his eyes. Like the queen could. Like many still can.


    One more person I will never, ever turn my back on. It¡¯s a long list.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see it,¡± the Colonel barks, cutting off the low murmur born<span id="page_86" title="86">of Julian¡¯s presence. The screens respond in kind, jittering into motion.


    No one speaks, and the sight of King Maven¡¯s face cuts through us all.


    He beckons from that hulking throne, deep in the heart of the Silver court, eyes wide and inviting. I know he¡¯s a snake, so I can ignore his well-chosen disguise. But I imagine most of the country cannot see through the mask of a young boy called to greatness, dutifully doing what he can for a kingdom on the edge of chaos. He¡¯s good-looking. Not broad like Cal, but finely shaped, a sculpture of sweeping cheekbones and glossy ck hair. Beautiful, not handsome. I hear someone scratching notes, probably recording everything on-screen. Allowing the rest of us to watch unfettered, focused only on what horror Maven is about to perform.


    He leans forward, one hand extended, as he stands to call someone to him.


    ¡°Come forward, Mare.¡±


    The cameras turn, revolving smoothly to show Mare standing before the king. I expected rags, but instead she wears finery I could never dream of. Every inch of her is covered in bloodred gemstones and embroidered silk. It all shimmers as she walks down a grand aisle parting the crowd of Silvers assembled for whatever this is. No more cor, no more leash. Again I see through the mask. Again I hope the kingdom does too¡ªbut how can they? They don¡¯t know her like we do. They don¡¯t see the shadows in her dark eyes, flickering with every step. Her hollow cheeks. The purse of her lips. The twitching fingers. A tightening jaw. And that¡¯s only what I notice. Who knows what Cal or Kilorn or her brothers can see in the lightning girl?


    The dress covers her from just below her neck to wrist and ankle. Probably to hide bruises, scars, and the brand she bears from the king.<span id="page_87" title="87">It¡¯s not a dress at all, but a costume.


    I¡¯m not the only one to suck in a breath of fear when she reaches the king. He takes her hand in his, and she hesitates to close her fingers. Only a fraction of a second, but enough to cement what we already know. This is not her choice. Or if it is, the alternative was much, much worse.


    A current of heat ripples on the air. Kilorn does his best to sidle away from Cal without drawing attention, bumping into me. I make room as best I can. No one wants to be too close to the fire prince if things go south.


    Maven does not have to gesture. Mare knows him and his schemes well enough to understand what he wants from her. The camera image pulls back as she moves to the right of his throne. What we see now is a disy of ultimate strength. Evangeline Samos, the king¡¯s betrothed, a future queen in power and appearance, on one side, with the lightning girl on the other. Silver and Red.


    Other nobles, the greatest of the High Houses, stand in assembly on the dais. Names and faces I don¡¯t know, but I¡¯m sure many here do. Generals, diplomats, warriors, advisers. Every one of them dedicated to ourplete annihtion.


    The king takes his throne again, slowly, eyes locked deep into the camera, and so into us.


    ¡°Before I say anything else, before I begin this speech¡±¡ªhe gestures, confident and almost charming¡ª¡°I want to thank the fighting men and women, Silver and Red, who serve to protect our borders, who are currently defending us from enemies outside this nation, and the enemies within. To the soldiers of Corvium, the loyal warriors resisting the constant and deplorable terrorist attacks of the Scarlet Guard, I salute you, and I am with you.¡±


    <span id="page_88" title="88">¡°Liar,¡± someone snarls in the room, but they¡¯re quickly hushed.


    On-screen, Mare looks like she shares the sentiment. She does her best not to twitch or let her face betray her emotions. It works. Almost. A flush creeps up her neck, partially hidden by her high cor. Not high enough. Maven would have to put a bag over her head to hide her feelings.


    ¡°In recent days, after much deliberation with my council and the courts of Norta, Mare Barrow of the Stilts was sentenced for her crimes against this kingdom. She stood used of murder and terrorism, and we believed her to be the worst of the rats gnawing at our roots.¡± Maven nces up at her, face still and focused. How many times he¡¯s practiced this, I don¡¯t want to know. ¡°Her punishment was to face a lifetime in prison, after first being interrogated by my own cousins of House Merandus.¡±


    At the king¡¯s bidding, a man in dark blue steps forward. Hees within inches of Mare, close enough to brush a hand against whatever part of her he chose. She freezes in ce, snapping every centimeter still to keep from flinching.


    ¡°I am Samson of House Merandus, and I performed the interrogation of Mare Barrow.¡±


    Ahead of me, Julian raises a hand to his mouth. The only indication of how affected he is.


    ¡°As a whisper, my ability allows me to bypass the usual lies and twists of speech that most prisoners rely on. So when Mare Barrow told us the truth of the Scarlet Guard and its horrors, I confess I did not believe her. I testify here, on record, that I was wrong to doubt her. What I saw in her memories was painful and chilling.¡±


    Another round of whispers through the room, another round of hushing. The tension is still palpable, though, as well as the confusion.<span id="page_89" title="89">The Colonel straightens, arms crossed. I¡¯m sure they¡¯re all thinking on their sins, and what this Samson fool could be rattling on about. On one side, Farley taps her fork against her lip, eyes narrowed. She curses under her breath, but I can¡¯t ask why.


    Mare lifts her chin, looking like she might vomit on the king¡¯s boots. I bet she wants to.


    ¡°I went to the Scarlet Guard willingly,¡± she says. ¡°They told me my brother had been executed while serving in the legions, for a crime he did notmit.¡± Her voice cracks at the mention of Shade. Next to me, Farley¡¯s breath quickens and her hand curls over her stomach. ¡°They asked if I wanted vengeance for his death. I did. So I swore my allegiance to their cause, and I was ced as a servant inside the royal residence at the Hall of the Sun.


    ¡°I came to the pce as a Red spy, but even I did not know I was something else entirely. During the right of Queenstrial, I discovered I somehow possessed electrical ability. After consultation, thete King Tiberias and Queen ra decided to take me in, to quietly study what I was and, hopefully, teach me what my ability could be. They disguised me as a Silver to protect me. They rightfully knew that a Red with an ability would be considered a freak at best, an abomination at worst, and they hid my identity to keep me safe from the prejudices of both Red and Silver. My blood status was known to a few, Maven included, as well as Ca¡ªPrince Tiberias.


    ¡°But the Scarlet Guard discovered what I was. They threatened to expose me publicly, both to ruin the credibility of the king and to put me in danger. I was forced to serve them as a spy, to follow their orders, and to facilitate their infiltration of the king¡¯s court.¡±


    The next outcry from the room is louder, and not easily put down.


    ¡°This is some impressive bullshit,¡± Kilorn growls.


    <span id="page_90" title="90">¡°My ultimate mission was to gain Silver allies for the Scarlet Guard. I was instructed to target Prince Tiberias, a cunning warrior and the heir to the throne of Norta. He was . . .¡± She hesitates, her eyes boring into ours. They shift back and forth, searching. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cal lower his head. ¡°He was easily convinced. Once I figured out how to convince him, I also aided the Scarlet Guard in their ns for the Sun Shooting, which left eleven dead, and the bombing of the Bridge of Archeon.


    ¡°When Prince Tiberias killed his father, King Maven acted swiftly, making the only choice he thought he could,¡± her voice warbles. Next to her, Maven does his best to look sad at the mention of his murdered father. ¡°He was grieving, and we were sentenced to execution in the arena. We escaped with our lives only because of the Scarlet Guard. They took us both to an ind stronghold off the Nortan coast.


    ¡°I was held prisoner there, as were Prince Tiberias and, I discovered, the brother I thought I¡¯d lost. Like me, he had an ability, and like me, he was feared by the Scarlet Guard. They intended to kill us, the ones they call newbloods. When I discovered that others like me existed, and the Scarlet Guard was hunting them down to exterminate them, I managed to escape with my brother and a few others. Prince Tiberias came with us. I know now that he intended to build himself an army to challenge his brother. After a few months, the Scarlet Guard caught up with us all, and they killed the few abilitied Reds we were able to find. My brother was murdered in the conflict, but I escaped alone.¡±


    For once, the heat in the room isn¡¯ting from Cal. Everyone boils with rage. This isn¡¯t Mare. These aren¡¯t her words. But still I feel anger as much as the rest. How can she even let this out of her mouth? I¡¯d spit blood before speaking Maven¡¯s lies. But what choice does she have?


    <span id="page_91" title="91">¡°With nowhere else to go, I turned myself in to King Maven and whatever justice he saw to give me.¡± Her resolve breaks piece by piece, until tears course down her cheeks. I¡¯m ashamed to say they help her little speech more than anything else. ¡°I stand here now a willing prisoner. I am sorry for what I¡¯ve done, but I am ready to do whatever I can to stop the Scarlet Guard and their terrifying hope for the future. They stand for no one but themselves and the people they can control. They kill everyone else, everyone who stands in their way. Everyone who is different.¡±


    Thest words stick, refusing toe out. On the throne, Maven sits still, but his throat works a little. Emitting a noise the camera cannot hear, urging her to finish as he demands.


    Mare Barrow raises her chin and res forward. Her eyes seem ck with rage. ¡°We, the newbloods, are not fit for their dawn.¡±


    Shouts and protests erupt through the room, hurling obscenities at Maven, at the Merandus whisper, even at the lightning girl for speaking the words.


    ¡°¡ªvile beast of a king¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªwould rather kill myself than say¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªbarely a puppet¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªtraitor, in and simple¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªnot her first time singing their song¡ª¡±


    Kilorn is the first to break, both hands curling into fists. ¡°You think she wanted to do this?¡± he says, his voice loud enough to carry, but not harsh. His face reddens with frustration, and Cal puts a hand on his shoulder, standing with him. It silences more than a few, particrly the younger officers. They look embarrassed, apologetic, even, shamed by the reprimand of an eighteen-year-old boy.


    <span id="page_92" title="92">¡°Quiet, all of you!¡± the Colonel rumbles, shutting up the rest. He turns once to re with his mismatched eyes. ¡°The brat is still speaking.¡±


    ¡°Colonel . . . ,¡± Cal growls. His tone is a threat in as day.


    In reply, the Colonel points on-screen. At Maven, not Mare.


    ¡°. . . offer refuge to any fleeing the terror of the Scarlet Guard. And to the newbloods among you, hiding from what seems to be little more than genocide, my own doors are open. I have instructed the royal pces of Archeon, Harbor Bay, Delphie, and Summerton, as well as the military forts of Norta, to protect your kind from ughter. You will have food, shelter, and, if you wish it, training for your abilities. You are my subjects to protect, and I will do it with every resource I have to give. Mare Barrow is not the first of you to join us, and she will not be thest.¡± He has the smug audacity toy a hand on her arm.


    So this is how barely more than a boy bes a king. He¡¯s not only ruthless and remorseless, but just in brilliant. If not for the rage curling in me, I would be impressed. His ploy will cause problems for the Guard, of course. Personally, I¡¯m more concerned with the newbloods still out there. We were recruited to Mare and her rebellion with little choice in the matter. Now there¡¯s even less. The Guard or the King. Both see us as weapons. Both will get us killed. But only one will keep us in chains.


    I nce over my shoulder, seeking out Ada. Her eyes are glued to the screen, effortlessly memorizing every tick and inflection to be scrutinizedter. Like me, she frowns, thinking about the deeper worry no member of the Scarlet Guard has yet. What will happen to the people like us?


    ¡°To the Scarlet Guard, I say only this,¡± Maven adds, standing up from his throne. ¡°Your dawn is little more than darkness, and it will never take this country. We fight to thest. Strength and power.¡±


    <span id="page_93" title="93">On the dais, and across the rest of the throne room, the chant echoes from every mouth. Including Mare¡¯s. ¡°Strength and power.¡±


    The image holds for a second, burning the sight into every brain. Red and Silver, the lightning girl and King Maven, united against the great evil they¡¯ve made us out to be. I know it isn¡¯t Mare¡¯s choice, but it is her fault. Didn¡¯t she realize he would use her if he didn¡¯t kill her?


    <i ss="calibre4">She didn¡¯t think he would do it.</i>Cal said that before, about her interrogation. They are both weak where Maven is concerned, and that weakness continues to gue us all.


    Back at the Notch, Mare did her best to school me in my ability. I practice here when I can, together with the other newbloods learning their limits. Cal and Julian Jacos attempt to help, but I and many others are loath to trust their tutge. Besides, I¡¯ve found someone else to help me.


    I know my ability has grown in strength, if not control. I feel it now, prodding beneath my skin, a blissful emptiness to still the chaos around me. It begs, and I clench a fist against it, keeping the silence back. I can¡¯t turn my anger on the people in this room. They aren¡¯t the enemy.


    When the screen cuts to ck, signaling the end of the address, a dozen voices sound at once. Cal¡¯s palm ms against the desk in front of him, and he turns, muttering to himself.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough,¡± I think he says before he pushes his way out of the room.<i ss="calibre4">Stupid.</i>He knows his own brother. He can dissect Maven¡¯s words better than any of us.


    The Colonel knows it too. ¡°Get him back here,¡± he says under his breath, leaning in to speak to Julian. The Silver nods, moving smoothly to retrieve his nephew. Many stop talking to watch him go.


    ¡°Captain Farley, your thoughts?¡± the Colonel says, his sharp voice<span id="page_94" title="94">drawing attention back where it belongs. He crosses his arms and turns to face his daughter.


    Farley snaps to focus, seemingly unaffected by the speech. She swallows a bite of potato. ¡°The natural response would be a broadcast of our own. Refuting Maven¡¯s ims, showing the country who we saved.¡±


    Using us as propaganda. Doing exactly what Maven is doing to Mare. My stomach tightens at the thought of being shoved in front of a camera, forced to sing the praises of the people I barely tolerate and cannot fully trust.


    Her father nods. ¡°I agree¡ª¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the right course of action.¡±


    The Colonel raises the brow of his ruined eye.


    She takes it as an invitation to continue. ¡°It¡¯ll just be words. Nothing of use in the end, in the scheme of what¡¯s going on.¡± Her fingers tap against her lips, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. ¡°I think we keep Maven talking, while we keep on doing. Already our infiltration of Corvium is cing strain on the king. See how he singled out the city? Its military? He¡¯s bolstering morale. Why do that if they don¡¯t need it?¡±


    At the back of the room, Julian returns, one hand on Cal¡¯s shoulder. They¡¯re of the same height, though Cal looks about fifty pounds heavier than his uncle. Corros Prison certainly took as much of a toll on Julian as it did the rest of us.


    ¡°We have a good deal of information regarding Corvium,¡± Farley adds. ¡°And its importance to Nortan military, not to mention Silver morale, makes it the perfect ce.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± I hear myself ask, surprising everyone in the room, myself included.


    <span id="page_95" title="95">Farley is good enough to address me directly. ¡°The first assault. The Scarlet Guard¡¯s official deration of war against the king of Norta.¡±


    A strangled sort of yelp erupts from Cal, not the kind anyone would expect from a prince and soldier. His face pales, eyes wide with what can only be fear. ¡°Corvium is a fortress. A city built with the sole purpose of surviving a war. There are a thousand Silver officers in there, soldiers trained to¡ª¡±


    ¡°To organize. To fight Laknders. To stand behind a trench and mark ces on a map,¡± Farley fires back. ¡°Tell me I¡¯m wrong, Cal. Tell me your kind is prepared to fight inside its own walls.¡±


    The re he levels at her would cut through anyone else, but Farley stands firm. If anything, she strengthens in her opposition.


    ¡°It¡¯s suicide, for you and for anyone in your way,¡± he tells her. Sheughs at the tant dodge, inciting him further. He controls himself well, a fire prince reluctant to burn. ¡°I¡¯m not part of this,¡± he snarls. ¡°Good luck assaulting Corvium without whatever intelligence you counted on from me.¡±


    Farley¡¯s emotions are not so hindered by a Silver ability. The room will not burn with her, no matter how red her face flushes. ¡°Thanks to Shade Barrow, I already have everything I need!¡±


    The name usually has a sobering effect. To remember Shade is to remember how he died, and what it did to the people he loved. For Mare, it turned her cold, empty, into the person willing to trade herself to keep her friends and family from the same fate. For Farley, it left her alone, singr in her pursuits, focused only on the Scarlet Guard and nothing else. I didn¡¯t know either of them for very long before Shade died, but even Iment who they were. The loss changed them both, and not for the better.


    She forces herself through the pain Shade¡¯s memory brings, if only<span id="page_96" title="96">to shove Cal¡¯s nose in it. ¡°Before we faked his execution, Shade was our key operative in Corvium. He used his ability to feed us as much information as he could give. Don¡¯t think for one second you are our only card to y in this,¡± Farley says evenly. Then she turns back to the Colonel. ¡°I advise a full assault, utilizing newbloods in conjunction with Red soldiers and our infiltrators already inside the city.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Utilizing newbloods.</i>The words sting, stab, and burn, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.


    I guess it¡¯s my turn to storm from the room.


    Cal watches me go, mouth pressed into a grim, firm line.


    <i ss="calibre4">You¡¯re not the only one who can be dramatic,</i>I think as I leave him behind.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 8

    <i ss="calibre4">I make it easy</i>for the Arvens to remove me from the dais. Egg and Trio take my arms, leaving Kitten and Clover behind. My body goes numb as they escort me out of sight.<i ss="calibre4">What have I done?</i>I wonder.<i ss="calibre4">What will this do?</i>


    Somewhere the others watched. Cal, Kilorn, Farley, my family. They saw that. The shame almost makes me vomit all over my wretched, magnificent gown. I feel worse than when I read the Measures of Maven¡¯s father, dooming so many to conscription in payment for the Scarlet Guard¡¯s action. But then, everyone knew the Measures were not my doing. I was only the messenger.


    The Arvens push me forward. Not back the way I came, but behind the throne, through a doorway, to rooms I¡¯ve never seen.


    The first is clearly another council chamber, with a long table topped in marble, surrounded by more than a dozen plush chairs. One seat is stonework, a cold construction of gray. For Maven. The room is brightly lit, flooded by the setting sun on one side. The windows face west, away from the river, looking over the pce walls and the gently<span id="page_98" title="98">sloping hills covered in snowy forest.


    Last year Kilorn and I cut river ice for spare coins, risking frostbite in favor of honest work. Thatsted about a week, until I realized coppers for breaking up ice that would only refreeze was a poor use of our time. How strange, to know that was only a year ago, and a lifetime away.


    ¡°Your pardon,¡± a soft voice says, sounding from the only seat in shadow. I turn to it and watch Jon unfold himself from his chair, a book in one hand.


    The seer. His red eyes glow with some inner light I can¡¯t name. I thought he was an ally, a newblood with an ability as strange as mine. He is more powerful than an eye, able to see farther into the future than any Silver can. Now he stands before me as an enemy, having betrayed us to Maven. His stare feels like hot needles pricking skin.


    He is the reason I led my friends to Corros Prison, and the reason my brother is dead. The sight of him chases the icy numbness away, recing all that emptiness with livid, electric heat. I want nothing more than to beat him across the face with whatever I can. I settle for snarling at him.


    ¡°Good to see Maven doesn¡¯t keep all his pets on a leash.¡±


    Jon just blinks at me. ¡°Good to see you are not so blind as you once were,¡± he replies as I pass him.


    When we first met him, Cal warned us that people go mad puzzling out riddles of the future. He was absolutely right, and I won¡¯t fall into that trap again. I turn away, resisting the urge to dissect his carefully chosen words.


    ¡°Ignore me all you want, Miss Barrow. I¡¯m not your concern,¡± he adds. ¡°Only one person here is.¡±


    I nce over my shoulder, my muscles moving before my brain<span id="page_99" title="99">can react. Of course Jon speaks before I do, stealing the words from my throat.


    ¡°No, Mare, I don¡¯t mean yourself.¡±


    We leave him behind, continuing on to wherever I am being led. The silence is a torture as much as Jon, giving me nothing to focus on except his words. He means Maven, I realize. And it¡¯s not difficult to guess the implication. And the warning.


    There are pieces of me, small pieces, still in love with a fiction. A ghost inside a living boy I cannot begin to fathom. The ghost who sat by my bed while I dreamed in pain. The ghost who kept Samson from my mind as long as he could, I know, dying an inevitable torture.


    The ghost who loves me, in what poisoned way he can.


    And I feel that poison working in me.


    As I suspect, the Arvens don¡¯t take me back to my prison of a bedroom. I try to memorize our path, noting doors and passages branching off the many council chambers and salons in this wing of the pce. The royal apartments, every inch more decorated than thest. But I¡¯m more interested in the colors dominating the rooms rather than the furniture itself. Red, ck, and royal silver¡ªthat¡¯s easy to understand. The colors of reigning House Calore. There¡¯s navy as well. The shade gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. It stands for ra. Dead, but still here.


    We finally stop in a small but well-stocked library. Sunset angles through the heavy curtains, drawn against the light. Dust motes dance in the red beams, ash above a dying fire. I feel like I am inside a heart, surrounded by bloody red. This is Maven¡¯s study, I realize. I fight the urge to take the leather seat behind acquered desk. To im something of his as my own. It might make me feel better, but only for a moment.


    <span id="page_100" title="100">Instead, I observe what I can, looking around with wide, absorbing eyes. Scarlet tapestries worked with ck and glinting silver thread hang between portraits and photographs of Calore ancestors. House Merandus is not so evident here, represented only by a g of blue and white hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The colors of other queens are there too, some bright, some faded, some forgotten. Except for the golden yellow of House Jacos. It isn¡¯t there at all.


    Coriane, Cal¡¯s mother, has been erased from this ce.


    I search the pictures quickly, though I don¡¯t really know what I¡¯m searching for. None of the faces look familiar, except for Maven¡¯s father. His painting,rger than the rest, glowering over the empty firece, is difficult to ignore. Still draped in ck, a sign of mourning. He¡¯s been dead only a few months.


    I see Cal in his face, and Maven too. The same straight nose, high cheekbones, and thick, glossy ck hair. Family traits, judging by the other pictures of Calore kings. The onebeled Tiberias the Fifth is particrly good-looking, almost startlingly so. But then, painters are not paid to make their subjects look ugly.


    I¡¯m not surprised to see Cal isn¡¯t represented. Like his mother, he has been removed. A few spaces are conspicuously empty, and I suppose he used to upy them. Why wouldn¡¯t he? Cal was his father¡¯s firstborn, his favorite son. It¡¯s no wonder Maven took down his brother¡¯s pictures. No doubt he burned them.


    ¡°How¡¯s the head?¡± I ask Egg, offering a sly, empty smile.


    He responds with a re, and my smile spreads. I¡¯ll treasure the memory of him t on his back, electrocuted into unconsciousness.


    ¡°No more shakes?¡± I press on, fluttering a hand the way his body flopped. Again no response, but his neck colors blue-gray in an angry<span id="page_101" title="101">flush. That¡¯s entertainment enough for me. ¡°Damn, those skin healers are good.¡±


    ¡°Having fun?¡±


    Maven enters alone, his presence oddly small inparison to the figure he cuts on the throne. His Sentinels must be close, though, just outside the study. He¡¯s not foolish enough to go anywhere without them. With one hand he gestures, sweeping the Arvens from the room. They go swiftly, quiet as mice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have much else for amusement,¡± I say when they disappear. For the thousandth time today, I curse the presence of the manacles. Without them, Maven would be as dead as his mother. Instead, they force me to tolerate him in all his disgusting glory.


    He grins at me, enjoying the dark joke. ¡°Good to see not even I can change you.¡±


    To that I have no response at all. I can¡¯t count the ways Maven has changed me, and destroyed the girl I used to be.


    As I suspected, he flounces to the desk and sits with a cool, practiced grace. ¡°I must apologize for my rudeness, Mare.¡± I think my eyes bug out of my head, because heughs. ¡°Your birthday was more than a month ago, and I didn¡¯t get you anything.¡± As with the Arvens, he gestures, motioning for me to take a seat in front of him.


    Surprised, shaken, still numb from my little performance, I do as hemands. ¡°Trust me,¡± I mutter, ¡°I¡¯m fine without whatever new horror you n to gift to me.¡±


    His smile widens. ¡°You¡¯ll like this, I promise.¡±


    ¡°Somehow I don¡¯t believe that.¡±


    Grinning, he reaches into a drawer of his desk. Without ceremony, he tosses me a scrap of silk. ck, one half of it embroidered<span id="page_102" title="102">with red and gold flowers. I snatch it up greedily. Gisa¡¯s handiwork. I run it between my fingers. It still feels smooth and cool, though I expect something slimy, corrupted, poisoned by Maven¡¯s possession. But every twist of thread is a piece of her. Perfect in its fierce beauty, wless, a reminder of my sister and our family.


    He watches me turn the silk over and over. ¡°We took it off you when we first apprehended you. While you were unconscious.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Unconscious.</i>Imprisoned in my own body, tortured by the weight of the sounder.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I force out stiffly. As if I have any reason to thank him for anything.


    ¡°And¡ª¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°I offer you one question.¡±


    I blink at him, confused.


    ¡°You may ask one question, and I will answer it truthfully.¡±


    For a second, I don¡¯t believe him.


    <i ss="calibre4">I¡¯m a man of my word, when I want to be.</i>He said that once, and stands by it. It really is a gift, if he holds to his promise.


    The first question rises without thought.<i ss="calibre4">Are they alive? Did you really leave them there, and let them get away?</i>It almost slips past my lips before I think better of wasting my question. Of course they got away. If Cal were dead, I would know it. Maven would still be gloating, or someone would have said something. And he is far too concerned with the Scarlet Guard. If the others had been captured after me, he would know more and fear less.


    Maven tips his head, watching me think as a cat watches a mouse. He¡¯s enjoying this. It makes my skin crawl.


    <i ss="calibre4"><span id="page_103" title="103">Why give me this? Why even let me ask?</i>Another question almost wasted. Because I know the answer to this too. Maven is not who I thought he was, but that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t know parts of him. I can guess what this is, as much as I want to be wrong. It¡¯s his version of an exnation. A way to make me understand what he¡¯s done and why he continues to do it. He knows what question I will eventually summon the courage to ask. He is a king, but a boy too, alone in a world of his own making.


    ¡°How much of it was her?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t flinch. He knows me too well to be surprised. A more foolish girl would dare to hope¡ªwould believe him a puppet to an evil woman, now abandoned, now adrift. Continuing on a course he has no idea how to change. Luckily, I¡¯m not that stupid.


    ¡°I was slow to walk, you know.¡± He isn¡¯t looking at me anymore, but at the blue g above us. Adorned in white pearls and cloudy gems, a rich thing doomed to collect dust in ra¡¯s memory. ¡°The doctors, even Father, they told Mother I would be fine in my own time. It would happen one day. But ¡®one day¡¯ wasn¡¯t fast enough for her. She couldn¡¯t be the queen with the crippled, slow son. Not after Coriane gave the kingdom a prince like Cal, always smiling and talking andughing and perfect. She had my nurse discarded, med her for my shorings, and took it upon herself to make me stand. I don¡¯t remember it, but she told me the story so many times. She thought it showed how much she loved me.¡±


    Dread pools in my stomach, though I don¡¯t understand why. Something warns me to get up, to walk from this room and into the waiting arms of my guards.<i ss="calibre4">Another lie, another lie,</i>I tell myself.<i ss="calibre4">Artfully woven, as only he can do.</i>Maven cannot look at me. I taste shame on the air.


    <span id="page_104" title="104">His perfect eyes made of ice gloss over, but I¡¯ve long hardened myself to his tears. The first gets stuck in his darkshes, a wobbling drop of crystal.


    ¡°I was a baby, and she hammered her way into my head. She made my body stand, and walk, and fall. She did it every day, until I cried when she entered a room. Until I learned to do it myself. Out of fear. But that would not do either. A baby crying whenever his mother held him?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Eventually she took the fear away too.¡± His eyes darken. ¡°Like so many other things.


    ¡°You ask how much of it was me,¡± he whispers. ¡°Some. Enough.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">But not all.</i>


    I can¡¯t stand this any longer. With unbnced motions, tipped by the weight of my manacles and the sick clenching of my heart, I mber from the chair.


    ¡°You can¡¯t still me this on her, Maven,¡± I hiss at him, stepping back. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me and say you¡¯re doing this because of a dead woman.¡±


    As fast as his tears came, they disappear. Wiped away, as if they never existed. The crack in his mask seals shut.<i ss="calibre4">Good</i>. I have no desire to see the boy beneath.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± he says slowly, sharply. ¡°She is gone now. My choices are my own. Of that I am infinitely sure.¡±


    The throne. His seat in the council chamber. in thingspared to the diamondss artistry or velvet his father used to sit. Hewn of blocked stone, simple, without gems or precious metal. And now I understand why. ¡°Silent Stone. You make all your decisions sitting there.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you? With House Merandus leering so close?¡± He leans back, propping his chin on one hand. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of the whispers<span id="page_105" title="105">they call guidance. Enough tost a lifetime.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I spit at him. ¡°Now you have no one else to me for your evil.¡±


    One side of his mouth lifts in a weak, patronizing smile. ¡°You¡¯d think that.¡±


    I fight the urge to seize whatever I can and bash his head in with it, erasing his smile from the face of the earth. ¡°If only I could kill you and be done with this.¡±Property belongs to N?vel(D)r/ama.Org.


    ¡°How you wound me.¡± He clucks his tongue, amused. ¡°And then what? Run back to your Scarlet Guard? To my brother? Samson saw him many times in your thoughts. Dreams. Memories.¡±


    ¡°Still fixated on Cal, even now, when you¡¯ve won?¡± It¡¯s an easy card to y. His grins annoy me, but my smirk vexes him just as much. We know how to needle each other. ¡°Strange, then, that you¡¯re trying so hard to be like him.¡±


    It¡¯s Maven¡¯s turn to stand, his handsnding hard on the desk as he rises up to meet my eye. A corner of his mouth twitches, pulling his face into a bitter sneer. ¡°I¡¯m doing what my brother never could. Cal follows orders, but he can¡¯t make choices. You know that as well as I do.¡± His eyes flicker, finding an empty spot on the wall. Looking for Cal¡¯s face. ¡°No matter how wonderful you might think he is, so gant, brave, and perfect. He would make a worse king than I ever could.¡±


    I almost agree. I¡¯ve spent too many months watching Cal walk the line between Scarlet Guard and Silver prince, refusing to kill but refusing to stop us, never leaning to one side or the other. Even though he¡¯s seen horror and injustice, he still won¡¯t take a stand. But he is not Maven. He is not one inch the evil that Maven is.


    ¡°I¡¯ve only heard one person describe him as perfect. You,¡± I tell him<span id="page_106" title="106">calmly. It only maddens him further. ¡°I think you may have a bit of an obsession where Cal is concerned. Are you going to me that on your mother too?¡±


    It was meant to be a joke, but to Maven it is anything but. His gaze wavers, only for an instant. A shocking one. In spite of myself, I feel my eyes widen and my heart drop in my chest. He doesn¡¯t know. He truly doesn¡¯t know what parts of his mind are his own and what parts were made by her.


    ¡°Maven,¡± I can¡¯t help but whisper, terrified by what I may have stumbled upon.


    He draws one hand through dark hair, pulling at the strands until they stand on end. An odd silence stretches, one that exposes us both. I feel as though I have wandered somewhere I should not be, trespassed into a ce I really don¡¯t want to go.


    ¡°Leave,¡± he finally says, the word quivering.


    I don¡¯t move, drinking in what I can.<i ss="calibre4">For useter,</i>I tell myself. Not because I¡¯m too numb to walk away. Not because I feel one more incredible surge of pity for the ghost prince.


    ¡°I said leave.¡±


    I¡¯m used to Cal¡¯s anger heating up a room. Maven¡¯s anger freezes, and a chill runs down my spine.


    ¡°The longer you make them wait, the worse they¡¯ll be.¡± Evangeline Samos has the best and worst timing.


    She zes through in her usual storm of metal and mirrors, her long cape trailing. It picks up the red color of the room, glinting crimson and scarlet, shing with every step. As I watch her, heart hammering in my chest, the cape splits and re-forms before my eyes, each half wrapping around a muscled leg. She smirks, letting me watch, as her<span id="page_107" title="107">court dress bes an imposing suit of armor. It, too, is lethally beautiful, worthy of any queen.


    As before, I am not her problem, and she turns her attention from me. She doesn¡¯t miss the strange current of tension on the air, or Maven¡¯s harried manner. Her eyes narrow. Like me, she takes in the sight. Like me, she will use this to her advantage.


    ¡°Maven, did you hear me?¡± She takes a few bold steps, rounding the desk to stand alongside him. Maven angles his body, ghosting swiftly from one of her hands. ¡°The governors are waiting, and my father himself¡ª¡±


    With a vicious will, Maven grabs a sheet of paper from his desk. Judging by the florid signatures at the bottom, it must be some kind of petition. He res at Evangeline, holding the paper away from his body as he flicks his wrist, drawing sparks from his bracelet. They light into twin arcs of me, dancing through the petition like hot knives through butter. It disintegrates into ash, dusting the gleaming floor.


    ¡°Tell your father and his puppets what I think of his proposition.¡±


    If she¡¯s surprised by his actions, she does not show it. Instead, she sniffs, inspects her nails. I watch her sidelong, well aware that she¡¯ll attack me if I so much as breathe too loudly. I keep quiet and wide-eyed, wishing I¡¯d noticed the petition before. Wishing I knew what it said.


    ¡°Careful, my dear,¡± Evangeline says, sounding anything but loving. ¡°A king without supporters is no king at all.¡±


    He turns on her, moving quickly enough to catch her off guard. They¡¯re close to the same height, and they stand almost eye to eye. Fire and iron. I don¡¯t expect her to flinch, not for Maven, the boy, the prince she used to runps around in our Training lessons. Maven is not Cal.<span id="page_108" title="108">But her eyelids flicker, ckshes against silver-white skin, betraying a sliver of fear she wants to hide.


    ¡°Don¡¯t assume you know what kind of king I am, Evangeline.¡±


    I hear his mother in him, and it frightens us both.


    Then he turns his eyes back on me. The confused boy of a moment ago is gone again, reced by living stone and a frozen re.<i ss="calibre4">The same goes for you,</i>his expression says.


    Even though I want nothing more than to run from the room, I stand rooted. He has taken everything from me, but I won¡¯t give him my fear or my dignity. I won¡¯t run away now. Especially not in front of Evangeline.


    She looks at me again, eyes flitting over every inch of my appearance. Memorizing what I look like. She must see me beneath the healer¡¯s touch, the bruises earned in my escape attempt, the permanent shadows beneath my eyes. When she focuses on my corbone, it takes me a moment to understand why. Her lips part, just a little, in what can only be surprise.


    Angry, ashamed, I pull the cor of my dress back up over my brand. But I never look away from her as I do. She will not take my pride either.


    ¡°Guards,¡± Maven finally says, pitching his voice at the door. As the Arvens answer, gloves outstretched to hurry me away, Maven points his chin at Evangeline. ¡°You too.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t take well to that, of course.


    ¡°I am not some prisoner to be ordered around¡ª¡±


    I smile as the Arvens pull me away and out the door. It eases shut, but Evangeline¡¯s voice echoes behind us.<i ss="calibre4">Good luck,</i>I think.<i ss="calibre4">Maven cares even less about you than he does about me.</i>


    My guards set a quick pace, forcing me to keep up. More easily said<span id="page_109" title="109">than done, in the restricting dress, but I manage. The scrap of Gisa¡¯s silk feels soft against my skin, clenched tightly in a fist. I fight the urge to smell the fabric, to chase any remnant of my sister. I steal a nce back, hoping to glimpse exactly who might be waiting for an audience with our wicked king. Instead, I see only Sentinels, ck-masked and me-robed, standing guard at the study door.


    It wrenches open violently, quivering on jumping hinges before mming closed with a smack. For a girl raised a noble, Evangeline has a difficult time controlling her temper. I wonder if my old etiquette instructor, Lady Blonos, ever tried to teach her otherwise. The image almost makes meugh, bringing a rare smile to my lips. It stings, but I don¡¯t care.


    ¡°Save your smirks, lightning girl,¡± Evangeline snarls, doubling her speed.


    Her reaction only goads me on, despite the danger. Iugh outright as I turn back around. Neither of my guards says a word, but they quicken their pace a little. Even they don¡¯t want to test an irritable maron itching for a scuffle.


    She catches us anyway, smoothly sidestepping Egg to nt herself in front of me. The guards stop short, holding me with them.


    ¡°In case you haven¡¯t noticed, I¡¯m a bit busy,¡± I tell her, gesturing to the guards holding both my arms. ¡°There isn¡¯t really room for bickering in my schedule. Go bother someone who can fight back.¡±


    Her smile shes, sharp and bright as the scales of her armor. ¡°Don¡¯t sell yourself short. You¡¯ve got plenty of fight left in you.¡± Then she leans forward, stepping into my space as she did with Maven. An easy way to show she is unafraid. I stand firm, willing myself not to wince, even when she plucks a razored scale from her armor like a petal from a flower.


    <span id="page_110" title="110">¡°At least I hope so,¡± she says under her breath.


    With a careful flick of her hand, she cuts the cor of my dress, stripping back a piece of embroidered scarlet. I fight the urge to cover the<i ss="calibre4">M</i>brand on my skin, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment creep up my throat.


    Her eyes linger, tracing the rough lines of Maven¡¯s mark. Again she seems surprised.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t look like an ident.¡±


    ¡°Any other wonderful observations you¡¯d like to share?¡± I mutter through gritted teeth.


    Grinning, she reces the scale on her bodice. ¡°Not with you.¡± It is a reprieve when she pulls back, putting a few precious inches between us. ¡°ne?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Eve,¡± a voice says. From nowhere.


    I nearly jump out of my skin when ne Haven materializes behind her, seemingly from thin air. A shadow, able to manipte light, powerful enough to make herself invisible. I wonder how long she¡¯s been standing with us. Or if she was in the study, either with Evangeline or before she even walked in. She could¡¯ve been watching the entire time. For all I know, ne could¡¯ve been my ghost since the moment I got here.


    ¡°Has anyone ever tried to put a bell on you?¡± I snap, if only to hide my own difort.


    ne offers a pretty, tight-lipped smile that does not reach her eyes. ¡°Once or twice.¡±


    Like Sonya, ne is familiar to me. We spent many days in Training together, always at odds. She is another of Evangeline¡¯s friends, girls smart enough to ally themselves to a future queen. As ady of House Haven, her gown and jewelry are deepest ck. Not in mourning, but<span id="page_111" title="111">in deference to her house colors. Her hair is as red as I remember, bright copper in contrast to dark, angled eyes and skin that seems blurred, perfected, and wless. The light around her is carefully manipted, giving her a heavenly glow.


    ¡°We¡¯re finished here,¡± Evangeline says, turning herser focus on ne. ¡°For now.¡± She throws back one daggered nce to make her point clear.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 9

    <i ss="calibre4">Being a doll is</i>an odd thing. I spend more time on the shelf than at y. But when I¡¯m forced to, I dance at Maven¡¯smand¡ªhe upholds his bargain while I do. After all, he¡¯s a man of his word.


    The first newblood seeks refuge at Ocean Hill, the Harbor Bay pce, and as Maven promised, he is given full protection from the so-called terror of the Scarlet Guard. A few dayster the poor man, Morritan, is escorted to Archeon and introduced to Maven himself. It is well broadcast. Both his identity and his ability are nowmonly known in court. To the surprise of many, Morritan is a burner like the scions of House Calore. But unlike Cal and Maven, he has no need for a memaker bracelet, or even a spark. His firees from ability and ability alone, same as my lightning.


    I have to sit and watch, perched on a gilded chair with the rest of Maven¡¯s royal entourage. Jon, the seer, sits with me, red-eyed and quiet. As the first two newbloods to join with the Silver king, we are afforded ces of great honor at Maven¡¯s side, second to Evangeline and Samson Merandus. But only Morritan pays us any attention. As<span id="page_113" title="113">he approaches, before the eyes of court and a dozen cameras, his gaze is always on me. He trembles, afraid, but something about my presence keeps him from running away, keeps him walking forward. Obviously he believes what Maven made me say. He believes the Scarlet Guard hunted us all. He even kneels and swears to join Maven¡¯s army, to train with Silver officers. To fight for his king and his country.


    Keeping silent and still is the most difficult part. Despite Morritan¡¯snky limbs, golden skin, and hands callused by years of servant work, he looks like nothing more than a little rabbit scurrying directly into a trap. One wrong word from me and the trap will spring.


    More follow.


    Day after day, week after week. Sometimes one, sometimes a dozen. From every corner of the nation theye, fleeing to the supposed safety of their king. Most because they are afraid, but some because they are foolish enough to want a ce here. To leave their lives of oppression behind and be the impossible. I can¡¯t me them. After all, we¡¯ve been told our entire lives that the Silvers are our masters, our betters, our gods. And now they are merciful enough to let us live in their heaven. Who wouldn¡¯t try to join them?


    Maven ys his part well. He embraces them all as brothers and sisters, smiling broadly, showing no shame or fear in an act that most Silvers find repulsive. The court follows his lead, but I see their sneers and scowls hidden behind jeweled hands. Even though this is part of the charade, a well-aimed blow against the Scarlet Guard, they dislike it. What¡¯s more, they fear it. Many of the newbloods have untrained abilities more powerful than their own, or beyond Silverprehension. They watch with wolf eyes and ready ws.


    For once, I am not the center of attention. It is my only respite, not to mention an advantage. No one cares about the lightning girl without<span id="page_114" title="114">her lightning. I do what I can, which is little, but not inconsequential. I listen.


    Evangeline is restless despite an iron-faced facade. Her fingers drum the arms of her seat, still only when ne is near, whispering or touching her. But then she does not dare to rx. She remains on an edge as sharp as her knives. It¡¯s not hard to guess why. Even for a prisoner, I¡¯ve heard very little talk of a royal wedding. And though she is certainly betrothed to the king, she is still not a queen. It scares her. I see it in her face, in her manner, in her constant parade of glittering outfits, each one moreplicated and regal than thest. She wears a crown in all but name, yet the name is what she wants more than anything. Her father wants it too. Volo haunts her side, resplendent in ck velvet and silver brocade. Unlike his daughter, he doesn¡¯t wear any metal that I can see. Not a chain or even a ring. He doesn¡¯t need to wear weaponry to seem dangerous. With his quiet manner and dark robes, he looks more like an executioner than a noble. I don¡¯t know how Maven can stand his presence, or the steady, focused hunger in his eyes. He reminds me of ra. Always watching the throne, always waiting for a chance to take it.


    Maven notices, and does not care. He gives Volo the respect he requires, but little more. And he leaves Evangeline to ne¡¯s dazzlingpany, obviously d that his future wife has no interest in him. His focus is decidedly elsewhere. Not on me, strangely, but on his cousin Samson. I also have a hard time ignoring the whisper who tortured the deepest parts of me. I am constantly aware of his presence, trying to feel out his whispers if I can, though I hardly have the strength to resist them. Maven doesn¡¯t have to worry about that, not with his chair of Silent Stone. It keeps him safe. It keeps him empty.


    When I was first trained to be a princess, aughable thing in itself,<span id="page_115" title="115">I was engaged to the second prince, and I attended very few meetings of court. Balls, yes, feasts many, but nothing like this until my confinement. Now I¡¯ve almost lost count of how many times I¡¯ve been forced to sit like Maven¡¯s well-trained pet, listening to petitioners, politicians, and newbloods pledging allegiance.


    Today looks to be more of the same. The governor of the Rift region, a lord of House Laris, finishes a well-rehearsed plea for Treasury funds to repair Samos-owned mines. Another one of Volo¡¯s puppets, his strings clearly visible. Maven defers him easily, with a wave and a promise to review his proposal. Though Maven is a man of his word with me, he is not at court. The governor¡¯s shoulders slump in dejection, knowing it will never be read.


    My back already hurts from the stiff chair, not to mention the rigid posture I have to maintain in mytest court ensemble. Crystal andce. Red, of course, as always. Maven loves me in red. He says it makes me look alive, even as life is leached from me with every passing day.


    A full court is not required for the daily hearings, and today the throne room is half empty. The dais is still crowded, though. Those chosen to apany the king, nking his left and right, take great pride in their position, not to mention the opportunity to be featured in yet another national broadcast. When the cameras roll, I realize that more newbloods must being. I sigh, resigning myself to another day of guilt and shame.


    My gut twists when the tall doors open. I lower my eyes, not wanting to remember their faces. Most will follow Morritan¡¯s damning example and join Maven¡¯s war in an attempt to understand their abilities.


    Next to me, Jon twitches in his usual way. I focus on his fingers, long and thin, drawing lines against his pant leg. Sweeping back and<span id="page_116" title="116">forth, like a person riffling through pages of a book. He probably is, reading the tentative threads of the future as they form and change. I wonder what he sees. Not that I would ever ask. I will never forgive him for his betrayal. At least he doesn¡¯t try to talk to me, not since I passed him in the council chambers.


    ¡°Wee all,¡± Maven tells the newbloods. His voice is practiced and steady, carrying through the throne room. ¡°Not to worry. You¡¯re safe now. I promise you all, the Scarlet Guard will never threaten you here.¡±


    Too bad.


    I keep my head bowed, hiding my face from the cameras. The rush of blood roars in my ears, hammering in time with my heart. I feel nauseous; I feel sick.<i ss="calibre4">Run!</i>I scream in my head, even though no newblood could escape the throne room now. I look anywhere but at Maven and the newbloods, anywhere but at the invisible cage drawing in around them. My eyesnd on Evangeline, only to find her staring back at me. She isn¡¯t smirking for once. Her face is nk, empty. She has much more practice at this than I do.


    My nails are ragged, cuticles picked raw during long nights of worry and longer days of this painless torture. The Skonos healer who makes me look healthy always forgets to check my hands. I hope anyone watching the broadcasts does not.


    Next to me, the king keeps at this horrid disy. ¡°Well?¡±


    Four newbloods present themselves, each one more nervous than thest. Their abilities are often met with astonished gasps or harried whispers. It feels like a grim mirror to Queenstrial. Instead of performing their abilities for a bridal crown, the newbloods are performing for their lives, to earn what they think is sanctuary at Maven¡¯s side. I try not to watch, but find my eyes straying out of pity and fear.


    <span id="page_117" title="117">The first, a heavyset woman with biceps to rival Cal¡¯s, tentatively walks through a wall. Just straight through, as if the gilded wood and ornate molding were air. At Maven¡¯s fascinated encouragement, she then does the same to a Sentinel guard. He flinches, the only indication of humanity behind his ck mask, but is otherwise unharmed. I have no idea how her ability works at all, and I think of Julian. He¡¯s with the Scarlet Guard too, and hopefully watching every one of these broadcasts. If the Colonel allows it, that is. He¡¯s not exactly a fan of my Silver friends.


    Two old men follow the woman, white-haired veterans with faraway eyes and broad shoulders. Their abilities are familiar to me. The shorter one with missing teeth is like Ketha, one of the newbloods I recruited months ago. Though she could explode an object or person with thought alone, she did not survive our raid on Corros Prison. She hated her ability. It is bloody and violent. Even though the newblood man only destroys a chair, blinking it to splinters, he doesn¡¯t look happy about it either. His friend is soft-spoken, introducing himself as Terrance before telling us he can manipte sound. Like Farrah. Another recruit of mine. She did note to Corros. I hope she is still alive.


    Thest is another woman, probably my mother¡¯s age, her braided ck hair streaked with gray. She is graceful in movement, approaching the king with the quiet, elegant strides of a well-trained servant. Like Ada, like Walsh, like me once. Like so many of us were and still are. When she bows, she bows low.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± she murmurs, her voice soft and unassuming as a summer breeze. ¡°I am Halley, a servant of House Eagrie.¡±


    Maven gestures for her to rise, donning his false smile. She does asmanded. ¡°You were a servant of House Eagrie,¡± he says gently. Then he nods over her shoulder, finding themanding head of<span id="page_118" title="118">Eagrie in the small crowd. ¡°My thanks, Lady Mellina, for bringing her to safety.¡±


    The tall, bird-faced woman is already curtsying, knowing the words before he speaks them. As an eye, she can see the immediate future, and I assume she saw her servant¡¯s ability before her servant even realized what she was.


    ¡°Well, Halley?¡±


    Her eyes flick to mine for a single moment. I hope I hold up under her scrutiny. But she isn¡¯t looking for my fear, or what I hide beneath my mask. Her eyes turn faraway, seeing through and seeing nothing at the same time.


    ¡°She can control and create electricity, great and small,¡± Halley says. ¡°You have no name for this ability.¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org.


    Then she looks at Jon. The same look slides over her. ¡°He sees fate. As far as its path goes, for as long as a person walks it. You have no name for this ability.¡±


    Maven narrows his eyes, wondering, and I loathe myself for feeling the same way he does.


    But she keeps going, staring and speaking as she turns.


    ¡°She can control metal materials through the maniption of maic fields. Maron.¡±


    ¡°Whisper.¡±


    ¡°Shadow.¡±


    ¡°Maron.¡±


    ¡°Maron.¡±


    Down she goes through the line of Maven¡¯s advisers, pointing and naming their abilities with little difficulty. Maven leans forward, quizzical, head tipped to one side in animal curiosity. He watches closely, barely blinking. Many think him stupid without his mother, not a<span id="page_119" title="119">military genius like his brother, so what is he good for? They forget that strategy is not only for the battlefield.


    ¡°Eye. Eye. Eye.¡± She gestures to her former masters, naming them as well before dropping her hand to her side. Her fist clenches and unclenches, waiting for the inevitable disbelief.


    ¡°So your ability is to sense other abilities?¡± Maven finally says, one eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°An easy thing to y at.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty,¡± she admits, even softer now.


    It could be done without much difficulty, especially by someone in her position. She serves a High House, present at court more often than not these days. It would be easy for her to memorize what others can do¡ªbut even Jon? As far as I know, he isuded as the first newblood to join Maven, but I don¡¯t think many know his ability. Maven wouldn¡¯t want people to think he relies on someone with red blood to advise his decisions.


    ¡°Keep going.¡± He raises dark eyebrows, goading her on. Perform.


    She does as hemands, naming Osanos nymphs, Welle greenwardens, a lone Rhambos strongarm. One after another, but they¡¯re wearing colors, and she is a servant. She¡¯s supposed to know these things. Her ability is a parlor trick at best, a lie and a death sentence at the worst. I know she feels the sword hanging over her head, growing closer with every tick of Maven¡¯s jaw.


    At the back, an Iral silk in red and blue gets to his feet, adjusting his coat as he walks. I only notice because his steps are strange, not as fluid as a silk¡¯s should be. Odd.


    And Halley notices too. She trembles, only for a second.


    It could be her life or his.


    <span id="page_120" title="120">¡°She can change her face,¡± she whispers, her finger quivering in the air. ¡°You have no name for this ability.¡±


    The usual whispers of court end without an echo, snuffed out like a candle. Silence falls, broken only by the rising beat of my heart.<i ss="calibre4">She can change her face.</i>


    My body buzzes with adrenaline.<i ss="calibre4">Run!</i>I want to yell.<i ss="calibre4">Run!</i>


    And when the Sentinels take the Iral lord by the arms, marching him forward, I beg to myself,<i ss="calibre4">Please be wrong. Please be wrong. Please be wrong.</i>


    ¡°I am a son of House Iral,¡± the man growls, trying to break the grip of the Sentinel soldiers. An Iral would be able to do it, twisting away with a smile. But whoever he or she is does not. My stomach drops to my feet. ¡°You take the word of a lying Red ve above<i ss="calibre4">mine</i>?¡±


    Samson reacts before Maven can even ask, quick as a swift. He descends the steps of the dais, his electric-blue eyes crackling with hunger. I guess he hasn¡¯t had many brains to feed on since mine. With a yelp, the Iral son stumbles to his knees, head bowed. Samson ms into his mind.


    And then his hair bleeds gray, shortens, recedes to a different head with a different face.


    ¡°Nanny,¡± I hear myself gasp. The old woman dares look up, eyes wide and scared and familiar. I remember recruiting her, bringing her to the Notch, watching her wrangle the newblood kids and tell stories of her own grandchildren. Wrinkled as a walnut, older than any of us, and always up for a mission. I would run to embrace her if that were remotely possible.


    Instead, I fall to my knees, my handstching onto Maven¡¯s wrist. I beg like I have only once before, my lungs full of ash and cold air, my<span id="page_121" title="121">head still spinning from the controlled crash of a jet.


    The dress rips along a seam. It is not meant for kneeling. Not like me.


    ¡°Please, Maven. Don¡¯t kill her,¡± I ask him, gulping at air, grasping at whatever I can to save her life. ¡°She can be used; she is valuable. Look what she can do¡ª¡±


    He pushes me away, his palm against my brand. ¡°She is a spy in my court. Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Still I beg, speaking before Nanny¡¯s smart mouth can get her well and truly killed. And for once, I hope the cameras are still watching.


    ¡°She has been betrayed, lied to, misled by the Scarlet Guard. It¡¯s not her fault!¡±


    The king does not condescend to stand, not even for a murder at his feet. Because he¡¯s afraid to leave his Silent Stone, to make a decision beyond its circle of emptyfort and safety. ¡°The rules of war are clear. Spies are to be dealt with swiftly.¡±


    ¡°When you are sick, who do you me?¡± I demand. ¡°Your body or the disease?¡±


    He res down at me and I feel hollow. ¡°You me the cure that didn¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°Maven, I am begging you . . .¡± I don¡¯t remember starting to cry, but of course I am. They are shameful tears, because I weep for myself as well as her. This was the beginning of a rescue. This was for me. Nanny was my chance.


    My vision blurs, fogging the edge of my sight. Samson raises a hand, eager to dive into what she knows. I wonder how devastating this will be to the Scarlet Guard¡ªand how stupid they were to do this. What a risk, what a waste.


    ¡°Rise. Red as the dawn,¡± she mutters, spitting.


    <span id="page_122" title="122">Then her face changes onest time. To a face we all recognize.


    Samson falls back a half step, surprised, while Maven gives a strangled sort of cry.


    ra stares back at us from the floor, a living ghost. Her face is mangled, destroyed by lightning. One eye is gone, the other bloodshot with vile silver. Her mouth curls into an inhuman sneer. It triggers terror in the pit of my stomach, though I know she¡¯s dead. I know I killed her.


    It¡¯s a clever ploy, buying her enough time to raise a hand to her lips, to swallow.


    I¡¯ve seen suicide pills before. Even though I shut my eyes, I know what happens next.


    It¡¯s better than what Samson would have done. And her secrets stay secrets. Forever.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 10

    <i ss="calibre4">I tear apart every</i>book on my shelf, rip them to shreds. The bindings snap, the pages tear, and I wish they would bleed. I wish I could bleed. She¡¯s dead because I¡¯m not. Because I¡¯m still here, bait in a trap, a lure to draw the Scarlet Guard out of their sanctuaries.


    After a few hours of pointless destruction, I realize I¡¯m wrong. The Scarlet Guard wouldn¡¯t do this. Not the Colonel, not Farley, not for me.


    ¡°Cal, you stupid, stupid bastard,¡± I say to no one.


    Because of course this was his idea. It¡¯s what he learned. Victory at any cost. I hope he doesn¡¯t continue to pay this impossible price for me.


    Outside, it¡¯s snowing again. I feel none of its cold, only my own.


    In the morning, I wake up on my bed, still in my dress, though I don¡¯t remember getting up from the floor. The ruined books are gone too, meticulously swept from my life. Even the smallest pieces of torn paper. But the shelves aren¡¯t empty. A dozen leather-bound books, new and old, upy the spaces. The urge to ruin them too consumes<span id="page_124" title="124">me, and I stumble to my feet, lunging.


    The first one I grab is ratty, its cover torn and aged. I think it used to be yellow, or maybe gold. It doesn¡¯t really matter to me. I flip it open, one hand grabbing for a sheaf of pages, ready to tear them to bits like the rest.


    Familiar handwriting freezes me to the spot. My heart leaps in recognition.


    <i ss="calibre4">Property of Julian Jacos.</i>


    My knees stop working beneath me. Ind with a soft thud, bent over the mostforting thing I¡¯ve seen in weeks. My fingers trace the lines of his name, wishing he would spring from them, wishing I could hear his voice somewhere other than in my head. I flip through the pages, looking for more evidence of him. The words skim by, each one echoing with his warmth. A history of Norta, her formation, and three hundred years of Silver kings and queens ze past. Some pieces are underlined or annotated. Each new burst of Julian makes my chest constrict with happiness. In spite of my circumstances, my painful scars, I smile.


    The other books are the same. All Julian¡¯s, pieces of his muchrger collections. I paw through them like a girl starved. He favors the histories, but there are sciences too. Even a novel. That one has two names inside.<i ss="calibre4">From Julian, to Coriane.</i>I stare at the letters, the only evidence of Cal¡¯s mother in this entire pce. I put that one back with care, my fingers lingering on its unbroken spine. She never read it. Maybe she didn¡¯t get the chance.


    Deep down, I hate that these make me happy. I hate that Maven knows me well enough to know what to give me. Because these are certainly from him. The only kind of apology he can make, the only one I could possibly ept. But I don¡¯t. Of course I don¡¯t. As quick as it<span id="page_125" title="125">came, my smile fades. I can¡¯t let myself feel anything but hatred where the king is concerned. His maniptions aren¡¯t as perfect as his mother¡¯s, but I feel them still, and I won¡¯t let them pull me in.


    For a second, I debate ripping the books apart like I did the others. Showing Maven what I think of his gift. But I just can¡¯t. My fingers linger on the pages, so easy to tear. And then I shelve them carefully, one by one.Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org.


    I will not destroy the books, so I settle for the dress instead, ripping the ruby-encrusted fabric from my body.


    Someone like Gisa probably made this dress. A Red servant with keen hands and an artist¡¯s eye, perfectly sewing something so beautiful and terrible that only a Silver could wear it. The thought should make me sad, but only anger bleeds through me. I have no more tears. Not after yesterday.


    When the next outfit is delivered by silent, stone-faced Clover and Kitten, I pull it on without hesitation orint. The blouse is flecked with a treasure trove of ruby, ga, and onyx, with long, trailing sleeves striped in ck silk. The pants are a gift too, loose enough to pass forfortable.


    The Skonos healeres next. She focuses her efforts on my eyes, healing both the puffiness and my throbbing headache fromst night¡¯s frustrated tears. Like Sara, she is quiet and skilled, her blue-ck fingers fluttering along my aches. She works quickly. So do I.


    ¡°Can you speak, or did Queen ra cut your tongue out too?¡±


    She knows what I¡¯m talking about. Her gaze wavers,shes fluttering in quick blinks of surprise. Still, she doesn¡¯t speak. She has been trained well.


    ¡°Good decision. Last time I saw Sara, I was rescuing her from a prison. Seems even losing her tongue wasn¡¯t enough punishment.¡± I<span id="page_126" title="126">nce past her, to Clover and Kitten looking on. Like the healer, they concentrate on me. I feel the cold ripple of their ability, pulsing in time with the constant silence of my manacles. ¡°There were hundreds of Silvers in there. Many from the High Houses. Have any friends go missingtely?¡±


    I don¡¯t have many weapons in this ce. But I have to try.


    ¡°Keep your mouth shut, Barrow,¡± Clover growls.


    Just getting her to speak is victory enough for me. I push on.


    ¡°I find it odd that no one seems to mind that the little king is a bloodthirsty tyrant. But then I¡¯m Red. I don¡¯t understand you people at all.¡±


    Iugh as Clover shoves me away from the healer, fuming now. ¡°That¡¯s enough healing for her,¡± she hisses, pulling me from the room. Her green eyes spark with anger, but also confusion. Self-doubt. Little cracks I intend to wheedle my way through.


    No one else should risk rescuing me. I have to do it myself.


    ¡°Ignore her,¡± Kitten mutters back at herrade, her voice high and breathy and dripping venom.


    ¡°What an honor it must be for you two.¡± I keep talking as they lead me down long, familiar corridors. ¡°Babysitting some Red brat. Cleaning up after her meals, tidying her room. All so Maven can have his doll around when he wants.¡±


    It only makes them angrier and rougher with me. They quicken their pace, forcing me to keep up. Suddenly we turn left instead of right, into another part of the pce I dimly remember. Residence halls, where the royals live. I lived here once too, if only for a little while.


    My heartbeat quickens as we pass a statue in an alcove. I recognize<span id="page_127" title="127">it. My room¡ªmy old bedchamber¡ªis a few doors away. Cal¡¯s room too, and Maven¡¯s.


    ¡°Not so talkative now,¡± Clover says, her voice sounding faraway.


    Light streams in through the windows, doubly bright from the sun on fresh snow. It does nothing tofort me. I can handle Maven in the throne room, in his study, when I am on disy. But alone¡ªtruly alone? Beneath my clothes, his brand smarts and burns.


    When we stop at a door and push through to the salon inside, I realize my mistake. Relief washes over me. Maven is king now. His living chambers aren¡¯t here anymore.


    But Evangeline¡¯s are.


    She sits in the center of the oddly bare salon, surrounded by twisted pieces of metal. They vary in color and material¡ªiron, bronze, copper. Her hands work diligently, shaping flowers from chrome, curling them into a braided silver and gold band. Another crown for her collection. Another crown she can¡¯t wear yet.


    Two attendants wait on her. A man and a woman, inly dressed, their clothes striped with the colors of House Samos. With a jolt, I realize they are Red.


    ¡°Make her presentable, please,¡± Evangeline says, not bothering to look up.


    The Reds descend, waving me to the single mirror in the room. As I stare into it, I realize ne is here as well,zing on a long couch in a beam of sunlight like a satisfied cat. She meets my gaze without question or fear, only disinterest.


    ¡°You may wait outside,¡± ne says when she breaks eye contact, turning back to my Arven guards. Her red hair catches the light, rippling like liquid fire. Even though I have an excuse for looking horrible,<span id="page_128" title="128">I still feel self-conscious in her presence.


    Evangeline nods, agreeing, and the Arvens file out. Both cast disgruntled nces in my direction. I greedily drink them in to treasureter.


    ¡°Anyone care to exin?¡± I ask the quiet room, expecting no answer.


    The other twough together, exchanging pointed nces. I take the opportunity to assess the room and the situation. There¡¯s another door, probably leading to Evangeline¡¯s bedroom, while the windows are locked tight against the cold. Her room looks out on a familiar courtyard, and I realize my cell of a bedroom must face hers. The revtion shivers me.


    To my surprise, Evangeline drops her work with a tter. The crown shatters, unable to hold its shape without her ability. ¡°It is the queen¡¯s duty to receive guests.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not a guest and you¡¯re not a queen, so . . .¡±


    ¡°If only your brain were as quick as your mouth,¡± she snaps back.


    The Red woman blinks rapidly, flinching like our words might hurt her. Actually, they might, and I resolve to be less stupid. I bite my lip to keep more foolish thoughts from spilling out, letting the two Red servants work. The man attends to my hair, brushing it through and coiling it into a spiral, while she does up my face. No Silver paint, but she uses blush, a bit of ck to line my eyes, and striking red for my lips. A garish sight.


    ¡°That will do,¡± ne says from her back. The Reds are quick to pull away, dropping their hands to their sides and bowing their heads. ¡°We can¡¯t have her looking too well treated. The princes won¡¯t understand it.¡±


    <span id="page_129" title="129">My eyes widen.<i ss="calibre4">Princes. Guests.</i>Who am I being paraded in front of now?


    Evangeline notices. She huffs aloud, flicking a bronze flower at ne. It embeds in the wall above her head, but ne doesn¡¯t seem to mind. She only sighs dreamily.


    ¡°Mind what you say, ne.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll find out in a few moments, my dear. What¡¯s the harm?¡± She gets up from her pillows, extending long limbs that glow with her ability. Evangeline¡¯s eyes track her every movement, sharpening when ne crosses the room to my side.


    She joins me at the mirror, looking into my face. ¡°You¡¯ll behave today, won¡¯t you?¡±


    I wonder how quickly Evangeline would skin me if I mmed my elbow into ne¡¯s perfect teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll behave.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    And then she disappears, wiped from sight but not sensation. I still feel her hand on my shoulder. A warning.


    I look through where ne¡¯s body was, back to Evangeline. She gets up from the floor, her dress pooling around her, fluid as mercury. It very well could be.


    When she strides toward me, I can¡¯t help but recoil. But ne¡¯s hand keeps me from moving, forcing me to stand up straight and allow Evangeline to lean over me. A corner of her mouth lifts. She likes seeing me afraid. When she raises a hand and I flinch, she smiles openly. But instead of striking me, she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.


    ¡°Make no mistake, this is all for my benefit,¡± she says. ¡°Not yours.¡±


    I have no idea what she¡¯s talking about, but I nod along anyway.


    <span id="page_130" title="130">Evangeline doesn¡¯t lead us to the throne room, but to Maven¡¯s private council chambers. The Sentinels guarding the doors look more imposing than usual. When I enter, I realize they¡¯re even manning the windows. An extra precaution after Nanny¡¯s infiltration.


    Thest time I passed through, the room was empty save for Jon. He¡¯s still here, quiet in the corner, unassuming next to the half-dozen others around the room. I shiver at the sight of Volo Samos, a quiet spider in ck with his son, Ptolemus, at his side. Of course, Samson Merandus is here too. He leers at me and I lower my eyes, avoiding his gaze as if I can shield myself from the memory of him crawling into my brain.


    I expect to see Maven seated alone at the far end of the marble table, but instead, two men nk him closely. Both are draped in heavy furs and soft suede, dressed to withstand arctic cold even though we are well sheltered from the winter. They have deep, blue-ck skin like polished stone. The one on the right has bits of gold and turquoise beaded into the intricate whorls of his braids, while the one on the left settles for long, gleaming locks topped by a crown of blossoms hewn from white quartz. Royalty, clearly. But not ours. Not from Norta.


    Maven raises a hand, gesturing to Evangeline as she approaches. In the light of a winter sun, she gleams. ¡°My betrothed, Lady Evangeline of House Samos,¡± he says. ¡°She was integral to the capture of Mare Barrow, the lightning girl and the leader of the Scarlet Guard.¡±


    Evangeline ys her part, bowing before the two. They bow their heads in turn, their motions long and fluid.


    ¡°Our congrattions, Lady Evangeline,¡± the one with the crown says. He even extends a hand, gesturing for her own. She lets him kiss her knuckles, beaming at the attention.


    <span id="page_131" title="131">When she res at me, I realize Evangeline means for me to join her. I do so reluctantly. I intrigue the two neers, and they watch me in fascination. I refuse to so much as nod my head.


    ¡°This is the lightning girl?¡± the other prince says. His teeth sh moon white against night-dark skin. ¡°This is the one giving you so much trouble? And you let her live?¡±


    ¡°Of course he did,¡± hispatriot crows. He gets to his feet, and I realize he must be almost seven feet tall. ¡°She¡¯s marvelous bait. Though I¡¯m surprised her terrorists haven¡¯t attempted a real rescue, if she¡¯s as important as you say.¡±


    Maven shrugs. He exudes an air of quiet satisfaction. ¡°My court is well defended. Infiltration is all but impossible.¡±


    I nce at him, meeting his eyes.<i ss="calibre4">Liar.</i>He almost smirks at me, like it¡¯s a private joke between us. I fight the familiar urge to spit at him.


    ¡°In Piedmont we would march her through the streets of every city,¡± the prince with the quartz crown says. ¡°Show our citizens what bes of people like her.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Piedmont.</i>The word rings like a bell in my head. So these are the Piedmont princes. I rack my brain, trying to remember what I know of their country. An ally of Norta, forming part of our southern border. Governed by a collection of princes. All that I know from Julian¡¯s lessons. But I know other things too. I remember finding shipments on Tuck, supplies stolen from Piedmont. And Farley herself hinted that the Scarlet Guard was expanding there, intent on spreading their rebellion through Norta¡¯s closest ally.


    ¡°Does she speak?¡± the prince continues, looking between Maven and Evangeline.


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± she replies with a pointed smirk.


    Both princesugh at that, as does Maven. The rest of the room<span id="page_132" title="132">follows suit, pandering to their lord and master.


    ¡°Well then, Prince Daraeus? Prince Alexandret?¡± Maven sweeps his gaze over each in turn. He proudly ys the part of king, despite the two royals twice his age and size. Somehow he measures up against them. ra trained him so well. ¡°You wanted to see the prisoner. And you¡¯ve seen her.¡±


    Alexandret, already standing so close, takes my chin in soft hands. I wonder what his ability is. I wonder how afraid of him I should be. ¡°Indeed, Your Majesty. We have a few questions, if you would be so kind as to allow it?¡±


    Though he frames the words as a request, this is little more than a demand.


    ¡°Your Majesty, I¡¯ve already told you what she knows.¡± Samson speaks up from his chair, leaning across the table so he can gesture to me. ¡°Nothing in Mare Barrow¡¯s mind escaped my search.¡±


    I would nod in agreement, but Alexandret¡¯s grip keeps me still. I stare up at him, trying to deduce exactly what he wants from me. His eyes are an abyss, unreadable. I don¡¯t know this man and find nothing in him I can use. My skin crawls at his touch and I wish for my lightning, to put a little distance between us. Over his shoulder, Daraeus shifts so he can see me better. His gold beading catches the winter light, filling his hair with dazzling brightness.


    ¡°King Maven, we would like to hear it from her own lips,¡± Daraeus says, leaning in to Maven. Then he smiles, all ease and charisma. Daraeus is beautiful and uses his looks well. ¡°Prince Bracken¡¯s request, you understand. We only need a few minutes.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Alexandret, Daraeus, Bracken.</i>Imit the names to memory.


    ¡°Ask what you will.¡± Maven¡¯s hands grip the edge of his seat.<span id="page_133" title="133">Neither one stops smiling, and nothing has ever looked so false. ¡°Right here.¡±


    After a long moment, Daraeus relents. He inclines his head in a deferential bow. ¡°Very well, Your Majesty.¡±


    Then his body blurs, moving so quickly I barely see his movements. He is suddenly right beside me. Swift. Not as fast as my brother, but fast enough to send a shock of adrenaline coursing through me. I still don¡¯t know what Alexandret can do. I can only pray he isn¡¯t a whisper, that I won¡¯t have to face such torture again.


    ¡°Is the Scarlet Guard operating in Piedmont?¡± Alexandret asks as he looms over me, his deep eyes boring into mine. Unlike Daraeus, there is no smile in him.


    I wait for the telltale sting of another mind crashing into my own. It neveres. The manacles¡ªthey won¡¯t allow an ability to prate my cocoon of silence.


    My voice cracks. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I want to hear what you know of the Scarlet Guard¡¯s operations in Piedmont.¡±


    Every interrogation I¡¯ve been subjected to has been performed by a whisper. It¡¯s odd to have someone ask me questions freely, and trust my answers without splitting open my skull. I suppose Samson has already told the princes everything he learned from me, but they don¡¯t trust what he said. Smart, then, to see if my story matches up with his.


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard is good at keeping secrets,¡± I reply, my thoughts a blur. Do I lie? Do I throw more fuel to the fire of distrust between Maven and Piedmont? ¡°I wasn¡¯t allowed much information regarding their operations.¡±


    ¡°Your operations.¡± Alexandret furrows his brow, forming a deep<span id="page_134" title="134">crease in the center of his forehead. ¡°You were their leader. I refuse to believe you can be so useless to us.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Useless.</i>Two months ago I was the lightning girl, a storm in human form. But before that I was as he says. Useless to everyone and everything, even my enemies. Back in the Stilts I hated it. Now I¡¯m d. I¡¯m a poor weapon for a Silver to wield.


    ¡°I am not their leader,¡± I tell Alexandret. Behind me, I hear Maven shift, settling back into his seat. I hope he¡¯s squirming. ¡°I never even met their leaders.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t believe me. But he doesn¡¯t believe what he¡¯s already been told either. ¡°How many of your operatives are in Piedmont?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Who is funding your endeavors?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    It starts as a prickle in my fingers and toes. A tiny sensation. Not pleasant but not ufortable. Like when a limb goes numb. Alexandret never lets go of my jaw. The manacles, I tell myself. They will protect me from him. They must.


    ¡°Where are Prince Michael and Princess Charlotta?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who those people are.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Michael, Charlotta.</i>More names to memorize. The prickling continues, now in my arms and legs. I draw hissing breath through my teeth.


    His eyes narrow in concentration. I brace myself for an explosion of pain born of whatever ability he will subject me to. ¡°Have you had any contact with the Free Republic of Montfort?¡±


    Still the prickling is bearable. Only his tight grip on my jaw is truly painful.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I bite out.


    Then he pulls back, letting my chin go with a sneer. He nces at<span id="page_135" title="135">my wrists, then forcibly raises one sleeve to see my bindings. The buzzing in my arms and legs recedes as he scowls.


    ¡°Your Majesty, I wonder if I might question her without manacles of Silent Stone?¡± Another demand disguised as a request.


    This time, Maven denies him. Without my manacles, his ability will be unbound. It must be enormous for it to have prated even a little through my cage of silence. I¡¯ll be tortured. Again.


    ¡°You may not, Your Highness. She is far too dangerous for that,¡± Maven says with a curt shake of his head. In spite of all my hatred, I feel the smallest bloom of gratitude. ¡°And, as you said, she¡¯s valuable. I can¡¯t have you breaking her.¡±


    Samson doesn¡¯t bother to hide his disgust. ¡°Someone should.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything else I can do for Your Highnesses, or for Prince Bracken?¡± Maven pushes on, speaking over his demonic cousin. He unfolds himself from his chair, using one hand to smooth his dress uniform studded with medals and badges of honor. But he keeps one hand on the seat, wed around an arm of Silent Stone. It is his anchor and his shield.


    Daraeus bows low enough for both princes, smiling again. ¡°I did hear rumors of a feast.¡±


    ¡°For once,¡± Maven replies with a sharp grin in my direction, ¡°the rumors are true.¡±


    Lady Blonos never taught me the protocol for entertaining royalty of an ally nation. I¡¯ve seen feasts before, balls, a Queenstrial I inadvertently ruined, but never anything like this. Perhaps because Maven¡¯s father was not so concerned with appearance, but Maven is his mother¡¯s son in flesh and bone.<i ss="calibre4">To look powerful is to be powerful,</i>she said once. Today he takes that lesson to heart. His advisers, his Piedmont guests,<span id="page_136" title="136">and I are seated at a long table where we can overlook all the rest.


    I¡¯ve never set foot in this ballroom before. It dwarfs the throne room, the galleries, and the feasting chambers of the rest of Whitefire. It fits the entire assembled court, all the lords anddies and their extended families, with ease. The chamber is three stories tall, towering windows of crystal and colored ss, each one depicting the colors of the High Houses. The result is a dozen rainbows arcing over a marble floor veined with ck granite, each beam of light a prism shifting through the diamond facets of chandeliers worked into trees, birds, sunbeams, constetions, storms, infernos, typhoons, and a dozen other symbols of Silver strength. I would spend the entire meal staring at the ceiling if not for own my precarious position. At least I¡¯m not next to Maven this time. The princes have to suffer him tonight. But Jon is on my left and Evangeline on my right. I keep my elbows tucked sharply to my sides, not wanting to identally touch either of them. Evangeline might stab me, and Jon might share another nauseating premonition.


    Luckily, the food is good. I force myself to eat, and I keep away from the liquor. Red servants circte, and no ss is ever empty. After ten minutes of trying to catch someone¡¯s eye, I abandon the pursuit. The servants are smart, and not willing to risk their lives for a nce at me.


    I fix my eyes ahead, counting the tables, counting the High Houses. All are here, plus House Calore, represented by Maven alone. He has no cousins or other family that I know of, though I assume they must exist. Like the servants, they¡¯re probably smart enough to avoid his jealous wrath and tremulous grip on the throne.


    House Iral seems smaller, dulled despite their vibrant blue-and-red outfits. There are nowhere near as many of them, and I wonder how many Irals were sent to Corros Prison. Or maybe they fled court. Sonya is still here, though, her posture elegant and practiced but strangely<span id="page_137" title="137">tense. She¡¯s traded her officer¡¯s uniform for a sparkling gown and sits beside an older man, resplendent in a cor of rubies and sapphires. Probably the new lord of her house since his predecessor, the Panther, was murdered by a man sitting only a few feet away. I wonder if Sonya told them what I said about her grandmother and Ptolemus. I wonder if they care.


    I jolt when Sonya looks up sharply, catching my eye.


    Next to me, Jon sighs long and low. He picks up his ss of scarlet wine with one hand and shunts his dinner knife away with the other.


    ¡°Mare, could you do me a small favor?¡± he says calmly.


    Even his voice disgusts me. Sneering, I turn to look at him with all the venom I can muster. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Something cracks, and pain sears along my cheekbone, cutting skin, burning flesh. I jerk from the sensation, falling sideways, shying away like a spooked animal. My shoulder collides with Jon, and he pitches forward, spilling wine and water over the fine tablecloth. Blood too. There¡¯s a lot of blood. I feel it, warm and wet, but I don¡¯t look down to see the color. My eyes are on Evangeline, standing from the table, one arm outstretched.


    A bullet shudders on the air in front of her, held in ce. I assume it matches the one that cut my cheek¡ªand could have done much worse.


    Her fist clenches and the bullet rockets backward to where it came from, chased on by splinters of cold steel as they explode from her dress. I watch in horror as blue-and-red figures weave through the metallic storm, dodging, dipping, darting in and out of every blow. They even catch pieces of her metal projecticles and hurl them back, beginning the cycle again in a violent, glittering dance.


    Evangeline is not the only one to attack. Sentinels pitch forward, surging over the high table, forming a wall before us. Their movements<span id="page_138" title="138">are perfect, made through years of relentless training. But their ranks have gaps. And some throw their masks away, discarding their melike robes. They turn on one another.


    The High Houses do the same.


    I¡¯ve never felt so exposed, so helpless, and that¡¯s saying quite a bit. In front of me, gods duel. My eyes widen, trying to see it all. Trying to make sense of this. I¡¯ve never imagined anything like it. An arena battle in the middle of a ballroom. Jewels instead of armor.


    Iral and Haven and Laris in their shocking yellow seem to form one side of whatever this is. They back one another, aid one another. Laris windweavers toss Iral silks from one side of the room to the other with sharp gusts, wielding them like living arrows while the Irals fire pistols and throw knives with deadly precision. The Havens have disappeared entirely, but a few Sentinels in front of us drop, felled by invisible attacks.


    And the rest, the rest don¡¯t know what to do. Some¡ªSamos, Merandus, most of the guards and Sentinels¡ªrally to the high table, rushing to defend Maven, who I can¡¯t see. But most fall back, surprised, betrayed, not willing to wade into such a mess and risk their own necks. They defend and do nothing else. They watch to see the direction of the tide.


    My heart leaps in my chest. This is my chance. In the chaos, no one will notice me. The manacles have not taken away my thief¡¯s instincts or talents.


    I push off the floor, finding my feet, not bothering to wonder about Maven or anyone. I focus only on what¡¯s in front of me. The closest door. I don¡¯t know where it goes, but it will get me away from here, and that¡¯s enough. As I move, I grab a knife off the table and set it to work, trying to pick the locks of my manacles.


    <span id="page_139" title="139">Someone flees ahead of me, leaving a trail of scarlet blood. He limps but moves fast, ducking through a door. Jon, I realize. Making his escape. He sees the future. Surely he can see the best way out of here.


    I wonder if I¡¯ll be able to keep up.


    I get my answer after a grand total of three steps, when a Sentinel seizes me from behind. He pins my arms to my sides, holding tight. I groan like an annoyed child, exasperated beyond frustration, as my hand drops the knife.


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± Samson says as he steps into my path. The Sentinel won¡¯t even let me flinch. ¡°We can¡¯t have this.¡±


    Now I can see what this is. Not a rescue. Not for me. A coup, an assassination attempt. They¡¯vee for Maven.


    Iral, Haven, and Laris cannot win this battle. They¡¯re outnumbered, but they know that. They prepared for it. The Irals are schemers and spies. Their n is well executed. Already they¡¯re making an escape through the shattered windows. I watch, dumbfounded, as they throw themselves out into the sky, catching gales of wind that fling them out and away. Not all of them make it. Nornus swifts catch a few, as does Prince Daraeus, despite a long knife protruding from his shoulder. I assume the Havens are long gone too, though one or two flicker back into my vision, each one bleeding, dying, assaulted by a Merandus whisper¡¯s onught. Daraeus himself puts out one blurring arm and catches someone by the neck. When he squeezes, a Haven blinks into existence.


    The Sentinels who turned, all Laris and Iral, don¡¯t make it either. They kneel, angry but unafraid, burning with determination. Without their masks, they don¡¯t look so terrifying.


    A gurgling sound draws our attention. The Sentinel turns, allowing<span id="page_140" title="140">me to see the center of what was once the feasting table. A crowd clusters where Maven¡¯s seat was, some on guard, some kneeling. Through their legs, I see him.


    Silver blood bubbles from his neck, gushing through the fingers of the nearest Sentinel, who is trying to keep pressure on a bullet wound. Maven¡¯s eyes roll and his mouth moves. He can¡¯t speak. He can¡¯t even scream. A wet, gasping sort of noise is all he can make.


    I¡¯m d the Sentinel holds me still. Or else I might run to him. Something in me wants to run to him. Whether to finish the job orfort him as he dies, I don¡¯t know. I desire both in equal measure. I want to look into his eyes and see him leave me forever.


    But I just can¡¯t move, and he just won¡¯t die.


    The Skonos skin healer, my skin healer, skids to his side, sliding on her knees. I think her name is Wren. An apt name. She is small and darting as her namesake. She snaps her fingers. ¡°Take it out; I have him!¡± she shouts. ¡°Out, now!¡±


    Ptolemus Samos crouches, abandoning his guarding vigil. He twitches his fingers and a bullet pulls free of Maven¡¯s neck, bringing with it a fresh fountain of silver. Maven tries to scream, gargling his own blood.


    Brow furrowed, the skin healer works, holding both hands over his wound. She bends as if to put her weight on him. From this angle, I can¡¯t see the skin beneath, but the blood stops gushing. The wound that should¡¯ve killed him heals. Muscle and vein and flesh knit back together, good as new. No scar but the memory.


    After a long, gasping moment, Maven hurtles to his feet, and fire explodes from both hands, sending his entourage reeling backward. The table before him flips, sted back by the strength and rage of his me. Itnds in a resounding heap, spitting puddles of blue-burning<span id="page_141" title="141">alcohol. The rest ignites, fed by Maven¡¯s anger. And, I think, terror.


    Only Volo has the spine to approach him in such a state.


    ¡°Your Majesty, should we evacuate you to the¡ª¡±


    With wicked eyes, Maven turns. Above him, the lightbulbs in the chandeliers burst, spitting me instead of sparks. ¡°I have no reason to run.¡±


    All this in a few moments. The ballroom is in shambles, full of shattered ss, upended tables, and a few very mangled bodies.


    Prince Alexandret is among them, slumped dead in his seat of honor with a bullet hole between his eyes.


    I don¡¯t mourn his loss. His ability was pain.


    Naturally, they interrogate me first. I should be used to it by now.


    Exhausted, emotionally spent, I slump to the cold stone floor when Samson lets me go. My breathinges hard, like I¡¯ve just run a race. I will my heartbeat to normalize, to stop panting, to hold on to some shred of dignity and sense. I cringe as the Arvens lock my manacles back into ce; then they pass the key away. The manacles are a relief and a burden both. A shield and a cage.


    We¡¯ve retreated to the grand council chambers this time, the circr room where I saw Walsh die to protect the Scarlet Guard. More room here, more space to try the dozen captured assassins. The Sentinels have learned their lesson, and they keep firm grips on the prisoners, not allowing any movement. Maven leers down from his council seat, nked on either side by Volo and Daraeus. Thetter fumes, torn between livid rage and sorrow. His fellow prince is dead, killed in what I now know was an assassination attempt on Maven. An attempt that, sadly, failed.


    ¡°She knew nothing of this. Neither the house rebellion nor Jon¡¯s<span id="page_142" title="142">betrayal,¡± Samson tells the room. The terrible chamber seems small, with most of the seats empty and the doors firmly locked. Only Maven¡¯s closest advisers remain, looking on, gears turning in their heads.


    In his seat, Maven sneers. Almost being murdered doesn¡¯t seem to rattle him. ¡°No, this was not the Scarlet Guard¡¯s doing. They don¡¯t work like this.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± Daraeus snaps, forgetting all his manners and smiles. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about them, no matter what you might say. If the Scarlet Guard has allied with¡ª¡±


    ¡°Corrupted,¡± Evangeline snaps from her ce behind Maven¡¯s left shoulder. She doesn¡¯t have a council seat or a title of her own and has to stand, despite the many empty chairs. ¡°Gods do not ally with insects, but they can be infected by them.¡±


    ¡°Pretty words from a pretty girl,¡± Daraeus says, dismissing her outright. She fumes. ¡°What of the rest?¡±


    At Maven¡¯s gesture, the next interrogation begins in earnest. A Haven shadow, grasped tightly by Trio himself to keep the woman from fleeing. Without her ability, she seems dim, an echo of her beautiful house. Her red hair is darker, duller, without its usual scarlet gleam. When Samson puts a hand to her temple, she shrieks.


    ¡°Her thoughts are of her sister,¡± Samson says without any feeling. Except maybe boredom. ¡°ne.¡±


    I saw her only hours ago, gliding around Evangeline¡¯s salon. She gave no indication that she knew of an impending assassination. But no good schemer would.


    Maven knows it too. He res at Evangeline, seething. ¡°I¡¯m told Lady ne escaped with the majority of her house, fleeing the capital,¡± he says. ¡°Do you have any idea where they might have gone, my dearest?¡±


    <span id="page_143" title="143">She keeps her eyes forward, walking a quickly thinning line. Even with her father and brother so close, I don¡¯t think anyone could save her from Maven¡¯s wrath if he felt inclined to unleash it. ¡°No, why would I?¡± she says airily, examining her wlike nails.


    ¡°Because she was your brother¡¯s betrothed and your whore,¡± the king replies, matter-of-fact.


    If she¡¯s ashamed or even apologetic, Evangeline does not show it. ¡°Oh, that.¡± She even scoffs, taking the usation in stride. ¡°How could she learn much of anything from me? You conspire so well to keep me from councils and politics. If anything, she did you a favor in keeping me pleasantly upied.¡±


    Their bickering reminds me of another king and another queen: Maven¡¯s parents, fighting after the Scarlet Guard attacked a party at the Hall of the Sun. Each ripping at the other, leaving deep wounds to be exploitedter.


    ¡°Then submit to interrogation, Evangeline, and we¡¯ll see,¡± he fires back, pointing with one jeweled hand.


    ¡°No daughter of mine will ever do such a thing,¡± Volo rumbles, though it hardly seems a threat. Merely a fact. ¡°She had no part in this, and she defended you with her own life. Without Evangeline¡¯s and my son¡¯s quick action¡ªwell, even to<i ss="calibre4">say</i>it is treason.¡± The old patriarch pulls a frown, wrinkling his white skin, as if the thought is so disgusting. As if he wouldn¡¯t celebrate if Maven died. ¡°Long live the king.¡±


    In the center of the floor, the Haven woman snarls, trying to shove off Trio. He holds firm, keeping her on her knees. ¡°Yes, long live the king!¡± she says, ring at us. ¡°Tiberias the Seventh! Long live the king!¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Cal.</i>


    Maven stands, mming his fists against the arms of his seat. I<span id="page_144" title="144">expect the room to burn, but no fire springs to life. It can¡¯t. Not while he sits on Silent Stone. His eyes are the only thing ame. And then, slowly, with a manic grin, he begins tough.


    ¡°All this . . . for him?¡± he says, smirking. ¡°My brother murdered the king, our father, helped murder my mother, and now he tries to murder me. Samson, if you would continue¡±¡ªhe inclines his head in his cousin¡¯s direction¡ª¡°I have no mercy or remorse for traitors. Especially stupid ones.¡±


    The rest turn to watch the interrogation continue, to listen to the Haven woman as she spouts secrets of her faction, their goals, their ns. To rece Maven with his brother. To make Cal king as he was born to be. To return things to the way they were.


    Through it all, I stare at the boy on the throne. He maintains his mask. Jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. Still fingers, straight back. But his gaze wavers. Something in his eyes has gone far away. And at his cor, the slightest gray flush rises, painting his neck and the tips of his ears.


    He¡¯s terrified.


    For a second, it makes me happy. Then I remember¡ªmonsters are most dangerous when they¡¯re afraid.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 11

    <i ss="calibre4">Even though it would</i>have turned me into an icicle, I wanted to stay behind in Trial. Not out of fear, but to prove a point. I¡¯m not some weapon to be used, not like Barrow allowed herself to be. No one gets to tell me where to go or what to do. I¡¯m done with that. I¡¯ve lived my entire life that way. And every instinct in me tells me to stay away from the Guard¡¯s operation in Corvium, a fortress city that swallows every soldier and spits out their bones.


    Except that my brother, Morrey, is only a few miles away now, still firmly stuck in a trench. Even with my ability, I¡¯ll need help to get to him. And if I want anything from this stupid Guard, I¡¯m going to have to start giving them something in return. Farley made that clear enough.


    I like her, more now after she apologized for the ¡°utilizing¡±ment. She says what she means. She doesn¡¯t mope, though she has every right. Not like Cal, who broods around every corner, refusing to help and then relenting when he feels like it. The fallen prince is exhausting. I don¡¯t know how Mare could stand him or his inability to choose a<span id="page_146" title="146">damned side¡ªespecially when there¡¯s only one side he can possibly pick. Even now he blusters, wavering between wanting to protect the Silvers of Corvium and wanting to tear the city apart.


    ¡°You need to control the walls,¡± he mutters, standing before Farley and the Colonel. We¡¯re operating from our headquarters in Rocasta, a less-defended supply city a few miles away from our objective. ¡°If you control the walls, you can turn the city inside out¡ªor take the walls down entirely. Render Corvium useless. To everyone.¡±


    I sit idly by in the sparse room, listening to the back-and-forth from my ce next to Ada. Farley¡¯s idea. We¡¯re two of the more visible newbloods, well known to both kinds of Reds. Including us in these meeting sends a strong message to the rest of the unit. Ada watches with wide eyes, memorizing every word and gesture. Usually Nanny would sit with us, but Nanny is gone. She was a small woman, but she leaves a veryrge hole. And I know whose fault that is.


    My eyes burn into Cal¡¯s back. I feel the itch of my ability, and fight the urge to bring him to his knees. He¡¯ll kill us for Mare, and he won¡¯t kill his own for the rest of the world. It was Nanny¡¯s choice to infiltrate Archeon on her own, but everyone knows it wasn¡¯t her idea.


    Farley is just as angry as I am. She can barely look at Cal, even when speaking to him. ¡°The question now is how to effectively dispatch our own. We can¡¯t focus everyone on the walls, important as they are.¡±


    ¡°By my count, ten thousand Red soldiers upy Corvium at any given time.¡± I almostugh at Ada¡¯s humbleness.<i ss="calibre4">By my count.</i>Her count is perfect, and everyone knows it. ¡°Military protocol dictates one officer to every ten, giving us at least one thousand Silvers inside the city, not ounting formand units and administration. Neutralizing them should be our objective.¡±


    Cal crosses his arms, unconvinced even by Ada¡¯s perfect, inarguable<span id="page_147" title="147">intelligence. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure. Our goal is to destroy Corvium, to strike Maven¡¯s army at its heart. That can be done without¡±¡ªhe stumbles¡ª¡°without a massacre on both sides.¡±


    As if he cares what happens to our side. As if he cares if any one of us dies.


    ¡°How do you n to destroy a city with a thousand Silvers looking on?¡± I wonder aloud, knowing I won¡¯t get much of an answer. ¡°Will the prince ask them to sit quietly and watch?¡±


    ¡°Of course we fight those who resist,¡± the Colonel breaks in. He stares at Cal, daring him to argue. ¡°And they will resist. We know this.¡±


    ¡°Do we?¡± Cal¡¯s tone is quietly smug. ¡°Members of Maven¡¯s own court tried to kill himst week. If there¡¯s division in the High Houses, then there¡¯s division in the armed forces. Attacking them outright will only serve as a unifier, in Corvium at least.¡±


    My scoff echoes around the room. ¡°So, what, we wait? Let Maven lick his wounds and regroup? Give him time to catch his breath?¡±


    ¡°Give him time to hang himself,¡± Cal snaps back. He matches my scowl. ¡°Give him time to make even more mistakes. Now he¡¯s on thin ice with Piedmont, his only ally, and three High Houses are in open rebellion. One of them all but controls the Air Fleet, another a vast intelligencework. Not to mention he still has us and the Laknders to worry about. He¡¯s scared; he¡¯s scrambling. I wouldn¡¯t want to be on his throne right now.¡±


    ¡°Is that true?¡± Farley asks, her voice casual. But the words move through the room like knives. They sting him. Anyone can see that. His royal teachings are enough to keep his face still, but his eyes betray him. They sh in the fluorescent light. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to us and say you¡¯re unconcerned with the other news out of Archeon. The reason Laris and Iral and Haven tried to kill your brother.¡±


    <span id="page_148" title="148">He stares. ¡°They attempted a coup because Maven is a tyrant who abuses his power and murders his own.¡±


    I m my fist against the arm of my chair. He¡¯s not going to dance his way around this one. ¡°They revolted because they want to make you king!¡± I shout. To my surprise, he flinches. Maybe he¡¯s expecting more than just words. But I keep my ability in check, hard as it may be. ¡°¡®Long live Tiberias the Seventh.¡¯ That¡¯s what the assassins said to Maven. Our operatives in Whitefire were clear.¡±


    He expels a long, frustrated sigh. He seems aged by this conversation. Brow furrowed, jaw tight. Muscles stand out at his neck and his hands curl into fists. He¡¯s a machine about to break¡ªor explode.


    ¡°It¡¯s not unexpected,¡± he mutters, as if it makes anything better. ¡°There was bound to be a session crisis eventually. But there¡¯s no feasible way anyone can put me back on the throne.¡±


    Farley tips her head. ¡°And if they could?¡± Silently, I cheer her on. She won¡¯t let him off as easily as Mare used to. ¡°If they offered the crown, your so-called birthright, in exchange for an end to all this¡ªwould you take it?¡±


    The fallen prince of House Calore straightens to look her dead in the eye.


    ¡°No.¡±


    He¡¯s not as good a liar as Mare is.


    ¡°As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point about waiting.¡±


    I almost cough up the tea Farley poured me. Quickly I set the chipped cup back down on her ramshackle table. ¡°You¡¯re not seriously saying that. How can you trust him?¡±


    Farley paces back and forth, crossing her tiny room in only a few long steps. One hand massages her back as she moves, working out<span id="page_149" title="149">another of her aches. Her hair is longer every day, and she keeps it braided back from her face at odd lengths. I would offer her my seat, but she doesn¡¯t like to sit much these days. She has to keep moving, for her ownfort and her own nervous energy.


    ¡°Of course I don¡¯t trust him,¡± she replies, kicking weakly at one of the paint-peeling walls. Her frustration runs as high as her emotions. ¡°But I can trust things about him. I can trust him to act a certain way where certain people are concerned.¡±


    ¡°You mean Mare.¡±<i ss="calibre4">Obviously.</i>


    ¡°Mare and his brother. His affection for one ys nicely off his hatred for the other. It might be our only way to keep him around.¡±


    ¡°I say let him go, let him rile up a few more Silvers and be another thorn in Maven¡¯s side. We don¡¯t need him here.¡±


    She almostughs, a bitter sound nowadays. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll just tell Command that we kicked out our most well known and legitimate operative. That will go over very well.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not even really with us¡ª¡±


    ¡°Well, Mare¡¯s not really with Maven, but people don¡¯t seem to understand that either, do they?¡± Even though she¡¯s right, I have to scowl. ¡°As long as we have Cal, people take notice. No matter how badly we botched that first attempt at Archeon, we still ended up with a Silver prince on our side.¡±


    ¡°A bleeding useless prince.¡±


    ¡°Annoying, frustrating, a veritable pain in the ass¡ªbut not useless.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? What¡¯s he done for ustely besides get Nanny killed?¡±


    ¡°Nanny wasn¡¯t forced to go to Archeon, Cameron. She made a choice and she died. That¡¯s how it works sometimes.¡±


    Nurturing as she sounds, Farley isn¡¯t much older than me.<span id="page_150" title="150">Twenty-two, maybe, at most. I think her maternal instincts are kicking in early.


    ¡°Besides the fact that he wins us points with less-hostile Silvers, Montfort has an interest in him.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Montfort.</i>The mysterious Free Republic. The twins, Rash and Tahir, paint the ce as a haven of liberty and equality, where Reds, Silvers, and Ardents¡ªwhat they call newbloods¡ªlive in peace together. An impossible ce to believe in. But even so, I have to believe in their money, their supplies, their support. Most of our resourcese from them in some way.


    ¡°What do they want?¡± I swirl the tea in my cup, letting the heat wash over my face. It¡¯s not as cold here as in Irabelle, but winter still creeps through the Rocasta safe house. ¡°A poster boy?¡±


    ¡°Something like that. There¡¯s been lots of chatter with Command. I don¡¯t have clearance for most of it. They wanted Mare but¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a bit preupied.¡±


    Mention of Mare Barrow doesn¡¯t affect Farley as much as the memory of Shade, but a flicker of pain washes over her face anyway. She tries to hide it, of course. Farley does her best to appear imprable, and usually she is.


    ¡°So there¡¯s really no chance of rescuing her,¡± I whisper. When she shakes her head, I feel a surprising pang of sadness in my own chest. Infuriating as Mare might be, I still want her back. We need her. And over the long months, I¡¯ve realized<i ss="calibre4">I</i>need her too. She knows what it is to be different and in search of someone like you, to fear and be feared in the same measure. Even if she was a condescending twit most of the time.


    Farley stops pacing to pour herself another cup of tea. It steams, filling the room with a hot, herbal scent. She takes it in hand but<span id="page_151" title="151">doesn¡¯t drink, crossing instead to the foggy window set high in her wall. It bleeds daylight. ¡°I don¡¯t see how we can with what we have. Infiltration of Corvium is easypared to Archeon. It would take a full-scale assault, the kind we can¡¯t muster. Especially now, after Nanny and an assassination attempt. Security at Maven¡¯s court will be at its highest¡ªworse than a prison. Unless . . .¡±


    ¡°Unless?¡±


    ¡°Cal tells us to wait. To let the Silvers in Corvium turn on each other. To let Maven make his mistakes before we do anything else.¡±


    ¡°And it will help Mare too.¡±


    Farley nods. ¡°The weak, divided court of a paranoid king will be easier for her to escape.¡± She sighs, staring at her untouched tea. ¡°She¡¯s the only one who can save herself now.¡±


    The conversation is easy to twist. As much as I want Mare back, I want someone else more. ¡°How many miles are we from the Choke?¡±


    ¡°This again?¡±


    ¡°This always.¡± I push back from the table to get up. I feel like I should be standing. I¡¯m just as tall as Farley, but she always seems like she¡¯s looking down at me. I¡¯m young, untrained. I don¡¯t know much about the world outside my slum. But that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to sit here and follow orders. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for your help or the Guard¡¯s. I just need a map and maybe a gun. I¡¯ll do the bleeding rest myself.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t blink. ¡°Cameron, your brother is embedded in a legion. It¡¯s not like pulling out a tooth.¡±


    My fist clenches at my side. ¡°You think I came all the way here to sit around and watch Cal spin his wheels?¡± It¡¯s an old argument by now. She easily shuts me down.


    ¡°Well, I certainly don¡¯t think you came all the way here to get killed,¡± she replies calmly. Her broad shoulders rise just a little, in<span id="page_152" title="152">challenge. ¡°Which is precisely what will happen, no matter how strong or deadly your ability is. And even if you take a dozen Silvers with you, I¡¯m not going to let you die for nothing. Is that clear?¡±


    ¡°My brother is not nothing,¡± I grumble. She¡¯s right, but I don¡¯t want to admit it. Instead, I avoid her eyes and turn to the wall. My fingers pick at the peeling paint, ripping away pieces in annoyance. A childish thing, but it makes me feel a bit better. ¡°You¡¯re not my captain. You don¡¯t get to tell me what to do with my life.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true. I¡¯m just a friend who feels inclined to point something out.¡± I hear her shift, her footsteps heavy on the creaking floor. But her touch is light, a brush of her hand on my shoulder. She¡¯s robotic in the movement, not really knowing how tofort another person. Bleakly, I wonder how she and warm, smiling Shade Barrow ever shared a conversation, let alone a bed. ¡°I remember what you told Mare. When we first found you. On the jet, you said that her search for newbloods, to save them, was wrong. A continuation of the blood divide. Favoring one kind of Red over another. And you were right.¡±


    ¡°This is not the same. I just want to save my brother.¡±


    ¡°How do you think the rest of us got here?¡± she scoffs. ¡°To save a friend, a sibling, a parent. To save ourselves. We all came here for selfish reasons, Cameron. But we can¡¯t be distracted by them. We have to think of the cause. The greater good. And you can do so much more here, with us. We can¡¯t lose you . . .¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Too. We can¡¯t lose you too.</i>Thest word hangs in the air, unspoken. I hear it anyway.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong. I didn¡¯te here by choice. I was taken. Mare Barrow forced me to follow, and you all went along with it.¡±


    ¡°Cameron, that¡¯s a card you have yed too many times. You chose to stay a long time ago. You chose to help.¡±


    <span id="page_153" title="153">¡°And what would you choose now, Farley?¡± I re at her. She may be my friend, but that doesn¡¯t mean I have to back down.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°Would you choose the greater good? Or would you choose Shade?¡±


    When she doesn¡¯t respond, her eyes sliding out of focus, I have my answer. I realize I don¡¯t want to see her cry and turn my back, making for the door.


    ¡°I have to train,¡± I say to no one. I doubt she¡¯s still listening.


    Training is harder in the Rocasta safe house. We don¡¯t have anywhere near enough space, not to mention most of the operatives I know were left in Irabelle. Kilorn, for example. Eager as he is, he¡¯s nowhere near ready for all-out battle, and he doesn¡¯t have an ability to lean on. He was left behind. But my trainer was not. After all, she¡¯s Silver, and the Colonel wasn¡¯t about to let her out of his sight.


    Sara Skonos waits in the basement of our reinforced warehouse, in a room dedicated to newblood exercises. It¡¯s dinnertime, so the other newbloods in this particr sanctuary are upstairs eating with the rest. We have the space to ourselves, not that we need much space at all.


    She sits cross-legged, palms t on a concrete floor that matches the concrete walls. Her notepad is there too, ready to be used if need be. Her eyes track my entrance, the only greeting I¡¯ll get. As of yet, we have not found another skin healer to join us, and she remains mute. Even though I¡¯m used to it, the sight of her sunken cheeks and missing tongue makes me cringe. As usual, she pretends not to notice and gestures to the space in front of her.


    I sit as she instructs, and fight the familiar urge to run or attack.


    She¡¯s Silver. She¡¯s everything I¡¯ve been raised to fear, hate, and obey. But I can¡¯t find it in myself to despise Sara Skonos the way I do Julian<span id="page_154" title="154">or Cal. It¡¯s not that I pity her. I think . . . I understand her. I understand the frustration of knowing what is right and being ignored or punished because of it. I can¡¯t count how many times I received half rations for looking at a Silver overseer incorrectly. For talking out of turn. She did the same, except her words were against a reigning queen. And so her words were taken away forever.


    Even though she can¡¯t speak, Sara has a way ofmunicating what she wants. She taps me on the knee, forcing me to meet her cloudy gray eyes. Then she dips her face and puts a hand over her heart.


    I follow the motions, knowing what she wants. I match her breathing: steady, deep breaths in even session. A calming mechanism that helps drown out all the thoughts swirling around my head. It clears my mind, allowing me to feel what I usually ignore. My ability hums beneath my skin, constant as always, but now I let myself notice it. Not to use it, but to acknowledge its existence. My silence is still new to me, and I have to get to know it like any other skill.


    After long minutes of breathing, she taps me again, making me look up. This time she points at herself.


    ¡°Sara, I¡¯m really not in the right mood,¡± I start to tell her, but she draws one hand through the air in a chopping motion.<i ss="calibre4">Shut up,</i>in as day.


    ¡°I mean it. I could hurt you.¡±


    She scoffs deep in her throat, one of the only true vocalizations she can make. It almost sounds likeughter. Then she taps her lips, smirking darkly. She¡¯s been hurt far worse.


    ¡°Fine, I warned you,¡± I sigh. I wiggle a little, settling deeper into my position. Then I furrow my brow, letting the ability swim around me, deepening, expanding. Until it touches her. And silence descends.


    Her eyes widen when it hits. A twinge at first. At least I hope it¡¯s<span id="page_155" title="155">just a twinge. I¡¯m only practicing, and I don¡¯t intend to pummel her into submission. I think of Mare, able to call up storms, while Cal can make infernos, but both find it difficult to have a simple conversation without exploding. Control takes more practice than brute force.


    My ability deepens, and she holds up one finger to denote the level of difort. I try to keep the silence in ce, constant but steady. It¡¯s like holding back a tide. I don¡¯t know what it feels like to be silenced. The Silent Stone didn¡¯t work on me in Corros Prison, but it stifled, drained¡ªand slowly killed¡ªall the people around me. I can do the same. After about a minute, she puts up a second finger.


    ¡°Sara . . . ?¡±


    With her other hand she gestures for me to continue.


    I remember our session yesterday. She was on the floor at five, though I knew I could push harder. But incapacitating our only skin healer is neither smart nor something I want to do.


    A flush paints her cheeks, but the door to the basement swings open before she can hold up another finger.


    My concentration and my silence break, drawing a relieved gasp from her. Both of us whirl to face our disrupter. While she breaks into a rare smile, I scowl.


    ¡°Jacos,¡± I mutter in his direction. ¡°We¡¯re training, in case you haven¡¯t noticed.¡±


    One side of his mouth twitches, begging to pull into a sneer of his own, but Julian refrains. Like the rest of us, he looks better here in Rocasta. Supplies are easier toe by. Our clothes are higher quality, quilted and lined against the cold. The food is heartier, the rooms warmer. Julian¡¯s color has returned, and his gray-flecked hair looks glossier. He¡¯s Silver. He was born to thrive.


    ¡°Oh, how foolish of me. I thought you were down here sitting on<span id="page_156" title="156">cold concrete for the fun of it,¡± he replies. Clearly no love lost between us. Sara res at him, a weak reproach, but it softens him anyway. ¡°My apologies, Cameron,¡± he adds quickly. ¡°I just wanted to tell Sara something.¡±


    Sara quirks an eyebrow, a question. When I get up to go, she stops me and, with a dip of her head, asks Julian to continue. He always obeys where she is concerned.


    ¡°There¡¯s been an exodus from court. Maven expelled dozens of nobles, mostly his father¡¯s old advisers and those who might still harbor loyalties to Cal. It¡¯s . . . I didn¡¯t believe the intelligence report at first. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it before.¡±


    Julian and Sara hold each other¡¯s gaze, both pondering what this means. I don¡¯t care at all about a few Silver lords anddies, old friends of Julian and Sara¡¯s. ¡°And Mare?¡± I wonder aloud.


    ¡°She¡¯s still there, still a prisoner. And any further fractures we may have expected from the rebelling houses . . .¡± He sighs, shaking his head. ¡°Maven is already at war, and now he prepares for a storm.¡±


    I shift on the floor, moving my weight into a morefortable position. He¡¯s right. Cold concrete isn¡¯t pleasant. Good thing I¡¯m used to it. ¡°We already knew rescuing her was impossible. What else does this do for us?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s good and it¡¯s bad. More enemies for Maven give us more opportunity to work beyond his reach. But he¡¯s closing ranks, retreating further into his enve of protection. We¡¯ll never get to him personally.¡±


    Next to me, Sara hums low in her throat. She can¡¯t say what we¡¯re all thinking, so I do.


    ¡°Or to Mare.¡±


    Julian nods with sobering eyes.


    <span id="page_157" title="157">¡°How is your traininging along?¡±


    He changes topics with whish speed, and I stutter out a reply.


    ¡°As¡ªas good as it can. We don¡¯t have many teachers here.¡±


    ¡°Because you refuse to train with my nephew.¡±


    ¡°The others can,¡± I say, not bothering to keep the bite from my voice. ¡°But I can¡¯t promise I won¡¯t kill him, so it¡¯s better I don¡¯t tempt myself.¡±


    Sara tsks, but Julian brushes her off with a wave of his hand. ¡°It¡¯s fine, really. You may think I don¡¯t understand, that I can¡¯t understand your point of view, and you¡¯re right. But I¡¯m certainly doing my best to try, Cameron.¡± He takes a daring step toward us, still cross-legged on the floor. I don¡¯t like it one bit and scramble to my feet, letting my defensive instincts take over. If I¡¯m going to be this close to Julian Jacos, I want to be ready. ¡°There¡¯s no need to be afraid of me, I promise you.¡±


    ¡°Silver promises mean nothing.¡± I don¡¯t have to snap. The words are harsh enough.


    To my surprise, Julian smiles. But the expression is hollow, empty. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t I know that,¡± he mutters, more to himself and Sara. ¡°Hold on to your anger. Sara might not agree, but it will help you more than anything else, if you can learn to harness it.¡±


    As much as I don¡¯t want advice from such a man, I can¡¯t help but tuck it away. He trained Mare. I¡¯d be stupid to deny he can help my ability grow. And anger is something I have in spades.


    ¡°Any other news?¡± I ask. ¡°Farley and the Colonel seem to be stalling, or your nephew is stalling them.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it seems he is.¡±


    ¡°Odd. Thought he was always up for a fight.¡±


    Julian offers that strange smile again. ¡°Cal was raised to war the<span id="page_158" title="158">same way you were raised to machines. But you don¡¯t want to go back to the factory, do you?¡±


    An answer, any answer, sticks in my throat.<i ss="calibre4">I was a ve; I was forced; it was all I knew.</i>


    ¡°Don¡¯t get smart with me, Julian¡± grinds out instead, searing between my clenched teeth.


    He only shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m trying to understand your perspective. Do a bit to understand his.¡±


    On another day, I might storm from the room, angry, defensive. Find sce in a broken fuse, a stripped wire. I sit back down instead, taking my ce next to Sara. Julian Jacos will not send me scurrying away like a scolded child. I¡¯ve dealt with overseers far worse than him.


    ¡°I watched babies die without seeing the sun. Without breathing fresh air. ves to your kind. Have you? When you have, then you can lecture me on perspective, Lord Jacos.¡± I turn from him. ¡°Let me know when the prince finally picks a side. And if he picks the right one.¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org.


    Then I nod at Sara. ¡°Ready to go again?¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 12

    <i ss="calibre4">Months ago, when the</i>Silvers fled the Hall of the Sun, frightened by a Scarlet Guard attack on their precious ball, it was a united act. We left together, as one, heading downriver in session to regroup in the capital. This is not the same.


    Maven¡¯s dismissalse in packs. I¡¯m not privy to them, but I notice as the numbers dwindle. A few older advisers missing. The royal treasurer, some generals, members of various councils.<i ss="calibre4">Relieved of their posts,</i>the rumors say. But I know better. They were close to Cal, close to his father. Maven is smart not to trust them, and ruthless in their removal. He doesn¡¯t kill them or make them disappear. He¡¯s not stupid enough to trigger another house war. But it¡¯s a decisive move, to say the least. Sweeping away obstacles like pieces from a chess board. The results are feasts that look like mouths of missing teeth. Gaps appear, more with every passing day. Most of those asked to leave are older, men and women with ancient allegiances, who remember more and trust their new king less.


    Some start to call it the Court of Children.


    <span id="page_160" title="160">Many lords anddies are gone, sent away by the king, but their sons and daughters are left behind. A request. A warning. A threat.


    Hostages.


    Not even House Merandus escapes his growing paranoia. Only House Samos remains in their entirety, not one of them falling prey to his tempestuous dismissals.


    Those still here are devout in their loyalty. Or at least they make it look like it.


    That¡¯s probably why he summons me more now. Why I see so much of him. I¡¯m the only one with loyalties he can trust. The only one he really knows.


    He reads reports over our breakfast, eyes skimming back and forth with blistering speed. It¡¯s useless to try to see what they are. He¡¯s careful to keep them to his side of the table, turned over when finished, and well out of my reach. Instead of reading the reports, I have to read him. He doesn¡¯t bother to surround himself with Silent Stone, not here in his private dining room. Even the Sentinels wait outside, posted at every door and on the other side of the tall windows. I see them, but they can¡¯t hear us, as is Maven¡¯s design. His uniform jacket is unbuttoned, his hair unkempt, and he doesn¡¯t put on his crown this early in the morning. I think this is his little sanctuary, a ce where he can trick himself into feeling safe.


    He almost looks like the boy I imagined. A second prince, content with his ce, unburdened by a crown that was never his.


    Over the rim of my water ss, I watch every tick and sh across his face. Narrowed eyes, a tightening jaw. Bad news. The dark circles have returned, and while he eats enough for two people, tearing through the tes in front of us, he seems thinned by the days. I wonder if he has nightmares of the assassination attempt. Nightmares of his<span id="page_161" title="161">mother, dead by my hand. His father, dead by his action. His brother, in exile but a constant threat. Funny, Maven called himself Cal¡¯s shadow, but Cal is the shadow now, haunting every corner of Maven¡¯s fragile kingdom.


    There are reports of the exiled prince everywhere, so prevalent that even I hear about them. They ce him in Harbor Bay, Delphie, Rocasta; there¡¯s even shaky intelligence hinting that he escaped across the border into the Laknds. I honestly don¡¯t know which, if any, of these rumors are true. He could be in Montfort for all I know. Gone to the safety of a farawaynd.


    Even though this is Maven¡¯s pce, Maven¡¯s world, I see Cal in it. The immacte uniforms, drilling soldiers, ming candles, gilded walls of portraits and house colors. An empty salon reminds me of dance lessons. If I nce at Maven from the corner of my eye, I can pretend. They¡¯re half brothers after all. They share simr features. The dark hair, the elegant lines of a royal face. But Maven is paler, sharper, a skeleton inparison, body and soul. He is hollowed out.


    ¡°You stare so much I wonder if you can read reflections in my eyes,¡± Maven suddenly muses aloud. He flips the page in front of him, hiding what it holds, as he looks up.


    His attempt to startle me fails. Instead, I continue spreading an embarrassing amount of butter onto my toast. ¡°If only I could see something in them,¡± I reply, meaning all things. ¡°You¡¯re an empty boy.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°And you¡¯re useless.¡±


    I roll my eyes and idly tap my manacles against the breakfast table. Metal and stone rap against wood like knocking on a door. ¡°Our talks are so fun.¡±


    ¡°If you prefer your room . . . ,¡± he warns. Another empty threat he<span id="page_162" title="162">makes every day. We both know this is better than the alternative. At least now I can pretend I¡¯m doing something of use, and he can pretend he isn¡¯t entirely alone in this cage he built for himself. For both of us.


    It¡¯s hard to sleep here, even with the manacles, which means I have a lot of time to think.


    And n.


    Julian¡¯s books are not only afort, but a tool. He¡¯s still teaching me, even though we¡¯re who knows how many miles apart. In his well-preserved texts, there are new lessons to be learned and utilized. The first¡ªand most important¡ªis divide and conquer. Maven¡¯s already done it to me. Now I must return the favor.


    ¡°Are you even trying to hunt for Jon?¡±


    Maven is actually startled at my question, the first mention of the newblood who used the assassination attempt to escape. As far as I know, he hasn¡¯t been captured. Part of me is bitter. Jon escaped where I couldn¡¯t. But at the same time, I¡¯m d. Jon is a weapon I want far away from Maven Calore.


    After a split-second recovery, Maven returns to eating. He shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth, throwing etiquette to the wind. ¡°You and I both know that¡¯s not a man who is easily found.¡±


    ¡°But you are looking.¡±


    ¡°He had knowledge of an attack on his king and did nothing,¡± Maven states, matter-of-fact. ¡°That¡¯s tantamount to murder itself. For all we know, he conspired with Houses Iral, Haven, and Laris too.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it. If he¡¯d helped them, they would have seeded. Pity.¡±


    He dutifully ignores the jab, continuing to read and eat.


    I tip my head, letting my dark hair spill across one shoulder. The gray ends are spreading, leaching upward despite my healer¡¯s best efforts. Even House Skonos cannot heal what is already dead.


    <span id="page_163" title="163">¡°Jon saved my life.¡±


    Blue eyes meet mine, holding firm.


    ¡°Seconds before the attack, he got my attention. He made me turn my head. Or else . . .¡± I run a finger along my cheekbone. Where the bullet only grazed my cheek, instead of leaving my skull a ruin. The wound healed, but not forgotten. ¡°I must have a part to y in whatever future he sees.¡±


    Maven focuses on my face. Not my eyes, but the ce where a bullet would have obliterated my skull. ¡°For some reason, you¡¯re a difficult person to let die.¡±


    For him, for the pageantry, I force a small, bitterugh.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°How many times have you tried to kill me?¡±


    ¡°Just the once.¡±


    ¡°And the sounder was what?¡± My fingers tremble at the memory. The pain of the device is still fresh in my mind. ¡°Just part of a game?¡±


    Another report flutters in the sunlight,nding facedown. He licks his fingers before raising the next. All business. All for show. ¡°The sounder wasn¡¯t designed to kill you, Mare. Just incapacitate you, if need be.¡± A strange look crosses his face. Almost smug, but not exactly. ¡°I didn¡¯t even make that thing.¡±


    ¡°Clearly. You¡¯re not one for ideas. ra, then?¡±Property belongs to N?vel(D)r/ama.Org.


    ¡°Actually it was Cal.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Oh.</i>Before I can stop myself, I look down, away from him, needing a moment of my own. The sting of betrayal pricks at my insides, if only for a second. It¡¯s no use being angry now.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe he didn¡¯t tell you.¡± Maven presses on. ¡°He¡¯s usually very proud of himself. A brilliant thing too. But I don¡¯t care for it. I had the device destroyed.¡± His eyes are on my face. Hungry for a reaction.<span id="page_164" title="164">I keep my expression from changing, despite the sudden skip in my heartbeat. The sounder is gone. Another small gift, another message from the ghost.


    ¡°It can easily be rebuilt, though, if you decide to stop cooperating. Cal was kind enough to leave the device ns behind when he ran off with your band of Red rats.¡±


    ¡°Escaped,¡± I mumble.<i ss="calibre4">Move on. Don¡¯t let him throw you off.</i>Feigning disinterest, I push the rest of my food around my te. I do my best to look hurt, as Maven wants me to be, but not let myself feel it. I have to stick to the n. Twist the conversation as I want to twist it. ¡°You forced him away. All so you could take his ce, and be exactly like him.¡±


    Like me, Maven forces augh to hide how annoyed he is. ¡°You have no idea what he would¡¯ve been like, with the crown on his head.¡±


    I cross my arms, settling back in my chair. This is ying out exactly as I want it to. ¡°I know he would have married Evangeline Samos, continued fighting a useless war, and kept ignoring a country full of angry, oppressed people. Does that sound at all familiar?¡±


    He may be a snake in human form, but even Maven doesn¡¯t have a retort for that. He ps down the report in front of him. Too quickly. It faces up, just for a second, before he turns it over. I glimpse only a few words.<i ss="calibre4">Corvium. Casualties.</i>Maven sees me see them, and he hisses out a sigh of annoyance.


    ¡°As if that will help you,¡± he says quietly. ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere, so why bother?¡±


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true. My life probably won¡¯tst much longer.¡±


    He tips his head. Concern furrows his brow, as I hope it will. As I need it to. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    <span id="page_165" title="165">I re up at the ceiling, studying the borate molding and the chandelier above us. It flickers with tiny electric bulbs. If only I could feel them.


    ¡°You know Evangeline won¡¯t let me live. Once she¡¯s queen . . . I¡¯m done for.¡± My voice trembles, and I push all my fear into the words. I hope it works. He has to believe me. ¡°It¡¯s what she¡¯s wanted since the day I fell into her life.¡±


    He blinks at me. ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯ll protect you from her?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you can.¡± My fingers pick at my gown. Not as beautiful as the ones made for court, but just as overwrought. ¡°You and I both know how easy it is for a queen to be killed.¡±


    The air ripples with heat as he continues to stare, daring me to meet his gaze. My natural instinct is to re back, but I lean away, refusing to look at him. It will only incense him further. Maven loves an audience. The moment stretches, and I feel bare before him, prey in the path of a predator. That¡¯s all I am here. Caged, restrained, leashed. All I have left is my voice, and the pieces of Maven I hope I know.


    ¡°She won¡¯t touch you.¡±


    ¡°And what about the Laknders?¡± I snap my head back up. Tears of anger spring to my eyes, born of frustration, not fear. ¡°When they rip apart your already-splintering kingdom? What happens when they win this endless war and burn your world to embers?¡± I scoff to myself, heaving a shuddering breath. The tears fall freely now. They must. I have to sell this with every inch of myself. ¡°I guess then we¡¯ll end up in the Bowl of Bones together, executed side by side.¡±


    By the way he pales, the little color he has draining from his face, I know he¡¯s thought the same thing. It gues him endlessly, a bleeding wound. So I twist the knife.


    <span id="page_166" title="166">¡°You¡¯re on the edge of civil war. Even I know that. What¡¯s the point in pretending there¡¯s a scenario where I make it out of this alive? Either Evangeline kills me or the war does.¡±


    ¡°I told you already, I won¡¯t let that happen.¡±


    The snarl I throw his way doesn¡¯t need to be faked. ¡°In what life can I trust anything out of your mouth ever again?¡±


    When he stands, the cold fear pooling in my stomach isn¡¯t fake either. As he rounds the table, crossing to me in lean, elegant strides, I lock every muscle, tensing up so I don¡¯t shake. But I quiver anyway. I brace myself for a blow as he takes my face in disturbingly soft hands, both thumbs tight under my jaw, inches away from digging into my jugr.


    His kiss burns worse than his brand.


    The sensation of his lips on mine is the worst kind of vition. But for him, for what I need, I keep my hands fisted in myp. My nails dig into my flesh instead of his. He needs to believe as his brother believed. He needs to choose me, the way I tried to make Cal choose me before. Still, I can¡¯t find it in me to open my mouth, and my jaw remains locked shut.


    He breaks the kiss first, and I hope he can¡¯t feel my skin crawl beneath his fingers. Instead, his eyes search mine, looking for the lie I keep well hidden.


    ¡°I lost every other person I ever loved.¡±


    ¡°And whose fault is that?¡±


    Somehow, he trembles worse than I do. He steps back, letting me go, and his fingers scratch at one another. I¡¯m shocked because I recognize the action. I do it too. When the pain in my head is so horrible I need another kind to draw me away. He stops when he notices me staring, sping both hands to his sides as tightly as he can.


    <span id="page_167" title="167">¡°She broke a lot of my habits,¡± he admits. ¡°Never broke that one. Some things alwayse back.¡±


    ¡°She.¡± ra. I see her handiwork right in front of me. The boy she shaped into a king through a torture she called love.


    He sits back down, slowly. I keep staring, knowing it unsettles him. I put him off bnce, and still I don¡¯t understand exactly why.


    <i ss="calibre4">Every other person I ever loved.</i>


    I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m included in that statement. But I know it¡¯s the reason I¡¯m still breathing. Careful, I edge the conversation back to Cal.


    ¡°Your brother is alive.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately so.¡±


    ¡°And you don¡¯t love him?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t bother to look up, but his eyes waver on the next report, fixed on a single spot. Not because he¡¯s surprised, or even sad. He looks more confused than anything, a little boy trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces. ¡°No,¡± he says finally, lying.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± I tell him. I even shake my head.


    Because I remember them as they were. Brothers, friends, raised together against the rest of the world. Even Maven can¡¯t shut himself off from something like that. Even ra can¡¯t break that kind of bond. No matter how many times Maven tried to kill Cal, he can¡¯t deny what they were once.


    ¡°Believe what you want, Mare,¡± he replies. As before, he puts on an air of disinterest, violently trying to convince me this means nothing to him. ¡°I know for a fact that I don¡¯t love my brother.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie. I have siblings too. It¡¯s aplicated thing, especially between me and my sister. She¡¯s always been more talented, better at everything, kinder, smarter. Everyone prefers her to me.¡± I mumble my old fears, spinning them into a web for Maven. ¡°Take it from a<span id="page_168" title="168">person who knows. Losing one of them¡ªlosing a brother . . .¡± My breath hitches, and my mind flies.<i ss="calibre4">Keep going. Use the pain.</i>¡°It hurts like nothing else.¡±


    ¡°Shade. Right?¡±


    ¡°Keep his name out of your mouth,¡± I snap, forgetting for a moment what I¡¯m trying to do. The wound is too fresh, too raw. He takes it in stride.


    ¡°My mother said you used to dream about him,¡± he says. I flinch at the memory, and the thought of her inside my brain. I can still feel her, wing at the walls of my skull. ¡°But I suppose those weren¡¯t dreams at all. It was really him.¡±


    ¡°Did she do that with everyone?¡± I reply. ¡°Was nothing safe from her? Even your dreams?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t respond. I push harder.


    ¡°Did you ever dream of me?¡±


    Again I cut him without realizing it. He drops his gaze, looking down to the empty te in front of him. He raises a hand to grab at his water ss, but thinks better of it. His fingers tremble for a second before he shoves them away, out of sight.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± he finally says. ¡°I don¡¯t dream.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°That¡¯s impossible. Even for a person like you.¡±


    Something dark, something sad, twitches across his face. His jaw tightens and his throat bobs, trying to swallow words he shouldn¡¯t speak. They burst from him anyway. His hands reappear, tapping weakly on the table.


    ¡°I used to have nightmares. She took that part away when I was a boy. Like Samson said, my mother was a surgeon with minds. She cut out whatever didn¡¯t suit.¡±


    In recent weeks, a ferocious, fiery anger has reced the cold<span id="page_169" title="169">hollowness I used to feel. But as Maven speaks, the ice returns. It bleeds through me, a poison, an infection. I don¡¯t want to hear what he has to say. His excuses and exnations are nothing to me. He is a monster still, a monster always. And yet I can¡¯t stop myself from listening. Because I could be a monster too. If given the wrong chance. If someone broke me, like he is broken.


    ¡°My brother. My father. I know I loved them once. I remember it.¡± His hands clench around a butter knife, and he res at the dull edge. I wonder if he wants to use it on himself or his dead mother. ¡°But I don¡¯t feel it. That love isn¡¯t there anymore. For any of them. For most things.¡±


    ¡°Then why keep me here? If you don¡¯t feel anything. Why not just kill me and be done with this?¡±


    ¡°She has a hard time erasing . . . certain kinds of feeling,¡± he admits, meeting my eye. ¡°She tried to do it with Father, to make him forget his love for Coriane. It only made things worse. Besides,¡± he mumbles, ¡°she always said it was better to be heartbroken. The pain makes you stronger. Love makes you weak. And she¡¯s right. I learned that before I even knew you.¡±


    Another name lingers in the air, unspoken.


    ¡°Thomas.¡±


    A boy at the war front. Another Red lost to a useless war.<i ss="calibre4">My first real friend,</i>Maven told me once. I realize now the spaces between those words. The things unsaid. He loved that boy as he ims to love me.


    ¡°Thomas,¡± Maven echoes. His grip on the knife tightens. ¡°I felt . . .¡± Then his brow furrows, deep creases forming between his eyes. He puts his other hand to his temple, massaging an ache I can¡¯t understand. ¡°She wasn¡¯t there. She never met him. She didn¡¯t know. He wasn¡¯t even a soldier. It was an ident.¡±


    <span id="page_170" title="170">¡°You said you tried to save him. That your guards stopped you.¡±


    ¡°An explosion at headquarters. The reports said it was Laknder infiltration.¡± Somewhere, a clock ticks as the minutes slide by. His silence stretches as he decides what to say, how far to let the mask slip. But it¡¯s already gone. He¡¯s bare as he can only be with me. ¡°We were alone. I lost control.¡±


    I see it in my mind¡¯s eye, filling in what he can¡¯t will himself to tell me. An ammunitions depot maybe. Or even a gas line. Both need only me to kill.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t burn. He did.¡±


    ¡°Maven¡ª¡±


    ¡°Even my mother could not cut that memory away. Even she couldn¡¯t make me forget, no matter how I begged her to. I wanted her to take that pain from me, and she tried so many times. Instead, it always got worse.¡±


    I know how he¡¯s going to answer my question, but I ask all the same.


    ¡°Please let me go?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re going to let me die too. Like him.¡±


    The room crackles with heat, sending sweat down my spine. He stands so quickly, he knocks back his chair, letting it crash to the floor. One fist collides with the tabletop before raking sideways, throwing tes, sses, and reports to the floor. The papers float for a moment, suspended in air before drifting down to the shattered pile of crystal and porcin.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he growls under his breath, so low I almost don¡¯t hear him as he stalks from the room.


    <span id="page_171" title="171">The Arvens enter and seize me beneath my arms, pulling me away from the table of papers, all of them slipping from reach.


    I¡¯m surprised to learn that Maven¡¯s usually meticulous schedule of hearings and court gatherings is suspended for the rest of the day. I guess our conversation had a stronger effect than I expected. His absence confines me to my room, to Julian¡¯s books. I force myself to read, if only to block out any memories of the morning. Maven is a talented liar, and I don¡¯t trust a single word he speaks. Even if he was telling the truth. Even if he is a product of his mother¡¯s meddling, a thorned flower forced to grow a certain way. That doesn¡¯t change things. I can¡¯t forget everything he¡¯s done to me and so many others. When I first met him, I was seduced by his pain. He was the boy in shadow, a forgotten son. I saw myself in him. Second always to Gisa, the bright star in my parents¡¯ world. I know now that was by design. He caught me back then, ensnaring me in a prince¡¯s trap. Now I¡¯m in a king¡¯s cage. But so is he. My chains are Silent Stone. His is the crown.


    <i ss="calibre4">The country of Norta was forged from smaller kingdoms and lordships, ranging in size from the Samos kingdom of the Rift to the city-state Delphie. Caesar Calore, a Silver lord of Archeon and a talented tactician, united fractured Norta against the looming threat of joint invasion by Piedmont and the Laknds. Once he crowned himself king, he married his daughter Juliana to Garion Savanna, the ruling high prince of Piedmont. This act cemented asting alliance between House Calore and the princes of Piedmont. Many children of Calore and Piedmont royalty upheld the marriage alliance for the following centuries. King Caesar brought an age of prosperity to Norta,<span id="page_172" title="172">and as such, Nortan calendars consider the beginning of his reign the demarcation of the ¡°New Era,¡± or NE.</i>


    It takes me three tries to get through the paragraph. Julian¡¯s histories are much denser than what I had to learn in school. My thoughts keep drifting. ck hair, blue eyes. Tears Maven refuses to show, even to me. Is it another performance? What do I do if it is? What do I do if it isn¡¯t? My heart breaks for him; my heart hardens against him. I push on to avoid such thoughts.


    <i ss="calibre4">In contrast, rtions between newly founded Norta and the extensive Laknds deteriorated. Following a series of border wars with Prairie in the second century NE, the Laknds lost vital agricultural territory in the Minnowan region as well as control of the Great River (also known as the Miss). Taxation following the war, as well as the threat of famine and Red rebellion, forced expansion along the Nortan border. Skirmishes sparked on either side. To prevent further bloodshed, King Tiberias the Third of Norta and King Onekad Cy of the Laknds met in a historic summit at the crossing of Maiden Falls. Negotiations fell apart quickly, and in 200 NE, both kingdoms dered war, each ming the other for the breakdown in their diplomatic rtions.</i>


    I can¡¯t help butugh. Nothing ever changes.


    <i ss="calibre4">Known as the Laknder War in Norta, and the Aggression in the Laknds, the conflict is still ongoing at the time of writing. Total Silver death tolls number approximately five hundred thousand, most in the first decade of war. urate records for Red soldiers are not kept, but<span id="page_173" title="173">estimates put the total death toll in excess of fifty million, with casualties more than twice that number. Both Laknder and Nortan casualties are equal in proportion to their native Red poptions.</i>


    It takes longer than I care to admit, but I scratch out the math in my head. Almost one hundred times more. If this book belonged to anyone other than Julian, I would throw it away in rage.


    A century of war and wasteful bloodshed.


    How can anyone change something like that?


    For once I find myself counting on Maven¡¯s ability to twist and scheme. Perhaps he can see a way¡ªforge a path¡ªthat no one before him has imagined.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 13

    <i ss="calibre4">A week passes until</i>I leave my room again. Even though they¡¯re a gift from Maven, a reminder of his strange obsession with me, I¡¯m d for Julian¡¯s books. They¡¯re my onlypany. A piece of a friend in this ce. I keep them close, alongside Gisa¡¯s silk scrap.


    Pages pass with the days. I work back through the histories, traveling through words that be less and less believable. Three hundred years of Calore kings, centuries of Silver warlords¡ªthis is a world I recognize. But the farther I go, the murkier things be.This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    <i ss="calibre4">Written records of the so-called Reformation Period are scarce, though most schrs agree that the period began sometime around 1500 Old Era (or OE) by the modern Nortan calendar. Most records dating before the Reformation, immediately following, during, or prior to the Cmities that befell the continent, were almost entirely destroyed, were lost, or are impossible to read at present. Those recovered are closely studied and guarded within the Royal Archives in Delphie, as well as simr facilities in neighboring kingdoms. The Cmities themselves<span id="page_175" title="175">have been studied at length, using field investigation paired with pre-Silverian myth to postte events. At the time of writing, many believe that abination of ultimate human war, geologic shift, climate change, and other natural catastrophes resulted in the near extinction of the human race.</i>


    <i ss="calibre4">The earliest discovered, trantable records date from approximately 950 OE, but the exact year cannot be verified. One document,</i>The Trial of Barr Rambler,<i ss="calibre4">is an iplete ount of the attempted court trial of an used thief in reconstructed Delphie. Barr was used of stealing his neighbor¡¯s wagon. During the course of the trial, Barr reportedly broke his chains of binding ¡°as if made of twigs¡± and escaped despite a full guard. It is believed to be the first record of a Silver disying his ability. To this day, House Rhambos ims to trace its strongarm bloodline from him. However, this im is refuted by another court record,</i>The Trial of Hillman, Tryent, Davids,<i ss="calibre4">wherein three men of Delphie were tried for the subsequent murder of Barr Rambler, who was reported to have no children. The three men were acquitted andter praised by the citizens of Delphie for their work in destroying ¡°the Rambler abomination¡±</i>(Delphie Records and Writings, Vol. 1).


    <i ss="calibre4">The treatment of Barr Rambler was not an isted incident. Many early writings and documents detail fear and persecution of a rising poption of abilitied humans with silver-colored blood. Most banded together for protection, formingmunities outside Red-dominated cities. The Reformation Period ended with the rise of Silver societies, some living in conjunction with Red cities, though most eventually overtook their red-blooded counterparts.</i>


    Silvers persecuted by Reds. I want tough at the thought. How stupid. How impossible. I¡¯ve lived every day of my life knowing they<span id="page_176" title="176">are gods and we are insects. I cannot even begin to fathom a world where the reverse was true.


    These are Julian¡¯s books. He saw enough merit here to study them. Still, I feel too unsettled to continue, and I keep my reading toter years. The New Era, the Calore kings. Names and ces I know in a civilization I understand.


    One day my delivered clothes are iner than ever. Comfortable, made for utility rather than style. My first indication of something amiss. I almost look like a Security officer, with stretchy pants, a ck jacket sparsely embellished with pinprick whorls of ruby beading, and shockingly sensible boots. Polished but worn leather, no heel, just the right amount of pinch, and enough room for my ankle manacles. The ones at the wrist are hidden as usual, covered by gloves. Fur-lined. For the cold. My heart leaps. I¡¯ve never been so excited about gloves.


    ¡°Am I going outside?¡± I ask Kitten breathlessly, forgetting how good she is at ignoring me. She doesn¡¯t disappoint, staring straight ahead as she leads me from my luxurious cell. Clover is always easier to read. The twitch of her lips and narrowed green eyes are affirmation enough. Not to mention that they, too, are both wearing thick coats as well as gloves, albeit the rubber ones to protect their hands from electricity I no longer possess.


    <i ss="calibre4">Outside.</i>I haven¡¯t tasted much more than a breeze from an open window since that day on the steps of the pce. I thought Maven was going to take my head off, so obviously my mind was elsewhere. Now I wish I could remember the cold air of November, the sharp wind bringing winter with it. In my haste, I almost outpace the Arvens. They¡¯re quick to yank me in line and make me match their steps. It¡¯s a maddening descent, down stairs and corridors I know by heart.


    Familiar pressure ripples against me, and I nce over my shoulder.<span id="page_177" title="177">Egg and Trio join our ranks, bringing up the rear of my Arven guard. They move in unison with Kitten and Clover, steps matching, as we make our way to the entrance hall and Caesar¡¯s Square.


    Quick as my excitement came, it bleeds away.


    Fear gnaws at my insides. I tried to manipte Maven into making costly mistakes, to make him doubt, to burn thest bridges he has left. But maybe I failed. Maybe he¡¯s going to burn me instead.


    I focus on the click of my boots on marble. Something solid to anchor my fear. My fists curl in my gloves, begging for a spark to tide me over. It neveres.


    The pce seems strangely empty, even more so than usual. Doors are shut fast, while servants flutter through the rooms that aren¡¯t closed yet, quick and quiet as mice. They flutter white sheets over furniture and artwork, covering them up in strange shrouds. Few guards, fewer nobles. The ones I pass are young and wide-eyed. I know their houses, their colors, and I can see naked fear on their faces. All are dressed like me, for the cold, for function. For movement.


    ¡°Where is everyone going?¡± I ask no one, because no one is going to answer.


    Clover harshly yanks on my ponytail, forcing me to look straight ahead. It doesn¡¯t hurt, but the action is jarring. She never handles me this way, not unless I give her a good reason.


    I spin through the possibilities. Is this an evacuation? Has the Scarlet Guard attempted another assault on Archeon? Or have the rebelling houses returned to finish what they started? No, it can¡¯t be either. This is too calm. We¡¯re not running from anything.


    As we cross the hall, I take a deep breath, looking around. Marble beneath me, chandeliers above me, tall glimmering mirrors and gilded paintings of Calore ancestors marching up the walls on either side. Red<span id="page_178" title="178">and ck banners, silver and gold and crystal. I feel like it¡¯s all going to crash down and crush me. Fear creeps down my spine when the doors ahead swing open, metal and ss easing on giant hinges. The first breath of cold wind hits me head-on, making my eyes water.


    The winter sun shines bright on the gleaming square, blinding me for a second. I blink rapidly, trying to make my eyes adjust. I can¡¯t afford to miss a second of this. The outside worldes into focus steadily. Snow lies deep on the rooftops of the pce and the surrounding structures of Caesar¡¯s Square.


    Soldiers line either side of the steps leading down from the pce, immacte in their neat rows. The Arvens lead me through the double row of soldiers, past their guns and uniforms and unblinking eyes. I turn to look over my shoulder as I walk, stealing a nce at the opulent pale hulk of Whitefire Pce. Silhouettes prowl the roof. Officers in ck uniforms, soldiers in clouded gray. Even from here, their rifles are clearly visible, silhouetted against a cold blue sky. And those are just the guards I can see. There must be more patrolling the walls, manning the gates, concealed and ready to defend this wretched ce. Hundreds, probably, kept for their loyalty and lethal ability. We cross the square alone, for no one, for nothing. What is this?


    I note the buildings we pass. The Royal Court, a circr building with smooth marble walls, spiraled columns, and a crystal dome, has gone unused since Maven¡¯s coronation. It is a symbol of power, a massive hallrge enough to seat the assembled High Houses and their retainers, as well as important members of the Silver citizenry. I¡¯ve never been inside. I hope I never am. The judiciary courts, where Silverw is made and enacted with brutal efficiency, branch out from the domed structure. Next to their arches and crystal trappings, the<span id="page_179" title="179">Treasury Hall looks dull. b walls¡ªmore marble, and I have to wonder how many quarries this ce sucked dry¡ªno windows, sitting like a block of stone among sculptures. The wealth of Norta is somewhere in there, more defended than the king, locked in vaults drilled deep into the bedrock below us.


    ¡°This way,¡± Clover growls, pulling me toward the Treasury.


    ¡°Why?¡± I ask. Again, no one answers.


    My heartbeat quickens, hammering against my rib cage, and I struggle to keep my breathing even. Each cold gasp feels like the tick of a clock, steadily counting down the moments before I¡¯m swallowed up.


    The doors are thick, thicker than the ones I remember from Corros Prison. They open wide as a yawning mouth, nked by guards in liveried purple. The Treasury has no grand entrance hall, in sharp contrast to every other Silver structure I¡¯ve ever seen. It¡¯s just a long white corridor, curving and sloping downward in a steady spiral. Guards stand at attention every ten yards or so, flush against pure white stone. Where the vaults might be, or where I¡¯m going, I can¡¯t say.


    After exactly six hundred steps, we stop in front of a guard.


    Without a word he steps forward and to the side, putting his fingers to the wall behind him. He pushes and the marble glides backward a foot, revealing the silhouette of a door. It slides easily at his touch, widening to create a three-foot gap in the stone. The soldier doesn¡¯t strain at all.<i ss="calibre4">Strongarm,</i>I note.


    The stone is thick and heavy. My fear triples, and I swallow hard, feeling my hands start to sweat in my gloves. Maven is finally putting me in a real cell.


    Kitten and Clover shove me, trying to take me off guard, but I nt my feet, locking every joint against them. ¡°No!¡± I shout, driving<span id="page_180" title="180">a shoulder back into one of them. Kitten grunts but doesn¡¯t stop, continuing to push while Clover takes me around the middle, lifting me clean off the floor.


    ¡°You can¡¯t put me down here!¡± I don¡¯t know what card to y, what mask to put on. Do I cry? Do I beg? Do I act like the rebel queen they think I am? Which one will save me? Fear overrules my senses. I gasp like a girl drowning. ¡°Please, I can¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    I kick at open air, trying to topple Clover, but she¡¯s stronger than I expect. Egg takes my legs, cleanly ignoring my heel as it cracks into his jaw. They carry me like a piece of furniture, without thought or attention.


    Twisting, I manage to catch sight of the Treasury guard as the door slides back into ce. He hums to himself, nonchnt. Another day on the job for him. I force myself to look forward, at whatever fate awaits me in these white depths.


    This vault is empty; its walkway corkscrews like the corridor, albeit in tighter circles. Nothing marks the walls. No distinguishing features, no seams, not even guards. Just lights overhead and stone all around.


    ¡°Please.¡± My voice echoes in the silence, alone with the sound of my racing heartbeat.


    I stare up at the ceiling, willing this all to be a dream.


    When they drop me, I gasp, the wind knocked from my lungs. Still, I roll to my feet as quickly as I can. As I stand, fists clenched, teeth bared, I¡¯m ready to fight and willing to lose. I won¡¯t be abandoned here without taking someone¡¯s teeth.


    The Arvens stand back, side by side, unamused. Uninterested. Their focus is beyond me, behind me.


    I whirl to find myself staring, not at another nk wall, but at a winding tform. Newly built, joining with other corridors or vaults<span id="page_181" title="181">or secret passages. It overlooks tracks.


    Before my brain can attempt to connect the dots, before even the briefest whisper of excitement can ripple in my mind, Maven speaks, and smashes my hope to pieces.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself.¡± His voice echoes from my left, farther down the tform. He stands there, waiting, a guard of Sentinels around him, along with Evangeline and Ptolemus. All of them wear coats like mine, with ample fur to keep them warm. Both Samos children are resplendent in ck sable.


    Maven steps toward me, grinning with the confidence of a wolf. ¡°The Scarlet Guard aren¡¯t the only ones capable of building trains.¡±


    The Undertrain rattled and sparked and rusted all over, a tin heap threatening to split apart at its welds. Still, I prefer it to this morous slug.


    ¡°Your friends gave me the idea, of course,¡± Maven says from his plush seat across from me. Hezes, proud of himself. I see none of his psychic wounds today. They¡¯re carefully hidden, either pushed aside or forgotten for the moment.


    I fight the urge to curl up in my own seat, and I keep both feet firmly nted on the floor. If something goes wrong, I have to be ready to run. As in the pce, I note every inch of Maven¡¯s train, looking for any kind of advantage. I find none. No windows, and Sentinels and Arven guards are nted at either end of the longpartment. It¡¯s furnished like a salon, with paintings, upholstered chairs and couches, even crystal lights tinkling with the motion of the train. But as with everything Silver, I see the cracks. The paint has barely dried. I can smell it. The train is brand-new, untested. At the other end of thepartment, Evangeline¡¯s eyes dart back and forth, betraying her<span id="page_182" title="182">attempt to seem calm. The train rattles her. I bet she can feel every piece of it moving at high speed. It¡¯s a hard sensation to get used to. I never could, always sensing the pulse of machines like the Undertrain or the ckrun jet. I used to feel the electric blood¡ªI guess she can feel the metal veins.


    Her brother sits beside her, glowering at me. He shifts once or twice, nudging her shoulder. Her pained expression relents every time, calmed by his presence. I guess if the new train explodes, they¡¯re strong enough to survive the shrapnel.


    ¡°They managed to escape so quickly from the Bowl of Bones, riding the ancient rails all the way to Naercey before even I could get there. I figured it wouldn¡¯t be so bad to have a little escape route of my own,¡± Maven continues, drumming his fingers on his knee. ¡°You never know what new concoction my brother may dream up in his attempt to overthrow me. Best to be prepared.¡±


    ¡°And what are you escaping from right now?¡± I mumble, trying to keep my voice low.


    He only shrugs andughs. ¡°Don¡¯t act so glum, Mare. I¡¯m doing us both a favor.¡± Grinning, he sinks back in his seat. He kicks his feet up, putting them onto the seat beside me. I wrinkle my nose at the action, angling away. ¡°One can only tolerate the prison of Whitefire Pce for so long.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Prison.</i>I bite back a retort, forcing myself to humor him.<i ss="calibre4">You have no idea what a prison is, Maven.</i>


    Without windows or any kind of bearing, I have no way to know where we may be headed or how far this infernal machine can travel. It certainly feels as fast as the Undertrain, if not faster. I doubt we¡¯re heading south, to Naercey, a ruined city now abandoned even by the Scarlet Guard. Maven made such a show of destroying the tunnels<span id="page_183" title="183">after the infiltration of Archeon.


    He lets me think, watching as I puzzle out the picture around us. He knows I don¡¯t have enough pieces to make it whole. Still, he lets me try, and doesn¡¯t offer any more exnation.


    The minutes tick by, and I turn my focus to Ptolemus. My hate for him has only grown over thest few months. He killed my brother. He took Shade from this world. He would do the same to everyone I love if given the chance. For once, he¡¯s without his scaled armor. It makes him seem smaller, weaker, more vulnerable. I fantasize about cutting his throat and staining Maven¡¯s freshly painted walls with Silver blood.


    ¡°Something interest you?¡± Ptolemus snarls, meeting my gaze.


    ¡°Let her stare,¡± Evangeline says. She leans back in her seat and tips her head, never breaking eye contact. ¡°She can¡¯t do much more than that.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± I growl back. In myp, my fingers twitch.


    Maven clucks his tongue, chiding. ¡°Ladies.¡±


    Before Evangeline can retort, her focus shifts and she looks away, at the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. Ptolemus matches her action. They sense something I can¡¯t. And then the train around us starts to slow, its gears and mechanisms screeching against iron tracks.


    ¡°Nearly there, then,¡± Maven says, easing to his feet. He offers me a hand.


    For a moment, I entertain the idea of biting his fingers off. Instead, I put my hand in his, ignoring the crawling sensation under my skin. When I stand, his thumb grazes the raised edge of my manacle beneath my glove. A firm reminder of his hold over me. I can¡¯t stand it and pull away, folding my arms over my chest to create a barrier between us. Something darkens in his bright eyes, and he puts up a shield of his own.


    Maven¡¯s train stops so smoothly I barely feel it. The Arvens do,<span id="page_184" title="184">though, and snap to my side, surrounding me with exhausting familiarity. At least I¡¯m not chained up or leashed.


    Sentinels nk Maven as the Arvens nk me, their ming robes and ck masks foreboding as always. They let Maven set the pace, and he crosses the length of thepartment. Evangeline and Ptolemus follow, forcing me and my guards to take up the back of the strange procession. We follow them through the door, into a vestibule connecting onepartment to the next. Another door, another long stretch of opulent furnishings, this time in a dining room. Still no windows. Still no hint as to where we might be.


    At the next vestibule, a door opens, not ahead, but to the right. The Sentinels duck through first, disappearing, then Maven goes, then the rest. We exit onto another tform, illuminated by harsh lights overhead. It¡¯s shockingly clean¡ªanother new construction, no doubt¡ªbut the air feels damp. Despite the meticulous order of the empty tform, something drips somewhere, echoing around us. I look left and right along the tracks. They fade into ckness on either side. This isn¡¯t the end of the line. I shudder to think how much progress Maven has made in only a few months¡¯ time.


    Up we go, ascending a set of stairs. I resign myself to a long climb, remembering how deep the vault entrance was. So I¡¯m surprised when the stairs level off quickly at another door. This one is reinforced steel, a foreboding omen of what might be beyond. A Sentinel grasps the bar lock and turns it with a grunt. The groan of a massive mechanism answers. Evangeline and Ptolemus don¡¯t lift a finger to help. Like me, they watch with thinly veiled fascination. I don¡¯t think they know much more than I do. Strange, for a house so closely tied to the king.


    Daylight streams through as the steel swings back, revealing gray and blue beyond. Dead trees, their branches syed like veins, reach<span id="page_185" title="185">into a clear winter sky. As we step out from the train bunker, I take a deep breath. Pine, the sharp cleanness of cold air. We¡¯re standing in a clearing surrounded by evergreens and naked oaks. The earth beneath me is frozen, hard-packed dirt beneath a few inches of snow. It chills my toes already.


    I dig in my heels, earning one more second of open forest. The Arvens push me along, making me skid. I don¡¯t fight so much as methodically slow them down, all the while whipping my head back and forth. I try to get my bearings. Judging by the sun, now beginning its western descent, north is directly ahead of me.


    Four military transports, polished to unnatural shine, idle in the path before us. Their engines hum, waiting, the heat of them sending plumes of steam into the air. It¡¯s easy to figure which belongs to Maven. The Burning Crown, red, ck, and royal silver, is stamped on the sides of the grandest one. It stands almost two feet off the ground, with massive wheels and what must be a reinforced body. Bulletproof, fireproof, deathproof. Everything to protect the boy king.


    He climbs inside without hesitation, his cape trailing behind. To my relief, the Arvens don¡¯t make me follow, and I¡¯m bodily shoved into another transport. Mine is unmarked. As I duck in, straining for onest glimpse of the open sky, I notice Evangeline and Ptolemus approach their own transport. ck and silver, its metal body covered in spikes. Evangeline probably decorated it herself.


    We lurch forward as Egg shuts the door behind him, locking me into the transport with four Arven guards. There is a soldier behind the wheel and a Sentinel in the seat next to him. I resign myself to another journey, crammed in with the Arvens.


    At least the transport has windows. I watch, not wanting to blink, as we speed through an achingly familiar forest. When we reach the<span id="page_186" title="186">river, and the widely paved road running next to it, a longing burns through my chest.


    That is the Capital River. My river. We¡¯re driving north, on the Royal Road. They could throw me from the transport right now, leave me in the dust with nothing, and I could find my way home. Tears spring to my eyes at the thought. What I would do, to myself or anyone else, for the chance to go back home?


    But no one is there. No one I care about. They¡¯re gone, protected, far away. Home is no longer the ce we¡¯re from. Home is safe with them. I hope.


    I jump as other transports join our convoy. Military-grade, their bodies marked by the ck sword of the army. I count almost a dozen in sight, and more stretching into the distance behind us. Many have Silver soldiers visible, either leaning off the side or perched on top in special seats and harnesses. All of them are on alert, ready to act. The Arvens don¡¯t look surprised by the new additions. They knew they wereing.


    The Royal Road winds through towns on the riverbank. Red towns. We¡¯re too far south for us to pass through the Stilts yet, but that doesn¡¯t dampen my excitement. Brick millse into view first, jutting out into the shallows of the river. We speed right for them, entering the outskirts of a thriving mill town. As much as I want to see more, I hope we don¡¯t stop. I hope Maven passes right through this ce without disruption.


    I mostly get my wish. The convoy slows but never stops, rolling through the heart of the town in all its glittering menace. Crowds line the street, waving us on. They cheer for the king, shouting his name, straining to see and be seen. Red merchants to millworkers, the old and young, hundreds of them pressing forward to get a better look. I<span id="page_187" title="187">expect to see Security officers pushing them on, forcing such a raucous wee. I lean back against my seat, willing myself not to be seen. They¡¯re already forced to watch me sit by Maven¡¯s side. I don¡¯t want to add more fuel to that maniptive fire. To my relief, no one puts me on disy. I merely sit and stare at my hands in myp, hoping for the town to pass by as quickly as possible. In the pce, seeing what I see of Maven, knowing what I do about him, it¡¯s easy to forget he has most of the country in his pocket. His grand efforts to turn the tide of opinion against the Scarlet Guard and his enemies seem to be working. These people believe what he says, or perhaps have no opportunity to fight. I don¡¯t know which one is worse.


    When the town recedes behind us, the cheers still echo in my head. All this for Maven, for the next step in whatever n he has put in motion.


    We must be beyond New Town; that much is clear. There¡¯s no pollution in sight. There aren¡¯t any estates either. I remember passing River Row on my first journey south, back when I was pretending to be Mareena. We sailed downriver from the Hall of the Sun all the way to Archeon, passing viges, towns, and the luxurious stretch of bank where many High Houses kept their family mansions. I try to remember the maps Julian used to show me. Instead, I only give myself a headache.


    The sun dips lower as the convoy turns off after the third cheering town, moving in practiced formation onto a connecting roadway. Heading west. I try to swallow the dip of sadness rising inside. North pulls at me, beckoning even though I cannot follow. The ces I know stretch farther and farther away.


    I try to keep thepass in my head. West is the Iron Road. The way to the Weskes, the Laknds, the Choke. West is war and ruin.


    <span id="page_188" title="188">Egg and Trio don¡¯t let me move much, so I have to crane my neck to see. I bite my lip as we pass through a set of gates, trying to spot a sign or a symbol. There isn¡¯t anything, just bars of wrought iron beneath shockingly green vines of flowering ivy. Well out of season.


    The estate is ptial, at the far end of a road lined by immacte hedges. We spit out into a wide square of stone, with the estate house upying one side. Our convoy circles in front of it, stopping with the transports syed out in an arced row. No crowds here, but guards are already waiting outside. The Arvens move quickly and I¡¯m ushered from the transport.


    I re up at charming red brick and white trim, rows of polished windows hung with blooming flower boxes, fluted columns, florid balconies, and thergest tree I¡¯ve ever seen bursting from the middle of the mansion. Its branches arc over the pointed roof, growing in conjunction with the structure. Not a twig or leaf out ce, perfectly sculpted like a piece of living art. Magnolia, I think, judging by the white flowers and the perfumed smell. For a moment, I forget it¡¯s winter.


    ¡°Wee, Your Majesty.¡±


    The voice isn¡¯t one I recognize.


    Another girl, my age but tall, lean, pale as the snow that should be here, steps down from one of the many transports that joined ours. Her attention is on Maven, now mbering out of his own transport, and she glides by me to curtsy in front of him. I know her at a nce.


    Heron Welle. Shepeted in Queenstrial long ago, drawing mighty trees out of earth while her house cheered her on. Like so many, she hoped to be a royal bride, chosen to marry Cal. Now she stands at Maven¡¯smand, eyes downcast, waiting for his order. She pulls her green-and-gold coat tighter around herself, a defense<span id="page_189" title="189">against the cold and Maven¡¯s stare.


    Hers is one of the few houses I knew before I was forced into the Silver world. Her father governs the region I was born in. I used to watch his ship pass by on the river, and wave at its green gs with other stupid children.


    Maven takes his time, needlessly donning his gloves for the short walk between his transport and the mansion. As he moves, the simple crown nestled in his ck curls captures the waning sunlight, winking red and gold.


    ¡°Charming ce, Heron,¡± he says, making idle small talk. It sounds sinistering from him. A threat.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Majesty. All is well in order for your arrival.¡±


    As I¡¯m maneuvered closer, Heron spares a single nce for me. Her only acknowledgment of my existence. She has birdlike features, but on her angr figure they look elegant, refined, and sharply beautiful. I expect her eyes to be green, like everything else about her family and ability. Instead, they are a vibrant deep blue, set off by porcin skin and auburn hair.


    The rest of the transports empty their passengers. More colors, more houses, more guards and soldiers. I spot Samson among them, looking foolish in leather and fur dyed blue. The color and the cold make him paler than ever, a blond icicle of bloodlust. The others give him a wide berth as he prowls to Maven¡¯s side. I count a few dozen courtiers at a nce. Enough to make me wonder if even Governor Welle¡¯s mansion can hold us all.


    Maven acknowledges Samson with a nod of his head before he sets off at a brisk pace, trotting toward the ornate stairs leading up from the square. Heron follows at his heels, as do the Sentinels in their usual flock. Everyone else follows, pulled along by an invisible tether.


    <span id="page_190" title="190">A man who can only be the governor rushes from oak-and-gold doors, bowing as he walks. He seems nd inparison to his home, unremarkable with his weak chin, dirty-blond hair, and a body neither fat nor thin. His clothes make up for it, and then some. He wears boots, butter-soft leather pants, and a jacket worked in ornate brocade, set with shing emeralds at the cor and hems. They are nothingpared to the ancient medallion around his neck. It bounces against his chest as he walks, a jeweled emblem of the tree guarding his home.


    ¡°Your Majesty, I can¡¯t tell you how pleased we are to host you,¡± he blusters, bowing onest time. Maven purses his lips into a thin smile, amused by the disy. ¡°It¡¯s such an honor to be the first destination on your coronation tour.¡±


    Disgust curls in my stomach. I¡¯m seized by the image of me parading through the country, a few steps behind Maven, always at his beck and call. On-screen, in front of cameras, it feels degrading, but in person? Before crowds of people like the ones in the town? I may not survive it. Somehow I think I would prefer the prison of Whitefire.


    Maven sps hands with the governor, his smile spreading into something that could pass for genuine. He¡¯s good at the act, I¡¯ll give him that. ¡°Of course, Cyrus, I could think of no better ce to start. Heron speaks so highly of you,¡± he adds, waving her to his side.


    She steps quickly, eyes shing to her father. A look of relief passes between them. Like everything Maven does, her presence is a careful maniption and a message.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± Maven gestures to the mansion. He sets off, making the rest of us keep up. The governor hurries to nk Maven, still trying to at least look like he has some manner of control here.


    Inside, droves of Red servants line the walls in their best uniforms, their shoes polished and eyes on the floor. None look at me, and I<span id="page_191" title="191">keep to myself, musing instead on the governor¡¯s mansion. I expected greenwarden artistry and I am not disappointed. Flowers of every kind dominate the foyer, blooming from crystal vases, painted on the walls, molded on the ceiling, worked in ss in the chandeliers or in stone mosaic on the floor. The smell should be overwhelming. Instead, it¡¯s intoxicating, calming with every breath. I inhale deeply, allowing myself this one small pleasure.


    More of House Welle wait to greet the king, falling over themselves to bow or curtsy orpliment Maven on everything from hisws to his shoes. As he suffers them all, Evangeline joins us, having already discarded her furs with some poor servant.


    I tense as she pauses next to me. All the greenery reflects in her clothing, giving her a sickly hue. With a jolt, I realize her father isn¡¯t here. He usually hovers between her and Maven at events like this, quick to step in when her temper threatens to boil over. But he isn¡¯t here now.


    Evangeline says nothing, content to stare at Maven¡¯s back. I watch her watch him. Her fist clenches when the governor leans to whisper in Maven¡¯s ear. Then he beckons to one of the Silvers waiting, a tall, thin woman with jet-ck hair, swooping cheekbones, and cool, ocher skin. If she¡¯s part of House Welle, she doesn¡¯t look it. Not a scrap of green on her. Instead, her clothes are gray-blue. The woman bows her head stiffly, careful to keep her eyes on Maven¡¯s face. His demeanor changes, his smile widening for an instant. He mutters something back, his head bobbing in excitement. I catch a single word.


    ¡°Now,¡± he says. The governor and the woman oblige.


    They walk away together, Sentinels in tow. I nce at the Arvens, wondering if we¡¯re meant to go too, but they don¡¯t move.


    Evangeline doesn¡¯t either. And for whatever reason, her shoulders<span id="page_192" title="192">droop and her body rxes. Some weight has fallen away.


    ¡°Stop staring at me,¡± she snaps, knocking me from my observations.


    I drop my head, letting her win this small, insignificant exchange. And I continue to wonder.<i ss="calibre4">What does she know? What does she see that I don¡¯t?</i>


    As the Arvens lead me away to whatever my cell for the evening may be, my heart sinks in my chest. I left Julian¡¯s books in Whitefire. Nothing willfort me tonight.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 14

    <i ss="calibre4">Before my capture, I</i>spent months crisscrossing the country, evading Maven¡¯s hunters and recruiting newbloods. I slept on a dirt floor, ate what we could steal, spent all my waking hours either feeling too much or too little, trying my best to stay ahead of all our demons. I didn¡¯t handle the pressure well. I shut down and shut out my friends, my family, everyone close to me. Anyone who wanted to help or understand. Of course I regret it. Of course I wish I could go back to the Notch, to Cal and Kilorn and Farley and Shade. I would do things differently. I would be different.


    Sadly, no Silver or newblood can change the past. My mistakes cannot be undone, forgotten, or ignored. But I can make amends. I can do something now.


    I¡¯ve seen Norta, but as an ouw. From the shadows. The view from Maven¡¯s side, as part of his extensive entourage, is like the difference between night and day. I shiver beneath my coat, hands sped together for warmth. Between the crushing power of the Arvens and my manacles, I¡¯m more susceptible to the temperature. Despite my<span id="page_194" title="194">hatred for him, I find myself inching closer to Maven, if only to take advantage of his constant heat. On his other side, Evangeline does the opposite, keeping her distance. She focuses more on Governor Welle than the king, and mutters to him asionally, her voice low enough not to disturb Maven¡¯s speech.


    ¡°I¡¯m humbled by your wee, as well as your support for a young and untested king.¡±


    Maven¡¯s voice echoes, magnified by microphones and speakers. He doesn¡¯t read from any paper and somehow seems to make eye contact with every person crowding the city square below the balcony. Like everything about the king, even the location is a maniption. We stand above hundreds, looking down, elevated beyond the reach of mere humans. The assembled people of Arborus, Governor Welle¡¯s own capital within his domain, stare up, faces raised in a way that makes my skin itch. The Reds jostle for a better look. They¡¯re easy to pick out, standing in bunches, covered in mismatchedyers, their faces flushed red with cold, while the Silver citizenry sit in furs. ck-uniformed Security officers dot the crowd, vignt as the Sentinels posted on the balcony and neighboring rooftops.


    ¡°It is my hope that this coronation tour allows me not only a deeper understanding of my kingdom, but a deeper understanding of you. Your struggles. Your hopes. Your fears. Because I am certainly afraid.¡± A murmur goes through the crowd below, as well as the assembled party on the balcony. Even Evangeline nces sidelong at Maven, eyes narrowed over the wless white cor of her fur wrap. ¡°We are a kingdom on the brink, threatening to shatter under the weight of war and terrorism. It is my solemn duty to prevent this from happening, and save us from the horrors of whatever anarchy the Scarlet Guard wishes to instill. So many are dead, in Archeon, in Corvium, in Summerton.<span id="page_195" title="195">My own mother and father among them. My own brother corrupted by the insurrectionist forces. But even so, I am not alone. I have you. I have Norta.¡± He sighs slowly, a muscle ticking in his cheek. ¡°And we will stand together against the enemies seeking to destroy our way of life, Red and Silver. I pledge my life to eradicating the Scarlet Guard, in any way possible.¡±


    The cheers below sound like metal on metal to me, screeching, a horrific noise. I keep my face still, expression carefully neutral. It serves me as well as any shield.


    Every day his speech bes firmer, his words carefully chosen and wielded like knives. Not once does he say the word<i ss="calibre4">rebel</i>or<i ss="calibre4">revolution</i>. The Scarlet Guard are always terrorists. Always murderers. Always enemies to our way of life, whatever that may be. And unlike his parents, he is masterfully careful to not insult Reds. The tour moves through Silver estates and Red cities alike. Somehow he seems at home in both, never flinching from the worst his kingdom has to offer. We even visit one of the factory slums, the kind of ce I will never forget. I try not to cringe as we pass through the teetering dormitory buildings or when we step out into the polluted air. Maven alone seems unfazed, smiling for the workers and their tattooed necks. He doesn¡¯t cover his mouth like Evangeline or retch at the smell like so many others, myself included. He¡¯s better at this than I ever expected. He knows, as his parents could not or refused to understand, that seducing Reds to his Silver cause is perhaps his best chance of victory.


    In another Red city, on the steps of a Silver mansion, heys the next brick in a deadly road. One thousand poor farmers look on, not daring to believe, not daring to hope. Even I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s doing.


    ¡°My father¡¯s Measures were enacted after a deadly attack that left<span id="page_196" title="196">many government officials dead. It was his attempt to punish the Scarlet Guard for their evil, and, to my shame, it only punished you instead.¡± Before the eyes of so many, he dips his face. It is a stirring sight. A Silver king bowing in front of the Red masses. I have to remind myself that this is Maven. This is a trick. ¡°As of today, I decree the Measures lifted and abolished. They were the mistakes of a well-meaning king, but mistakes all the same.¡±


    He nces at me, just for a moment, but the moment is enough for me to know that he cares about my reaction.


    The Measures. Conscription age lowered to fifteen. Restrictive curfew. Lethal punishment for any crime. All to turn the Red poption of Norta against the Scarlet Guard. All gone in an instant, in one beat of a king¡¯s ck heart. I should feel happy. I should feel proud. He¡¯s doing this because of me. Some part of him thinks this will please me. Some part thinks it will keep me safe. But watching the Reds, my own people, cheer for their oppressor only fills me with dread. I look down to find that my hands are shaking.


    <i ss="calibre4">What is he doing? What is he nning?</i>


    To find out, I must fly as close to the me as I dare.


    He ends his appearances by walking through the crowd, shaking hands with as many Reds as he does Silvers. He cuts through them with ease, Sentinels nking him in diamond formation. Samson Merandus always has his back, and I wonder how many feel the brush of his mind against their own. He¡¯s a better deterrent to a would-be assassin than anything else. Evangeline and I trail behind, both of us with guards. As always, I refuse to smile, to look, to touch anyone. It¡¯s safer for them this way.


    The transports wait for us, their engines worked to an idle purr.<span id="page_197" title="197">Above, the overcast sky darkens and I smell snow. While our guards close ranks, tightening formation to allow the king to enter his transport, I quicken my pace as best I can. My heart races and my breath puffs white on the cold air.


    ¡°Maven,¡± I say aloud.


    Despite the cheering crowd behind us, he hears me and pauses on the step of his transport. He turns with fluid grace, long cape whirling out to show bloodred lining. Unlike the rest of us, he doesn¡¯t need to wear fur to keep warm.


    I draw my coat tighter, if only to give my nervous hands something more to do. ¡°Did you really mean that?¡±


    At his own transport, Samson stares, eyes boring into mine. He can¡¯t read my mind, not while I wear the manacles, but that doesn¡¯t make him useless. I rely on my real confusion to create the mask I want to wear.


    I have no illusions where Maven is concerned. I know his twisted heart, and that it feels something for me. Something he wants to get rid of, but can never part with. When he waves me to his transport, beckoning for me to join him, I expect to hear Evangeline scoff or protest. She does neither, sweeping away to her own transport. In the cold, she doesn¡¯t glitter so brightly. She seems almost human.


    The Arvens do not follow, though they try. Maven stops them with a look.


    His transport is different from any other I¡¯ve been in. The driver and front guard are separated from the passengers by a ss window, sealing us in together. The walls and windows are thick, bulletproof. The Sentinels don¡¯t slide in either, instead climbing directly onto the transport skeleton, taking up defensive positions at every corner. It¡¯s<span id="page_198" title="198">unsettling, to know there¡¯s a Sentinel with a gun sitting directly above me. But not as unsettling as the king sitting across from me, staring, waiting.


    He eyes my hands, watching me rub my frozen fingers together.


    ¡°Are you cold?¡± he murmurs.


    Quickly I tuck my hands under my legs to warm them up. The transport elerates forward. ¡°Are you really going to do it? End the Measures?¡±


    ¡°You think I would lie?¡±


    I can¡¯t help butugh darkly. In the back of my mind, I wish for a knife. I wonder if he could incinerate me before I slit his throat. ¡°You? Never.¡±


    He smirks and shrugs, shifting to get morefortable on the plush seats. ¡°I meant what I said. The Measures were a mistake. Enacting them did more harm than good.¡±


    ¡°To Reds? Or to you?¡±


    ¡°To both, of course. Although I would thank my father if I could. I expect righting his wrongs will win me support among your people.¡± The cold detachment in his voice is diforting, to say the least. I know now ites from memories of his father. Poisoned things, drained of any love or happiness. ¡°I¡¯m afraid your Scarlet Guard won¡¯t have many sympathizers left by the time this is done. I¡¯m going to end them without another useless war.¡±


    ¡°You think giving people crumbs is going to cate them?¡± I growl, gesturing to the windows with my chin. Farms, barren for the winter, stretch out to the hills. ¡°Oh, lovely, the king has given me back two years of my child¡¯s life. Doesn¡¯t matter that they¡¯re still going to be taken away eventually.¡±


    His smirk only widens. ¡°You think that?¡±


    <span id="page_199" title="199">¡°I do. That¡¯s how this kingdom is. That¡¯s how it¡¯s always been.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± Leaning farther, he puts a foot up on the seat next to me. He even removes his crown, spins it between his hands. Bronze and iron mes glint in the low light, reflecting my face and his. Slowly, I edge away, crowding myself into the corner.


    ¡°I suppose I taught you a hard lesson,¡± he says. ¡°You missed so muchst time, and now you trust nothing. You¡¯re always watching, looking for information you¡¯re never going to use. Have you figured out where we¡¯re going yet? Or why?¡±


    I take a breath. I feel like I¡¯m back in Julian¡¯s ssroom, being tested on a map. The stakes feel much higher here. ¡°We¡¯re on the Iron Road now, heading northwest. To Corvium.¡±


    He has the gall to wink. ¡°Close.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not . . .¡± I blink quickly, trying to think. My brain buzzes through all the pieces I¡¯ve jealously collected over the days. Shards of news, bits of gossip. ¡°Rocasta? Are you going after Cal?¡±


    Maven settles back farther, amused. ¡°So small-minded. Why would I waste time chasing rumors of my exiled brother? I have a war to end and a rebellion to prevent.¡±


    ¡°A war to . . . end?¡±


    ¡°You said yourself, the Laknds will overthrow us if given the chance. I¡¯m not going to let that happen. Especially with Piedmont focused elsewhere, on their own multitude of troubles. I have to handle these matters myself.¡± Despite the warmth of the transport, due inrge part to the fire king sitting in front of me, I feel a finger of ice trail down my spine.


    I used to dream of the Choke. The ce where my father lost his leg, where my brothers almost lost their lives. Where so many Reds die. A waste of ash and blood.


    <span id="page_200" title="200">¡°You¡¯re not a warrior, Maven. You¡¯re not a general or a soldier. How can you possibly hope to defeat them when¡ª¡±


    ¡°When others couldn¡¯t? When Father couldn¡¯t? When Cal couldn¡¯t?¡± he snaps. Each word sounds like the crack of bone. ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m not like them. War is not what I was made for.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Made.</i>He says it with such ease. Maven Calore is not his own self. He told me as much. He is a construct, a creation of his mother¡¯s additions and subtractions. A mechanical, a machine, soulless and lost. What a horror, to know that someone like this holds our fates in the palm of his quivering hand.


    ¡°It will be no loss, not truly,¡± he drones on to distract us both. ¡°Our military economy will simply turn its attention to the Scarlet Guard. And then whoever we decide to fear next. Whatever avenue is best for poption control¡ª¡±


    If not for the manacles, my rage would certainly turn the transport into a heap of electrified scrap. Instead, I jump forward, lunging, hands stretched out to grab him by the cor. My fingers worm beneath thepels of his jacket and I seize fabric in both fists. Without thinking, I shove, pushing, smashing him back into his seat. He flinches, a hand¡¯s breadth from my face, breathing hard. He¡¯s just as surprised as I am. No easy thing. I immediately go numb with shock, unable to move, paralyzed by fear.


    He stares up at me, eye to eye,shes dark and long. I¡¯m so close to him I can see his pupils dte. I wish I could disappear. I wish I were on the other side of the world. Slowly, steadily, his hands find mine. They tighten on my wrists, feeling manacle and bone. Then he pries my fists from his chest. I let him move me, too terrified for anything else. My skin crawls at his touch, even beneath gloves. I attacked him. Maven. The king. One word, one tap on the window, and a Sentinel will rip<span id="page_201" title="201">out my spine. Or he could kill me himself. Burn me alive.


    ¡°Sit back down,¡± he whispers, every word sharp. Giving me one single chance.


    Like a scrambling cat, I do as he says, retreating to my corner.


    He recovers faster than I do and shakes his head with the ghost of a smile. Quickly he smooths his jacket and brushes back a lock of rumpled hair.


    ¡°You¡¯re a smart girl, Mare. Don¡¯t tell me you never connected those particr dots.¡±


    My breathes hard, as if there¡¯s a stone sitting on my chest. I feel heat rise in my cheeks, both out of anger and shame. ¡°They want our coast. Our electricity. We want their farnds, resources . . .¡± I stumble over the words I was taught in a ramshackle schoolhouse. The look on Maven¡¯s face only bes more amused. ¡°In Julian¡¯s books . . . the kings disagreed. Two men arguing over a chessboard like spoiled children. They¡¯re the reason for all this. For a hundred years of war.¡±


    ¡°I thought Julian taught you to read between the lines. To see the words left unsaid.¡± He shakes his head, despairing of me. ¡°I suppose even he could not undo your years of poor education. Another well-used tactic, I might add.¡±


    That I knew. That I¡¯ve always known, andmented. Reds are kept stupid, kept ignorant. It makes us weaker than we already are. My own parents can¡¯t even read.


    I blink away hot tears of frustration.<i ss="calibre4">You knew all this,</i>I tell myself, trying to calm down.<i ss="calibre4">The war is a ruse, a cover to keep Reds under control. One conflict may end, but another will always begin.</i>


    It twists my insides to realize how rigged the game has been, for everyone, for so very long.


    <span id="page_202" title="202">¡°Stupid people are easier to control. Why do you think my mother kept my father around for so long? He was a drunk, a heartbroken imbecile, blind to so much, content to keep things as they were. Easy to control, easy to use. A person to manipte¡ªand me.¡±


    Furious, I swipe at my face, trying to hide any evidence of my emotions. Maven watches anyway, his expression softening a little. As if that helps anything. ¡°So what are two Silver kingdoms going to do once they stop throwing Reds at each other?¡± I hiss. ¡°Start marching us off cliffs at random? Pull names out of a lottery?¡±


    He rests a hand on his chin. ¡°I can¡¯t believe Cal never told you any of this. Although he wasn¡¯t really jumping at the opportunity to change things, not even for you. Probably didn¡¯t think you could handle it¡ªor, well, perhaps he didn¡¯t think you would understand it¡ª¡±


    My fist ms against the bulletproof ss of the window. It smarts instantly, and I bury myself in the pain, using it to keep any thoughts of Cal at bay. I can¡¯t let myself fall into that drowning spiral, even if it¡¯s true. Even though Cal was once willing to uphold these horrors. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I snap at him. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fool, little lightning girl.¡± His snarl matches my own. ¡°If you¡¯re going to y in my head, I¡¯m going to y in yours. It¡¯s what we¡¯re good at.¡±


    I was cold before, but now the heat of his anger threatens to consume me. Feeling sick, I press my cheek against the cool ss of the window and shut my eyes. ¡°Don¡¯tpare me to you. We¡¯re not the same.¡±


    ¡°People like us,¡± he scoffs. ¡°We lie to everyone. Especially ourselves.¡±


    I want to punch the window again. Instead, I tuck my fists tight under my arms, trying to make myself smaller. Maybe I¡¯ll just shrink<span id="page_203" title="203">away and disappear. With every breath, I regret getting into his transport more and more.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never get the Laknds to agree,¡± I say.


    I hear himugh deep in his throat. ¡°Funny. They already have.¡±


    My eyes fly open in shock.


    He nods, looking pleased with himself. ¡°Governor Welle facilitated a meeting with one of their top ministers. He has contacts in the north and is easily . . . persuaded.¡±


    ¡°Probably because you hold his daughter hostage.¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± he agrees.


    So that¡¯s what this tour is. A solidifying of power, the creation of a new alliance. A twisting of arms and bending of wills by whatever means necessary. I knew it was for something other than spectacle, but this¡ªthis I could not fathom. I think of Farley, the Colonel, their Laknder soldiers pledged to the Scarlet Guard. What will a truce do to them?


    ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum. I¡¯m ending a war millions died for, and bringing peace to a country that no longer knows the meaning of the word. You should be proud of me. You should be thanking me. Don¡¯t¡ª¡± He puts his hands up in defense as I spit at him.


    ¡°You really need to figure out another way to express your anger,¡± he grumbles, wiping at his uniform.


    ¡°Take off my manacles and I¡¯ll show you one.¡±


    He barks out augh. ¡°Yes, of course, Miss Barrow.¡±


    Outside, the sky darkens and the world fades to gray. I put a palm to the ss, willing myself to fall through. Nothing happens. I¡¯m still here.


    ¡°I must say, I am surprised,¡± he adds. ¡°We have far more inmon with the Laknds than you think.¡±


    <span id="page_204" title="204">My jaw tightens and I speak through gritted teeth. ¡°You both use Reds as ves and cannon fodder.¡±


    He sits up so quickly I flinch. ¡°We both want to end the Scarlet Guard.¡±


    It¡¯s almostical. Every step I take explodes in my face. I tried to save Kilorn from conscription and maimed my sister instead. I became a maid to help my family and within hours became a prisoner. I believed Maven¡¯s words and Maven¡¯s false heart. I trusted Cal to choose me. I raided a prison to free people and ended up clutching Shade¡¯s corpse. I sacrificed myself to save the people I love. I gave Maven a weapon. And now, try as I might to thwart his reign from the inside, I think I¡¯ve done something much worse. What will a united Laknds and Norta look like?


    Despite what Maven said, we head to Rocasta anyway, barreling on after more coronation stops throughout the Weskes region. We won¡¯t stay. Either there isn¡¯t a stately home suitable enough for Maven¡¯s court, or he simply doesn¡¯t want to be there. I can see why. Rocasta is a military city. Not a fortress like Corvium, but built to support the army all the same. An ugly thing, formed for function. The city sits several miles off the banks of Lake Tarion, and the Iron Road runs through its heart. It bisects Rocasta like a de, separating the wealthier Silver sector of the city from the Red. With no walls to speak of, the city creeps up on me. The shadows of houses and buildings appear out of the white blindness of a blizzard. Silver storms work to keep our road clear, battling the weather to keep the king on schedule. They stand on top of our transports, directing the snow and ice around us with even motions. Without them, the weather would be much worse, a hammer of brutal winter.


    <span id="page_205" title="205">Still, snow sts against the windows of my transport, obscuring the world outside. There are no more windweavers from the talented House Laris. They¡¯re either dead or gone, having fled with the other rebelling houses, and the Silvers remaining can only do so much.This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    From what little I can see, Rocasta carries on despite the storm. Red workers move to and fro, clutching atnterns, their lights bobbing through the haze like fish in murky water. They¡¯re used to this kind of weather so close to thekes.


    I settle down into my long coat, d for the warmth, even if the coat is a bloodred monstrosity. I nce at the Arvens, still d in their usual white.


    ¡°Are you scared?¡± I chatter to the empty air. I don¡¯t wait for their nonexistent response, all of them quietly focused on ignoring my voice. ¡°We could lose you in a storm like this.¡± I sigh to myself, crossing my arms. ¡°Wishful thinking.¡±


    Maven¡¯s transport rolls ahead of mine, spotted with Sentinel guards. Like my coat, they stand out sharply in the snowstorm, their ming robes a beacon to the rest of us. I¡¯m surprised they don¡¯t take off their masks despite the low visibility. They must revel in looking inhuman and frightening¡ªmonsters to defend another monster.


    Our convoy turns off the Iron Road somewhere near the center of the city, speeding down a wide avenue crisscrossed with twinkling lights. Opulent town houses and walled city manors rise up from the street, their windows warm and inviting. Up ahead, a clock tower fades in and out of visibility, asionally obscured by drifting gusts of snow. It tolls three o¡¯clock as we approach, gonging peals of sound that seem to reverberate inside my rib cage.


    Dark shadows plunge along the street, deepening with every passing second as the storm gets stronger. We¡¯re in the Silver sector,<span id="page_206" title="206">evidenced by theck of trash and bedraggled Reds roaming the alleys. Enemy territory. As if I¡¯m not already as deeply behind enemy lines as possible.


    At court, there were rumors about Rocasta, and Cal in particr. A few soldiers had received a tip that he was in the city, or some old man had thought he¡¯d seen him and wanted rations in exchange for the information. But the same could be said of so many ces. He¡¯d be stupid toe here, to a city still firmly under Maven¡¯s control. Especially with Corvium so close by. If he¡¯s smart, he is far away, well hidden, helping the Scarlet Guard as best he can. Strange to think that House Laris, House Iral, and House Haven rebelled in his honor, for an exiled prince who will never im the throne. What a waste.


    The administrative building beneath the clock tower is ornatepared to the rest of Rocasta, more akin to the columns and crystal of Whitefire Pce. Our convoy glides to a halt before it, spitting us out into the snow.


    I hustle up the steps as quickly as I can, drawing up the infuriating red cor against the cold. Inside, I expect warmth and a waiting audience to hang on Maven¡¯s every calcted word. Instead, we find chaos.


    This was once a grand meeting hall: the walls are lined with plush benches and seating, now pushed aside. Most have been stacked on top of one another, cleared to make room on the main floor. I¡¯m seized by the scent of blood. A strange thing for a hall full of Silvers.


    But then I see: it is not so much a hall as a hospital.


    All the wounded are officers,id out on cots in neat rows. I count three dozen at a nce. Their liveried uniforms and neat medals mark them as military of varying ranks, with insignia from any number of High Houses. Skin healers attend as fast as they can, but only two are on duty, marked by the red-and-silver crosses on their shoulders. They<span id="page_207" title="207">sprint back and forth, seeing to injuries in order of seriousness. One jumps up from a moaning man to kneel over a woman coughing up silver blood, her chin metal-bright with the liquid.


    ¡°Sentinel Skonos,¡± Maven says gravely. ¡°Help who you can.¡±


    One of his masked guards reacts with a stilted bow, breaking rank with the rest of the king¡¯s defenders.


    More of us file in, crowding an already-crowded room. A few members of court abandon propriety to search the soldiers, looking for family. Others are simply horrified. Their kind aren¡¯t meant to bleed. Not like this.


    Ahead of me, Maven looks back and forth, hands on his hips. If I didn¡¯t know him better, I would think him affected, angry or sad. But this is about to be another performance. Even though these are Silver officers, I feel a pang of pity for them.


    The hospital hall is proof my Arvens are not made of stone. To my surprise, Kitten is the one to break first, her eyes watering with tears as she looks around. She fixes her gaze on the far end of the hall. White shrouds cover bodies. Corpses. A dozen dead.


    At my feet, a young man hisses out a breath. He keeps a hand pressed to his chest, putting pressure on what must be an internal wound. I lock eyes with him, noting his uniform and his face. Older than me, ssically handsome beneath streaks of silver blood. ck-and-gold house colors. House Provos, a telky. It doesn¡¯t take him long to recognize me. His brows raise a little in realization, and he struggles for another breath. Beneath my gaze, he shakes. He¡¯s afraid of me.


    ¡°What happened?¡± I ask him. In the din of the hall, my voice is barely more than a whisper.


    I don¡¯t know why he responds. Maybe he thinks I¡¯ll kill him if he doesn¡¯t. Maybe he wants someone to know what¡¯s really going on.


    <span id="page_208" title="208">¡°Corvium,¡± he murmurs back. The Provos officer wheezes, fighting to push out the words. ¡°Scarlet Guard. It¡¯s a massacre.¡±


    Fear shivers in my voice. ¡°For who?¡±


    He hesitates, and I wait.


    Finally he draws a ragged breath.


    ¡°Both.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 15

    <i ss="calibre4">I didn¡¯t know what</i>could possibly spur the exiled prince to action¡ªuntil King Maven began his bleeding coronation tour. Clearly a ruse, definitely another plot. And it was headed straight for us. Everyone suspected an attack. And we had to strike first.


    Cal was right about one thing. Taking the walls of Corvium was our best n of action.


    So he did it two days ago.


    Working in conjunction with the Colonel and rebels already inside the fortress city, Cal led a strike force of Scarlet Guard and newblood soldiers. The blizzard was their cover, and the shock of an assault served them well. Cal knew better than to ask me to join. I waited back in Rocasta with Farley. Both of us paced by the radio, eager for news. I fell asleep, but she shook me awake before dawn, grinning. We held the walls. Corvium never saw iting. The city boiled in chaos.


    And we could no longer stay behind. Not even me. Admittedly, I wanted to go. Not to fight, but to see what victory actually looked<span id="page_210" title="210">like. And of course to get one step closer to the Choke, my brother, and some semnce of purpose.


    So here I am, shrouded in the tree line with the rest of Farley¡¯s unit, looking out at ck walls and cker smoke. Corvium burns from within. I can¡¯t see much, but I know the reports. Thousands of Red soldiers, some spurred on by the Guard, turned on their officers as soon as Cal and the Colonel attacked. The city was already a powder keg. Fitting that a fire prince lit the fuse and let it explode. Even now, a dayter, the fighting continues as we take the city, street by street. The asional burst of gunfire breaks the rtive silence, making me flinch.


    I look away, trying to see farther than human reach. The sky here is dark already, the sun obscured by a cloudy gray sky. To the northwest, in the Choke, the clouds are ck, heavy with ash and death. Morrey is out there, somewhere. Even though Maven released the underage conscripts, his unit hasn¡¯t moved, ording to ourst intelligence reports. They¡¯re the farthest away, deep in a trench. And the Scarlet Guard happens to be currently upying the ce his unit would return to. I try to block out the image of my twin huddled against the cold, his uniform too big, his eyes dark and sunken. But the thought is burned into my brain. I turn away, back to Corvium, to the task at hand. I need to keep my focus here. The sooner we take the city, the sooner we can get the conscripts moving.<i ss="calibre4">And then what?</i>I ask myself.<i ss="calibre4">Send him home? To another hellhole?</i>


    I have no answers for the voice in my head. I can barely stomach the idea of sending Morrey back to the factories of New Town, even if it means sending him back to our parents. They¡¯re my next goal, after I get my brother back. One impossible dream after another.


    ¡°Two Silvers just threw a Red soldier from a tower.¡± Ada squints<span id="page_211" title="211">into a pair of binocrs. Next to her, Farley remains still, arms calmly folded across her chest.


    Ada continues to scan the walls, reading signals. In the gray light, her golden skin takes on a sallow hue. I hope she isn¡¯t getting sick.


    ¡°They¡¯re solidifying their position, retreating and regrouping into the central sector, behind the second ring wall. I calcte fifty at least,¡± she murmurs.


    <i ss="calibre4">Fifty.</i>I try to swallow my fear. I tell myself there¡¯s no reason to be afraid. There¡¯s an army between us and them. And no one is stupid enough to try to force me anywhere I don¡¯t want to go. Not now, not with months of training behind me.


    ¡°Casualties?¡±


    ¡°A hundred of the Silver garrison dead. Most of the injured escaped with the rest into the wilderness. Probably to Rocasta. And there were less than a thousand in the city. Many had defected to the rebelling houses before Cal¡¯s assault.¡±


    ¡°What about Cal¡¯s newest report?¡± Farley asks Ada. ¡°The Silvers deserting?¡±


    ¡°I included that in my calctions.¡± She almost sounds annoyed. Almost. Ada has a calmer disposition than any of us. ¡°Seventy-eight are in holding now, under Cal¡¯s protection.¡±


    I put my hands on my hips, setting my weight. ¡°There¡¯s a difference between defection and surrender. They don¡¯t want to join us; they just don¡¯t want to end up dead. They know Cal will show mercy.¡±


    ¡°Would you rather he kill them all? Set everyone against us?¡± Farley snaps back, turning to me. After a second, she waves a hand dismissively. ¡°There¡¯s over five hundred of them still out there, ready toe back and ughter us all.¡±


    Ada ignores our jabbering and keeps her vigil. Up until she joined<span id="page_212" title="212">the Scarlet Guard, she was a housemaid to a Silver governor. She¡¯s used to much worse than us. ¡°I see Julian and Sara above the Prayer Gate,¡± she says.


    I feel a squeeze offort. When Cal radioed in, he didn¡¯t mention any casualties on his team, but nothing is ever certain. I¡¯m d Sara is all right. I squint toward the forbidding Prayer Gate, looking for the ck-and-gold entry on the east end of the Corvium walls. On top of the parapets, a red g waves back and forth, barely a glimmer of color against the overcast sky. Ada trantes. ¡°They¡¯re signaling for us. Safe passage.¡±


    She nces at Farley, waiting for her order. With the Colonel in the city, she¡¯s the ranking officer here, and her word is good asw. Though she gives no indication of it, I realize she must be weighing her options. We have to cross open ground to get to the gates. It could easily be a trap.


    ¡°Do you see the Colonel?¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Good.</i>She doesn¡¯t trust a Silver. Not with our lives.


    ¡°No,¡± Ada breathes. She scans the walls again, her bright eyes taking in every block of stone. I watch her motions as Farley waits, still and stern. ¡°Cal is with them.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Farley says suddenly, her eyes lividly blue and resolute. ¡°Let¡¯s move out.¡±


    I follow her begrudgingly. As much as I may hate to admit it, Cal isn¡¯t the type to double-cross us. Not fatally, at least. He¡¯s not his brother. I meet Ada¡¯s eyes over Farley¡¯s shoulder. The other newblood inclines her head a little as we walk.


    I shove clenched fists into my pockets. If I look like a sullen teenager, I don¡¯t care. That¡¯s what I am: a scared, sullen teenager who can<span id="page_213" title="213">kill with a look. Fear eats me up. Fear of the city¡ªand fear of myself.


    I haven¡¯t used my ability outside training in months, not since the maron bastards pulled our jet out of the sky. But I remember what it feels like, to use silence as a weapon. In Corros Prison, I killed people with it. Horrible people. Silvers keeping others like me trapped to slowly die. And the memory still makes me sick. I felt their hearts stop. I felt their deaths like they were happening to me. Such power¡ªit frightens me. It makes me wonder what I could be. I think of Mare, the way she ricocheted between violent rage and numb detachment. Is that the price of abilities like ours? Do we have to choose¡ªbe empty, or be monsters?


    We set out in silence, all of us hyperaware of our precarious position. We stand out sharply in the fresh snow, picking along in one another¡¯s footprints. The newbloods in Farley¡¯s unit are particrly on edge. One of Mare¡¯s own, Lory, leads us with the awareness of a bloodhound, her head whipping back and forth. Her senses are incredibly heightened, so if there¡¯s any imminent attack, she¡¯ll see it, hear it, or smell iting. After the raid on Corros Prison, after Mare was taken, she started dyeing her hair bloodred. It looks like a wound against the snow and iron sky. I level my gaze on her shoulder des, ready to run if she so much as hesitates.


    Even pregnant, Farley manages to lookmanding. She pulls the rifle from her back, holds it in both hands. But she isn¡¯t as alert as the others. Again her eyes slide in and out of focus. I feel a familiar pang of sadness for her.


    ¡°Did youe here with Shade?¡± I ask her quietly.


    She snaps her head in my direction. ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    ¡°For a spy, you¡¯re pretty easy to read sometimes.¡±


    <span id="page_214" title="214">Her fingers drum along the barrel of her gun. ¡°Like I said, Shade is still our main source of information on Corvium. I ran his operation here. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Sure, Farley.¡±


    We continue on in silence. Our breath mists on the air and the cold sets in, taking my toes first. In New Town we had winter, but never like this. Something to do with the pollution. And the heat from the factories kept us sweating at work, even in the depths of winter.


    Farley is a Laknder by birth, better suited to the weather. She doesn¡¯t seem to notice the snow or the prickling cold. Her mind is still obviously somewhere else. With someone else.


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s a good thing I didn¡¯t go after my brother,¡± I mutter to the silence. Both for myself and for her. Something else to think about. ¡°I¡¯m d he isn¡¯t here.¡±


    She nces at me sidelong. Her eyes narrow with suspicion. ¡°Is Cameron Cole admitting she was wrong about something?¡±


    ¡°I can do that much. I¡¯m not Mare.¡±


    Another person might think that rude to say. Farley grins instead. ¡°Shade was stubborn too. Family trait.¡±


    I expect his name to act as an anchor, dragging her down. Instead, it keeps her moving, one foot in front of the other. One word after the next. ¡°I met him a few miles from here. I was supposed to be recruiting Whistle operatives from the Nortan ck market. Use organizations already in ce to better facilitate the Scarlet Guard. The Whistle in the Stilts gave me a lead on some soldiers up here who might be willing to coordinate.¡±


    ¡°Shade was one of them.¡±


    She nods, thoughtful. ¡°He was assigned to Corvium with the support troops. An officer¡¯s aide. A good position for him, even better for<span id="page_215" title="215">us. He fed the Scarlet Guard miles of information, all funneled through me. Until it became clear he couldn¡¯t stay any longer. He was being transferred to another legion. Someone knew he had an ability, and they were going to execute him for it.¡±


    I¡¯ve never heard this story. I doubt few have. Farley is not exactly forting with her personal history. Why she¡¯s telling me now, I can¡¯t say. But I can see she needs to. I let her talk, giving her what she wants.


    ¡°And then when his sister . . . I¡¯ve never seen him so terrified. We watched Queenstrial together. Watched her fall, watched her lightning. He thought the Silvers were going to kill her. You know the rest of that, I assume.¡± She bites a lip, looking down the length of her rifle. ¡°It was his idea. We already had to get him out of the army to protect him. So he faked his execution report. Helped with the paperwork himself. Then he was gone. Silvers don¡¯t care enough to follow through on dead Reds. Of course, his family minded. That part stuck him for a while.¡±


    ¡°But he still did it.¡± I try to be understanding, but I can¡¯t imagine putting my own family through something like that, not for anything.


    ¡°He had to. And¡ªand it served as a good motivation. Mare joined up after she found out. One Barrow for another.¡±


    ¡°So that part of her speech wasn¡¯t a lie.¡± I think about what Mare was forced to say, ring down a camera like it was a firing squad.<i ss="calibre4">They asked if I wanted vengeance for his death.</i>¡°No wonder she has personality issues. No one tells the girl the truth about anything.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be a long road back for her,¡± Farley murmurs.


    ¡°For everyone.¡±


    ¡°And now she¡¯s on that infernal tour with the king,¡± Farley rattles on. She spools up like a machine, her voice gaining momentum and strength with every passing second. Shade¡¯s ghost disappears. ¡°It will<span id="page_216" title="216">make things easier. Still horribly difficult, of course, but the knot is loosened.¡±


    ¡°Is there a n in ce? She¡¯s getting closer by the day. Arborus, the Iron Road¡ª¡±


    ¡°She was in Rocasta yesterday.¡±


    The silence around us shifts. If the rest of our unit weren¡¯t listening before, they certainly are now. I look back to lock my gaze on Ada. Her liquid-amber eyes widen, and I can almost see the cogs turning in her wless mind.


    Farley presses on. ¡°The king visited the wounded soldiers evacuated from the first wave of attack. I didn¡¯t know until we were halfway here. If I had, maybe . . .¡± she breathes. ¡°Well, it¡¯s toote for that now.¡±


    ¡°The king practically travels with an army,¡± I tell her. ¡°She¡¯s guarded night and day. There was nothing you could have done, not with just us.¡±


    Still her cheeks flush, and not from the cold. Her fingers keep tapping idly on the stock of her gun. ¡°Probably not,¡± she replies. ¡°Probably not.¡± Softer, to convince herself.


    Corvium casts a shadow over us, and the temperature drops in the gloomy shade. I pull up the neck of my cor farther, trying to burrow into its warmth. The ck-walled monstrosity seems to howl at us.


    ¡°There. The Prayer Gate.¡± Farley points to an open mouth of iron fangs and golden teeth. Blocks of Silent Stone line the arch, but I can¡¯t feel them. They don¡¯t affect me. To my relief, Red soldiers man the gate, marked by rust-colored uniforms and worn boots. We move forward, off the snowy road and into the jaws of Corvium. Farley looks up at the Prayer Gate as we pass through, her eyes wide, blue, and trembling. Under her breath, I hear her whisper something to herself.


    <span id="page_217" title="217">¡°As you enter, you pray to leave. As you leave, you pray never to return.¡±


    Even though no one is listening, I pray too.


    Cal bends over a desk, knuckles pressed against the t of the wood. His armor piles in a heap in the corner, tes of ck leather discarded to show the muscled hulk of the young man beneath. Sweat sters ck hair to his forehead and paints glistening lines of exertion down his neck. Not from heat, though his ability warms the room better than any fire. No, this is fear. Shame. I wonder how many Silvers he was forced to kill.<i ss="calibre4">Not enough,</i>part of me whispers. Still, the sight of him, the horrors of the siege inly written on his face, gives even me enough reason to pause. I know this is not easy. It can¡¯t be.


    He stares at nothing, bronze eyes boring holes. He doesn¡¯t move when I enter the room, trailing behind Farley. She goes to the Colonel, sitting across from him, one hand on his temple, the other smoothing a map or schematic of some kind. Probably Corvium, judging by the octagonal shape and expanding rings that must be walls.


    I feel Ada at my back, hesitant to join us. I have to give her a nudge. She¡¯s better at this than anyone, her exquisite brain a gift to the Scarlet Guard. But a maid¡¯s training is hard to break.


    ¡°Go on,¡± I murmur, putting a hand on her wrist. Her skin isn¡¯t as dark as mine, but in the shadows we all start to blend together.


    She gives me a tiny nod and an even tinier smile. ¡°Which ring are they in? Central?¡±


    ¡°Core tower,¡± the Colonel replies. He raps the corresponding ce on the map. ¡°Well fortified, even at the subterranean levels. Learned that the hard way.¡±


    Ada sighs. ¡°Yes, the core is built for something like this. A final<span id="page_218" title="218">stand, well armed and provisioned. Sealed twice over. And stuffed to the brim with fifty trained Silvers. With the bottleneck, there might as well be five times that number in there.¡±


    ¡°Like spiders in a hole,¡± I mutter.


    The Colonel scoffs. ¡°Maybe they¡¯ll start to eat each other.¡±


    Cal¡¯s wince does not go unnoticed. ¡°Not while amon enemy hammers at the door. Nothing unites Silvers so much as someone to hate.¡± He doesn¡¯t look up from the desk, keeping his eyes fixed on the wood. The meaning is clear. ¡°Especially now that everyone knows the king is near.¡± His face darkens, a storm cloud. ¡°They can wait.¡±


    With a low growl, Farley finishes the thought for him. ¡°And we can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°If ordered, the legions of the Choke can hard march back here in a day¡¯s time. Less if . . . motivated.¡± Ada wavers over thest word. She doesn¡¯t need to borate. I can already see my brother, technically freed by Maven¡¯s newws, being driven on by Silver officers, forced to run through the snow. Only to throw himself against his own.


    ¡°Surely the Reds would join us,¡± I say, thinking aloud, if only tobat the images in my head. ¡°Let Maven send his armies. It will only bolster ours. The soldiers will turn like the ones here did.¡±


    ¡°She might have a point¡ª¡± the Colonel begins, agreeing with me for once. A strange sensation. But Farley cuts him off.


    ¡°Might. The garrison in Corvium has been stirred up for months, inciting its own havoc, pushed and prodded and boiled to this explosion. I can¡¯t say the same for the legions. Or the amount of Silvers he¡¯ll convince into service.¡±


    Ada agrees with her, nodding along. ¡°King Maven has been careful with the Corvium narrative. He paints everything here as terrorism, not rebellion. Anarchy. The work of a bloodthirsty, genocidal Scarlet<span id="page_219" title="219">Guard. The Reds of the legions, the Reds of the kingdom, have no idea what¡¯s happening here.¡±


    Seething, Farley puts a protective hand on her belly. ¡°I¡¯ve lost enough on ifs and maybes.¡±


    ¡°We all have,¡± Cal says, his voice distant. Finally he pulls away from the desk and turns his back on us all. He crosses to the window in a few long strides, looking out over a city still burning.


    Smoke drifts on the icy wind, spitting ck into the sky. It reminds me of the factories. I shudder to remember them. The tattoo on my neck itches, but I don¡¯t scratch with my crooked fingers. Broken too many times to count. Sara asked to fix them once. I didn¡¯t let her. Like the tattoo, like the smoke, they remind me of what I came from, and what no one else should endure.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you have any ideas for this?¡± Farley asks, taking the map from her father¡¯s hands. She nces sidelong at the exiled prince.


    Cal shrugs, his broad shoulders rolling in silhouette. ¡°Too many. All bad. Unless¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to let them walk out of here,¡± the Colonel snaps. He sounds annoyed. I suppose they argued this through already. ¡°Maven is too close. They¡¯ll run to his side ande back with a vengeance, with more warriors.¡±


    The gleaming bracelet at Cal¡¯s wrist flickers, birthing sparks that travel along his arm in a quick burst of red me. ¡°Maven ising anyway! You heard the reports. He¡¯s already in Rocasta and moving west. He¡¯s marching here in a parade, waving and smiling to hide that he¡¯sing to take back Corvium. And he¡¯ll do it if you fight him in a broken city with our backs against a cage of wolves!¡± He spins around to face the Colonel, shoulders still smoldering with embers. Usually he can control himself enough to save his clothes. Not so now. Smoke<span id="page_220" title="220">clings to him, revealing charred holes in his undershirt. ¡°A battle on two fronts is suicide.¡±


    ¡°And what about hostages? You mean to tell me there¡¯s no one of value in that tower?¡± the Colonel barks back.


    ¡°Not to Maven. He already has the only person he would ever trade anything for.¡±


    ¡°So we can¡¯t starve them, can¡¯t release them, can¡¯t bargain.¡± Farley ticks off words on her hand.


    ¡°And you can¡¯t kill them all.¡± I tap a finger against my lip. Cal looks at me, surprised. I simply shrug. ¡°If there was a way, if it was eptable, the Colonel would have done it already.¡±


    ¡°Ada?¡± Farley prods softly. ¡°Can you see anything we can¡¯t?¡±


    Her eyes fly back and forth, scanning the schematic as well as her memories. Figures, strategies, everything at her mammoth disposal. Her silence is not at allforting.


    ¡°What we need is that bleeding seer,¡± I mumble. I never met Jon, the one who made it possible for Mare to find and capture me. But I¡¯ve seen him enough on Maven¡¯s broadcasts. ¡°Make him do the work for us.¡±


    ¡°If he wanted to help, he¡¯d be here. But that damned ghost is in the wind,¡± Cal curses. ¡°Didn¡¯t even have the decency to take Mare with him when he escaped.¡±


    ¡°No use dwelling on what we can¡¯t change.¡± Farley scuffs her boot against the cold floor. ¡°So is brute force the only thing left to us? Take the tower down stone by stone? Pay for every inch with a gallon of blood?¡±


    Before Cal can explode again, the door wrenches open. Julian and Sara all but tumble inside, both of them wide-eyed and silver-flushed. The Colonel jumps to his feet, in surprise and defense. None of us are<span id="page_221" title="221">fools where Silvers are concerned. Our fear of them is bone-deep, bred into our blood.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asks, his red eye a scarlet gleam. ¡°Done with the interrogation so soon?¡±


    Julian bristles at the word<i ss="calibre4">interrogation</i>, sneering. ¡°My questions are a mercypared to what you would do.¡±


    ¡°Pah,¡± Farley scoffs. She eyes Cal and he shifts, embarrassed under her gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me about Silver mercy.¡±


    I care little for Julian and trust him less, but the look on Sara¡¯s face is startling. She stares at me, her gray face full of pity and fear. ¡°What is it?¡± I ask her, though I know only Julian can answer. Even in Corvium, she hasn¡¯t yet found another skin healer willing to return her tongue. All of them must be in the core tower, or dead.


    ¡°General Macanthos oversees trainingmand,¡± Julian says. Like Sara, he nces at me with hesitation. My pulse pounds in my ears. Whatever he¡¯s about to say, I won¡¯t like. ¡°Before the siege, part of a legion was recalled for further instruction. They were unfit to man the trenches. Even for Reds.¡±


    My rushing blood starts to howl in my ears, a gale that almost drowns Julian out. I feel Ada step to my side, her shoulder brushing mine. She knows where this is going. I do too.


    ¡°We retrieved the rolls. A few hundred children of the Dagger Legion, called back to Corvium. Unreleased, even after Maven¡¯s decree. We ounted for most, but some . . .¡± Julian forces himself on, though he stumbles over the words. ¡°They¡¯re hostages. In the core, with the remaining Silver officers.¡±


    I put a hand to the cool office wall, letting it steady me. My silence begs, pushing beneath my skin, wanting to expand and drag down everything in the room. I have to say the words myself, because<span id="page_222" title="222">apparently Julian won¡¯t. ¡°My brother is in there.¡±


    The Silver bastard hesitates, drawing it out. Finally, he speaks. ¡°We think so.¡±


    The roar of my thrumming heart overpowers their voices. I hear nothing as I run from the room, evading their hands, sprinting down through the administrative headquarters. If anyone follows, I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t care.


    The only thing on my mind is Morrey. Morrey and the fifty soon-to-be corpses standing between us.


    I am not Mare Barrow. I will not give my brother to this.


    My silence curls around me, heavy as smoke, soft as feathers, dripping from every pore like sweat. It isn¡¯t a physical thing. It won¡¯t tear the core down for me. My ability is for flesh and flesh alone. I¡¯ve been practicing. It scares me, but I need it. Like a hurricane, the silence churns around me, surrounding the eye of a growing storm.


    I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m going, but Corvium is easy to navigate. And the core is self-exnatory. The city is orderly, well nned, a giant gear. I understand that. My feet m against the pavement, propelling me through the outer ward. On my left, the high walls of Corvium scrape at the sky. To the right, barracks, offices, training facilities pile against the second ring of granite walls. I have to find the next gate, start working inward. My crimson scarf is camouge enough. I look like Scarlet Guard. I could be Scarlet Guard. The Red soldiers let me run, too distracted or too excited or too busy to care about another wayward rebel tearing through their midst. They¡¯ve overthrown their masters. I¡¯m as good as invisible to them.


    But not to His Bleeding Royal Highness, Tiberias Calore.


    He grabs my arm, forcing me to spin. If not for my silence pulsing around us, I know he would be on fire. The prince is smart, using our<span id="page_223" title="223">momentum to toss me back¡ªand keep himself out of my deadly hands.


    ¡°Cameron!¡± he shouts, one hand outstretched. His fingers flicker, the mes on them gasping for air. When he takes another step back, nting himself firmly in my path, they ze stronger, licking up to his elbow. His armor is back on. Interlocking tes of leather and steel thicken his silhouette. ¡°Cameron, you¡¯ll die if you go in the tower alone. They¡¯ll rip you apart.¡±


    ¡°What do you care?¡± I snarl back. My bones lock, joints tightening, and I push a bit more. The silence reaches him. His fire gutters and his throat bobs. He feels it. I¡¯m hurting him.<i ss="calibre4">Hold it. Remember your constant. Not too much, not too little.</i>I push a bit more and he takes another step back, another step in the direction I must go. The second gate taunts me from over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m here for one reason.¡± I don¡¯t want to fight him. I just want him to stand aside. ¡°I¡¯m not letting your people kill him.¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± he growls back, his voice guttural. I wonder if all of his fire kind have eyes like his. Eyes that burn and smolder. ¡°I know you¡¯re going in there. So would I if¡ªso would I.¡±


    ¡°Then let me go.¡±


    He sets his jaw, a picture of determination. A mountain. Even now, in burned clothes, bruised, his body a wreck and his mind a ruin, he looks like a king. Cal is exactly the kind of person who will never kneel. It¡¯s not in him. He was not made that way.


    But I¡¯ve been broken too many times to break again.


    ¡°Cal, let me go. Let me get him.¡± It sounds like begging.


    This time he steps forward. And the mes on his fingers turn blue, so hot they singe the air. Still they waver before my ability, fighting to breathe, fighting to burn. I could snuff them out if I wanted to. I could seize all that he is and tear him apart, kill him, feel every centimeter of<span id="page_224" title="224">him die. Part of me wants to. A foolish part, ruled by anger and rage and blind vengeance. I let it fuel my ability, let it make me strong, but I don¡¯t let it control me. Just as Sara taught. It¡¯s a thin line to walk.


    His eyes narrow, as if he knows what I¡¯m thinking. So I¡¯m surprised when he says the words. I almost don¡¯t hear them over the sound of my hammering heart.


    ¡°Let me help.¡±


    Before the Scarlet Guard, I used to think allies operated on exactly the same page. Machines in tandem, working toward the same goal. How naive of me. Cal and I are seemingly on the same side, but we absolutely do not want the same thing.


    He¡¯s open with his n. Detailing it fully. Enough for me to realize how he intends to use my rage, use my brother, to fulfill his own ends.<i ss="calibre4">Distract the guards, get into the core tower, use your silence as a shield, and make the Silvers hand over their hostages in exchange for freedom. Julian will open the gates; I¡¯ll escort them myself. No bloodshed. No more siege. Corvium will be entirely ours.</i>


    A good n. Except the Silver garrison will go free, released to rejoin Maven¡¯s army.


    I grew up in a slum, but I¡¯m not stupid. And I¡¯m certainly not some moon-eyed girl about to swoon over Cal¡¯s angled jaw and crooked smile either. His charm has its limits. He¡¯s used to bewitching Barrow, not me.


    If only the prince had a bit more edge. Cal is too softhearted for his own good. He won¡¯t leave the Silver soldiers to the Colonel¡¯s nonexistent mercy, even if the only alternative is letting them go just to fight us again.


    ¡°How long do you need?¡± I ask. Lying to his face isn¡¯t difficult. Not<span id="page_225" title="225">when I know he¡¯s trying to trick me too.


    He grins. He thinks he¡¯s won me over.<i ss="calibre4">Perfect.</i>¡°A few hours to get my ducks in a row. Julian, Sara¡ª¡±


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll be at the outer barracks when you¡¯re ready.¡± I turn away, forcing an oh-so-thoughtful stare into the distance. The wind picks up, stirring my braids. It feels warmer, not because of Cal, but from the sun. Spring will be here eventually. ¡°Need to clear my head.¡±


    The prince nods in understanding. He ps a fiery hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. In reply, I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. As soon as I turn my back, I let it drop. He stays behind, his eyes burning holes into my back until the gentle curve of the ring wall obstructs me from view. Despite the rising temperature, a shiver trembles down my spine. I can¡¯t let Cal do this. But I¡¯m not going to let Morrey spend one more second in that tower.


    Up ahead, Farley marches in my direction, moving as fast as her body will allow. Her face darkens when she spots me, her brow furrowing so intensely her entire face turns beet red. It makes the pearly white scar at the side of her mouth stand out worse than usual. All in all, an intimidating sight.


    ¡°Cole,¡± she snaps, her voice as stern as her father¡¯s. ¡°I was afraid you were about to go and do something really stupid.¡±


    ¡°Not me,¡± I reply, dropping to a mutter. She cocks her head, and I motion for her to follow.


    Once we¡¯re safely inside a storeroom, I tell her everything as fast as I can. She huffs through it all, as if Cal¡¯s n is just an annoyance and notpletely dangerous to us all.


    ¡°He¡¯s putting the entire city at risk,¡± I finish, exasperated. ¡°And if he goes through with it¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know. But I told you before: Montfort and Command want Cal<span id="page_226" title="226">with us, at almost any cost. He¡¯s all but bulletproof. Anyone else would be shot for insurrection.¡± Farley scratches both hands along her scalp, pulling at stray bits of her blond hair. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do that, but a soldier who has no incentive to take orders and harbors his own agenda is not someone I want watching my back.¡±


    ¡°Command.¡± I hate the word, and whoever the hell it stands for. ¡°Beginning to think they may not have our best interests at heart.¡±


    Farley doesn¡¯t disagree. ¡°It¡¯s hard, putting all our faith in them. But they see what we don¡¯t, what we can¡¯t. And now . . .¡± She heaves a breath. Her eyes lock on the floor withser focus. ¡°I hear Montfort is about to get a lot more involved.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not entirely sure.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°Don¡¯t have the full picture? I¡¯m shocked.¡±


    The re she aims at me could cut through bone. ¡°The system isn¡¯t perfect, but it protects us. If you¡¯re going to be sullen, I¡¯m not going to help.¡±


    ¡°Oh, now you have ideas?¡±


    She grins darkly.


    ¡°A few.¡±


    Harrick hasn¡¯t lost his tendency to twitch.


    He bobs his head up and down as Farley hisses our n, lips moving quickly. She won¡¯t be going into the tower with us, but she¡¯s going to make sure we can actually get in.


    Harrick seems wary. He isn¡¯t a warrior. He didn¡¯te to Corros and he didn¡¯t participate in the Corvium raid either, even though his illusions would have helped immensely. He arrived with the rest of us, trailing behind the pregnant captain. Something happened to him back<span id="page_227" title="227">when we still had Mare, on a newblood recruitment gone wrong. Since then, he¡¯s stayed out of the fray, on the defense instead of in the thick of battle. I envy him. He doesn¡¯t know what it feels like to kill someone.


    ¡°How many hostages?¡± he asks, voice quivering like his fingers. A red flush blooms in his cheeks, spreading beneath winter-paled skin.


    ¡°At least twenty,¡± I answer as quickly as I can. ¡°We think my brother is one of them.¡±


    ¡°With at least fifty Silvers on guard,¡± Farley adds. She doesn¡¯t gloss over the danger. She won¡¯t trick him into doing this.


    ¡°Oh,¡± he mumbles. ¡°Oh dear.¡±


    Farley nods. ¡°It¡¯s up to you, of course. We can find other ways.¡±


    ¡°But none with less chance of bloodshed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Your illusions¡ª¡± I press on, but he holds up a trembling hand. I wonder if his ability shakes like he does.


    His mouth opens, but no wordse out. I wait on tenterhooks, imploring him with every nerve in my body. He has to see how important this is. He has to.Exclusive ? content by N(?)ve/l/Drama.Org.


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    I have to restrain myself from celebrating. This is a good step, but not victory, and I can¡¯t lose sight of that until Morrey is safe. ¡°Thank you.¡± I sp his hands, letting them shake in mine. ¡°Thank you so much.¡±


    He blinks rapidly, brown eyes meeting mine. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me until it¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the truth?¡± Farley mutters. She tries not to look grim, for our sakes. Her n is hasty, but Cal is forcing our hand. ¡°All right, follow me,¡± she says. ¡°This is going to be quick, quiet, and with a little luck clean.¡±


    We follow in her wake as she dodges soldiers of the Scarlet Guard as<span id="page_228" title="228">well as the Reds defecting to our side. Many touch their brows in deference to her. She¡¯s a well-known figure in the organization, and we¡¯re banking on the level of respect shemands. I pull at my braids as we go, tightening them as best I can. The tug is a good pain. It keeps me sharp. And it gives my hands something to do. Or else I might twitch as badly as Harrick.


    With Farley leading the way, no one stops us at the ring gates, and we march to the center of Corvium, where the core tower looms. ck granite thrusts into the sky, dotted with windows and balconies. All are neatly shut, while soldiers ring the base in the dozens, keeping watch over the two fortified entrances to the tower. Colonel¡¯s orders, I bet. He wasted no time doubling the guard after he realized I want in¡ªand Cal wants the Silvers out. The captain doesn¡¯t lead us up to the tower, but past it, into one of the structures built up against the central ring wall. Like the rest of the city, it is gold, iron, and ck stone, shadowed even in broad daylight.


    My heartbeat thuds, faster with every step forward into the gloom of one of the many prisons dotting Corvium. As nned, Farley leads us down a staircase, and we descend to the cell level. My skin crawls at the sight of bars, the stone walls waxy in the dim light of too few bulbs. At least the cells are empty. Cal¡¯s defecting Silvers are over the Prayer Gate, confined to the room directly above arches of Silent Stone, where their abilities are nonexistent.


    ¡°I¡¯ll distract the lower-level guards while Harrick slips you both past,¡± she says quietly, trying not to let her voice echo. Farley smoothly passes me two keys. ¡°Iron first.¡± She indicates the rough, ck metal key as big as my fist, then the glinting, dainty one with sharp teeth. ¡°Silver second.¡±


    I tuck them into separate pockets, easily within reach. ¡°Got it.¡±


    <span id="page_229" title="229">¡°I can¡¯t muffle sound as well as sight yet, so we have to be as quiet as possible,¡± Harrick murmurs. He nudges the inside of my arm and matches his steps to mine. ¡°Stay close. Let me keep the illusion as small as I can for as long as possible.¡±


    I nod, understanding. Harrick needs to save his strength for the hostages.


    The cells wind deeper and deeper into the ground beneath Corvium. It gets damper and colder by the minute, until my breath fogs. When light zes around a corner, I feel nofort. This is as far as Farley goes.


    She gestures silently, waving us both back. I tuck closer to Harrick. This is it. Excitement and fear rage through me.<i ss="calibre4">I¡¯ming, Morrey.</i>


    My brother is close, surrounded by people who would kill him. I don¡¯t have time to care if they kill me.


    Something wobbles before my vision, dropping like a curtain. The illusion. Harrick braces me against his chest and we walk together, our footsteps matching. We can see everything well enough, but when Farley looks back to check, her eyes search wildly, sweeping back and forth. She can¡¯t see us. And neither can the Guardsmen around the corner.


    ¡°Everything okay down here?¡± she crows, stomping on the stone much louder than necessary. Harrick and I follow at a safe distance and turn the passage to see six well-armed soldiers with red scarves and tactical gear. They stand across the narrow hall, shoulder to shoulder, firmly set.


    They jump to attention in Farley¡¯s presence. One, a meaty man with a neck bigger than my thigh, addresses her on behalf of the rest. ¡°Yes, Captain. No sign of movement. If the Silvers intend to make an escape attempt, it won¡¯t be through the tunnels. Even they aren¡¯t that foolish.¡±


    <span id="page_230" title="230">Farley clenches her jaw. ¡°Good. Keep your eyes¡ªoh!¡±


    Wincing, she doubles over, bracing a hand on one of the midnight-ck walls. The other clutches her belly. Her face furrows in pain.


    The Guardsmen are quick to aid her, three jumping to her side in an instant. They leave a gap in their ranks much bigger than they need. Harrick and I move quickly, sliding along the opposite wall to reach the sealed door dead-ending the passage. Farley watches the door as she kneels, still faking a cramp or something worse. The illusion around me ripples a bit more, indicating Harrick¡¯s concentration. He¡¯s not just hiding us now, but a door yawning open behind a half-dozen soldiers assigned to protect it.


    Farley yelps as I shove the iron key into the lock, twisting the mechanism. She keeps it up, her hisses of difort and cries of pain alternating in steady rhythm to distract from any squeaky hinges. Luckily, the door is well oiled. When it swings open, no one can see, and no one hears.


    I shut it slowly, preventing the m of iron on granite. The light disappears inch by inch, until we are left in almost pitch-ck darkness. Not even Farley or her soldiers¡¯ fussing follows, sufficiently muffled by the closed door.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I tell him, linking my arm to his tightly.


    <i ss="calibre4">One, two, three, four . . .</i>I count my steps in the darkness, one hand trailing on the freezing cold wall.


    Adrenaline kicks in when we reach the second door, now directly below the core tower. I didn¡¯t have enough time to memorize its structure, but I know the basics. Enough to get to the hostages and walk them right out into the safety of the central ward. Without hostages, the Silvers will have nothing to bargain with. They¡¯ll have to submit.


    <span id="page_231" title="231">Feeling along the door, I poke around for the keyhole. It¡¯s small, and it takes a good amount of scraping to get the key in the lock properly. ¡°Here we go,¡± I murmur. A warning to Harrick, and to myself.


    As I ease open the way into the tower, I realize this could be thest thing I ever do. Even with my ability and Harrick¡¯s, we¡¯re no match for fifty Silvers. We die if this goes wrong. And the hostages, already subjected to so many horrors, will probably die too.


    I won¡¯t let that happen. I can¡¯t.


    The adjoining chamber is just as dark as the tunnel, but warmer. The tower is tightly sealed against the elements, just like Farley said. Harrick crowds in behind me and we shut the door together. His hand brushes mine. It isn¡¯t twitching now. Good.


    There should be some stairs . . . yes. I nudge my toes against a bottom step. Keeping my grip on Harrick¡¯s wrist, I lead us up, toward dim but steadily growing light. Two flights up, just like the two flights down we took in the prison cells.


    Murmurs reverberate off the walls, deep enough to hear but too muffled to decipher. Harried voices, whispered arguments. I blink rapidly as the darkness lifts and we reach the ground floor of the tower, our heads poking up from the steps. Warm light pools around us, illuminating the circr stairwell twisting up the tall, central chamber. The spine of the tower. Doors branch off at severalndings, each one bolted shut. My heart beats a thunderous rhythm, so loud I think the Silvers might hear it.


    Two of them patrol the stairwell, tense and ready for an assault. But we¡¯re not soldiers and we aren¡¯t Scarlet Guard. Their figures ripple slightly, like the surface of disturbed water. Harrick¡¯s illusions are back, shielding us both from unfriendly eyes.


    We move as one, following the voices. I can barely stand to breathe<span id="page_232" title="232">as we ascend the steps, making for the central chamber about three stories up. In Farley¡¯s schematics, it spread the width of the tower, upying an entire floor. That¡¯s where the hostages will be, and the bulk of the Silvers holding out for Maven¡¯s rescue or Cal¡¯s mercy.


    The Silver patrolmen are heavily muscled. Strongarms. Both have stone-gray faces and arms the size of tree trunks. They can¡¯t snap me in two, not if I use my silence. But my ability has no effect on guns, and both have many. Double pistols, along with rifles slung across their shoulders. The tower is well stocked for a siege, and I guess that means they have more than enough ammunition to hold out.


    One strongarm descends the stairs as we approach, his footsteps lumbering. I thank whatever idiot Silver put him on watch. His ability is brute force, nothing sensory. But he would certainly feel us if we bumped into him.


    We slip by him slowly, our backs edged against the exterior tower wall. He passes without so much as a whiff of uncertainty, his focus elsewhere.


    The other strongarm is more difficult to pass. He leans against a door, long legs angled out in front of him. They almost block the steps entirely, forcing Harrick and me to the far side of the stairs. I¡¯m grateful for my height. It allows me to step over him without incident. Harrick is not so graceful. His twitching returns tenfold as he straddles the steps, trying not to make a sound.


    Gritting my teeth, I let silence pool beneath my skin. I wonder if I can kill both these men before they raise the rm. I already feel sick at the thought.


    But then Harrick lurches forward, his foot catching the next step. It doesn¡¯t make much noise, but enough to stir the Silver. He looks back and forth, and I freeze, gripping Harrick¡¯s outstretched wrist. Terror<span id="page_233" title="233">ws at my throat, begging to scream out.


    When he turns his back, looking down at hisrade, I nudge Harrick.


    ¡°Lykos, you hear something?¡± the strongarm calls down.


    ¡°Not a thing,¡± the other responds.


    Each word covers our darting steps, allowing us to reach the top of the stairs and the door cracked ajar. I breathe the quietest sigh of relief imaginable. My hands are shaking too.


    Inside the room, voices bicker. ¡°We have to surrender,¡± someone says.


    Barks of opposition sound in response, drowning out our entry. We slip in like mice and find ourselves in a room crawling with hungry cats. Silver officers congregate along the walls, most of them wounded. The smell of blood is overpowering. Moans of pain permeate the many arguments arcing across the chamber. Officers shout each other down, their faces pale with fear, grief, and agony. Several of the wounded seem to be dying. I gag at the sight and stench of men and women in all states of injury. No healers here, I realize. These Silver wounds won¡¯t disappear with the wave of a hand.


    Even so, I¡¯m not made of ice or stone. The ones with the worst injuries are lined up along the curved exterior wall, just a few yards from my feet. The closest one is a woman, her face scraped with cuts. Silver blood pools beneath her hands as she tries in vain to keep her guts inside her body. Her mouth ps open and closed, a dying fish gasping for air. Her pain is too deep for ramblings or screams. I swallow hard. A strange thoughtes to me:<i ss="calibre4">I could put her out of her misery if I wanted.</i>I could extend a hand of silence and help her slip away in peace.


    Just the idea is enough to make me gag, and I have to turn away.


    <span id="page_234" title="234">¡°Surrender is not an option. The Scarlet Guard will kill us, or worse . . . ?¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">¡°Worse?¡±</i>sputters one of the officers lying on the floor, his body bruised and bandaged. ¡°Look around, Chyron!¡±


    I nce around, daring to hope. If they keep shouting at one another, this will be so much easier. On the far side of the room, I spot them. Huddled together, their flesh pink and brown, their blood Red, are no less than twenty fifteen-year-olds. Only fear keeps me rooted in ce, separated from everything I want by a stretch of deadly, angry killing machines.


    <i ss="calibre4">Morrey.</i>Seconds away. Inches away.


    We cross the chamber as carefully as we climbed the steps, and twice as slowly. The Silvers with lesser wounds rove about, either tending to the more seriously injured or walking off their nerves. I¡¯ve never seen Silvers like this. Off guard, up close. So human. An older female officer with a riot of badges holds the hand of a young man, maybe eighteen. His face is bone white, drained of blood, and he blinks calmly at the ceiling, waiting to die. The body next to him is already there. I hold back a gasp, forcing myself to breathe evenly and quietly. Even with so many distractions, I¡¯m not taking a chance.


    ¡°Tell my mother I love her,¡± one of the dying murmurs.


    Another almost corpse calls for a man who isn¡¯t here, yelping out his name.


    Death looms like a cloud. It shadows me too. I could die here, same as the rest.<i ss="calibre4">If Harrick tires, if I step somewhere I shouldn¡¯t.</i>I try to ignore everything but my own two feet and the goal in front of me. But the farther I go into the chamber, the harder that is. The floor swims before my eyes, and not from Harrick¡¯s illusion. Am I . . . am I crying? For them?


    <span id="page_235" title="235">Angry, I wipe the tears away before they can fall and leave tracks. As much as I know I hate these people, I can¡¯t find it in me to hate right now. All the rage I felt an hour ago is gone, reced by strange pity.


    The hostages are now close enough for me to touch, and one silhouette is as familiar as my own face. Curly ck hair, midnight skin, gangly limbs, big hands with crooked fingers. The widest, brightest smile I¡¯ve ever seen, though that is far, far away right now. If I could, I would tackle Morrey and never let him go. Instead, I creep up behind and slowly, surely crouch until I¡¯m right next to his ear. I hope beyond hope he doesn¡¯t startle.


    ¡°Morrey, it¡¯s Cameron.¡±


    His body jolts, but he doesn¡¯t make a sound.


    ¡°I¡¯m with a newblood; he can make us invisible. I¡¯m going to get you out of here, but you have to do exactly as I say.¡±


    He turns his head, just so, his eyes wide and afraid. He has our mother¡¯s eyes, kohl ck with heavyshes. I resist the urge to hug him. Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth.


    ¡°Yes. I can do it,¡± I breathe. ¡°Tell the others what I just told you. Be discreet. Don¡¯t let the Silvers see. Do it, Morrey.¡±


    After another long moment he clenches his teeth and concedes.


    It doesn¡¯t take long for knowledge of our presence to sweep through them. No one questions it. They don¡¯t have the luxury of doing that, not here, in the belly of the beast.


    ¡°What you¡¯re about to see isn¡¯t real.¡±


    I gesture to Harrick, who nods. He¡¯s ready. Slowly, we move to our knees, crouching down to blend in with them. When his illusion on us lifts, the Silvers won¡¯t notice us at first. Distracted. Hopefully.


    My message travels quickly. The hostages tense. Even though they¡¯re the same age as me, they seem older, worn by the months training to<span id="page_236" title="236">fight and then spent in a trench. Even Morrey, though he looks better fed than he ever was at home. Still invisible to his eye, I reach out and tentatively take his hand. His fingers close on mine, holding tight. And the illusion rendering us invisible drops. Two more bodies join the circle of hostages. The others blink at us, struggling to mask their surprise.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± Harrick murmurs.


    Behind us, the Silvers continue bickering over the dead and dying. They don¡¯t spare a thought for the hostages.


    Harrick narrows his eyes, focusing on the curving tower wall to our right. He breathes heavily, air whistling through his nose and out his mouth. Gathering his strength. I brace myself for the blow, even though I know it doesn¡¯t exist.


    Suddenly the wall explodes inward in a bloom of fire and stone, exposing the tower to the sky. The Silvers shudder, scampering back from what they think is an attack. Airjets scream past, swooping through the false clouds. I blink, not believing my eyes. I shouldn¡¯t believe my eyes. This isn¡¯t real. But it looks amazingly, impossibly real.


    Not that I have time to gape.


    Harrick and I jump to our feet, herding the others with us. We bolt through the fire, mes licking close enough to burn us through. I flinch even though I know it isn¡¯t there. The fire is distraction enough, startling the Silvers so that we can stampede through the door and onto the stairs.


    I push on, leading the pack, while Harrick keeps the rear. He waves his arms like a dancer, weaving illusions out of thin air. Fire, smoke, another round of missiles. All of it keeps the Silvers from pursuing us, cowering from his spooling images. Silence blooms from me, a sphere of deadly power to fell the two Silver lookouts. Morrey clips my heels,<span id="page_237" title="237">almost making me trip, but he catches my arm, keeping me from going over the rail.


    ¡°Stop!¡± The first strongarm charges at me, head lowered like a bull. I pulse silence into his body, ramming my ability down his throat. He stumbles, feeling the full weight of my power. I feel it too, death rolling through his flesh. I have to kill him. And quickly. The force of my need crushes blood from his mouth and eyes as pieces of his body die off, organs one after the other. I smother the life from him faster than I¡¯ve ever killed anyone before.


    The other strongarm dies even faster. When I hit him with another exhausting pummel of silence, he trips sideways and falls headfirst. His skull cracks open on the stone floor, spilling blood and brain matter. A sob chokes in my chest, and I have no time to question my sudden disgust with myself.<i ss="calibre4">For Morrey. For Morrey.</i>


    My brother looks as agonized as I feel, his eyes glued to the dead strongarm bleeding all over the floor. I tell myself he¡¯s just shocked, and not terrified of me.


    ¡°Go!¡± I bellow, voice choked with shame. Thankfully he does as I say, sprinting to the lower level with the rest.


    Even though the ground entrance is blocked up, the hostages make quick work of it, tearing down the Silver fortifications until the double doors areid bare, a single lock standing between all of us and freedom.


    I vault over the strongarm¡¯s crushed skull, tossing the small silver key. Morrey catches it. His conscription and my imprisonment have not stamped out our bond as twins. Sunlight streams through as he hauls the doors open and lunges into the fresh air, the other hostages sprinting with him.


    Harrickes flying down the stairs, false fire spewing in his<span id="page_238" title="238">wake. He waves me on, telling me to go, but I stay rooted. I¡¯m not leaving without the illusionary.


    We stumble out together, clutching each other tightly to face down a square full of perplexed guards armed to the teeth. They allow us through at Farley¡¯s orders. She shouts nearby, directing them to focus on the tower entrance, in case the Silvers attempt to make a stand.


    I don¡¯t hear her words. I just keep walking until I have my brother in my arms. His heart beats rapidly in his chest. I revel in the sound. He¡¯s here. He¡¯s alive.


    Not like the strongarms.


    I still feel it, what I did to them.


    What I did to every single person I ever killed.


    The memories make me dizzy with shame. All for Morrey, all to survive. But no more.


    I don¡¯t have to be a murderer alongside everything else.


    He clutches at me, eyes rolling in terror. ¡°The Scarlet Guard,¡± he hisses, holding me close. ¡°Cam, we have to run.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re safe; you¡¯re with us now. They can¡¯t hurt you, Morrey!¡±


    But instead of calming down, his fear triples. Morrey¡¯s grip on me tightens as his head whips back and forth, taking stock of Farley¡¯s soldiers. ¡°Do they know what you are? Cam, do they know?¡±


    Shame bleeds into confusion. I push back from him a little, to get a better look at his face. He breathes heavily. ¡°What I<i ss="calibre4">am</i>?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll kill you for it. The Scarlet Guard will kill you for what you are.¡±


    Each word hits me like a hammer. And then I realize my brother isn¡¯t the only one still afraid. The rest of his unit, the other teenagers, cluster together for safety, every one of them keeping clear of the Guard soldiers. Farley meets my eye from a few feet away, just as puzzled as I am.


    <span id="page_239" title="239">Then I see her from my brother¡¯s point of view. See them all for what he¡¯s been told to see.


    Terrorists. Murderers. The reason they were conscripted in the first ce.


    I try to pull Morrey into a hug, try to whisper an exnation.


    He just goes cold in my arms. ¡°You¡¯re one of them,¡± he spits, looking at me with so much anger and usation my knees buckle. ¡°You¡¯re Scarlet Guard.¡±


    My soul fills with dread.


    Maven took Mare¡¯s brother.


    Did he take mine too?

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 16

    <i ss="calibre4">I can¡¯t see Corvium</i>through the low cloud cover. I stare anyway, my eyes glued on the eastern horizon stretching out behind us. The Scarlet Guard took the city. They control it now. We had to skirt around, giving the hostile city a wide berth. Maven is doing his best to keep it quiet; even he can¡¯t hide such massive defeat. I wonder how the news willnd across the kingdom. Will Reds celebrate? Will Silvers retaliate? I remember the riots that followed other attacks by the Scarlet Guard. Of course there will be repercussions. Corvium is an act of war. Finally, the Scarlet Guard has nted a g that cannot simply be torn down.


    My friends are so close I feel as if I could run to them. Tear the manacles off, kill the Arven guards, jump from the transport and disappear into the gray gloom, sprinting through the bare winter forest. In the daydream, they wait for me outside the walls of a broken fortress. The Colonel, his eye crimson, his weathered face and the gun on his hip afort like nothing else. Farley with him, bold and tall and resolute as I remember. Cameron, her silence a shield rather than a prison. Kilorn,<span id="page_241" title="241">familiar as my own two hands. Cal, angry and broken as I am, the embers of his rage ready to burn all thoughts of Maven from my mind. I imagine leaping into their arms, begging them to take me away, take me anywhere. Take me to my family, take me home. Make me forget.


    No, not forget. It would be a sin to forget my imprisonment. A waste. I know Maven as no one else does. I know the holes in his brain, the pieces he can never make fit. And I¡¯ve seen his court splinter firsthand. If I can escape, if I can be rescued, I can do some good still. I can make my fool¡¯s bargain worth the terrible cost¡ªand I can start to right so many wrongs.


    Even though the transport windows are tightly sealed, I smell smoke. Ash. Gunpowder. The metallic, sour bite of a century of blood. The Choke nears, closer with every passing second as Maven¡¯s convoy speeds west. I hope my nightmares of this ce were worse than the reality.


    Kitten and Clover are still at my sides, their hands gloved and t upon their knees. Ready to grab me, ready to hold me down. The other guards, Trio and Egg, perch above, on the transport skeleton, harnessed to the moving vehicle. A precaution, now that we¡¯re so close to the war zone. Not to mention a few miles from a city upied by revolution. All four remain vignt as ever. Both to keep me imprisoned¡ªand to keep me safe.


    Outside, the forest lining thest miles of the Iron Road thins into nothing. Naked branches fall away to reveal hard earth barely worthy of snow. The Choke is an ugly ce. Gray dirt, gray skies, blending so perfectly I don¡¯t know where thend ends and sky begins. I almost expect to hear explosions in the distance. Dad said you could always hear the bombs, even from miles away. I suppose that isn¡¯t the case anymore, not if Maven¡¯s gambit seeds. I¡¯m ending a war that millions<span id="page_242" title="242">died for. Just to keep killing under another name.


    The convoy presses on toward the forward camps, a collection of buildings that remind me of the Scarlet Guard base on Tuck. They fade into the distance in either direction. Barracks, mostly. Coffins for the living. My brothers lived in those once. My father too. It might be my turn to keep up the tradition.


    As in the cities along the coronation tour, people turn out to watch King Maven and his retinue. Soldiers in red, in ck, in clouded gray. They line the main avenue bisecting the Choke camp with military precision, each one dipping their heads in respect. I don¡¯t bother trying to count how many hundreds there are. It¡¯s too depressing. Instead, I sp my hands together, tight enough to give me another pain to dwell on. The injured Silver officer in Rocasta said Corvium was a massacre.<i ss="calibre4">Don¡¯t,</i>I tell myself.<i ss="calibre4">Don¡¯t go there.</i>Of course my mind does anyway. It¡¯s impossible to avoid the horrors you really don¡¯t want to think about.<i ss="calibre4">Massacre.</i>Both sides. Red and Silver, Scarlet Guard and Maven¡¯s army. Cal survived, that much I know from Maven¡¯s demeanor. But Farley, Kilorn, Cameron, my brothers, the rest? So many names and faces who probably assaulted the walls of Corvium. What happened to them?


    I press my fingers to my eyes, trying to keep the tears back. The effort exhausts me, but I refuse to cry in front of Kitten and Clover.


    To my surprise, the convoy does not stop in the center of the Choke camp, even though there¡¯s a square that looks perfectly suited to another of Maven¡¯s honeyed speeches. A few of the transports, each carrying scions of several High Houses, peel off, but we speed through, pressing on, deeper and deeper. Even though they try to hide it, Kitten and Clover grow more on edge, their eyes darting between the windows and each other. They don¡¯t like this.<i ss="calibre4">Good. Let them squirm.</i>


    Bold as I feel, a shadow of dread falls over me too. Is Maven out of<span id="page_243" title="243">his mind? Where is he taking us¡ªall of us? Certainly he would not drive the court into a trench or a minefield or worse. The transports pick up speed, rolling faster and faster over earth packed hard into a roadway. In the distance, artillery cannons and heavy guns stand in hulking wrecks of iron, twisted shadows like ck skeletons. Within a mile, we cross the first trench lines, our vehicles snarling over hastily built bridges. More trenches follow. For reserves, support,munication. Weaving like the passages of the Notch, burrowing into frozen mud. I lose count after a dozen. Either the trenches are abandoned or the soldiers are well hidden. I can¡¯t see a single scrap of red uniform.


    This could be a trap, for all we know. The scheming of an old king meant to ensnare and defeat a young boy. Part of me wants that to be true. If I can¡¯t kill Maven, maybe the king of the Laknds will do it for me. House Cy, nymphs. Ruling for hundreds of years. That¡¯s as much as I know about the enemy monarch. His kingdom is like ours, divided by blood, ruled by noble Silver houses. And afflicted by the Scarlet Guard, apparently. Like Maven, he must be bent on maintaining power at all costs, through any means. Even collusion with an old enemy.


    In the east, the clouds break, and a few beams of sunlight illuminate the harshnd around us. No trees as far as the eye can see. We cross over the frontline trench and I gasp at the sight. Red soldiers crowd together in long lines, six bodies deep, their uniforms colored in varying shades of rust and crimson. They pool like blood in a wound. Hands ondders, they shiver in the cold. Ready to rush out of their trench and into the deadly kill zone of the Choke should their kingmand it. I spot Silver officers among them, denoted by their gray-and-ck uniforms. Maven is young, but not stupid. If this is a Laknder trick, he¡¯s ready to fight his way out. I assume the king of the Laknds has<span id="page_244" title="244">another army waiting, in his own trenches on the other side. More Red soldiers to discard.


    As the tires of our transport hit the other side, Clover tightens next to me. She keeps her electric-green eyes forward, trying to stay calm. A sheen of sweat gleams on her forehead, betraying her fear.


    The true wastnd of the Choke is pocked with craters from two armies¡¯ worth of artillery fire. Some of the holes must be decades old. Barbed wire tangles in the frozen mud. Up ahead, on the lead transport, a telky and a maron work in tandem. They sweep their arms back and forth, wrenching any debris from the path of the convoy. Bits of coiled iron go spinning off in every direction. And, I assume, bones. Reds have been dying here for generations. The dirt is littered with their dust.


    In my nightmares, this ce stretches on forever, in every direction. But instead of continuing forward into oblivion, the convoy slows a little more than a half mile beyond the frontline trenches. As our transports circle and weave, arranging themselves in a half-moon arc, I almost erupt with nervousughter. Of all things, in all ces¡ªwe¡¯re stopping at a pavilion. The contrast is jarring. It¡¯s brand-new, with white columns and silky curtains swaying in the poisoned wind. Constructed for one purpose and one purpose alone. A summit, a meeting, like the one so long ago. When two kings decided to begin a century of war.


    A Sentinel wrenches open my transport door, beckoning for us to step down. Clover hesitates a half second and Kitten clears her throat, urging her on. I move between them, escorted down onto the obliterated earth. Rocks and dirt make the ground uneven under my feet. I pray nothing splinters beneath me. A skull, a rib, a femur, or a spine. I don¡¯t need more proof that I¡¯m walking through an endless graveyard.


    <span id="page_245" title="245">Clover is not the only one afraid. Even the Sentinels move slowly, on edge, their masked faces sweeping back and forth. For once, they think of their own safety as well as Maven¡¯s. And the rest of the remaining court¡ªEvangeline, Ptolemus, Samson¡ªthey idle by their transports. Their eyes dart; their noses wrinkle. They can smell death and danger as well as I can. One wrong move, one hint of a threat, and they¡¯ll bolt. Evangeline has discarded her furs for armor. Steel coats her from neck to wrist and toe. She quickly frees her fingers from her leather gloves, baring her skin to the cold air. Better for a fight. I feel the itch to do the same, not that it will help me at all. The manacles are strong as ever.


    The only one who seems unaffected is Maven. The dying winter suits him, making his pale skin stand out in a way that is oddly elegant. Even the shadows around his eyes, dark as always, ck and bruise-like, make him tragically beautiful. Today he wears as much regalia as he dares. A boy king, but a king all the same, about to look into the eyes of someone who is supposedly his greatest opponent. The crown on his head seems natural now, refitted to sit low across his brow. It spits bronze and iron mes through his glossy ck hair. Even in the gray light of the Choke, his medals and badges gleam, silver and ruby and onyx. A cape, patterned with brocade red as me,pletes the ensemble and the image of a fiery king. But the Choke consumes us all. Dirt speckles his polished ck boots as he walks forward, fighting the deep instinct to fear this ce. Impatient, he casts one look over his shoulder, eyeing the dozens he dragged here. His fire-blue eyes are warning enough. We must go with him. I am not afraid of death, and so I am the first to follow him into what could be a grave.


    The king of the Laknds is already waiting.


    He sprawls in a simple chair, a small man against the massive g hung behind him. It is cobalt, worked with a four-petaled flower in<span id="page_246" title="246">silver and white. His milky-blue metal transports sy out on the other side of the pavilion, arranged in mirror image to our own. I count more than a dozen at a nce, all of them crawling with the Laknder version of Sentinel guards. More nk the Laknd king and his entourage. They don¡¯t wear masks or robes, but tactical armor in shing tes of deep sapphire. They stand, silent, stoic, with faces like carved stone. Each one a warrior trained from birth or close to it. I know none of their abilities, nor those of the king¡¯spanions. The court of the Laknds is not something I studied in my lessons with Lady Blonos centuries ago.


    As we approach, the kinges into better focus. I stare at him, trying to see the man beneath the crown of white gold, topaz, turquoise, and darkpiszuli. For as much as Maven favors red and ck, this king favors his blue. After all, he is a nymph, a maniptor of water. It¡¯s fitting. I expect his eyes to be blue as well¡ªinstead, they are storm gray, matching the hard iron of his long, straight hair. I find myselfparing him to Maven¡¯s father, the only other king I¡¯ve ever known. He stands in stark contrast. Where Tiberias the Sixth was hefty, bearded, his face and body bloated by alcohol, the Laknder king is slight, clean-shaven, and clear-eyed with dark skin. As with all Silvers, a gray-blue undertone cools hisplexion. When he stands, he is graceful, his sweeping movements akin to a dancer¡¯s. He wears no armor or dress uniform. Only robes of shimmering silver and cobalt, bright and foreboding as his g.


    ¡°King Maven of House Calore,¡± he says, inclining his head just so as Maven steps onto the pavilion. ck silk slithers over white marble.


    ¡°King Orrec of House Cy,¡± Maven responds in kind. He is careful to bow lower than his opponent, with a smile fixed firmly upon his lips. ¡°If only my father were here to see this.¡±


    <span id="page_247" title="247">¡°Your mother too,¡± Orrec says. No bite to the words, but Maven straightens up quickly, as if suddenly presented with a threat. ¡°My condolences. You are far too young to experience so much loss.¡± He has an ent, his words finding a strange melody. His eyes twitch over Maven¡¯s shoulder, past me, to Samson following us in his Merandus blues. ¡°You were informed of my . . . requests?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Maven juts a chin over his shoulder. He nces at me for a second; then, like Orrec¡¯s, his gaze slides to Samson. ¡°Cousin, if you would not mind waiting in your transport.¡±


    ¡°Cousin¡ª¡± Samson says with as much opposition as he dares. Still, he stops in his tracks, feet nted several yards from the pavilion tform. There is no argument to make, not here. King Orrec¡¯s guards tighten, hands moving to their array of weapons. Guns, swords, the very air around us. Anything they might call upon to keep a whisper from getting too close to their king and his mind. If only the court of Norta were the same.


    Finally, Samson relents. He bows low, arms sweeping out at his sides in sharp, practiced movements. ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±


    Only when he turns around, walks back to the vehicles, and disappears from sight do the Laknder guards rx. And King Orrec smiles tightly, waving Maven forward to face him. Like a child invited to beg.


    Instead, Maven turns to the seat set opposite. It isn¡¯t Silent Stone, isn¡¯t safe, but he settles into it without a blink of hesitation. He leans back and crosses his legs, letting his cape drape over one arm while the other lies free. His hand dangles¡ªwith his memaker bracelet clearly visible.


    The rest of us congregate around him, taking seats to match the court of the Laknds now facing us. Evangeline and Ptolemus take<span id="page_248" title="248">Maven¡¯s right, as does their father. When he joined our convoy, I don¡¯t know. Governor Welle is here too, his green robes sickly against the gray of the Choke. The absence of Houses Iral, Laris, and Haven seems ring to my eye, their ranks reced by other advisers. My four Arven guards nk me as I sit, so close I can hear them breathing. I focus instead on the people in front of me, the Laknders. The king¡¯s closest advisers, confidants, diplomats, and generals. People to be feared almost as much as the king himself. No introductions are made, but I quickly realize who is most important among them. She sits at the king¡¯s right-hand side, the ce Evangeline currently upies.


    A very young queen, maybe? No, the family resemnce is too strong. She has to be the princess of the Laknds, with eyes like her father¡¯s and her own crown of wless blue gems. Her straight ck hair gleams, beaded with pearl and sapphire. As I stare, she feels my eyes¡ªand she stares right back.


    Maven speaks first, breaking my observations. ¡°For the first time in a century, we find ourselves in agreement.¡±


    ¡°That we do.¡± Orrec nods. His jeweled brow shes in the weakening sunlight. ¡°The Scarlet Guard and all its ilk must be eradicated. Quickly, lest their disease spread further than it already has. Lest Reds in other regions be seduced by their false promises. I hear rumors of trouble in Piedmont?¡±


    ¡°Rumors, yes.¡± My ck-hearted king concedes nothing more than he wants to. ¡°You know how the princes can be. Always arguing among themselves.¡±


    Orrec almost smirks. ¡°Indeed. The Prairie lords are quite the same.¡±


    ¡°In regard to the terms¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not so fast, my young friend. I should like to know the state of your house before I walk through the door.¡±


    <span id="page_249" title="249">Even from my seat I can feel Maven tighten. ¡°Ask what you wish.¡±


    ¡°House Iral? House Laris? House Haven?¡± Orrec¡¯s eyes sweep down our line, missing nothing. His gaze skirts over me, faltering for half a second. ¡°I see none of them here.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So the reports are true. They have rebelled against their rightful king.¡±N?velDrama.Org ? 2024.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°In support of an exile.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And what of your army of newbloods?¡±


    ¡°It grows with every passing day,¡± Maven says. ¡°Another weapon we all must learn to wield.¡±


    ¡°Like her.¡± The king of the Laknds tips his head in my direction. ¡°The lightning girl is a mighty trophy.¡±


    My fists clench on my knees. Of course, he¡¯s right. I¡¯m little more than a trophy for Maven to drag around, using my face and my forced words to draw more to his side. I don¡¯t flush, though. I¡¯ve had a long time to get used to my shame.


    If Maven looks my way, I don¡¯t know. I won¡¯t look at him.


    ¡°A trophy, yes, and a symbol too,¡± Maven says. ¡°The Scarlet Guard is flesh and blood, not ghosts. Flesh and blood can be controlled, defeated, and destroyed.¡±


    The king clucks his tongue, as if in pity. Quickly, he stands, his robes swirling around him like a tossing river. Maven stands too, and meets him in the center of the pavilion. They size each other up, one devouring the other. Neither wants to be the first to break. I feel the very air around me tighten: hot, then cold, then dry, then mmy. The will of two Silver kings rages around us all.


    <span id="page_250" title="250">I don¡¯t know what Orrec sees in Maven, but suddenly he relents and extends one dark hand. Rings of state wink on all his fingers. ¡°Well, they¡¯ll be dealt with soon enough. Your rebel Silvers too. Three houses against the might of two kingdoms is nothing at all.¡±


    With a dip of his head, Maven returns the gesture. He grips Orrec¡¯s hand in his.


    Dimly, I wonder how the hell Mare Barrow of the Stilts ended up here. A few feet from two kings, watching one more piece of our bloody history lock into ce. Julian will lose his mind when I tell him.<i ss="calibre4">When.</i>Because I will see him again. See them all again.


    ¡°Now for the terms,¡± Orrec pushes on. And I realize he has not let go of Maven¡¯s fingers. So do the Sentinels. They take one menacing step forward in tandem, their robes of me hiding any number of weapons. On the other side of the tform, the Laknder guards do the same. Each side daring the other to take the step that will end in bloodshed.


    Maven doesn¡¯t try to wrench away, or push closer. He merely stands firm, unmoved, unafraid. ¡°The terms are sound,¡± he replies, his voice even. I can¡¯t see his face. ¡°The Choke divided evenly, the old borders maintained and opened for travel. You¡¯ll have equal use of the Capital River and the Eris Canal¡ª¡±


    ¡°While your brother lives, I need guarantees.¡±


    ¡°My brother is a traitor, an exile. He will be dead soon enough.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my point, boy. As soon as he is gone, as soon as we tear the Scarlet Guard limb from limb¡ªwill you return to the old ways? The old enemies? Will you find yourself once again drowning in Red bodies and in need of somewhere to throw them?¡± Orrec¡¯s face darkens, flushing gray and purple. His cold, detached manner fades into anger.<span id="page_251" title="251">¡°Poption control is one matter, but the war, the endless push and pull, it is little more than madness. I will not spill one more drop of Silver blood because you can¡¯tmand your Red rats.¡±


    Maven leans forward, matching Orrec¡¯s intensity. ¡°Our treaty will be signed here, broadcast across every city, to every man, woman, and child of my kingdom. Everyone will know this war has ended. Everyone in Norta, at least. I know you don¡¯t have the same capabilities in the Laknds, old man. But I trust you¡¯ll do your best to inform as much of your backwater kingdom as possible.¡±


    A shudder goes through us all. Fear in the Silvers, but excitement in me.<i ss="calibre4">Destroy each other,</i>I whisper in my head.<i ss="calibre4">Turn each other inside out.</i>I have no doubt a nymph king would have little issue drowning Maven where he stands.


    Orrec bares his teeth. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about my country.¡±


    ¡°I know the Scarlet Guard began in your house, not mine,¡± Maven spits back. With his free hand he gestures, telling his Sentinels to back down. Foolish, posturing boy. I hope it gets him killed. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you¡¯re doing me a favor. You need this as much as we do.¡±


    ¡°Then I want your word, Maven Calore.¡±


    ¡°You have it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your word and your hand. The strongest bond you can make.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Oh.</i>


    My eyes fly from Maven, locked in a grip with the king of the Laknds, to Evangeline. She sits still, as if frozen, her gaze on the marble floor and nowhere else. I expect her to stand up and scream, to turn this ce into a wreck of shrapnel. But she doesn¡¯t move. Even Ptolemus, herpdog of a brother, stays firmly in his seat. And their<span id="page_252" title="252">father in his Samos cks broods as always. No change in him that I can see. No indication that Evangeline is about to lose the position she fought so hard to obtain.


    Across the pavilion, the Laknder princess seems hewn from stone. She doesn¡¯t even blink. She knew this wasing.


    Once, when Maven¡¯s father told him he was to marry me, he choked in surprise. He put on a good show, blustering and arguing. He pretended not to know what that proposal was about, what it meant. Like me, he has worn a thousand masks and yed a million different parts. Today he performs as king, and kings are never surprised, never caught off guard. If he is shocked, he doesn¡¯t show it. I hear nothing but steel in his voice.


    ¡°It would be an honor to call you father,¡± he says.


    Finally, Orrec lets go of Maven¡¯s hand. ¡°And an honor to call you son.¡±


    Both could not be more false.


    To my right, someone¡¯s chair scrapes against marble. Followed quickly by two more. In a flurry of metal and ck, House Samos hurries from the pavilion. Evangeline leads her brother and father, never looking back, her hands open at her sides. Her shoulders drop and her meticulously straight posture seems lessened somehow.


    She is relieved.


    Maven doesn¡¯t watch her go, wholly focused on the task at hand. The task being the Laknder princess.


    ¡°Mydy,¡± he says, bowing in her direction.


    She merely inclines her head, never breaking her steely gaze.


    ¡°In the eyes of my noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage.¡± I¡¯ve heard these words before. From the same boy. Spoken in front of a crowd, each word sounding like a lock twisting shut. ¡°I<span id="page_253" title="253">pledge myself to you, Iris Cy, princess of the Laknds. Will you ept?¡±


    Iris is beautiful, more graceful than her father. Not a dancer, though, but a hunter. She stands on long limbs, unfolding herself from her seat in a cascade of soft sapphire velvet and full, feminine curves. I glimpse leather leggings between the shes of her gown. Well-worn, cracked at the knees. She did note here unprepared. And like so many here, she doesn¡¯t wear gloves, despite the cold. The hand she extends to Maven is amber-skinned, long-fingered, unadorned. Still, her eyes do not waver, even as a mist forms from the air, swirling around her outstretched hand. It glimmers before my eyes, tiny droplets of moisture condensing to life. They be tiny, crystal beads of water, each one a pinprick of refracting light as they twist and move.


    Her first words are in anguage I do not know. Laknder. It is heartbreakingly beautiful, one word flowing into the next like a spoken song, like water. Then, in ented Nortan¡ª


    ¡°I put my hand in yours, and pledge my life to yours,¡± she replies, after her own traditions and the customs of her kingdom. ¡°I ept, Your Majesty.¡±


    He puts his bare hand out to take hers, the bracelet at his wrist sparking as he moves. A current of fire hits the air, snakelike and curling around their joined fingers. It does not burn her, though it certainly passes close enough to try. Iris never flinches. Never blinks.


    And so one war is ended.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 17

    <i ss="calibre4">It takes many days</i>to return to Archeon. Not because of the distance. Not because the king of the Laknds brought no less than one thousand people with him, courtiers and soldiers and even Red servants. But because the entire kingdom of Norta suddenly has something to celebrate. The end of a war, and an uing wedding. Maven¡¯s now-endless convoy snakes down the Iron Road and then the Royal Road at a crawl. Silvers and Reds alike turn out to cheer, begging for a glimpse of their king. Maven always obliges, stopping to meet crowds with Iris at his side. Despite the deeply bred hatred for the Laknds we are supposed to have, Nortans bow before her. She is a curiosity and a blessing. A bridge. Even King Orrec receives lukewarm wees. Polite pping, respectful bows. An old enemy turned into an ally for the long road ahead.


    That¡¯s what Maven says at every turn. ¡°Norta and the Laknds stand united now, bound together for the long road ahead. Against all dangers threatening our kingdoms.¡± He means the Scarlet Guard. He means Corvium. He means Cal, the rebelling houses, anything and<span id="page_255" title="255">everything that might threaten his tenuous grip on power.


    There is no one alive to remember the days before war. My country does not know what peace looks like. No wonder they mistake this for peace. I want to scream at every Red face I pass. I want to carve the words on my body so everyone has to see.<i ss="calibre4">Trap. Lie. Conspiracy.</i>Not that my words mean anything anymore. I¡¯ve been someone else¡¯s puppet for too long. My voice is not my own. Only my actions are, and those are severely limited by circumstances. I would despair of myself if I could, but my days of wallowing are long behind me. They have to be. Or else I will simply drown, a hollow doll dragged behind a child, empty in every inch.


    <i ss="calibre4">I will escape. I will escape. I will escape.</i>I don¡¯t dare whisper the words aloud. They run through my mind instead, their rhythm in time with my heartbeat.


    No one speaks to me during our journey. Not even Maven. He¡¯s busy feeling out his new betrothed. I get the sense she knows what kind of person he is, and is prepared for him. As with her father, I hope they kill each other.


    The tall spires of Archeon are familiar, but not afort. The convoy rolls back into the jaws of a cage I know all too well. Through the city, up the steep roads to the ptialpound of Caesar¡¯s Square and Whitefire. The sun is deceptively bright against a clear blue sky. It¡¯s almost spring. Strange. Part of me thought winter wouldst forever, mirroring my imprisonment. I don¡¯t know if I can stomach watching the seasons turn from inside my royal cell.


    <i ss="calibre4">I will escape. I will escape. I will escape.</i>


    Egg and Trio all but pass me between each other, pulling me down from the transport and marching me up the steps of Whitefire. The air is warm, wet, smelling fresh and clean. A few more minutes in<span id="page_256" title="256">the sunlight and I might start sweating beneath my scarlet-and-silver jacket. But I¡¯m inside the pce again in a few seconds, walking beneath a king¡¯s ransom of chandeliers. They don¡¯t bother me so much, not after my first and only escape attempt. In fact, they almost make me smile.


    ¡°Happy to be home?¡±


    I¡¯m equally startled by someone speaking to me and by exactly who is speaking to me.


    I resist the deep urge to bow, keeping my spine straight as I stop to face her. The Arvens halt as well, close enough to grab me if they have to. I feel a ripple of their ability draining bits of my energy. Her own guards are just as on edge, their attentions on the hall around us. I suppose they still think of Archeon and Norta as enemy territory.


    ¡°Princess,¡± I reply. The title tastes sour, but I don¡¯t see much use in directly antagonizing yet another one of Maven¡¯s betrotheds.


    Her traveling outfit is deceptively in. Just leggings and a dark blue jacket, cinched at the waist to better show her hourss figure. No jewelry, no crown. Her hair is simple, pulled back into a single ck braid. She could pass for a normal Silver. Wealthy, but not royal. Even her face remains neutral. No smile, no sneer. No judgment of the lightning girl in her chains. Compared to the nobles I¡¯ve known, it makes for a jarring contrast and an inconvenient one. I know nothing about her. For all I know, she could be worse than Evangeline. Or even ra. I have no idea who this young woman is, or what she thinks of me. It makes me uneasy.N?velDrama.Org ? 2024.


    And Iris can tell.


    ¡°No, I would think not,¡± she pushes on. ¡°Walk with me?¡±


    She puts out a hand, crooking it in invitation. There is a decent chance my eyes bug out of my head. But I do as she asks. She sets a<span id="page_257" title="257">quick but not impossible pace, forcing both sets of guards to follow us through the entrance hall.


    ¡°Despite the name, Whitefire seems a cold ce.¡± Iris looks up at the ceiling. The chandeliers reflect in her gray eyes, making them starry. ¡°I would not want to be imprisoned here.¡±


    I scoff deep in my throat. The poor fool is about to be Maven¡¯s queen. I can think of no worse prison than that.


    ¡°Something funny, Mare Barrow?¡± she purrs.


    ¡°Nothing, Your Highness.¡±


    Her eyes rove over me. They linger on my wrists, at the long sleeves hiding my manacles. Slowly, she touches one and draws in a breath. Despite the Silent Stone and the instinctive fear it inspires, she doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°My father keeps pets as well. Perhaps it¡¯s something kings do.¡±


    Months ago, I would have snapped at her.<i ss="calibre4">I¡¯m not a pet.</i>But she isn¡¯t wrong. Instead, I shrug. ¡°I haven¡¯t met enough kings to know.¡±


    ¡°Three kings for a Red girl born to poor nothings. One must wonder if the gods love or hate you.¡±


    I don¡¯t know whether tough or sneer. ¡°There are no gods.¡±


    ¡°Not in Norta. Not for you.¡± Her expression softens. She nces over her shoulder, at the many courtiers and nobles as they mill about. Most don¡¯t bother to hide their ogling. If it annoys her, she doesn¡¯t show it. ¡°I wonder if they can hear me in a godless ce like this. There isn¡¯t even a temple. I must ask Maven to build me one.¡±


    Many strange people have passed through my life. But all of them have pieces I can understand. Emotions I know, dreams, fears. I blink at Princess Iris and realize that the more she speaks, the more confusing she bes. She seems intelligent, strong, self-assured, but why would a person like that agree to marry such an obvious monster? Certainly<span id="page_258" title="258">she sees him for what he is. And it can¡¯t be blind ambition driving her here. She¡¯s a princess already, daughter of a king. What does she want? Or did she even have a choice? Her talk of gods is even more confusing. We have no such beliefs. How can we?


    ¡°Are you memorizing my face?¡± she asks quietly as I try to read her. I get the sense she is doing the same, observing me like I¡¯m aplicated piece of art. ¡°Or simply trying to steal a few more moments outside a locked room? If thetter, I do not me you. If the former, I have a feeling you¡¯ll be seeing a great deal of me, and I of you.¡±


    From anyone else, it might sound like a threat. But I don¡¯t think Iris cares enough about me for that. At least she doesn¡¯t seem the jealous type. That would require her to have any sort of feeling for Maven, something I sorely doubt.


    ¡°Take me to the throne room.¡±


    My lips twitch, wanting to smile. Usually the people here make requests that are truly ironmands. Iris is the opposite. Hermand sounds like a question. ¡°Fine,¡± I mutter, letting my feet guide us. The Arvens don¡¯t dare try to pull me away. Iris Cy is not Evangeline Samos. Crossing her could be considered an act of war. I can¡¯t help smirking over my shoulder at Trio and Egg. Both glower back. Their irritation makes me grin, even through the itch of my scars.


    ¡°You are an odd sort of prisoner, Miss Barrow. I did not realize that, while Maven paints you as ady in his broadcasts, he requires you to be one at all times.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Lady.</i>The title never truly applied to me, and never will. ¡°I¡¯m just a well-dressed and tightly leashedpdog.¡±


    ¡°What a peculiar king to keep you as he does. You¡¯re an enemy of the state, a valuable piece of propaganda, and somehow treated as near royalty. But then boys are so strange with their toys. Especially those<span id="page_259" title="259">ustomed to losing things. They hold on more tightly than the rest.¡±


    ¡°And what would you do with me?¡± I answer back. As queen, Iris could hold my life in her hands. She could end it, or make it even worse. ¡°If you were in his position?¡±


    Iris dodges the question artfully. ¡°I won¡¯t ever make the mistake of trying to put myself in his head. That is not a ce any sane person should be.¡± Then sheughs to herself. ¡°I assume his mother spent a good amount of time there.¡±


    For as much as ra hated me and my existence, I think she would hate Iris more. The young princess is formidable to say the least. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you never had to meet her.¡±


    ¡°And I thank you for that,¡± Iris replies. ¡°Though I hope you don¡¯t keep up the tradition of killing queens. Evenpdogs bite.¡± She blinks at me, gray eyes piercing. ¡°Will you?¡±


    I¡¯m not stupid enough to respond.<i ss="calibre4">No</i>would be a naked lie.<i ss="calibre4">Yes</i>couldnd me yet another royal enemy. She smirks at my silence.


    It¡¯s not a long walk to the grand chamber where Maven holds court. After so many days before the broadcast cameras, forced to stomach newblood after newblood pledging their loyalty to him, I know it intimately. Usually the dais is crowded with seats, but they¡¯ve been removed in our absence, leaving only the gray, forbidding throne. Iris res at it as we approach.


    ¡°An interesting tactic,¡± she mutters when we reach it. As with my manacles, she runs a finger down the blocks of Silent Stone. ¡°Necessary too. With so many whispers allowed at court.¡±


    ¡°Allowed?¡±


    ¡°They are not wee in the court of the Laknds. They cannot pass through the walls of our capital, Detraon, or enter the pce without proper escorts. And no whisper is permitted within twenty feet of<span id="page_260" title="260">the monarch,¡± Iris exins. ¡°In fact, I know of no noble families who can im such an ability in my country.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t exist?¡±


    ¡°Not where Ie from. Not anymore.¡±


    The implication hangs in the air like smoke.


    She pulls away from the throne, tipping her head back and forth. She doesn¡¯t like whatever she sees. Her lips purse into a thin line. ¡°How many times have you felt the touch of a Merandus in your head?¡±


    For a split second, I try to remember.<i ss="calibre4">Stupid.</i>¡°Too many times to count,¡± I tell her with a shrug. ¡°First ra, then Samson. I can¡¯t decide who was worse. I know now that the queen could look into my mind without me even knowing. But he . . .¡± My voice falters. The memory is a painful one, drawing out a drilling pressure at my temples. I try to massage away the ache. ¡°Samson, you feel every second he¡¯s in there.¡±


    Her face grays. ¡°So many eyes in this ce,¡± she says, ncing first at my guards and then at the walls. At the security cameras looking over every inch of the open chamber, watching us. ¡°They are wee to watch.¡±


    Slowly, she removes her jacket and folds it over her arm. The shirt beneath is white, fastened high at her throat, but backless. She turns, under the guise of examining the throne room. Really, she¡¯s showing off. Her back is muscr, powerful, carved of long lines. ck tattoos cover her from the base of her scalp, down her neck, across her shoulder des, all to the base of her spine.<i ss="calibre4">Roots,</i>I think first. I¡¯m wrong. Not roots, but whorls of water, curling and spilling over her skin in perfect lines. They ripple as she moves, a living thing. Finally she roves back to face me. The smallest smirk ys on her lips.


    It disappears in an instant as her gaze shifts past me. I don¡¯t have to turn around to know who approaches, who leads the many footsteps<span id="page_261" title="261">echoing off the marble and into my skull.


    ¡°I would be happy to give you a tour, Iris,¡± Maven says. ¡°Your father is settling into his apartments, but I¡¯m sure he won¡¯t mind if we get to know each other better.¡±


    The Arvens and Laknder guards drop back, giving the king and his Sentinels space. Blue uniforms, white, red-orange. Their silhouettes and colors are so ingrained in me I know them out of the corner of my eye. None so much as the pale young king. I feel him as much as I see him, his cloying warmth threatening to engulf me. He stops a few inches from my side, close enough to take me by the hand if he wants to. I shudder at the thought.


    ¡°I would like that very much,¡± Iris replies. She dips her head in an oddly stilted manner. Bowing does note easily to her. ¡°I was just remarking to Miss Barrow about your¡±¡ªshe searches for the right word, ncing back at the stark throne¡ª¡°decorations.¡±


    Maven offers a tight smile. ¡°A precaution. My father was assassinated, and attempts have been made on me as well.¡±


    ¡°Could a chair of Silent Stone have saved your father?¡± she asks innocently.


    A current of heat pulses through the air. Like Iris, I feel the need to shed my jacket too, lest Maven¡¯s temper sweat me out of it.


    ¡°No, my brother decided that cutting his head off was his best option,¡± he says bluntly. ¡°Not much defense against that.¡±


    It happened in this very pce. A few passages and rooms away, up some stairs to a ce with no windows and soundproofed walls. When the guards dragged me there, I was in a daze, terrified that Maven and I were about to be executed for treason. Instead, the king ended up in two pieces. His head, his body, a rush of silver sttered in between. Instead, Maven took the crown. My fists clench at the memory.


    <span id="page_262" title="262">¡°How horrible,¡± Iris murmurs. I feel her eyes on me.


    ¡°Yes, wasn¡¯t it, Mare?¡±


    His sudden hand on my arm burns like his brand. My control threatens to snap, and I re at him sidelong. ¡°Yes,¡± I force out through clenched teeth. ¡°Horrible.¡±


    Maven nods in agreement, clenching his jaw to make the bones of his face tighten. I can¡¯t believe he has the gall to look morose. To seem sad. He is neither. He can¡¯t be. His mother took away the pieces of him that loved his brother and father. I wish she¡¯d taken the part that loves me. Instead, it festers, poisoning us both with its corruption. ck rot eats at his brain and at any bit of him that might be human. He knows it too. Knows there¡¯s something wrong, something he cannot fix with ability or power. He is broken, and there is no healer on this earth who can make him whole.


    ¡°Well, before I take you through my home, there¡¯s someone else who would like to meet my future bride. Sentinel Nornus, if you would?¡± Maven gestures over his soldier. At hismand, the Sentinel in question blurs into a ze of red and orange, racing to the entrance and back again in a blistering second. A swift. In his robes, he seems a fireball.


    Figures follow in his wake, their house colors familiar.


    ¡°Princess Iris, this is the ruling lord of House Samos, and his family,¡± Maven says, waving a hand between his new betrothed and the old one.


    Evangeline stands out in sharp contrast to the simply clothed Iris. I wonder how long it took her to create the molten, metal liquid hugging every curve of her body like glistening tar. No more crowns and tiaras for her, but her jewelry more than makes up for it. She wears silver chains at her neck, wrists, and ears, fine as thread and studded with<span id="page_263" title="263">diamonds. Her brother¡¯s appearance is different too, absent his usual armor or fur. His rippling silhouette is still threatening enough, but Ptolemus looks more like his father now, in wless ck velvet with a sparkling silver chain. Volo leads his children, with someone I don¡¯t recognize at his side. But I can certainly guess who she is.


    In that instant, I understand a bit more of Evangeline. Her mother is a frightful sight. Not because she¡¯s ugly. On the contrary, the older woman is severely beautiful. She gave Evangeline her angr ck eyes and wless porcin skin, but not her slick, straight raven hair and dainty figure. This woman looks like I could snap her in two, manacles and all. Probably part of her facade. She wears her own house colors, ck and emerald green, alongside Samos silver to denote her allegiances.<i ss="calibre4">Viper.</i>Lady Blonos¡¯s voice sneers in my head. ck and green are the colors of House Viper. Evangeline¡¯s mother is an animos. As she gets closer, her shimmering dresses into better focus. And I realize why Evangeline is so insistent on wearing her ability. It¡¯s a family tradition.


    Her mother isn¡¯t wearing jewelry. She¡¯s wearing snakes.


    On her wrists, around her neck. Thin, ck, and moving slowly, their scales gleaming like spilled oil. Equal parts fear and disgust jolt through me. Suddenly I want to sprint to my room, lock the door, and put as much distance as I can between myself and the wriggling creatures. Instead, they get closer with her every footstep. And I thought Evangeline was bad.


    ¡°Lord Volo; his wife, Larentia of House Viper; their son, Ptolemus; and their daughter, Evangeline. Well-regarded and valuable members of my court,¡± Maven exins, gesturing to each in turn. He smiles openly, showing teeth.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry we were not able to properly meet you sooner.¡± Volo<span id="page_264" title="264">steps forward to take Iris¡¯s outstretched hand. With his silver beard freshly trimmed, it¡¯s easy to see the resemnce between him and his children. Strong bones, elegant lines, long noses, and lips permanently curled into a sneer. His skin looks paler against Iris¡¯s as he brushes a kiss to her bare knuckles. ¡°We were called away to attend matters in our ownnds.¡±


    Iris dips her brow. A picture of grace now. ¡°No apology is required, my lord.¡±


    Over their sped hands, Maven catches my eye. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement. If I could, I would ask him what he promised¡ªor what he threatened House Samos with. Two Calore kings have slipped through their fingers. So much scheming and plotting, for nothing. I know Evangeline didn¡¯t love Maven, or even like him, but she was raised to be a queen. Her purpose was stolen twice. She failed herself and, worse, failed her house. At least now she has someone other than me to me.


    Evangeline nces in my direction, hershes dark and long. They flutter for a moment as her eyes waver, ticking back and forth like the pendulum of an old clock. I take a small step away from Iris to put some distance between us. Now that the Samos daughter has a new rival to hate, I don¡¯t want to give her the wrong impression.


    ¡°And you were betrothed to the king?¡± Iris pulls her hand back from Volo and knits her fingers together. Evangeline¡¯s eyes move away from me to face the princess. For once, I see her on an even field with an equal opponent. Maybe I¡¯ll get lucky and Evangeline will misstep, threaten Iris the way she used to threaten me. I have a feeling Iris won¡¯t tolerate a word of it.


    ¡°For a time, yes,¡± Evangeline says. ¡°And his brother before him.¡±


    The princess is not surprised. I assume the Laknds are well<span id="page_265" title="265">informed of the Nortan royals. ¡°Well, I¡¯m d you¡¯ve returned to court. We will require a good amount of help in organizing our wedding.¡±


    I bite my lip so hard I almost draw blood. Better that thanughing out loud as Iris pours salt into so many Samos wounds. Across from me, Maven turns his head to hide a sneer.


    One of the snakes hisses, a low, droning sound impossible to mistake. But Larentia quickly curtsies, sweeping out the fabric of her shimmering gown.


    ¡°We are at your disposal, Your Highness,¡± she says. Her voice is deep, rich as syrup. As we watch, the thickest snake, around her neck, nuzzles up past her ear and into her hair.<i ss="calibre4">Revolting.</i>¡°It would be an honor to aid you however we can.¡± I half expect her to elbow Evangeline into agreeing. Instead, the Viper woman turns her attention on me, so quickly I don¡¯t have time to look away. ¡°Is there a reason the prisoner is staring at me?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± I respond, teeth clicking together.


    Larentia takes my eye contact as a challenge. Like an animal. She steps forward, closing the distance between us. We¡¯re the same height. The snake in her hair continues hissing, coiling and twisting down onto her corbone. Its jewel-bright eyes meet mine, and its forked ck tongue licks the air, darting out between long fangs. Even though I stand my ground, I can¡¯t help but swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. The snake keeps watching me.


    ¡°They say you are different,¡± Larentia mutters. ¡°But your fear smells the same as that of every vile Red rat I¡¯ve ever had the misfortune to know.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Red rat. Red rat.</i>


    I¡¯ve heard that so many times. Thought it about myself. From her<span id="page_266" title="266">lips, it cracks something in me. The control I¡¯ve worked so hard to maintain, that I must keep if I want to stay alive, threatens to unravel. I take a dragging breath, willing myself to keep still. Her snakes continue hissing, curling over one another in ck tangles of scale and spine. Some are long enough to reach me if she wills it so.


    Maven sighs low in his throat. ¡°Guards, I think it¡¯s time Miss Barrow was returned to her room.¡±


    I spin on my heel before the Arvens can jump to my side, retreating into the so-called safety of their presence.<i ss="calibre4">Something about the snakes,</i>I tell myself.<i ss="calibre4">I couldn¡¯t stand them. No wonder Evangeline is horrific, with a mother like that to raise her.</i>


    As I flee back to my rooms, I¡¯m seized by an unwee sensation. Relief. Gratitude. To Maven.


    I crush that vile burst of emotion with all the rage I have. Maven is a monster. I feel nothing but hatred toward him. I cannot allow anything else, even pity, to creep in.


    <i ss="calibre4">I MUST ESCAPE.</i>


    Two long months pass.


    Maven¡¯s wedding will be ten times the production that the Parting Ball, or even Queenstrial, was. Silver nobles flood back into the capital, bringing entourages with them from all corners of Norta. Even the ones the king exiled. Maven feels safe enough in his new alliance to allow even smiling enemies through his door. Though most have city houses of their own, many take up residence in Whitefire, until the pce itself seems ready to burst at the seams. I¡¯m kept to my room mostly. I don¡¯t mind. It¡¯s better this way. But even from my cell, I can feel the impending storm of a wedding. The tangible union of Norta and the Laknds.


    <span id="page_267" title="267">The courtyard below my window, empty all winter long, flourishes in a suddenly warm and green spring. Nobles walk through the magnolia trees at azy pace, some arm in arm. Always whispering, always scheming or gossiping. I wish I could read lips. I might learn something other than which houses seem to congregate together, their colors brighter in the sunlight. Maven would have to be a fool to think they aren¡¯t plotting against him or his bride. And he is many things, but not that.


    The old routine I used to pass my first month of istion¡ªwake, eat, sit, scream, repeat¡ªdoesn¡¯t serve anymore. I have more useful ways to pass the time. There are no pens and paper, and I don¡¯t bother to ask. No use leaving scraps. Instead, I stare at Julian¡¯s books, idly turning pages. Sometimes Itch on to jotted notes, annotations scrawled in Julian¡¯s handwriting.<i ss="calibre4">Interesting</i>;<i ss="calibre4">curious</i>;<i ss="calibre4">corroborate with volume IV</i>. Idle words with little meaning. I brush my fingers along the letters anyway, feeling dry ink and the press of a long-gone pen. Enough of Julian to keep me thinking, reading between lines on the page and words spoken aloud.


    He ruminates on one volume in particr, thinner than the histories but densely packed with text. Its spine is badly broken, the pages cluttered with Julian¡¯s writing. I can almost feel the warmth of his hands as they smoothed the tattered pages.


    <i ss="calibre4">On Origins</i>, the cover says in embossed ck lettering, followed by the names of a dozen Silver schrs who wrote the many essays and arguments within the small book. Most of it is tooplex for my understanding, but I sift through it anyway. If only for Julian.


    He marked one passage in particr, dog-earing the page and underlining a few sentences. Something about mutations, changes. The result of ancient weaponry we no longer possess and can no longer<span id="page_268" title="268">create. One of the schrs believes it made Silvers. Others disagree. A few mention gods instead, perhaps the ones that Iris follows.


    Julian makes his own position clear in notes at the bottom of the page.


    <i ss="calibre4">Strange that so many thought themselves gods, or a god¡¯s chosen,</i>he wrote.<i ss="calibre4">Blessed by something greater. Elevated to what we are. When all evidence points to the opposite. Our abilities came from corruption, from a scourge that killed most. We were not a god¡¯s chosen, but a god¡¯s cursed.</i>


    I blink at the words and wonder.<i ss="calibre4">If Silvers are cursed, then what are newbloods? Worse?</i>


    <i ss="calibre4">Or is Julian wrong? Are we chosen too? And for what?</i>


    Men and women much smarter than me have no answers, and neither do I. Not to mention, I have more pressing things to think about.


    I n while I eat breakfast, chewing slowly as I run through what I know. A royal wedding will be organized chaos. Extra security, more guards than I can count, but still a good enough chance. Servants everywhere, drunk nobles, a foreign princess to distract the people usually focused on me. I¡¯d be stupid not to try something. Cal would be stupid not to try something.


    I re at the pages in hand, at white paper and ck ink. Nanny tried to save me and Nanny ended up dead. A waste of life. And I selfishly want them to try again. Because if I stay here much longer, if I have to live the rest of my life a few steps behind Maven, with his haunting eyes and his missing pieces and his hatred for everyone in this world¡ª


    Hatred for everyone but¡ª


    ¡°Stop,¡± I hiss to myself, fighting the urge to let in the silk monster knocking at the walls of my mind. ¡°Stop it.¡±


    Memorization of theyout of Whitefire is a good distraction, the<span id="page_269" title="269">one I usually rely on. Two lefts from my door, through a gallery of statues, left again down a spiraling stair . . . I trace the way to the throne room, the entrance hall, the banquet hall, different studies and council chambers, Evangeline¡¯s quarters, Maven¡¯s old bedroom. Every step I¡¯ve taken here I memorize. The better I know the pce, the better chance I have of escaping when the opportunity arises. Certainly Maven will marry Iris in the Royal Court, if not in Caesar¡¯s Square itself. Nowhere else can hold so many guests and guards. I can¡¯t see the court from my window, and I¡¯ve never been inside, but I¡¯ll cross that bridge when Ie to it.


    Maven hasn¡¯t dragged me to his side since we returned.<i ss="calibre4">Good,</i>I tell myself. An empty room and days of silence are better than his cloying words. Still, I feel a tug of disappointment every night when I shut my eyes. I¡¯m lonely; I¡¯m afraid; I¡¯m selfish. I feel emptied out by the Silent Stone and the months I¡¯ve spent here, walking the edge of another razor. It would be so easy to let the broken pieces of me fall apart. It would be so easy to let him put me back together however he wishes. Maybe, in a few years, it won¡¯t even feel like a prison.


    <i ss="calibre4">No.</i>


    For the first time in a while, I smash my breakfast te against the wall, screaming as I do it. The water ss next. It explodes in crystal shards. Broken things make me feel a bit better.


    My door bursts open in half a second as the Arvens enter. Egg is the first to my side, holding me back in my chair. His grip is firm, preventing me from getting up. Now they know better than to let me anywhere near the wreckage as they clean.


    ¡°Maybe you should start giving me stic,¡± I scoff to no one. ¡°Seems like a better idea.¡±


    Egg wants to hit me. His fingers dig into my shoulders, probably<span id="page_270" title="270">leaving bruises. The Silent Stone makes the hurt bite bone-deep. My stomach twists as I realize I can barely remember what it¡¯s like not to be in constant, smothering pain and anguish.


    The other guards sweep away the debris, unflinching as ss drags over their gloved hands. Only when they disappear, their throbbing presence melting away, do I once again have the strength to stand. Annoyed, I m shut the book I wasn¡¯t reading.<i ss="calibre4">Genealogy of Nortan Nobility, Volume IX</i>, the cover says. Useless.


    With nothing better to do, I put it back on the shelf. The leather-bound book slides in neatly between its brothers, volumes VIII and X. Maybe I¡¯ll pull the other books down and rearrange them. Waste a few seconds of the endless hours.


    I end up on the floor instead, trying to stretch a bit farther than I did yesterday. My old agility is a faint memory, restricted by circumstance. I try anyway, inching my fingers toward my toes. The muscles in my legs burn, a better feeling than the ache. I chase the pain. It¡¯s one of the only things to remind me I¡¯m still alive in this shell.


    The minutes bleed into one another and time stretches with me. Outside, the light shifts as spring clouds chase each other across the sun.


    The knock on my door is soft, uncertain. No one has ever bothered to knock before, and my heart leaps. But the rush of adrenaline dies off. A rescuer would not knock.


    Evangeline pushes open the door, not waiting for an invitation.


    I don¡¯t move, rooted to the spot by a sudden rush of fear. I draw my legs up under myself. Ready to spring if I need to.


    She looks down her nose at me, her usual superior self in a long, glinting coat and tightly sewn leather leggings. For a moment she stands still, and we trade nces in the silence.


    <span id="page_271" title="271">¡°Are you so dangerous they can¡¯t even let you open a window?¡± She sniffs at the air. ¡°It stinks in here.¡±


    My tightened muscles rx a little. ¡°So you¡¯re bored,¡± I mutter. ¡°Go rattle someone else¡¯s cage.¡±


    ¡°Perhapster. But for now, you¡¯re going to be of use.¡±


    ¡°I really don¡¯t feel like being your dartboard.¡±


    She smacks her lips. ¡°Oh, not mine.¡±


    With one hand, she seizes me under the armpit and hoists me to my feet. As soon as her arm enters the sphere of my Silent Stone, her sleeve falls away, copsing to the floor in bits of gleaming metal dust. It quickly reattaches and falls again, moving in an even, strange rhythm as she marches me from my room.


    I don¡¯t struggle. There¡¯s no point in it. Eventually she loosens her bruising grip and lets me walk without the pinch of her hand.


    ¡°If you wanted to take the pet for a walk, all you had to do was ask,¡± I growl at her, massaging my newest bruise. ¡°Don¡¯t you have a new rival to hate? Or is it easier to pick on a prisoner rather than a princess?¡±


    ¡°Iris is far too calm for my liking,¡± she shoots back. ¡°You still have some bite, at least.¡±


    ¡°Good to know I amuse you.¡± The passage twists in front of us. Left, right, right. The blueprint of Whitefire sharpens in my mind¡¯s eye. We pass the phoenix tapestries in red and ck, edges studded with real gemstones. Then a gallery of statues and paintings dedicated to Caesar Calore, the first king of Norta. Beyond it, down a half flight of marble steps, is what I call the Battle Hall. A stretching passage illuminated by skylights, the walls on either side dominated by two monstrous paintings, inspired by the Laknder War, stretching from<span id="page_272" title="272">floor to ceiling. But she doesn¡¯t lead me past painted scenes of death and glory. We¡¯re not going down to the court levels of the pce. The halls be more ornate, but with fewer public disys of opulence as she leads me to the royal residences. An increasing number of gilded paintings of kings, politicians, and warriors watch me go, most of them with the characteristic Calore ck hair.


    ¡°Has King Maven let you keep your rooms, at least? Even though he took your crown?¡±


    Her lips twist. Into a smirk, not a scowl. ¡°See? You never disappoint. All bite, Mare Barrow.¡±


    I¡¯ve never been to these doors before. But I can guess where they lead. Too grand to be for anyone but a king. Whitecquered wood, silver and gold trim, iid with mother of pearl and ruby. Evangeline doesn¡¯t knock this time and throws the doors open, only to find an opulent antechamber lined by six Sentinels. They bristle at our presence, hands straying to weapons, eyes sharp behind their glittering masks.


    She doesn¡¯t balk. ¡°Tell the king Mare Barrow is here to see him.¡±


    ¡°The king is indisposed,¡± one answers. His voice trembles with power. A banshee. He could scream us both deaf if given the chance. ¡°Be gone, Lady Samos.¡±


    Evangeline shows no fear and runs a hand through her long silver braid. ¡°Tell him,¡± she says again. She doesn¡¯t have to drop her voice or snarl to be threatening. ¡°He¡¯ll want to know.¡±


    My heart pounds in my chest.<i ss="calibre4">What is she doing? Why?</i>Thest time she decided to parade me around Whitefire, I ended up at the mercy of Samson Merandus, my mind split open for him to sift through. She has an agenda. She has motives. If only I knew what they were, so I could do the opposite.


    One of the Sentinels breaks before she does. He is a broad man, his<span id="page_273" title="273">muscles evident even beneath the folds of his fiery robes. He inclines his face, the ck jewels of his mask catching the light. ¡°A moment, mydy.¡± I can¡¯t stand Maven¡¯s chambers. Just being here feels like stepping into quicksand. Plunging into the ocean, falling off a cliff.<i ss="calibre4">Send us away. Send us away.</i>


    The Sentinel returns quickly. When he waves off hisrades, my stomach drops. ¡°This way, Barrow.¡± He beckons to me.


    Evangeline gives me the slightest nudge, putting pressure on the base of my spine. Perfectly executed. I lurch forward.


    ¡°Just Barrow,¡± the Sentinel adds. He eyes the Arvens in session.


    They stay in ce, letting me go. So does Evangeline. Her eyes darken, cker than ever. I¡¯m seized by the strange urge to grab her and bring her with me. Facing Maven alone, here, is suddenly terrifying.


    The Sentinel, probably a Rhambos strongarm, doesn¡¯t have to touch me to herd me in the proper direction. We cross through a sitting room flooded with sunlight, oddly empty and barely decorated. No house colors, no paintings or sculptures, or even books. Cal¡¯s old room was cluttered, bursting with different types of armor, his precious manuals, even a game board. Pieces of him strewn everywhere. Maven is not his brother. He has no cause to perform, not here, and the room reflects the hollow boy he truly is inside.


    His bed is strangely small. Built for a child, even though the room was clearly arranged to hold something much, much bigger. The walls of his bedroom are white, unadorned. The windows are the only decoration, overlooking a corner of Caesar¡¯s Square, the Capital River, and the bridge I once helped destroy. It spans the water, connecting Whitefire to the eastern half of the city. Greenery bursts to life in every direction, peppered with blossoms.


    <span id="page_274" title="274">Slowly, the Sentinel clears his throat. I nce at him and shiver when I realize he¡¯s going to abandon me too. ¡°That way,¡± he says, pointing at another set of doors.


    It would be easier if someone dragged me. If the Sentinel put a gun to my head and made me walk through. ming my moving feet on another person would hurt less. Instead, it¡¯s only me. Boredom. Morbid curiosity. The constant ache of pain and loneliness. I live in a shrinking world where the only thing I can trust is Maven¡¯s obsession. Like the manacles, it is a shield and a slow, smothering death.


    The doors swing inward, gliding over white marble tile. Steam spirals on the air. Not from the fire king himself, but hot water. It boilszily around him, milky with soap and scented oils. Unlike his bed, the bath isrge, standing on wed silver feet. He rests an elbow on either side of the wless porcin, fingers trailingzily through the swirling water.


    Maven tracks me as I enter, his eyes electric and lethal. I¡¯ve never seen him so off guard and so angry. A smarter girl would turn and run. Instead, I shut the door behind me.


    There are no seats, so I remain standing. I¡¯m not sure where to look, so I focus on his face. His hair is mussed, soaking wet. Dark curls cling to his skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m busy,¡± he whispers.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to let me in.¡± I wish I could call back the words as soon as I speak them.


    ¡°Yes I did,¡± he says, meaning all things. Then he blinks, breaking his stare. He leans back, tipping his head against the porcin so he can stare up at the ceiling. ¡°What do you need?¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">A way out, forgiveness, a good night¡¯s sleep, my family.</i>The list stretches, endless.


    <span id="page_275" title="275">¡°Evangeline dragged me here. I don¡¯t want anything from you.¡±


    He makes a noise low in his throat. Almost augh. ¡°Evangeline. My Sentinels are cowards.¡±


    If Maven were my friend, I would warn him not to underestimate a daughter of House Samos. Instead, I hold my tongue. The steam sticks to my skin, feverish as hot flesh.


    ¡°She brought you here to convince me,¡± he says.


    ¡°Convince you to do what?¡±


    ¡°Marry Iris, don¡¯t marry Iris. She certainly didn¡¯t send you in here for a tea party.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Evangeline will keep scheming for a queen¡¯s crown up until the second Maven puts it on another girl¡¯s head. It¡¯s what she was made for. Just like Maven was made for other, more horrible things.


    ¡°She thinks what I feel for you can cloud my judgment. Foolish.¡±


    I flinch. The brand on my corbone sears beneath my shirt.


    ¡°Heard you started smashing things again,¡± he continues.


    ¡°You have bad taste in china.¡±


    He grins at the ceiling. A crooked smile. Like his brother¡¯s. For a second, Maven¡¯s face bes Cal¡¯s, their features shifting. With a jolt, I realize I¡¯ve been here longer than I even knew Cal. I know Maven¡¯s face better than his.


    He shifts, making the water ripple as he dangles an arm out of the bath. I wrench my eyes away, look down at the tile. I have three brothers, and a father who can¡¯t walk. I spent months sharing a glorified hole with a dozen stinking men and boys. I¡¯m not a stranger to the male form. Doesn¡¯t mean I want to see more of Maven than I must. Again I feel myself on the edge of quicksand.


    ¡°The wedding is tomorrow,¡± he finally says. His voice echoes off the marble.


    <span id="page_276" title="276">¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°How could I? I¡¯m not exactly kept informed.¡±


    Maven shrugs, raising his shoulders. Another shift of the water, showing more of his white skin. ¡°Yes, well, I didn¡¯t really think you were going to start breaking things over me, but . . .¡± He pauses and looks my way. My body prickles. ¡°It felt good to wonder.¡±


    If there were no consequences, I would scowl and scream and w his eyes out. Tell Maven that even though my time with his brother was fleeting, I still remember every heartbeat we shared. The feel of him pressed up against me as we slept, alone together, trading nightmares. His hand at my neck, flesh on flesh, making me look at him as we dropped from the sky. What he smells like. What he tastes like.<i ss="calibre4">I love your brother, Maven. You were right. You are only a shadow, and who looks at shadows when they have me? Who would ever choose a monster over a god?</i>I can¡¯t hurt Maven with lightning, but I can destroy him with words. Poke at his weak spots, open his wounds. Let him bleed and scab over into something worse than he ever was before.


    The words I manage to speak are quite different.


    ¡°Do you like Iris?¡± I ask instead.


    He scratches a hand along his scalp and huffs, childlike. ¡°As if that has anything to do with it.¡±


    ¡°Well, she is the first new rtionship you¡¯ll have since your mother died. It¡¯ll be interesting to see how that ys without her poison in you.¡± I drum my fingers at my side. The words sink in slowly, and he barely nods. Agreeing. I feel a surge of pity for him. I fight it tooth and nail. ¡°And you were betrothed two months ago. It seems fast, faster than your engagement to Evangeline at least.¡±


    ¡°That tends to happen when an entire army hangs in the bnce,¡±<span id="page_277" title="277">he says sharply. ¡°Laknders are not known for their patience.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°And House Samos is so amodating?¡±


    A corner of his mouth lifts in ghost of that crooked smile. He fiddles with one of his memaker bracelets, slowly spinning the silver circle around a fine-boned wrist. ¡°They have their uses.¡±


    ¡°I thought Evangeline would have turned you into a pincushion by now.¡±


    His smile spreads. ¡°If she kills me, she loses whatever chance she thinks she has, however fleeting. Not that her father would ever allow it. House Samos maintains a position of great power, even if she isn¡¯t queen. But what a queen she would have made.¡±


    ¡°I can only imagine.¡± The thought shudders through me. Crowns of needles and daggers and razors, her mother in jeweled snakes and her father holding Maven¡¯s puppet strings.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he admits. ¡°Not really. Even now, I only ever see her as Cal¡¯s queen.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to choose her after you framed him¡ª¡±


    ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t exactly choose the person I wanted, could I?¡± he snaps. Instead of heat, I feel the air around us turn cold. Enough to make goose bumps prickle across my skin as he res at me, his eyes a livid, burning blue. The steam on the air clears on the current of cooler air, removing the faint barrier between us.


    Shivering, I force myself to the closest window, putting my back to him. Outside, the magnolia trees shudder on a light breeze, their blossoms white and cream and rosy in the sunshine. Such simple beauty has no ce here without the corruption of blood or ambition or betrayal.


    ¡°You threw me into an arena to die,¡± I tell him slowly. As if either of us could forget. ¡°You keep me chained up in your pce, guarded night and day, You let me waste away, sick¡ª¡±


    <span id="page_278" title="278">¡°You think I enjoy seeing you like this?¡± he murmurs. ¡°You think I want to keep you a prisoner?¡± Something hitches in his breath. ¡°It¡¯s the only way you¡¯ll stay with me.¡± Water sloshes over his hands as he draws them back and forth.


    I focus on the sound instead of his voice. Even though I know what he¡¯s doing, even though I can feel his grip on me tightening, I can¡¯t stop it from pulling me under. It would be too easy to let myself drown. Part of me wants to.


    I keep my eyes on the window. For once, I¡¯m d for the all-too-familiar ache of Silent Stone. It is an undeniable reminder of what he is, and what his love means for me.


    ¡°You tried to murder everyone I care about. You killed children.¡± A baby, bloodstained, a note in its little fist. I remember it so vividly it could be a nightmare. I don¡¯t try to force the image away. I need to remember it. I need to remember what he is. ¡°Because of you, my brother is dead.¡±


    I spin to him, barking out a harsh, vengefulugh. Anger clears my head.


    He sits up sharply, his naked torso almost as white as the bathwater.


    ¡°And you killed my mother. You took my brother. You took my father. The second you fell into the world, the wheels were in motion. My mother looked into your head and saw opportunity. She saw a chance she had been looking for forever. If you hadn¡¯t¡ªif you had never¡ª¡± He stumbles, the wordsing faster than he can stop them. Then he grits his teeth, mping down on anything more damning. Another breath of silence. ¡°I don¡¯t want to know what would have been.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I snarl. ¡°I would¡¯ve ended up in a trench, obliterated or torn apart or barely surviving as the walking dead. I know what<span id="page_279" title="279">I would have be, because a million others live it. My father, my brothers, too many people.¡±


    ¡°Knowing what you know now . . . would you go back? Would you choose that life? Conscription, your muddy town, your family, that river boy?¡±


    So many are dead because of me, because of what I am. If I were just a Red, just Mare Barrow, they would be alive. Shade would be alive. My thoughts hinge on him. I would trade so many things to have him back. I¡¯d trade myself a thousand times. But then there are the newbloods found and saved. Rebellions aided. A war ended. Silvers tearing at one another. Reds uniting. I had a hand in all of it, however small. Mistakes were made. My mistakes. Too many to count. I am worlds away from perfect, or even good. The true question eats at my brain. What Maven is really asking.<i ss="calibre4">Would you give up your ability, would you trade your power, to go back?</i>I don¡¯t need time to figure out an answer.


    ¡°No,¡± I whisper. I don¡¯t remember moving so close to him, my hand closing on one side of the porcin bath. ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    The confession burns worse than me, eating at my insides. I hate him for what he makes me feel, what he makes me realize. I wonder if I can move fast enough to incapacitate him. Clench a fist, bust his jaw with the hard manacle. Can skin healers regrow teeth? No real point in trying. I wouldn¡¯t live to find out.


    He stares up at me. ¡°Those who know what it¡¯s like in the dark will do anything to stay in the light.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t act like we¡¯re the same.¡±


    ¡°The same? No.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°But perhaps . . . we¡¯re even.¡±


    ¡°Even?¡± Again I want to tear him apart. Use my nails, my teeth to rip his throat. The insinuation cuts. Almost as much as the fact that he might be right.


    <span id="page_280" title="280">¡°I used to ask Jon if he could see futures that no longer exist. He said the paths were always changing. An easy lie. It let him manipte me in a way even Samson couldn¡¯t. And when he led me to you, well, I didn¡¯t argue. How was I supposed to know what a poison you would be?¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯m a poison, then get rid of me. Stop torturing us both!¡±


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t do that, no matter how much I may want to.¡± Hisshes flicker and his eyes go far away. Somewhere even I can¡¯t reach him. ¡°You¡¯re like Thomas was. You are the only person I care about, the only person who reminds me I am alive. Not empty. And not alone.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Alive. Not empty. Not alone.</i>


    Each confession is an arrow, piercing every nerve ending until my body turns to cold fire. I hate that Maven can say such things. I hate that he feels what I feel, fears what I fear. I hate it; I hate it. And if I could change who am, how I think, I would. But I can¡¯t. If Iris¡¯s gods are real, they certainly know I¡¯ve tried.


    ¡°Jon would not tell me about the dead futures¡ªthe ones no longer possible. I think about them, though,¡± he mumbles. ¡°A Silver king, a Red queen. How would things have changed? How many would still be alive?¡±


    ¡°Not your father. Not Cal. And certainly not me.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s just a dream, Mare,¡± he snaps. Like a child corrected in the ssroom. ¡°Any window we had, however small, is gone.¡±


    ¡°Because of you.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Softer, an admission of his own. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Never breaking eye contact, Maven slips the memaker bracelet from his wrist. It¡¯s slow, deliberate, methodic. I hear it hit the floor and roll, silver metal ringing against the marble. The other quickly follows.<span id="page_281" title="281">Still watching, he leans back in the bath and tips his head. Exposing his neck. At my side, my hands twitch. It would be so easy. Wrap my brown fingers around his pale neck. Put all my weight into it. Pin him down. Cal is afraid of water. Is Maven? I could drown him. Kill him. Let the bathwater boil us both. He dares me to do it. Part of him might want me to do it. Or it could be one of the thousand traps I¡¯ve fallen for. Another trick of Maven Calore.


    He blinks and exhales, letting go of something deep inside himself. It breaks the spell and the moment shatters.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be one of Iris¡¯sdies tomorrow. Enjoy yourself.¡±


    One more arrow to the gut.


    I wish for another ss to smash against the wall. Ady-in-waiting for the wedding of the century. No chance of slipping away. I¡¯ll have to stand before the entire court. Guards everywhere. Eyes everywhere. I want to scream.


    <i ss="calibre4">Use the anger. Use the rage,</i>I try to tell myself. Instead, it just consumes me and turns to despair.


    Maven just gestureszily with an open hand. ¡°There¡¯s the door.¡±


    I try not to look back as I go, but I can¡¯t help myself. Maven stares at the ceiling, his eyes empty. And I hear Julian in my head, whispering the words he wrote.


    <i ss="calibre4">Not a god¡¯s chosen, but a god¡¯s cursed.</i>

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 18

    <i ss="calibre4">For once, I am</i>not the object of torture. If I had the opportunity, I would thank Iris for allowing me to sit to the side and be ignored. Evangeline takes my ce instead. She tries to look serene, unaffected by the scene around us. The rest of the bridal entourage keeps ncing at her, the girl they were supposed to serve. At any moment, I expect her to curl up like one of her mother¡¯s snakes and start hissing at every person who darese within a few feet of her gilded chair. After all, these chambers used to be hers.


    The salon is redecorated for its new upant and rightfully so. Bright blue wall hangings, fresh flowers in clear water, and several gentle fountains make it unmistakable. A princess of the Laknds reigns here.


    In the center of the room, Iris surrounds herself with servants, Red maids infinitely skilled in the art of beauty. She needs little help. Her cliff-high cheekbones and dark eyes are magnificent enough without paint. One maid intricately braids her ck hair into a crown, fastening it with sapphire and pearl pins. Another rubs sparkling blush to<span id="page_283" title="283">sculpt an already beautiful bone structure into something ethereal and otherworldly. Her lips are a deep purple, expertly drawn. The dress itself, white fading to bright, shimmering blue at the hem, sets off her dark skin with a glow like the sky moments after a sunset. Even though appearance is thest thing I should be worried about, I feel like a discarded doll next to her. I¡¯m in red again, simple inparison to my usual jewels and brocade. If I were a bit healthier, I might look beautiful too. Not that I mind. I¡¯m not supposed to shine, I don¡¯t want to shine¡ªand next to her, I certainly won¡¯t.


    Evangeline couldn¡¯t contrast Iris more if she tried¡ªand she certainly tried. While Iris eagerly ys the part of a young, blushing bride, Evangeline has willingly epted the role of the girl scorned and cast aside. Her dress is metal so iridescent it could be made of pearl, with razored white feathers and silver iy throughout. Her own maids flutter about, putting the finishing touches on her appearance. She stares at Iris through it all, ck eyes never wavering. Only when her mother moves to her side does she break focus, and then only to inch away from the emerald-green butterflies decorating Larentia¡¯s skirts. Their wings flutter idly, as if in a breeze. A gentle reminder that they are living things, attached to the Viper woman by ability alone. I hope she doesn¡¯t intend to sit.


    I¡¯ve seen weddings before, back home in the Stilts. Crude gatherings. A few binding words and a hasty party. Families scrounge to provide enough food for the invited guests, while those who wander through get nothing more than a good show. Kilorn and I used to try to pinch leftovers, if there were any. Fill our pockets with bread rolls and slink off to enjoy the spoils. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be doing that today.


    The only thing I¡¯ll be holding on to is Iris¡¯s long train and my own sanity.


    <span id="page_284" title="284">¡°Pity more of your family could not be here to attend, Your Highness.¡±


    An older woman, her hair entirely gray, distances herself from the many Silverdies awaiting Iris. She crosses her arms over an immacte ck dress uniform. Unlike most officers, her badges are few, but still impressive. I¡¯ve never seen her before, though there¡¯s something familiar about her face. But from this angle, with her features in profile, I can¡¯t ce it.


    Iris inclines her head to the woman. Behind her, two maids fasten a shimmering veil in ce. ¡°My mother is ruling queen of the Laknds. She must always sit the throne. And my older sister, her heir, is loath to leave our kingdom.¡±


    ¡°Understandable, in such tumultuous times.¡± The older woman bows back, but not as deeply as one would expect. ¡°My congrattions, Princess Iris.¡±


    ¡°My thanks, Your Majesty. I¡¯m d you were able to join us.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Majesty?</i>


    The older woman turns fully, putting her back to Iris as the maids finish their work. Her eyes fall on me, narrowing in the slightest. With one hand she beckons. A giant ck gem shes on her ring finger. On either side, Kitten and Clover bump me forward, pushing me at the woman who somehowmands a title.


    ¡°Miss Barrow,¡± she says. The woman is sturdy, with a thick waist, and she has a few good inches on me. I nce at her uniform, looking for house colors to distinguish who she might be.


    ¡°Your Majesty?¡± I reply, using the title. It sounds like a question, and truly, it is.


    She offers an amused smile. ¡°I wish I had met you before. When you were masquerading as Mareena Titanos and not reduced to this¡±¡ªshe<span id="page_285" title="285">touches my cheek lightly, making me flinch¡ª¡°this person wasting away. Maybe then I could understand why my grandson threw his kingdom away for you.¡±


    Her eyes are bronze. Red-gold. I would know her eyes anywhere.


    Despite the wedding party milling around us, the clouds of silk and perfume, I feel myself slide back into that horrible moment when a king lost his head and a son lost his father. And this woman lost them both.


    Out of the depths of memory, my moments wasted reading histories, I remember her name. Anabel, of House Lern. Queen Anabel. Mother to Tiberias the Sixth. Cal¡¯s grandmother. Now I see her crown, rose gold and ck diamonds nestled into her neatly tied hair. A little thingpared to what royals usually prance around in.


    She pulls her hand away. All the better. Anabel is an oblivion. I don¡¯t want her fingers anywhere near me. They could destroy me with a touch.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your son.¡± King Tiberias was not a kind man, not to me, not to Maven, not to more than half his country living and dying as ves. But he loved Cal¡¯s mother. He loved his children. He was not evil. Just weak.


    Her gaze never breaks. ¡°Odd, since you helped kill him.¡±


    There is no usation in her voice. No anger. No rage.


    She is lying.


    The Royal Court is devoid of color. Just white walls and ck columns, marble and granite and crystal. It devours a rainbow crowd. Nobles flood through its doors, their gowns and suits and uniforms dyed in every glittering shade. Thest of them hurry, scrambling to get inside before the royal bride and her own parade begin their march across Caesar¡¯s Square. Hundreds more Silvers crowd across the tiled expanse,<span id="page_286" title="286">toomon to merit an invitation to the wedding itself. They wait in droves, on either side of a cleared pathway lined by an even distribution of Nortan and Laknder guards. Cameras watch too, elevated on tforms. And the kingdom watches with them.


    From my vantage point, sandwiched in the Whitefire entrance, I can just see over Iris¡¯s shoulder.


    She keeps quiet, not a hair out of ce. Serene as still water. I don¡¯t know how she can stand it. Her royal father has her arm, his cobalt-blue robes electric against the white sleeve of her wedding gown. Today his crown is silver and sapphire, matching hers. They do not speak to each other, focused on the path ahead.


    Her train feels like liquid in my hands. Silk so fine it might slip through my fingers. I keep a good grip, if only to avoid drawing more attention than I need to. For once, I¡¯m d to have Evangeline at my side. She holds the other corner of Iris¡¯s train. Judging by the whispers of the otherdies-in-waiting, the sight is a near scandal. They focus on her instead of me. No one bothers to bait the lightning girl without her sparks. Evangeline takes it all in stride, jaw set and shut. She hasn¡¯t spoken to me at all. Another small blessing.


    Somewhere, a horn blows. And the crowd responds, turning toward the pce in unison, a sea of eyes. I feel each look as we step forward, onto thending, down the stairs, into the jaws of a Silver spectacle. Thest time I saw a crowd here, I was kneeling and cored, bloody and bruised and heartbroken. I am still all those things. My fingers tremble. Guards press in, while Kitten and Clover stick behind me in simple but suitable gowns. The crowd pushes closer, and Evangeline is so near she could knife me between the ribs without blinking. My lungs feel tight; my chest constricts and my throat seems to close. I swallow hard and force out a long breath.<i ss="calibre4">Calm down.</i>I focus on the<span id="page_287" title="287">dress in my hands, the inches in front of me.


    I think I feel a drop of water hit my cheek. I pray it¡¯s rain and not nervous tears.


    ¡°Pull yourself together, Barrow,¡± a voice hisses. It could be Evangeline¡¯s. As with Maven, I feel a sick burst of gratitude for the meager support. I try to push it away. I try to reason with myself. But like a dog starved, I¡¯ll take whatever scraps I¡¯m given. Whatever passes for kindness in this lonely cage.


    My vision spirals. If not for my feet, my dear, quick, sure feet, I might stumble. Each stepes harder than thest. Panic spikes up my spine. I drown myself in the white of Iris¡¯s dress. I even count heartbeats. Anything to keep moving. I don¡¯t know why, but this wedding feels like the closing of a thousand doors. Maven has doubled his strength and tightened his grip. I¡¯ll never escape him. Not after this.


    The stone beneath me changes. Smooth, square tiles be steps. I bump on the first but right myself, holding up the train. Doing the only thing I¡¯m still able to do. Stand to the side, kneel, shrivel away, turn bitter and hungry in the shadows. Is this the rest of my life?


    Before I enter the maw of the Royal Court too, I nce up. Past the sculptures of fire and stars and swords and ancient kings, past the crystal reaches of the glittering dome. To the sky. Clouds gather in the distance. A few have already reached the square, moving steadily in the wind. They dissipate slowly, unraveling into wisps of nothing. Rain wants to gather, but something, probably Silver storms, controlling the weather won¡¯t let it. Nothing will be allowed to ruin this day.


    And then the sky disappears, reced by a vaulted ceiling. Smooth limestone arches overhead, banded with silver spirals of forged me. Red-and-ck banners of Norta and blue banners of the Laknds decorate either side of the antechamber, as if anyone could forget the<span id="page_288" title="288">kingdoms whose union we¡¯re about to witness. The murmurs of a thousand onlookers sound like humming bees, increasing with every step forward I take. Ahead, the passage widens into the central chamber of the Royal Court, a magnificent circr hall beneath the crystal dome. The sun climbs across the clear panes, illuminating the spectacle below. Every seat is full, ringed out from the middle of the chamber in a halo of shing color. The crowd waits, breathless. I can¡¯t see Maven yet, but I can guess where he will be.


    Anyone else would hesitate, even a little. Iris does not. She never breaks pace as we cross into the light. A thousand bodies standing up is almost deafening, and the noise echoes around the chamber. Rustling clothes, shifting movement, whispers. I stay focused on my breathing. My heart races anyway. I want to look up, note the entrances, the branching passages, the pieces of this ce I can use. But I can barely walk, let alone n another ill-fated escape.


    It feels like years pass before we reach the center. Maven waits, his cape just as opulent as Iris¡¯s train and nearly as long. He cuts an impressive figure in shing red and white instead of ck. The crown is newly made, wrought of silver and rubies worked into me. It gleams when he moves, turning his head to face his approaching bride and her entourage. His eyes find me first. I know him well enough to recognize regret. It flickers, alive for a moment, dancing like the wick of a lit candle. And, just as easily, it disappears, trailing a memory like smoke. I hate him, especially because I can¡¯t fight the now-familiar surge of pity for the shadow of the me. Monsters are made. So was Maven. Who knows who he was supposed to be?


    The ceremony takes the better part of an hour, and I have to stand through all of it alongside Evangeline and the rest of the bridal parade. Maven and Iris trade words back and forth, oaths and pledges urged<span id="page_289" title="289">on by a Nortan judge. A woman in in indigo robes speaks as well. From the Laknds, I assume¡ªmaybe an envoy of their gods? I hardly listen. All I can think about is an army in red and blue, marching across the world. Clouds continue to roll in, each one darker than thest as they pass the dome overhead. And each one disintegrates. The storm wants to break, but it just can¡¯t seem to.


    I know the feeling.


    ¡°From this day until myst day, I pledge myself to you, Iris of House Cy, princess of the Laknds.¡±


    In front of me, Maven holds out his hand. Fire licks at the tips of his fingers, gentle and weak as candle me. I could blow it out if I tried.


    ¡°From this day until myst day, I pledge myself to you, Maven of House Calore, king of Norta.¡±


    Iris mirrors his action, putting out her own hand. Her white sleeve, edged in bright blue, falls back gracefully, exposing more of her smooth arm as it leaches moisture from the air. A sphere of clear, trembling water fills her palm. When she joins hands with Maven, one ability destroys the other without even the hiss of steam or smoke. A peaceful union is made, and sealed with a brush of their lips.


    He doesn¡¯t kiss her the way he kissed me. Any fire he might have is far away.


    I wish I were too.


    The apuse shudders in me, loud as a thunderp. Most people cheer. I don¡¯t me them. This is thest nail in the coffin of the Laknder War. Even though Reds died in the thousands, the millions, Silvers died too. I won¡¯t begrudge them their celebrations of peace.


    Another rumble sounds as many seats around the Royal Court shift, pushing back along stone. I flinch, wondering if we¡¯re about to be crushed in a tide of well-wishers. Instead, Sentinels press in. I clutch<span id="page_290" title="290">at Iris¡¯s train like a lifeline, letting her swift motions pull me through the heaving crowd and back out into Caesar¡¯s Square.


    Of course, the crush of noise only increases tenfold. gs wave, cheers erupt, and sprinkles of paper drift down on us. I dip my head, trying to block it out. Instead, my ears start to ring. The sound doesn¡¯t go away, no matter how much I shake my head. One of the Arvens takes my elbow, her fingers digging into flesh as more and more people press in around us. The Sentinels shout something, instructing the crowd to stay back. Maven turns to look over his shoulder, his face flushed gray in excitement or nerves or both. The ringing intensifies, and I have to let go of Iris¡¯s train to cover my ears. It does nothing except slow me down, pulling me out of her circle of safety. She carries on, arm in arm with her new husband, with Evangeline trailing them both. The tide separates us.


    Maven sees me stop and raises an eyebrow, his lips parting to ask a question. His steps slow.


    Then the sky turns ck.


    Storm clouds bloom, dark and heavy, arcing over us like an inferno¡¯s smoke. Lightning streaks across the clouds, bolts tinged white and blue and green. Each one jagged, vicious, destructive. Unnatural.


    My heartbeat roars loud enough to drown out the crowd. But not the thunder.


    The sound rattles in my chest, so close and so explosive it shakes the air. I taste it on my tongue.


    I don¡¯t get to see the next thunderbolt before Kitten and Clover throw me to the ground, our dresses be damned. They pin my shoulders, digging into aching muscles with their hands and their ability. Silence floods my body, fast and strong enough to push the air from my lungs. I gasp, struggling to breathe. My fingers scrabble over the<span id="page_291" title="291">tiled ground, feeling for something to grab. If I could breathe, I wouldugh. This is not the first time someone has held me down in Caesar¡¯s Square.


    Another p of thunder, another sh of blue light. The resulting push of Arven silence almost makes me vomit up my guts.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill her, Janny. Don¡¯t!¡± Clover growls.<i ss="calibre4">Janny.</i>Kitten¡¯s real name. ¡°It¡¯ll be our heads if she dies.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not me,¡± I try to choke out. ¡°It¡¯s not me.¡±


    If Kitten and Clover can hear, they don¡¯t show it. Their pressure never lessens, a new constant of pain.


    Unable to scream, I force my head up, looking for someone to help me. Looking for Maven. He¡¯ll stop this. I hate myself for thinking it.


    Legs cross my vision, ck uniforms, civilian colors, and distant, fleeing red-orange robes. The Sentinels keep moving, tight in their formation. Like at the banquet that ended in a near assassination, they spring into well-practiced action, focused on their one and only purpose: defend the king. They change direction quickly, herding Maven not toward the pce, but to the Treasury. To his train. To his escape.


    Escape from what?


    The freak storm isn¡¯t mine. The lightning isn¡¯t mine.


    ¡°Follow the king,¡± Kitten¡ªJanny¡ªsnarls. She hoists me onto wobbly legs, and I almost fall again. The Arvens don¡¯t let me. Neither does the sudden wall of uniformed officers. They surround me in diamond formation, perfect for cutting through the surging crowd. The Arvens lessen their pulsing ability, if only to allow me to walk.


    We push on as one while the lightning overhead intensifies. No rain yet. And it¡¯s not nearly hot enough or arid enough for dry lightning. Strange. If only I could feel it. Use it. Draw the jagged lines out of the sky and obliterate every single person around me.


    <span id="page_292" title="292">The crowd is perplexed. Most look up; a few point. Some try to back away but find themselves hemmed in by one another. I nce between the faces, looking for an exnation. I see only confusion and fear. If the crowd panics, I wonder if even the Security officers can stop them from trampling us.


    Up ahead, Maven¡¯s Sentinels widen the gap between us. A few have taken to tossing people. A strongarm bodily shoves a man back several yards, while a telky sweeps away three or four with a wave of her hand. The crowd gives them a wide berth after that, clearing the space around the fleeing king and new queen. Through the tumult, I catch his eyes as he looks back to search for me. They are wide and wild now, vividly blue even from so far away. His lips move, shouting something I can¡¯t hear over the thunder and the rising panic.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± Clover barks, pushing me onward toward the gap.


    Our guards be aggressive, their abilities presenting. A swift lunges back and forth, pressing people back from our path. He blurs between bodies, a whirlwind. And then he stops cold.


    The gunshot catches the swift between the eyes. Too close to dodge, too fast to escape. His head snaps back in an arc of blood and brain.


    I don¡¯t know the woman holding the gun. She has blue hair, jagged blue tattoos¡ªand a bloody crimson scarf wrapped around her wrist. The crowd shudders around her, shocked for an instant, before springing into full-blown chaos.


    With one hand still aiming her pistol, the blue-haired woman raises the other.


    Lightning rips out of the sky.


    It crashes toward the circle of Sentinels. She has deadly aim.


    I tense, expecting an explosion. Instead, the blue-tinged lightning hits a sudden arc of shimmering water, running across the liquid but<span id="page_293" title="293">not through. It veins and shes, almost blinding, but disappears in an instant, leaving only the watery shield. Beneath it, Maven, Evangeline, and even the Sentinels crouch, hands over their heads. Only Iris is left standing.


    The water pools around her, curling and twisting like one of Larentia¡¯s snakes. It grows with every second, leaching so quickly I taste the air drying on my tongue. Iris wastes no time, tearing off her veil. Dimly, I hope it doesn¡¯t rain. I don¡¯t want to know what Iris can do with rain.


    Laknder guards fight through the crowd, their dark blue forms trying to break through the fleeing crowd. Security officers meet the same obstacle and get caught up, tangled in the mess. Silvers dart in every direction. Some toward themotion, others away from danger. I¡¯m torn between wanting to run with them and wanting to run toward the blue-haired woman. My brain buzzes as adrenaline courses through me, fighting tooth and nail against the silence smothering my being.<i ss="calibre4">Lightning. She wields lightning. She¡¯s a newblood. Like me.</i>The thought almost makes me cry with happiness. If she doesn¡¯t get out of here fast, she¡¯ll end up a corpse.


    ¡°Run!¡± I try to scream. Ites out a whisper.


    ¡°Get the king to safety!¡± Evangeline¡¯s voice carries as she jumps to her feet. Her gown quickly shifts into armor, scaling across her skin in pearly tes. ¡°Evacuate!¡±


    A few of the Sentinelsply, pulling Maven into their protective formation. His hand sparks with weak me. It sputters, matching his fear. The rest of his detail draw guns of their own or explode into their abilities. A banshee Sentinel opens his mouth to scream but drops to a knee, gasping. He tears at his throat. He can¡¯t breathe. But why, who? Hisrades drag him back as he continues to choke.


    <span id="page_294" title="294">Another lightning bolt streaks overhead, this one too bright to look at. When I open my eyes again, the blue-haired woman is gone, lost in the crowd. Somewhere, gunfire peppers the air.


    Gasping, I realize not everyone in the crowd is running away. Not all of them are afraid, or even confused by the outburst of violence. They move differently, with purpose, motive, a mission. ck pistols gleam, shing as they dig into a guard¡¯s back or stomach. Knives glint in the growing dark. The screams of fear be screams of pain. Bodies fall, slumping against the tile of the square.


    I remember the riots in Summerton. Reds hunted down and tortured. A mob turning on the weakest among them. It was disorganized, chaotic, without any order. This is the opposite. What looks like wild panic is the careful work of a few dozen assassins in a crowd of hundreds. With a grin, I realize they all have something inmon. As the hysteria grows, each one dons a red scarf.


    The Scarlet Guard is here.


    Cal, Kilorn, Farley, Cameron, Bree, Tramy, the Colonel.


    They¡¯re here.


    With everything I have, I butt my head back and crack my skull against Clover¡¯s nose. She howls, and silver blood spurts down her face. In an instant her grip on me breaks, leaving only Kitten. I drive an elbow into her gut, hoping to throw her off. She lets go of my shoulder, only to wrap her arm around my neck and squeeze.


    I twist, trying to get enough room to bend my neck and bite. No chance. She increases the pressure, threatening to crush my windpipe. My vision spots, and I feel myself being pulled backward. Away from the Treasury, Maven, his Sentinels. Through the lethal crowd. I trip backward as we reach the steps. I kick weakly, trying to catch on to anything. The Security officers dodge my poor efforts. Some drop to<span id="page_295" title="295">their knees, guns raised, covering the retreat. Clover looms over me, the bottom half of her face painted with mirrored blood.


    ¡°Double back through Whitefire. We have to keep orders,¡± she hisses at Kitten.


    I try to shout for help, but I can¡¯t summon air enough to make noise. And it wouldn¡¯t be any use. Something louder than thunder screams across the sky. Two somethings. Three. Six. Metal birds with razor wings. Snapdragons? The ckrun? But these airjets look different from the ones I know. Sleeker, faster. Maven¡¯s new fleet, probably. In the distance, an explosion blooms with petals of red fire and ck smoke. Are they bombing the square, or bombing the Scarlet Guard?


    As the Arvens drag me into the pce, another Silver almost collides with us. I reach out. Maybe this person will help.


    Samson Merandus sneers down, wrenching one arm out of my grip. I pull back like his touch burns. Just the sight of him is enough to bring on a splitting headache. He wasn¡¯t allowed to attend the wedding, but he¡¯s still dressed for it, immacte in a navy suit with his ash-blond hair slicked to his skull.


    ¡°Lose her and I¡¯ll turn you all inside out!¡± he snarls over his shoulder.


    The Arvens look more frightened of him than of anyone else. They nod vigorously, as do the three remaining officers. All of them know what a Merandus whisper can do. If I needed any more incentive to escape, knowing that Samson will obliterate their minds is certainly it.


    In myst glimpse of the square, ck shadows loom out of the clouds,ing closer and closer. More airships. But these are heavy, swollen, not built for speed or evenbat. Maybe they¡¯reing in tond. I never see them touch down.


    I fight as much as I can, which is to say I mumble and squirm under<span id="page_296" title="296">the weight of silence. It slows my guards down, but only a little. Every inch feels hard won but futile. We keep moving. The halls of Whitefire spiral out around us. With my memorization, I know exactly where we are headed. Toward the east wing, the closest part of the pce to the Treasury. There must be passages to it, another way to Maven¡¯s forsaken train. Any hope of escape will disappear the second they get me underground.


    Three gunshots ring out, echoing so close I feel them in my chest. Whatever¡¯s happening in the square is slowly bleeding into the pce. In the window, red me bursts into the air. From an explosion or a person, I don¡¯t know. I can only hope.<i ss="calibre4">Cal. I¡¯m in here. Cal.</i>I picture him just outside, an inferno of rage and destruction. Gun in one hand, fire in the other, bringing down all his pain and fury. If he can¡¯t save me, I hope he can at least rip apart the monster that used to be his brother.


    ¡°The rebels are storming Whitefire!¡±


    I jolt at the sound of Evangeline Samos. Her boots ring hard against the marble floor, each step the blow of an angry hammer. Silver blood stains the left side of her face, and her borate hair is a mess, tangled and windblown. She smells like smoke.


    Her brother is nowhere to be found, but she isn¡¯t alone. Wren, the Skonos skin healer who spent so many days trying to make me look alive, trails her closely. Probably dragged along to make sure Evangeline doesn¡¯t have to suffer scratches for more than an instant.


    Like Cal and Maven, Evangeline is no stranger to military training or protocol. She stays on her toes, ready to react. ¡°The lower library and old gallery are overrun. We have to take her this way.¡± She points her chin to a branching hall perpendicr to ours. Outside, lightning shes. It reflects against her armor. ¡°You three¡±¡ªshe snaps her<span id="page_297" title="297">fingers at three of the guards¡ª¡°defend our backs.¡±


    My heart sinks in my chest. Evangeline will personally make sure I get on that train.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill you one day,¡± I curse at her around Kitten¡¯s grip.


    She lets the threat nce off, too busy barking orders. The guards obey eagerly, dropping back to cover our retreat. They¡¯re happy to have someone take charge in this infernal mess.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening out there?¡± Clover growls as we hurry along. Fear corrupts her voice. ¡°You, reset my nose,¡± she adds, grabbing Wren by the arm. The Skonos skin healer works on the fly, popping Clover¡¯s broken nose back into ce with an audible crack.


    Evangeline looks over her shoulder, not at Clover but at the passage behind us. It darkens as the storm outside turns day to night. Fear crosses her face. An unfamiliar thing to see in her. ¡°There were nts in the crowd, disguised as Silver nobles. Newbloods, we think. Strong enough to hold their own until . . .¡± She checks around a corner before waving us on. ¡°The Scarlet Guard took over Corvium, but I didn¡¯t think they had this many people. True soldiers, trained, well armed. Dropped right out of the sky like damn insects.¡±


    ¡°How did they get in? We¡¯re under full security protocols for the wedding. Over a thousand Silver troops, plus Maven¡¯s newblood pets¡ª¡± Kitten blusters. She cuts herself off as two figures in white pop out of a doorway. The weight of their silence ms into me, making my knees buckle. ¡°Caz, Brecker, with us!¡±


    I think Egg and Trio are better names. They skid across the marble floor, sprinting to join my moving prison. If I had the energy, I would weep. Four Arvens and Evangeline. Any whisper of hope disappears. It won¡¯t even help to beg.


    <span id="page_298" title="298">¡°They can¡¯t win. It¡¯s a lost cause,¡± Clover presses on.


    ¡°They¡¯re not here to win the capital. They¡¯re here for her,¡± Evangeline snaps.


    Egg shoves me onward. ¡°Waste of effort for this sack of bones.¡±


    We round another corner, to the long, stretching Battle Hall. Compared to the turmoil in the square, it seems serene, its painted scenes of war far away from the chaos. They tower, dwarfing all of us in their old grandeur. If not for the distant sound of screaming airjets and concussive thunder, I could trick myself into believing all that was a dream.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Evangeline says. Her steps falter so slightly the others don¡¯t notice. But I do. ¡°What a waste of effort.¡±


    She twists with smooth, feline grace, both hands darting out. I see it all as if time itself has slowed. The tes of her armor fly from both wrists, quick and deadly as bullets. Their edges gleam, sharpening to razors. They hiss through air. And flesh.


    The sudden drop of silence feels like the lifting of immense weight. Clover¡¯s arm falls from my neck, her grip ck. She falls too.


    Four heads tumble to the floor, leaking blood. The bodies follow, all in white, hands gloved in stic. Their eyes are open. They never had a chance. Blood¡ªthe smell, the sight¡ªassaults my senses, and I taste bile rising in my throat. The only thing that keeps me from retching is the jagged spike of fear and realization.


    Evangeline isn¡¯t going to take me to the train. She¡¯s going to kill me. She¡¯s going to end this.


    She looks shockingly calm for having just murdered four of her own. The tes of metal return to her arms, sliding back into ce. Wren the skin healer doesn¡¯t move, her eyes on the ceiling. She won¡¯t watch what¡¯s going to happen next.


    It will be no use to run. I might as well face it.


    <span id="page_299" title="299">¡°Get in my way and I¡¯ll kill you slowly,¡± she whispers, stepping over a corpse to grab me by the neck. Her breath washes over me. Warm, tinged with mint. ¡°Little lightning girl.¡±


    ¡°Then get it over with,¡± I force through my teeth.


    At this range, I realize her eyes are not ck but charcoal gray. Storm-cloud eyes. They narrow as she tries to decide how to kill me. It will have to be by hand. My manacles won¡¯t let her abilities touch my skin. But a single knife will do the trick just fine. I hope it¡¯s quick, though I doubt she has enough mercy for such a thing.


    ¡°Wren, if you please,¡± Evangeline says, putting out her hand.


    Instead of a dagger, the skin healer pulls a key from a pocket on Trio¡¯s now headless corpse. She presses it into Evangeline¡¯s palm.


    I go numb.


    ¡°You know what this is.¡± How could I not? I have dreamed of that key. ¡°I¡¯m going to make you a bargain.¡±


    ¡°Make it,¡± I whisper, my eyes never wavering from the spiky bit of ck iron. ¡°I¡¯ll give you anything.¡±


    Evangeline grabs my jaw, forcing me to look at her. I¡¯ve never seen her so desperate, not even in the arena. Her eyes waver and her lower lip trembles. ¡°You lost your brother. Don¡¯t take mine.¡±


    Rage res in my stomach. Anything but that. Because I¡¯ve dreamed of Ptolemus too. Slitting his throat, cutting him apart, electrocuting him. He killed Shade. A life for a life. A brother for a brother.


    Her fingers dig into my skin, nails threatening to pierce flesh. ¡°You lie and I¡¯ll kill you where you stand. Then I¡¯ll kill the rest of your family.¡± Somewhere in the twisting halls of the pce, the echoes of battle rise. ¡°Mare Barrow, make your choice. Let Ptolemus live.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll live,¡± I croak out.


    ¡°Swear it.¡±


    <span id="page_300" title="300">¡°I swear it.¡±


    Tears gather as she moves, quickly sliding off one manacle after the other. Evangeline tosses each one as far as she can. By the time she finishes, I¡¯m a weeping mess.


    Without the manacles, the Silent Stone, the world feels empty. Weightless. I¡¯m afraid I might float away. Still, the weakness is almost debilitating, worse than myst escape attempt. Six months of it will not disappear in an instant. I try to reach with my ability, try to feel the lightbulbs above my head. I can barely sense the buzz of them. I doubt I could even shut them off, something I used to take for granted.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I whisper. Words I never thought I would say to her. They unsettle us both.


    ¡°You want to thank me, Barrow?¡± she mutters, kicking away thest of my bindings. ¡°Then keep your word. And let this fucking ce burn.¡±


    Before I can tell her I¡¯ll be of no use, that I¡¯ll need days, weeks, months to recover, Wren puts her hands to my neck. I realize now why Evangeline dragged a skin healer along. Not for herself. For me.


    Warmth bleeds down my spine, into my veins and bones and marrow. It pounds through me sopletely I almost expect the healing to hurt. I drop to a knee, overtaken. The aches vanish. The trembling fingers, weak legs, sluggish pulse¡ªeveryst ghost of Silent Stone flees before the touch of a healer. My head will never forget what happened to me, but my body quickly does.


    The electricity rushes back, thundering from the deepest part of me. Every nerve shrieks to life. All down the hallway, the lightbulbs shatter on their chandeliers. The hidden cameras explode into sparks and spitting wires. Wren jumps back, yelping.


    I look down to see purple and white. Naked electricity jumps<span id="page_301" title="301">between my fingers, hissing in the air. The push and pull is achingly familiar. My ability, my strength, my power has returned.


    Evangeline takes a measured step back. Her eyes reflect my sparks. They glow.


    ¡°Keep your promise, lightning girl.¡±


    Darkness walks with me.


    Every light sizzles and blinks out as I pass. ss shatters, electricity spits. The air buzzes like a live wire. It caresses my open palms, and I shiver at the feel of such power. I thought I had forgotten what this was like. But that¡¯s impossible. I can forget almost everything else in this world, but not my lightning. Not who and what I am.


    The manacles made it exhausting to walk. Without them weighing me down, I fly. Toward the smoke, the danger, to what could finally be my salvation or my ending. I don¡¯t care which, so long as I¡¯m not stuck in this hellish prison one second longer. My dress flutters in ruby tatters, ripped enough to let me run as fast as I can. The sleeves smolder, burning with every new burst of sparks. I don¡¯t hold myself back now. The lightning goes where it wants. It explodes through me with every heartbeat. The purple-white bolts and sparks dance along my fingers, zing in and out of my palms. I shudder in pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful. I keep looking at the electricity, enamored with every vein.<i ss="calibre4">It¡¯s been so long. It¡¯s been so long.</i>


    This must be what hunters feel like. Every corner I turn, I hope to find some kind of prey. I run the shortest route I know, tearing through the council chamber, its empty seats haunting me as I sprint over the Nortan seal. If I had time, I would obliterate the symbol beneath my feet. Tear up every inch of the Burning Crown. But I have a real crown to kill. Because that¡¯s what I¡¯m going to do. If Maven is still here, if the<span id="page_302" title="302">wretched boy hasn¡¯t gotten away. I¡¯m going to watch hisst breath and know he can never hold my leash again.


    The Security officers retreat in my direction, their backs to me. Still doing as Evangelinemanded. All three have their long guns tucked into the crooks of their shoulders, fingers on triggers as they cover the passageway. I don¡¯t know their names, just their colors. House Greco, strongarms all. They don¡¯t need bullets to kill me. One of them could break my back, crush my rib cage, pop my skull like a grape. It¡¯s me or them.


    The first hears my footsteps. He turns his chin, looking over his shoulder. My lightning shrieks up his spine and into his brain. I feel his branching nerves for a split second. Then darkness. The other two react, swinging around to face me. The lightning is quicker than they are, splitting them both.


    I never break pace, vaulting over their smoking bodies.


    The next hall runs alongside the square, its once-gleaming windows streaked with ash. A few chandeliers lie smashed against the floor in twisted heaps of gold and ss. There are bodies too. Security officers in their ck uniforms, Scarlet Guard with their red scarves. The aftermath of a skirmish, one of many raging within therger battle. I check the closest Guardsman to me, reaching down to feel her neck. No pulse. Her eyes are closed. I¡¯m d I don¡¯t recognize her.


    Outside, another burst of blue lightning forks through the clouds. I can¡¯t help but grin, the corners of my mouth pulling sharply on my scars. Another newblood who can control lightning. I¡¯m not alone.


    Moving quickly, I take what I can off the bodies. A pistol and ammunition from an officer. A red scarf from the woman. She died for me.<i ss="calibre4">Another time, Mare,</i>I chide myself, pushing aside the quicksand of such thoughts. Using my teeth, I tie the scarf to my wrist.


    <span id="page_303" title="303">Bullets ping against the windows, a spray of them. I flinch, dropping to the floor, but the windows hold firm. Diamondss. Bulletproof. I¡¯m safe behind them, but also trapped.


    Never again.


    I slide up against the wall, trying not to be seen as I observe. The sight makes me gasp.


    What was once a wedding celebration is now all-out war. I was in awe of the house rebellion, Iral and Haven and Laris against the rest of Maven¡¯s court, but this dwarfs it substantially. Hundreds of Nortan officers, Laknder guards, deadly nobles of the court on one side, with Scarlet Guard soldiers on the other. There have to be newbloods among them. So many Red soldiers, more than I ever thought possible. They outnumber the Silvers at least five to one, and they are certainly, clearly soldiers. Trained to military precision, from their tactical gear to the way they move. I start to wonder how they even got here, but then I see the airships. Six of them, allnded directly on the Square itself. Each one spits soldiers, dozens of them. Hope and excitement roar through me.


    ¡°Hell of a rescue,¡± I can¡¯t help but whisper.


    And I¡¯m going to make sure it seeds.


    I¡¯m not Silver; I don¡¯t need to pull my ability from my surroundings. But it certainly doesn¡¯t hurt to have more electricity, more power, on hand. Closing my eyes, just for a second, I call to every wire, every pulse, every charge, down to the static cling of the curtains. It rises at my demand. It fuels me, heals me as much as Wren.


    After six months of darkness, I finally feel the light.


    Purple-white res at the edges of my vision. My entire body buzzes, skin shivering beneath the delight of lightning. I keep sprinting. Adrenaline and electricity. I feel like I could run through a wall.


    <span id="page_304" title="304">More than a dozen Security officers guard the entrance hall. One, a maron, busies himself boarding up the windows with cages of twisted chandelier and gilt paneling. Bodies and blood in both colors cover the floor. The smell of gunpowder overwhelms everything but the sts outside. The officers secure the pce, maintaining their position. Their attention is on the battle outside, the Square. Not their backs.


    Crouching, I put my hands to the marble beneath my feet. It feels cold beneath my fingers. I will my lightning against the stone, sending it out along the floor in a jagged ripple of electricity. It pulses, a wave, catching them all off guard. Some fall, some rocket backward. The strength of the st echoes in my chest. If it¡¯s enough to kill, I don¡¯t know.


    My only thought is the Square. When the open air hits my lungs, I almostugh. It¡¯s poisoned with ash, blood, the electric buzz of the lightning storm, but it tastes sweeter than anything. Above me, the ck clouds rumble. The sound lives in my bones.


    I streak purple-white bolts across the sky. A sign. The lightning girl is free.


    I don¡¯t linger. Standing on the steps, overlooking the turmoil, is a good way to get shot in the head. I plunge into the fray, looking for a single familiar face. Not friendly, but at least familiar. People collide all around me with no rhyme or reason. The Silvers were taken unawares, unable to form up into their practiced ranks. Only the Scarlet Guard soldiers have any kind of organization, but it¡¯s rapidly breaking down. I weave toward the Treasury, thest ce I saw Maven and his Sentinel. It was only a few minutes ago. They could still be there, surrounded, making a stand. I will kill him. I have to.


    <span id="page_305" title="305">Bullets whistle past my head. I¡¯m shorter than most, but still, I hunch as I run.


    The first Silver to challenge me head-on has Provos robes, gold and ck. A thin man with thinner hair. He throws out an arm and I rocket backward, my head mming against the tiled ground. I grin at him, about tough. When suddenly I can¡¯t breathe. My chest contracts, tightening. My ribs. I look up to find him standing over me, his hand clenching into a fist. The telky is going to copse my rib cage.


    Lightning rises to meet him, sparking angrily. He dodges, faster than I anticipated. My vision spots as theck of oxygen hits my brain. Another bolt, another dodge.


    Provos is so focused on me, he doesn¡¯t notice the barrel-chested Red soldier a few yards away. He shoots him through the head with an armor-piercing round. It isn¡¯t pretty. Silver spatters across my ruined gown.


    ¡°Mare!¡± he shouts, hurrying to my side. I recognize his voice, his dark brown face¡ªand his electric-blue eyes. Four other Guardsmen move with him. They circle up, protective. With strong hands, he hoists me to my feet.


    Forcing a breath, I shiver in relief. When my brother¡¯s smuggling friend became a true soldier, I don¡¯t know, and now isn¡¯t the time to ask. ¡°Crance.¡±


    One hand still on his gun, he raises the radio wed in his other fist. ¡°This is Crance. I have Barrow in the Square.¡± The hiss of empty feedback is not promising. ¡°Repeat. I have Barrow.¡± Cursing, he tucks the radio back into his belt. ¡°Channels are a mess. Too much interference.¡±


    ¡°From the storm?¡± I nce up again. Blue, white, green. I narrow<span id="page_306" title="306">my eyes and throw another bolt of purple into the crash of blinding color.


    ¡°Probably. Cal warned us¡ª¡±


    Air hisses through my teeth. I grab him tightly, making him flinch. ¡°Cal. Where is he?¡±


    ¡°I have to get you out¡ª¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    He sighs, knowing I won¡¯t ask again.


    ¡°He¡¯s on the ground. I don¡¯t know where exactly! Your rendezvous point is the main gate,¡± he shouts in my ear, making sure he can be heard. ¡°Five minutes. Grab the woman in green. Take this,¡± he adds, shrugging out of his heavy jacket. I pull it over my tattered dress without argument. It feels weighted. ¡°k jacket. Semibulletproof. It¡¯ll give you some cover.¡±


    My feet carry me away before I can even say thank you, leaving Crance and his detail in my wake. Cal is here somewhere. He¡¯ll be hunting Maven, just like me. The crowd surges, a swiftly changing tide. If not for the Guardsmen pushing through the fray, I could force my way through. st everyone in front of me, clear a path across the Square. Instead I rely on my old instincts. Dancing steps, agility, predicting every pulsing wave of the chaos. Lightning trails in my wake, staving off any hands. A strongarm knocks me sideways, sending me careening through arms and legs, but I don¡¯t return to fight him. I keep moving, keep pushing, keep running. One name screams through my head.<i ss="calibre4">Cal. Cal. Cal. If I can get to him, I¡¯ll be safe.</i>A lie maybe, but a good lie.


    The smell of smoke gets stronger as I push on. Hope res. Where there¡¯s smoke, there¡¯s a fire prince.


    Ash and soot streak the white walls of the Treasury Hall. One of the airjet missiles took a chunk out of the corner, slicing through marble<span id="page_307" title="307">like butter. It lies in a pile of rubble around the entrance, forming good cover. The Sentinels make full use of it, their ranks bolstered by the Laknders and a few of the purple-uniformed Treasury guards. Some of them fire into the oing Guardsmen, using bullets to defend their king¡¯s escape, and many more utilize their abilities. I dart around a few bodies frozen solid on their feet, the violent work of a Gliacon shiver. Another few are alive but on their knees, bleeding from the ears. Marinos banshee. The evidence of so many deadly Silvers is all around. Corpses speared by metal, necks broken, skulls caved in, mouths dripping water, a particrly gruesome body that seems to have choked on the nts growing out of its mouth. As I watch, a greeny throws a handful of seeds at an attacking swath of Scarlet Guard. Before my eyes, the seeds burst like grenades, spitting vines and thorns in a verdant explosion.


    I don¡¯t see Cal here, or any other faces I recognize. Maven is already in the Treasury, headed for the train.


    Clenching a fist, I throw everything I can at the Sentinels. My lightning crackles along the rubble, sending them scurrying back. Dimly, I hear someone shout to push forward. The Guardsmen do, continuing to fire round after round. I keep up the pressure, sending another ze of lightning across them like a cracking whip.


    ¡°Iing!¡± a voice screams.


    I look up, expecting a blow from the sky. Airjets dance through the stormy clouds, chasing one another. None of them seem concerned by us.


    Then someone pushes me aside, throwing me out of the way. I turn in time to see a person I recognize barrel along a cleared pathway, his head lowered, body armored on the head, neck, and shoulders. He picks up speed, legs pumping.


    <span id="page_308" title="308">¡°Darmian!¡±


    He doesn¡¯t hear me, too busy crashing toward the marble blockade. Bullets ping off his armor and skin. A shiver sends a st of icicles at his chest, but they shatter. If he¡¯s afraid, he doesn¡¯t show it. He never hesitates. Cal taught him that. Back at the Notch. When we were all together. I remember a different Darmian then, the one I knew. He was a quiet manpared to Nix, another newblood who shared his ability of imprable flesh. Nix is long dead now, but Darmian is very much alive. Roaring, he mbers over the marble blockade, careening into two Sentinels.


    They fall on him with everything they have.<i ss="calibre4">Stupid.</i>They might as well be shooting at bulletproof ss. Darmian responds in kind, dropping grenades with cold rhythm. They bloom in fire and smoke. Sentinels fall backward, few of them able to withstand a direct explosion.


    Guardsmen vault over the rubble, following in Darmian¡¯s wake. Many overtake him. The Sentinels are not their mission. Maven is. They flood into the Treasury, hot on the king¡¯s trail.


    As I run forward, I let my ability press on ahead. I feel the lights of the Treasury¡¯s main hall, spiraling down into the rock beneath us. My sense jumps along the wires, deeper and deeper. Something big idles below, its engine a rising purr. He¡¯s still here.


    The marble beneath my feet is easy to scale. I scrabble over the rubble on all fours, my mind focused a hundred feet down. The next grenade st catches me unawares. Its force blows me backward in a wave of heat. Ind hard, t on my back, gasping for breath, quietly thankful for Crance¡¯s jacket. The explosion zes over me, close enough to burn my cheek.


    Too big for a grenade. Too controlled for natural me.


    <span id="page_309" title="309">I scramble to my feet, forcing my legs to obey as I suck down air.<i ss="calibre4">Maven.</i>I should have known. He wouldn¡¯t leave me up here. Wouldn¡¯t run away without his favorite pet. He¡¯se to put the chains back on me himself.


    <i ss="calibre4">Good luck.</i>


    Smoke follows the swirling fire, making the already dark Square hazy. It surrounds me, growing stronger and hotter with every passing second. Tensing, I send lightning through my nerves, letting it crackle over every inch. I take a step toward his silhouette, ck and strange in the shifting firelight. The smoke curls, the fire shooting with raging hot blue me. Sweat drips down my neck. My fists clench, ready to run him through with every drop of rage collected in his prison. I¡¯ve been waiting for this moment. Maven is a cunning king, but no fighter. I¡¯m going to rip him apart.


    Lighting ripples over our heads, shing brighter than the me. It illuminates him as the wind picks up, blowing away the smoke to reveal¡ª


    Red-gold eyes. Broad shoulders. Callused hands, familiar lips, unruly ck hair, and a face I have ached for.


    Not Maven. All thoughts of the boy king disappear in an instant.


    ¡°Cal!¡±


    The fireball hisses through the air, almost engulfing my head. I roll beneath it on instinct alone. Confusion rules my brain. He¡¯s unmistakable. Cal, standing there in tactical armor, a red sash tied across him from waist to hip. I fight the animal need to run toward him. It takes every fiber of control to step back.


    ¡°Cal, it¡¯s me! It¡¯s Mare!¡±


    He doesn¡¯t speak, just pivots on his feet, keeping me in front of him. The fire around us churns and contracts, pulling inward with<span id="page_310" title="310">blinding speed. The heat crushes the air from my lungs, and I choke down smoke. Only lightning keeps me safe, crackling around me in a shield of electricity to keep me from burning alive.


    I roll again, bursting through his inferno. My dress smolders, trailing smoke. I don¡¯t waste precious time or brainpower trying to figure out what¡¯s going on. I already know.


    His eyes are shadowed, unfocused. No recognition in them. No indication that we¡¯ve spent thest six months trying to get back to each other. And his movements are robotic, evenpared to his military-trained precision.


    A whisper has his mind. I don¡¯t have to guess which one.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I mumble, even though he can¡¯t hear me.


    A st of lightning throws him back, the sparks dancing over the tes of his armor. He seizes, twitching as the electricity pulls on his nerves. I bite my lip, trying harder than I ever have before to walk the narrow line between incapacitation and injury. I err on the weak side. A mistake.


    Cal is stronger than I ever realized. And he has such an advantage. I¡¯m trying to save him. He¡¯s trying to kill me.


    He fights through the pain, charging. I dodge, my focus shifting from keeping him at bay to keeping out of his crushing grip. A fire-fueled punch arcs over my head. I smell burned hair. Another catches me in the stomach and I fall backward. I roll with the momentum and pop up again, my old tricks returning. With a twist of my hand, I send another bolt of sparks dancing up his leg and into his spine. He howls. The sound cuts my insides. But it gives me a head start.


    My focus narrows to one thing, one person¡¯s devilish face. Samson Merandus.


    He has to be close enough to bewitch Cal and send him after me.<span id="page_311" title="311">I search the battle as I run, looking for his blue suit. If he¡¯s here, he¡¯s hiding well. Or he could be perched above, looking down from the Treasury roof or the many windows of the adjoining buildings. Frustration eats at my resolve. Cal¡¯s right here. We¡¯re back together. And he¡¯s trying to kill me.


    The heat of his rage licks at my heels. Another st rips along my left, sending needles of white-hot agony down my arm. Adrenaline drowns it out quickly. I can¡¯t afford pain right now.


    At least I¡¯m faster than he is. After the manacles, every step feels easier than thest. I let the storm above fuel me, feeding on the electric energy of the other lightning-wielding newblood somewhere. Her blue hair doesn¡¯t cross my vision again. Too bad. I could use her right now.


    If Samson is hiding near the Treasury, I only have to get Cal out of his circle of influence. Skidding, I turn to look over my shoulder. Cal is still following me, a shadow of blue-tinged me and anger.


    ¡°Come and get me, Calore!¡± I shout to him, sending a st of lightning at his chest. Stronger than thest, enough to leave a mark.


    He twists sideways, dodging, never breaking step. Hot on my trail.


    <i ss="calibre4">I hope this works.</i>


    No one dares get in our way.


    Red and blue and purple, fire and lightning, chase in our wake, splitting the battle like a knife. He pursues with the singr resolve of a hunting dog. And I certainly feel hunted across the Square.


    I angle for the main gate, to whatever rendezvous Crance mentioned. My escape. Not that I¡¯ll take it yet. Not without Cal.


    After a hundred yards, it¡¯s clear that Samson is running with us, just out of sight. No Merandus whisper has a bigger range than that, not even ra. I twist back and forth, scanning the bloodbath. The longer the battle pushes on, the more time the Silvers have to organize.<span id="page_312" title="312">Army soldiers in clouded gray uniforms flood the Square, systematically winning over pieces of it. Most of the nobles retreat behind the wall of military protection, though a few¡ªthe strongest, the bravest, the most bloodthirsty¡ªcontinue fighting. I expect members of House Samos to be in the thick of it, but I see no marons that I recognize. And still no other familiar members of the Scarlet Guard. No Farley, no Colonel, no Kilorn or Cameron or any of the newbloods I helped recruit. Just Darmian, probably sting his way through the Treasury, and Cal, trying his best to put me in the ground.


    I curse, wishing for Cameron above all of them. She could silence Cal, keep him contained long enough for me to find and destroy Samson. Instead, I have to do it myself. Keep him at bay, keep myself alive, and somehow root out the Merandus whisper guing us both.


    Suddenly navy blue blurs by at the edge of my vision.


    Long months in Silver captivity have made me attuned to house colors. Lady Blonos drilled her knowledge into me, and now, more than ever, I thank her for it.


    I whirl, changing direction with a vengeance. Ash-blond hair darts through the Silver soldiers, attempting to blend into their ranks. Instead, he stands out, his formal suit in sharp contrast to their military uniforms. Everything narrows to him. All my focus, all my energy. I throw what I can in his direction, loosing jagged lightning upon Samson and the Silver shield between us.


    His eyes lock on mine and the lightning arcs like a cracking whip. He has the same eyes as ra, the same eyes as Maven. Blue as ice; blue as me. Cold and unforgiving.


    Somehow my electricity bends, curving around him. It slingshots away, rocketing in another direction. My hand swings with it, my body moving of its own ord as the lightning races at Cal. I try to<span id="page_313" title="313">shout out, even though warning a bewitched man will do nothing at all. But my lips don¡¯t move. Horror bleeds down my spine, the only sensation I can feel. Not the ground beneath my feet, not the bite of new burns, not even the smoky air in my nose. It all disappears, wiped away. Taken.


    Inside, I scream because Samson has me now. I can¡¯t make a sound. There is no mistaking the jagged brush of his brain against my mind.


    Cal blinks like someone waking up from a long sleep. He barely has time to react, lifting his arms to protect his head from the electric blow. Some of the jagged sparks turn to me, manipted by his ability. Most of them hit home, though, dropping him to his knees with a pained roar.


    ¡°Samson!¡± he screams through gritted teeth.


    I realize my hand is moving, straying to my hip. It draws the pistol I took and puts steel to my temple.


    Samson¡¯s whispers rise in my head, threatening to drown out everything else.


    <i ss="calibre4">Do it. Do it. Do it.</i>


    I don¡¯t feel the trigger. I won¡¯t feel the bullet.


    Cal rips my arm back, spinning me away. He breaks my grip on the gun and tosses it across the tile. I¡¯ve never seen him so afraid.


    <i ss="calibre4">Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.</i>


    My body obeys.


    I am a spectator in my own head. A furious battle rages before my eyes and I can¡¯t do anything but watch. The tiled ground blurs as Samson makes me sprint, colliding head-on with Cal. I act as a human lightning rod,tching on to his armor, drawing electricity out of the sky to pour into him.


    Pain and fear cloud his eyes. His me can only shield so much.


    <span id="page_314" title="314">I lunge, grabbing at his wrist. But the memaker bracelet holds firm.


    <i ss="calibre4">Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.</i>


    Fire pushes me back. I tumble end over end, shoulders and skull bouncing. The world spins, and dizzy limbs try to make me stand.


    <i ss="calibre4">Get up. Get up. Get up.</i>


    ¡°Stay down, Mare!¡± I hear from Cal¡¯s direction. His figure dances before me, splitting into three. I might have a concussion. Red blood pulses across the white tile.


    <i ss="calibre4">Get up. Get up. Get up.</i>


    My feet move beneath me, pushing hard. I stand too quickly, nearly falling over again as Samson forces me into drunken steps. He closes the distance between my body and Cal¡¯s. I¡¯ve seen this before, a thousand years ago. Samson Merandus in the arena, forcing another Silver to cut up his own insides. He¡¯ll do the same to me too, once he uses me to kill Cal.


    I try to fight, though I don¡¯t know where to start. Try to twitch a finger, a toe. Nothing responds.


    <i ss="calibre4">Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.</i>


    Lightning erupts from my hand, spiraling toward Cal. It misses, off bnce like my body. He sends an arc of fire in response, forcing me to dodge and stumble.


    <i ss="calibre4">Get up. Kill him. Get up.</i>


    The whispers are sharp, cutting wounds across my mind. I must be bleeding in my brain.


    <i ss="calibre4">KILL HIM. GET UP. KILL HIM.</i>


    Through the mes, I see navy blue again. Cal stalks after Samson and skids to a knee, taking aim with a pistol of his own.


    <i ss="calibre4">GET UP¡ª</i>


    <span id="page_315" title="315">Pain crashes through me like a wave and I fall backward just as a bullet tears overhead. Another follows, closer. On pure instinct, fighting the ringing in my bruised skull, I scramble to my toes. I move of my own volition.


    Shrieking, I turn Cal¡¯s fire to lightning, the red curls bing purple-white veins of electricity. It shields me as Cal empties bullet after bullet in my direction. Behind him, Samson grins.


    <i ss="calibre4">Bastard. He¡¯s going to y us off each other for as long as it takes.</i>


    I push the lightning as fast as I can, letting it splinter toward Samson. If I can break his concentration, just for a second, it could be enough.


    Cal reacts, a puppet on strings. He shields Samson with his broad body, taking the brunt of my attack.


    ¡°Someone help!¡± I shout to no one. We¡¯re only three people in a battle of hundreds. A battle turning one-sided. The Silver ranks grow, fed by reinforcements from the barracks and the rest of the Archeon garrison. My five minutes have long passed. Whatever escape Crance promised is long gone.


    I have to break Samson. I have to.Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    Another bolt of lightning, this time across the ground in a flood. No dodging that.


    <i ss="calibre4">KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.</i>


    The whispers return, pulling back the electricity with my own two hands. It arcs backward in a crashing wave.


    Cal drops and spins, throwing out his leg in a sweeping kick. It connects, sending Samson sprawling.


    His control of me drops and I push forward. Another electric wave.


    This one washes through them both. Cal curses, biting back a yelp. Samson writhes and screams, a blood-curdling sound. He isn¡¯t used to pain.


    <i ss="calibre4"><span id="page_316" title="316">Kill him¡ª</i>


    The whisper is far away, weakening. I can fight it.


    Cal grabs Samson by the neck, pulling him up only to smash his head back down.


    <i ss="calibre4">Kill him¡ª</i>


    I slice a hand through the air, pulling lightning with it. It splits a gash in Samson from hip to shoulder. The wound spurts Silver blood.


    <i ss="calibre4">Help me¡ª</i>


    Fire races down Samson¡¯s throat, charring his insides. His vocal cords shred. The only screaming I hear now is in my head.


    I bring my lightning into his brain. Electricity fries the tissue in his skull like an egg in a pan. His eyes roll over white. I want to make itst longer, want to make him pay for what torture he gave to me and so many others. But he dies too quickly.


    The whispers disappear.


    ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± I gasp aloud.


    Cal looks up, still kneeling over the body. His eyes widen as if seeing me for the first time. I feel the same. I¡¯ve been dreaming of this moment, wanting it for months and months. If not for the battle, for our precarious position wedged in the middle, I would wrap my arms around his neck and bury myself in the fire prince.


    Instead, I help him to his feet, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder. He limps, one leg a mess of muscle spasms. I¡¯m hurt too, bleeding slowly from a tear in my side. I press my free hand to the wound. The pain sharpens.


    ¡°Maven is below the Treasury. He has a train,¡± I say as we mber away together.


    His arm tightens around me. He steers us toward the main gate, quickening his pace with every step. ¡°I¡¯m not here for Maven.¡±


    <span id="page_317" title="317">The gate looms, wide enough to allow three transports to drive through side by side. On the other side, the Bridge of Archeon spans the Capital River to meet the eastern half of the city. Smoke rises all over, reaching into the storm-ck sky. I fight the urge to turn around and sprint for the Treasury. Maven will be gone by now. He is beyond my reach.


    More military transports speed toward us while airjets scream in our direction. Too many reinforcements to withstand.


    ¡°What¡¯s the n, then?¡± I mumble. We¡¯re about to be surrounded. The thought wears through my shock and adrenaline, sobering me up. All this for me. Bodies everywhere, Red and Silver. What a waste.


    Cal¡¯s hands find my face, making me turn to look at him. In spite of the destruction around us, he smiles.


    ¡°For once, we have one.¡±


    I see green out of the corner of my eye. Feel another hand grab my arm.


    And the world squeezes to nothing.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 19

    <i ss="calibre4">He¡¯ste, and my</i>heartbeat guns into overdrive. I fight the surge of fear, twisting it into fuel. Using the new energy, I shred apart the gilded frames holding portraits all down the pce hallway. The flecks of gold leaf twist into brutal, glinting shards. Gold is a weak metal. Soft. Malleable. Useless in a true fight. I let them drop. I don¡¯t have the time or energy to waste on weak things.


    The pearly rhodium tes along my arms and legs vibrate with adrenaline, their mirror-bright edges rippling like liquid mercury. Ready to be whatever I need to stay alive. A sword, a shield, a bullet. I¡¯m not in direct danger, not right now. But if Tolly isn¡¯t here in one minute, I¡¯m going out there after him, and then I certainly will be.


    <i ss="calibre4">She promised,</i>I tell myself.


    It sounds idiotic, the wish of a particrly foolish child. I should know better. The only bond in my world is blood; the only promise is family. A Silver would smile and agree with another house and break their oath in the next heartbeat. Mare Barrow is not Silver¡ªshe should have less honor than any of us. And she owes my brother, owes me,<span id="page_319" title="319">less than nothing. She would be justified in ughtering us all. House Samos has not been kind to the lightning girl.


    ¡°We have a schedule, Evangeline,¡± Wren mutters next to me. She cradles one hand against her chest, doing her best not to antagonize an already-ugly burn. The skin healer wasn¡¯t fast enough to avoid all of Mare¡¯s returning ability. But she got the job done, and that¡¯s all that matters. Now the lightning girl is free to wreak as much havoc as she can.


    ¡°I¡¯m giving him another minute.¡±


    The hallway seems to stretch before me, growing longer with every second. On this side of the pce, we can barely hear the battle in the Square. The windows look out on a still courtyard, with only dark storm clouds above. If I wanted to, I could pretend this was another day of my usual torment. Everyone smiling with their fangs, circling an increasingly lethal throne. I thought the end of the queen would mean the end of danger. It¡¯s not like me to underestimate a person¡¯s evils, but I certainly underestimated Maven. He has more of his mother in him than anyone realized, as well as his own kind of monster.


    A monster I no longer have to suffer, thank my colors. Once we¡¯re back home, I¡¯ll send the Laknder princess a gift for taking my ce at his side.


    He¡¯ll be far away by now, ferried to safety by his train. The new bride and groom were already in the Treasury when I left them. Unless Maven¡¯s disgusting obsession with Mare won out. The boy is impossible to predict where she is involved. For all I know, he could have turned around to find her. He could be dead. I certainly hope he is dead. It would make the next steps infinitely easier.


    I know Mother and Father too well to worry about them. Woe to the person, Silver or Red, who might challenge my father in openbat. And Mother has her own contingencies in ce. The attack on<span id="page_320" title="320">the wedding was not a surprise to any of us. House Samos is prepared. So long as Tolly sticks to the n. My brother has a hard time backing down from a fight, and he is impulsive. Another man impossible to predict. We¡¯re not supposed to hurt the rebels or impede their progress in any way. Father¡¯s orders. I hope my brother follows them.


    <i ss="calibre4">We¡¯ll be fine.</i>I exhale slowly, holding on to those three words. They do little to calm my nerves. I want to be rid of this ce. I want to go home. I want to see ne again. I want Tolly to strut around the corner, safe and whole.


    Instead, he can barely walk.


    ¡°Ptolemus!¡± I bark, forgetting every fear but one as he rounds the corner.


    His blood stands out sharply against ck steel armor, silver spattered down his chest like paint. I can taste the iron in it, a sharp tang of metal. Without thinking, I yank on his armor, pulling him through the air with it. Before he can copse, I brace my torso against his, keeping him on his feet. He¡¯s almost too weak to stand, let alone run. Icy-cold terror trails fingers down my spine.


    ¡°You¡¯rete,¡± I whisper, earning a pained grin. Still alive enough for a sense of humor.


    Wren works swiftly, pulling off his tes of armor, but she¡¯s not faster than me. With another jerk of my hand, it falls from his body in a few ttering echoes. My eyes fly to his bare chest, expecting to see an ugly wound. Nothing there but a few shallow cuts, none of them serious enough to level someone like Ptolemus.


    ¡°Blood loss,¡± Wren exins. The skin healer pushes my brother to his knees, holding his left arm aloft, and he whimpers from the pain of it. I keep steady at his shoulder, crouching with him. ¡°I don¡¯t have time to heal this.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4"><span id="page_321" title="321">This.</i>I trail my gaze along his arm, over white skin gray and ck with fresh bruises. It ends in a bloody, blunt stump. His hand is gone. Cut clean through the wrist. Silver blood pulses sluggishly from the severed veins, despite his meager attempts to wrap the wound.


    ¡°You have to,¡± Ptolemus grinds out, his voice hoarse with agony.


    I nod fervently. ¡°Wren, it¡¯ll only take a few minutes.¡± No maron is a stranger to a lost finger. We¡¯ve been ying with knives since we could walk. We know how quickly a digit can be regrown.


    ¡°If he ever wants to use that hand again, you¡¯ll do as I say,¡± she replies. ¡°It¡¯s tooplicated to do quickly. I have to seal the wound for now.¡± He makes another strangled noise, choking on the thought and the pain.


    ¡°Wren!¡± I plead.


    She doesn¡¯t back down. ¡°For now!¡± Her beautiful eyes, gray Skonos eyes, bore into mine with urgency. I see fear in her, and no wonder. A few minutes ago she watched me murder four guards and free a prisoner of the crown. She is alsoplicit in the treason of House Samos.This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I squeeze Tolly¡¯s shoulder, imploring him to listen. ¡°For now. The second we¡¯re in the clear, she¡¯ll fix you.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t reply, only nodding as Wren gets to work. Tolly turns his head, unable to watch the skin grow over his wrist, sealing up the veins and bones. It happens quickly. Blue-ck fingers dance across his pale flesh as she knits him together. Skin growth is easy, or so I¡¯m told. Nerves, bones, those are moreplex.


    I do my best to distract him from the blunt end of his arm. ¡°So who did it?¡±


    ¡°Another maron. Laknder.¡± He forces out each word. ¡°Saw me breaking off to leave. Sliced me before I knew what was happening.¡±


    <span id="page_322" title="322">Laknders. Frozen fools. All stern in their hideous blue. To think Maven traded the might of House Samos for them. ¡°I hope you repaid the favor.¡±


    ¡°He no longer has a head.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll do.¡±


    ¡°There,¡± Wren says, finishing up the wrist. She runs her hands along his arm and down his spine to the small of his back. ¡°I¡¯ll stimte your marrow and kidneys, raise your blood production as much as I can. You¡¯ll still be weak, though.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. As long as I can walk.¡± He already sounds stronger. ¡°Help me up, Evie.¡±


    I oblige, bracing his good arm over my shoulder. He¡¯s heavy, almost deadweight. ¡°Ease up on the desserts,¡± I grumble. ¡°Come on now, move with me.¡±


    Tolly does what he can, forcing one foot after the other. Nowhere near fast enough for my taste. ¡°Very well,¡± I mutter, reaching out to his discarded armor. It ttens and re-forms into a sheet of rippled steel. ¡°Sorry, Tolly.¡±


    I push him down onto it, using my ability to hold up the sheet like a stretcher.


    ¡°I can walk . . . ,¡± he protests, but weakly. ¡°You need your focus.¡±


    ¡°Then focus for both of us,¡± I shoot back. ¡°Men are useless when injured, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Keeping him elevated takes a corner of my ability, but not all of it. I sprint as fast as I can, one hand on the sheet. It follows on an invisible tether, nked by Wren on the other side.


    Metal sings on the edge of my perception. I note each piece as we press on, filing them away on instinct. Copper wiring¡ªa garrote with which to strangle. Door locks and hinges¡ªdarts or bullets. Window<span id="page_323" title="323">frames¡ªiron hilts with ss daggers. Father used to quiz me on such things, until it became second nature. Until I couldn¡¯t enter a room without marking its weapons. House Samos is never caught off guard.


    Father devised our swift getaway from Archeon. Through the barracks and down the northern cliffs to boats waiting in the river. Steel boats, specially made, fluted for speed and silence. Between Father and me, they¡¯ll cut through the water like needles through flesh.


    We¡¯re behind schedule, but only by a few minutes. In the chaos, it will take hours before anyone in Maven¡¯s court realizes House Samos has disappeared. I don¡¯t doubt other houses will take the same opportunity, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Maven is not the only person with an escape n. In fact, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if every house has one of its own. The court is a powder keg with an increasingly short fuse and a spitfire king. You¡¯d have to be an idiot not to expect an explosion.


    Father felt the winds shift the moment Maven stopped listening to him, as soon as it became clear that allying to the Calore king would be our downfall. Without ra, no one could hold Maven¡¯s leash. Not even my father. And then the Scarlet Guard rabble became more organized, a real threat rather than an inconvenience. They seemed to grow with each passing day. Operating in Piedmont and the Laknds, whispers of an alliance with Montfort far to the west. They¡¯re muchrger than anyone anticipated, better organized and more determined than any insurrection in memory. All the while, my wretched betrothed lost his grip. On the throne, on his sanity, on anything but Mare Barrow.


    He tried to let her go, or so ne told me. Maven knew as well as any of us what a danger his obsession would be.<i ss="calibre4">Kill her. Be done. Be rid of her poison,</i>he used to mutter. ne listened undetected, quiet in her corner of his private quarters. The words were only words. He could never part with her. So it was easy to push her into his path¡ªand<span id="page_324" title="324">push him off course. The equivalent of waving a red g in front of a bull. She was his hurricane, and every nudge pulled him deeper into the eye of the storm. I thought she was an easy tool to use. A distracted king makes for a more powerful queen.


    But Maven shut me out of a ce that was rightfully mine. He didn¡¯t know to look for ne. My lovely, invisible shadow. Her reports cameter, under the cover of night. They were very thorough. I feel them still, whispered against my skin with only the moon to listen. ne Haven is the most beautiful girl I¡¯ve ever seen in any capacity, but she looks best in moonlight.


    After Queenstrial, I promised her a consort¡¯s crown. But that dream disappeared with Prince Tiberias, as most dreams do with the harsh break of day.<i ss="calibre4">Whore.</i>That¡¯s what Maven called her after the attempt on his life. I almost killed him where he stood.


    I shake my head, refocusing on the task at hand. ne can wait. ne is waiting, just as my parents promised. Safe in our home, tucked away in the Rift.


    The back courtyards of Archeon open onto flourishing gardens, which in turn are bounded by the pce walls. A few wrought-iron fences ward the flowers and shrubbery. Good for spears. The wall and garden patrols used to be guards of many different house¡ªLaris windweavers, silks of Iral, vignt Eagrie eyes¡ªbut things have changed in recent months. Laris and Iral stand in opposition to Maven¡¯s rule, alongside House Haven. And with a battle raging, the king himself in danger, the other pce guards are scattered. I look up through the greenery, magnolia and cherry blossoms bright against the dark sky. Figures in ck prowl the diamondss ramparts.


    Only House Samos remains to man the wall.


    ¡°Cousins of iron!¡±


    <span id="page_325" title="325">They snap toward my voice, responding in kind.


    ¡°Cousins of steel!¡±


    Sweat trickles down my neck as the wall looms closer. From fear, from exertion. Only a few more yards. In preparation, I thicken the pearly metal of my boots, hardening myst steps.


    ¡°Can you get yourself up?¡± I ask Ptolemus, reaching for Wren as I speak.


    With a groan, he swings off the stretcher, forcing himself onto unsteady feet. ¡°I¡¯m not a child, Eve; I can cover thirty feet.¡± To prove his point, the ck steel re-forms to his body in sleek scales.


    If we had more time, I would point out the weaknesses in his usually perfect armor. Holes at the sides, thinning across the back. Instead, I only nod. ¡°You first.¡±


    He lifts a corner of his mouth, trying to smirk, trying to lessen my concern. I exhale in relief as he rises into the air, rocketing up to the ramparts of the wall. Our cousins above catch him deftly, drawing him in with their own ability.


    ¡°Our turn.¡±


    Wren clings to my side, safe beneath my arm. I haul in a breath, holding on to the feel of the rhodium metal curving beneath my toes, up my legs, over my shoulders.<i ss="calibre4">Rise,</i>I tell my armor.


    <i ss="calibre4">Pop.</i>


    The first sensation my father made me memorize was a bullet. I slept with one around my neck for two years. Until it became as familiar to me as my colors. I can name rounds from a hundred yards. Know their weight, their shape, theirposition. Such a small piece of metal is the difference between another person¡¯s life and my death. It could be my killer, or my savior.


    <i ss="calibre4">Pop, pop, pop.</i>The bullets exploding in their chambers feel like<span id="page_326" title="326">needles, sharp, impossible to ignore. They¡¯reing from behind. My toes hit the ground again as my focus narrows, my hands flying up to shield against the sudden onught.


    Armor-piercing rounds, fat copper jackets with brutal tungsten cores and tapered tips, arc before my eyes, flying backward tond harmlessly in the grass. Another volleyes from at least a dozen guns, and I throw out an arm, protecting myself. The thunder of automatic gunfire drowns out Tolly shouting above me.


    Each bullet ripples against my ability, taking another piece of it, of me. Some halt midair; some crumple. I throw everything I can to create a cocoon of safety. From the wall, Tolly and my cousins do the same. They lift the weight enough to actually let me figure out who is shooting at me.


    Red rags, hard eyes. Scarlet Guard.


    I grit my teeth. The bullets in the grass would be easy to toss back into their skulls. Instead, I rip apart the tungsten like wool, spinning it into glinting thread as fast as I can. Tungsten is incredibly heavy and strong. It takes more energy to work. Another bead of sweat rolls along my spine.


    The threads sy out in a web, hitting the twelve rebels head-on. In the same motion, I wrench the guns from their hands, shredding them to pieces. Wren clings to me, holding tightly, and I feel myself pulled back and up, sliding along perfect diamondss.


    Tolly catches me, as he always does.


    ¡°And down again,¡± he mutters. His grip on my arm is crushing.


    Wren gulps, leaning to look. Her eyes widen. ¡°Bit farther this time.¡±


    I know. It¡¯s a hundred feet down sheer cliff, and then another two hundred over sloping rock to twist around to the river¡¯s edge.<i ss="calibre4">In the<span id="page_327" title="327">shadow of the bridge,</i>Father said.


    In the garden, the rebels struggle, straining against my. I feel them push and pull it, as the metal itself strains to break apart. It eats at my focus.<i ss="calibre4">Tungsten,</i>I curse to myself.<i ss="calibre4">I need more practice.</i>


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I tell them all.


    Behind me, the tungsten cracks apart into dust. A strong, heavy thing, but brittle. Without a maron¡¯s hand, it breaks before it bends.


    House Samos is done with both.


    We will not break, and we will no longer bend.


    The boats cut soundlessly through the water, gliding across the surface. We make good time. Our only obstacle is the pollution of Gray Town. The stink of it clings to my hair, still foul in my body even as we break through the second ring of barrier trees. Wren senses my difort and puts a hand on my bare wrist. Her healing touch clears my lungs and chases away my exhaustion. Pushing steel through water bes tiring after a while.


    Mother leans over the sleek side of my boat, trailing one hand in the flowing Capital. A few catfish rise to her touch, their whiskers twining with her fingers. The slimy beasts don¡¯t bother her, but I shudder with disgust. She isn¡¯t concerned by whatever they tell her, meaning they can¡¯t sense anyone pursuing us. Her falcon overhead keeps watch as well. When the sun sets, Mother will rece him with bats. As expected, not a scratch on her, or Father. He stands at the prow of the lead boat, setting our path. A ck silhouette against the blue river and green hills. His presence calms me more than the peaceful valley.


    No one speaks for many miles. Not even the cousins, who I can usually count on for nonsense chatter. Instead, they focus on discarding their Security uniforms. Emblems of Norta float in our wake, while<span id="page_328" title="328">the jewel-bright medals and badges sink into darkness. Hard earned with Samos blood, marks of our allegiance and loyalty. Now lost to the depths of the river and the past.


    We are not Nortans anymore.


    ¡°So it¡¯s decided,¡± I murmur.


    Behind me, Tolly straightens up. His ruined arm is still bandaged. Wren won¡¯t risk regrowing an entire hand on the river. ¡°Was there ever any doubt?¡±


    ¡°Was there ever a choice?¡± Mother turns to look over her shoulder. She moves with the lean grace of a cat, stretching out in her bright green gown. The butterflies are long gone. ¡°A weak king we could control, but there¡¯s no handling madness. As soon as Iral decided to oppose him outright, our y was decided for us. And choosing the Laknder¡±¡ªshe rolls her eyes¡ª¡°Maven cut thest bonds between our houses himself.¡±


    I almost scoff in her face. No one decides anything for my father. Butughing at Mother is not a mistake I¡¯m stupid enough to make. ¡°Will the other houses back us, then? I know Father was negotiating.¡± Leaving his children alone, at the mercy of Maven¡¯s increasingly vtile court. More words I would never dare say aloud to either of my parents.


    Mother senses them anyway. ¡°You did well, Eve,¡± she croons, putting a hand to my hair. She runs a few silver strands through her wet fingers. ¡°And you, Ptolemus. Between that mess in Corvium and the house rebellions, no one doubted your allegiance. You bought us time, valuable time.¡±


    I keep my focus on steel and water, ignoring her cold touch. ¡°I hope it was worth it.¡±


    Before today, Maven faced multiple rebellions. Without House<span id="page_329" title="329">Samos, our resources, ournds, our soldiers, how could he stand to win? But before today, he didn¡¯t have the Laknds. Now I have no idea what might unfold. I don¡¯t like the feeling at all. My life has been a study in nning and patience. An uncertain future frightens me.


    In the west, the sun sinks red against the hills. Red as ne¡¯s hair.


    <i ss="calibre4">She¡¯s waiting,</i>I tell myself again.<i ss="calibre4">She¡¯s safe.</i>


    Her sister was not so fortunate. Marie died poorly, hollowed out by the seething Merandus whisper. I avoided him as much as I could, d I knew nothing of Father¡¯s ns.


    I saw the depths of his punishment in Mare. After the interrogation, she flinched from him like a kicked dog. It was my fault. I forced Maven¡¯s hand. Without my interference, he might have never let the whisper have his way¡ªbut then he would have stayed away from Mare altogether. He would not have been so blinded by her. Instead, he did as I hoped, and drew her closer. I expected them to drown each other. How easy. Sink two enemies with one anchor. But she refused to break. The girl I remember, the masquerading, terrified servant who believed every lie, would have submitted to Maven months ago. Instead, she donned a different mask. Danced on his strings, sat by his side, lived a half-life without freedom or ability. And still held on to her pride, her fire, her anger. It was always there, burning in her eyes.


    I have to respect her for that. Even though she took so much from me.


    She was a constant reminder of what I was supposed to be. A princess. A queen. I was born ten months after Tiberias. I was made to marry him.


    My first memories are of Mother¡¯s snakes hissing in my ears, breathing her whispers and promises.<i ss="calibre4">You are a daughter of fangs and steel. What are you meant for, if not to rule?</i>Every lesson in the ssroom or the arena was preparation.<i ss="calibre4">Be the best, the strongest, the smartest, the most deadly and<span id="page_330" title="330">the most cunning. The most worthy.</i>And I was everything.


    Kings are not known for their kindness or theirpassion. Queenstrial is not meant to make happy marriages, but strong children. With Cal, I had both. He would not have begrudged me my own consort, or tried to control me. His eyes were soft and thoughtful. He was more than I had ever hoped for. And I had earned him with every drop of blood I¡¯d spilled, all my sweat, all my tears of pain and frustration. Every sacrifice of who my heart wanted to be.


    The night before Queenstrial, I dreamed what it would be like. My throne. My royal children. Subject to no one, not even Father. Tiberias would be my friend and ne my lover. She would marry Tolly, as nned, ensuring none of us could ever be parted.


    Then Mare fell into our lives and blew that dream away like sand.


    Once, I thought the crown prince would do the unthinkable. Push me aside for the long-lost Titanos with strange ways and an even stranger ability. Instead, she was a deadly pawn, sweeping my king from the board. The paths of fate have strange twists. I wonder if that newblood seer knew about today. Does heugh at what he sees? I wish I¡¯d gotten my hands on him just once. I hate not knowing.


    On the banks ahead, manicuredwnse into view. The edges of the grass tinge gold and red, giving the estates lining the river a lovely glow. Our own manor house is close, just one more mile. Then we turn west. Toward our true home.


    Mother never answered my question.


    ¡°So, was Father able to convince the other houses?¡± I ask her.


    She narrows her eyes, her entire body tightening. Coiling up, like one of her snakes. ¡°House Laris was already with us.¡±


    That I knew. Along with controlling most of the Nortan Air Fleet,<span id="page_331" title="331">the Laris windweavers govern the Rift. In truth, they rule by ourmand. Eager puppets, willing to trade anything to maintain our iron and coal mines.


    <i ss="calibre4">ne. House Haven. If they aren¡¯t with us¡ª</i>


    I lick lips that are suddenly dry. A fist clenches at my side. The boat groans beneath me. ¡°And . . .¡±


    ¡°Iral has not agreed to the terms, and more than half of Haven won¡¯t either.¡± Mother sniffs. She folds her arms across her chest, as if insulted. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, ne isn¡¯t one of them. Please stop crushing the boat. I don¡¯t feel like swimming thest mile.¡±


    Tolly nudges my arm, a slight touch. Exhaling, I realize my grip on the steel was a bit too strong. The bow smooths again, rippling back into shape.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± I mutter quickly. ¡°I¡¯m just . . . confused. I thought the terms were already agreed upon. The Rift will rise in open defiance. Iral brings on House Lern and all of Delphie. An entire state will secede.¡±


    Mother nces past me, to Father. He angles his boat toward the shore, and I follow his lead. Our familiar estate peeks through the trees, backlit by dusk. ¡°There was some debate over titles.¡±


    ¡°Titles?¡± I sneer. ¡°How stupid. What could their argument possibly be?¡±


    Steel hits stone, bumping up to the low retaining wall running along the water. With a small burst of focus, I hold the metal firm against the current. Wren helps Tolly out first, stepping up onto the lush carpet of grass. Mother watches, her gaze lingering on his missing hand while the cousins follow.


    A shadow falls over us both. Father. He stands over her shoulder. A<span id="page_332" title="332">light wind ripples his cloak, ying along the folds of void-ck silk and silver thread. Hidden beneath is a suit of blue-tinged chromium so fine it could be liquid.


    ¡°¡®I will not kneel to another greedy king,¡¯¡± he whispers. Father¡¯s voice is always soft as velvet, deadly as a predator. ¡°That¡¯s what Salin Iral said.¡±


    He reaches down, offering my mother his hand. She takes it deftly and steps from the boat. It doesn¡¯t move under her, held by my ability.


    <i ss="calibre4">Another king.</i>


    ¡°Father . . . ?¡±


    The word dies in my mouth.


    ¡°Cousins of iron!¡± he shouts, never breaking our stare.


    Behind him, our Samos cousins drop to a knee. Ptolemus does not, looking on with as much confusion as I feel. Blood members of a house do not kneel to one another. Not like this.


    They respond as one, their voices ringing. ¡°Kings of steel!¡±


    Quickly, Father extends his hand, catching my wrist before my shock ripples the boat beneath.


    His whisper is almost too low to hear.


    ¡°To the Kingdom of the Rift.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 20

    <i ss="calibre4">The green-uniformed teleporternds</i>evenly, on steady feet. It¡¯s been a long time since the world squeezed and blurred for me. Thest time was Shade. The split-second memory of him aches. Paired with my wound and the nauseating rush of pain, it¡¯s no wonder I copse to my hands and knees. Spots dance before my eyes, threatening to spread and consume. I will myself to stay awake and not vomit all over . . . wherever I am.


    Before I can look much farther than the metal beneath my fingers, someone pulls me up into a crushing embrace. I cling on as hard as I can.


    ¡°Cal,¡± I whisper in his ear, lips brushing flesh. He smells like smoke and blood, heat and sweat. My head fits perfectly in the space between his neck and shoulder.


    He trembles in my arms, shaking. Even his breath hitches. He¡¯s thinking the same thing I am.


    <i ss="calibre4">This can¡¯t be real.</i>


    Slowly, he pulls back, bringing his hands to cup my face. He searches<span id="page_334" title="334">my eyes and res over every inch of me. I do the same, looking for the trick, the lie, the betrayal. Maybe Maven has skin changers like Nanny. Maybe this is another Merandus hallucination. I could wake up on Maven¡¯s train, to his ice eyes and Evangeline¡¯s razor smile. The entire wedding, my escape, the battle¡ªsome horrific joke. But Cal feels real.


    He¡¯s paler than I remember, with blunt, close-cut hair. It would curl like Maven¡¯s if given the chance. Rough stubble lines his cheeks, along with a few minor nicks and cuts along the sharp edges of his jaw. He is leaner than I remember, his muscles harder beneath my hands. Only his eyes remain the same. Bronze, red-gold, like iron brought to zing heat.


    I look different too. A skeleton, an echo. He runs a limp lock of hair through his fingers, watching the brown fade to brittle gray. And then he touches the scars. At my neck, my spine, ending with the brand below my ruined dress. His fingers are gentle, shockingly so after we almost ripped each other apart. I am ss to him, a fragile thing that might shatter or disappear at any moment.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± I tell him, whispering words we both need to hear. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">I¡¯m back.</i>


    ¡°Is it you, Cal?¡± I sound like a child.


    He nods, his gaze never wavering. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    I move because he won¡¯t, taking us both by surprise. My lips mold to his with ferocity, and I pull him in. His heat falls like a nket around my shoulders. I fight to keep my sparks from doing the same. Still, the hairs on his neck rise, responding to the electric current jumping in the air. Neither of us closes our eyes. This might still be a dream.


    Hees to his senses first, scooping me off my feet. A dozen faces pretend to look away in some semnce of propriety. I don¡¯t care. Let<span id="page_335" title="335">them look. No flush of shame rises. I¡¯ve been forced to do far worse in front of a crowd.


    We¡¯re on an airjet. The long fusge, dull roar of engines, and clouds slipping past make it unmistakable. Not to mention the delicious purr of electricity pulsing through wires spanning every inch. I reach out,ying my palm t against the cool, curved metal of the jet wall. It would be easy to drink the rhythmic pulse, pull it into me. Easy and stupid. As much as I want to gorge myself on the sensation, that would end very poorly.


    Cal never removes his hand from the small of my back. He turns to look over his shoulder, addressing one of the dozen people harnessed in their seats.


    ¡°Healer Reese, her first,¡± he says.


    ¡°Sure thing.¡±


    My grin disappears the second an unfamiliar man puts his hands on me. His fingers close around my wrist. The grip feels wrong, heavy. Like stone. Manacles. Without thought, I smack him away and jump back, as if burned. Terror mauls my insides as sparks spit from my fingers. Faces sh, clouding my vision. Maven, Samson, the Arven guards with their bruising hands and hard eyes. Overhead, the lights flicker.


    The red-haired healer flinches back, yelping, as Cal smoothly angles between us.


    ¡°Mare, he¡¯s going to treat your wounds. He¡¯s a newblood, with us.¡± He braces one hand against the wall by my face, shielding me. Boxing me in. Suddenly the decent-sized jet is too small, the air stale and suffocating. The weight of manacles is gone but not forgotten. I still feel them at my wrists and ankles.


    The lights flicker again. I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut,<span id="page_336" title="336">trying to focus. Control. But my heartbeat rages on, my pulse a thunder. I suck down air through gritted teeth, willing myself to calm down.<i ss="calibre4">You¡¯re safe. You¡¯re with Cal, the Guard. You¡¯re safe.</i>


    Cal takes my face again, pleading. ¡°Open your eyes, look at me.¡±


    No one else makes a sound.


    ¡°Mare, no one is going to hurt you here. It¡¯s all over. Look at me!¡± I hear the desperation in him. He knows as well as I do what could happen to the jet if I lose control entirely.


    The jet shifts beneath my feet, angling down in a steady decline. Getting us close to the ground should the worst happen. Setting my jaw, I force my eyes open.


    <i ss="calibre4">Look at me.</i>


    Maven said those words once. In Harbor Bay. When the sounder threatened to tear me apart. I hear him in Cal¡¯s voice, see him in Cal¡¯s face.<i ss="calibre4">No, I escaped you. I got away.</i>But Maven is everywhere.


    Cal sighs, exasperated and pained. ¡°Cameron.¡±


    The name rips my eyes open and I m both fists into Cal¡¯s chest. He stumbles back, surprised by the force. A silver flush colors his cheeks. He knits his brows in confusion.


    Behind him, Cameron keeps one hand on her seat, steadily swaying with the motion of the jet. She looks strong, zipped into thick-weave tactical gear, with her fresh braids tightly wound to her head. Her deep brown eyes bore into mine.


    ¡°Not that.¡± Begginges too easily. ¡°Anything but that. Please. I can¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t feel that again.¡±


    The smother of silence. The slow death. I spent six months beneath that weight and now, feeling myself again, I may not survive another moment with it. A gasp of freedom between two prisons is just another torture.


    <span id="page_337" title="337">Cameron keeps her hands at her sides, long, dark fingers still. Waiting to strike. The months have changed her too. Her fire has not disappeared, but it has direction, focus. Purpose.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she replies. With deliberate motions, she crosses her arms over her chest, folding away her lethal hands. I almost copse in relief. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, Mare.¡±


    My heartbeat still thrums, enough to make me breathless, but the lights stop flickering. I dip my head in relief. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    At my side, Cal looks on grimly. A muscle ripples in his cheek. What he¡¯s thinking, I can¡¯t say. But I can guess. I spent six months with monsters, and I haven¡¯t forgotten what it feels like to be a monster myself.


    Slowly, I sink into an empty seat, putting my palms on my knees. Then Ice my fingers together. Then sit on my hands. I don¡¯t know which looks the least threatening. Furious with myself, I re at the metal between my toes. Suddenly I¡¯m very aware of my army jacket and battered dress, ripped at almost every seam, and how cold it is in here.


    The healer notes my shiver and quickly drapes a nket around my shoulders. He moves steadily, all business. When he catches my eye, he gives me a half smile.


    ¡°Happens all the time,¡± he mutters.


    I force a chuckle, a hollow sound.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see that side, okay?¡±


    As I twist to show him the shallow but long gash along my ribs, Cal takes the seat next to me. He offers a smile of his own.


    <i ss="calibre4">Sorry,</i>he mouths to me.


    <i ss="calibre4">Sorry,</i>I mouth back.


    Even though I have nothing to be truly sorry for. For once. I¡¯vee through horrendous things, done horrendous things to survive. It¡¯s easier this way. For now.


    <span id="page_338" title="338">I don¡¯t know why I pretend to sleep. As the healer does his work, my eyes slip closed and they stay that way for hours. I¡¯ve dreamed of this moment for so long it¡¯s almost overwhelming. The only thing I can do is lean back and breathe easy. I feel like a bomb. No sudden moves. Cal stays close to my side, his leg pressed up against mine. I hear him shift asionally, but he doesn¡¯t speak with the others. Neither does Cameron. Their attention is reserved for me.


    Part of me wants to talk. Ask them about my family. Kilorn. Farley. What happened before, what¡¯s happening now. Where the hell we¡¯re even going. I can¡¯t get past thinking the words. There¡¯s only enough energy in me to feel relief. Cool, soothing relief. Cal is alive; Cameron is alive. I¡¯m alive.


    The others mutter among themselves, their voices low out of respect. Or they just don¡¯t want to wake me up and risk another brush with fickle lightning.


    Eavesdropping is second nature at this point. I catch a few words, enough to paint a hazy picture. Scarlet Guard, tactical sess, Montfort. Thest takes me a long moment of contemtion. I barely remember the newblood twins, envoys of another nation far away. Their faces blur in my memory. But I certainly remember their offer. Safe haven for newbloods, provided I apany them. It unsettled me then and unsettles me now. If they¡¯ve made an alliance with the Scarlet Guard¡ªwhat was the price? My body tenses at the implication. Montfort wants me for something, that much is clear. And Montfort seems to have aided my rescue.


    In my head, I brush against the electricity of the jet, letting it call to the electricity inside me. Something tells me this battle isn¡¯t over yet.


    <span id="page_339" title="339">The jetnds smoothly, touching down after sunset. I jump at the sensation and Cal reacts with catlike reflexes, his handing down on my wrist. I flinch away again with a spike of adrenaline.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he sputters. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    Despite my churning stomach, I force myself to calm down. I take his wrist in my hand, fingers brushing along the steel of his memaker bracelet.


    ¡°He kept me chained up. Silent Stone manacles, night and day,¡± I whisper. I tighten my grip, letting him feel a bit of what I remember. ¡°I still can¡¯t get them out of my head.¡±


    His brow furrows over darkening eyes. I know pain intimately, but I can¡¯t find the strength to see it in Cal. I drop my gaze, running a thumb along his hot skin. Another reminder that he is here and I am here. No matter what happens, there is always this.


    He shifts, moving with his lethal grace, until I¡¯m holding his hand. Our fingersce and tighten. ¡°I wish I could make you forget,¡± he says.


    ¡°That won¡¯t help anything.¡±


    ¡°I know. But still.¡±


    Cameron watches from across the aisle, one tapping leg crossed over the other. She looks almost amused when I nce at her. ¡°Amazing,¡± she says.


    I try not to bristle. My rtionship with Cameron, though short, was not exactly smooth. In hindsight, my fault. Another in a long line of mistakes I desperately want to fix. ¡°What?¡±


    Grinning, she unstraps from her seat and stands as the jet slows. ¡°You still haven¡¯t asked where we¡¯re going.¡±


    ¡°Anywhere¡¯s better than where I was.¡± I throw a pointed nce at Cal and pull my hand away to fool with the buckles of my harness.<span id="page_340" title="340">¡°And I figured someone would fill me in.¡±


    He shrugs as he gets up. ¡°Waiting for the right time. Didn¡¯t want to overload you.¡±


    For the first time in a long time, I trulyugh. ¡°That is an absolutely horrific pun.¡±


    His wide smile matches mine. ¡°Does the job.¡±


    ¡°This is bleeding unbearable,¡± Cameron mutters to herself.


    Once I¡¯m free from my seat, I approach her, tentative. She notes my apprehension and shoves her hands in her pockets. It¡¯s not like Cameron to back down or soften, but she does for me. I didn¡¯t see her in the battle and I¡¯d be stupid not to realize her true purpose. She¡¯s on this jet to keep an eye on me, a bucket of water next to a campfire should it rage out of control.


    Slowly, I put my arms around her shoulders, hugging her close. I tell myself not to flinch at the feel of her skin.<i ss="calibre4">She can control it,</i>I tell myself.<i ss="calibre4">She won¡¯t let her silence touch you.</i>¡°Thanks for being here,¡± I tell her. I mean it.


    She nods tightly, her chin brushing the top of my head. So damn tall. Either she¡¯s still growing or I¡¯ve started shrinking. Even money on both.


    ¡°Now tell me where here is,¡± I add, pulling back. ¡°And what the hell I¡¯ve been missing.¡±


    She ducks her chin, gesturing toward the tail of the ne. Like the old ckrun, this airjet features a ramp entrance. It lowers with a pneumatic hiss. Healer Reese leads the others out, and we follow, a few paces behind. I tense as we go, not knowing what to expect outside.


    ¡°We¡¯re a lucky bunch,¡± Cameron says. ¡°We get to see what Piedmont looks like.¡±


    <span id="page_341" title="341">¡°Piedmont?¡± I nce at Cal, unable to hide my shock or my confusion.


    He rolls his shoulders. Difort shes across his face. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware until this was nned. They didn¡¯t tell us much.¡±


    ¡°They never do.¡± That¡¯s how the Guard works, how it keeps ahead of Silvers like Samson or ra. People know exactly what they need to, and nothing more. It takes a lot of faith, or stupidity, to follow orders like that.


    I walk down the ramp, each step lighter than thest. Without the deadweight of manacles, I feel like I could fly. The other Guardsmen keep on ahead of us and join in with a crowd of other soldiers.


    ¡°The Piedmont branch of the Scarlet Guard, right? Big branch, by the looks of it.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Cal mutters in my ear. Over his shoulder, Cameron eyes us both, equally puzzled. I nce between them, searching for the right thing to say. I choose the truth.


    ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re in Piedmont. The Guard has been operating here as in Norta and the Laknds.¡± The words of the Piedmont princes, Daraeus and Alexandret, echo in my mind.


    Cal holds my gaze for a moment, before turning to look at Cameron. ¡°You¡¯re close to Farley. You hear anything about this?¡±


    Cameron taps her lip. ¡°She never mentioned it. I doubt she knows. Or has clearance to tell me.¡±


    Their tones change. Sharper, all business. They don¡¯t like each other. On Cameron¡¯s end, I understand. On Cal¡¯s? He was raised a prince. Even the Scarlet Guard can¡¯t scrub away every inch of brat.


    ¡°Is my family here?¡± I sharpen too. ¡°Do you know that, at least?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Cal replies. He¡¯s not a good liar, and I see no lie in him<span id="page_342" title="342">now. ¡°I was assured of it. They came from Trial with the rest of the Colonel¡¯s team.¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°Good. I¡¯m going to see them as soon as possible.¡±


    The Piedmont air is hot, heavy, sticky. Like the deepest hole of summer, even though it¡¯s only spring. I¡¯ve never started sweating so quickly. Even the breeze is warm, offering no respite as it rolls across the t, hot concrete. Thending field is awash with floodlights, so bright it almost crowds out the stars. In the distance, more jets line up. Some are forest green, same as the ones I saw in Caesar¡¯s Square. Airjets like the ckrun, as well as bigger cargo craft.<i ss="calibre4">Montfort,</i>I realize as the dots connect in my brain.<i ss="calibre4">The white triangle on their wings is their mark.</i>I saw it before, back at Tuck on crates of equipment and on the twins¡¯ uniforms. Peppered in with the Montfort crafts are deep blue jets, as well as yellow-and-white ones, their wings painted in stripes. The first are Laknder, the second from Piedmont itself. Everything around us is well-organized and, judging by hangars and outbuildings, well funded.


    Clearly, we¡¯re on a military base, and not the kind the Scarlet Guard is used to.


    Both Cal and Cameron look just as surprised as I do.


    ¡°I just spent six months a prisoner, and you¡¯re telling me I know more about our operations than the both of you?¡± I scoff at them.


    Cal looks sheepish. He¡¯s a general; he¡¯s Silver; he was born a prince. Being confused and helpless deeply unsettles him.


    Cameron just bristles. ¡°Took you just a few hours to regain your self-righteousness. Must be a new record.¡±


    She¡¯s right, and it stings. I hurry to catch her, Cal at my side. ¡°I just¡ªsorry. I thought this would be easier.¡±


    A hand at the small of my back bleeds warmth, soothing my muscles. ¡°What do you know that we don¡¯t?¡± Cal asks, his voice achingly<span id="page_343" title="343">gentle. Part of me wants to shake him out of it. I¡¯m not a doll¡ªnot Maven¡¯s doll, no one¡¯s¡ªand I¡¯m in control again. I don¡¯t need to be handled. But the rest relishes his tender treatment. It¡¯s better than anything I¡¯ve experienced in so long.


    I don¡¯t break my stride, but I keep my voice low. ¡°On the day House Iral and the others tried to kill Maven, he was holding a feast for two princes from Piedmont. Daraeus and Alexandret. They questioned me beforehand, asking about the Scarlet Guard, their operations in their kingdom. Something about a prince and princess.¡± The memory sharpens into focus. ¡°Charlotta and Michael. They¡¯re missing.¡±


    A dark cloud crosses Cal¡¯s face. ¡°We heard the princes were in Archeon. Alexandret died afterward. In the assassination attempt.¡±


    I blink, surprised. ¡°How do you¡ª¡±


    ¡°We kept tabs on you as best we could,¡± he exins. ¡°It was in the reports.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Reports.</i>The word spirals. ¡°Is that why Nanny was embedded in court? To keep an eye on me?¡±


    ¡°Nanny was my fault,¡± Cal spits out. He res at his feet. ¡°No one else¡¯s.¡±


    Next to him, Cameron scowls. ¡°Damn right.¡±


    ¡°Miss Barrow!¡±


    The voice isn¡¯t a shock. Where the Scarlet Guard goes, so does Colonel Farley. He looks almost the same as always: careworn, gruff, and brutish, close-cropped white-blond hair, his face lined with premature stress, and one eye clouded with a permanent film of scarlet blood. The only changes are the steady graying of his hair, as well as a sunburn across his nose and more freckles on his exposed forearms. The Laknder isn¡¯t used to Piedmont sunshine, and he¡¯s been here long enough to feel it.


    <span id="page_344" title="344">Laknder soldiers of his own, their uniforms a split of red and blue, apany him in nking position. Two others in green trail along as well. I recognize Rash and Tahir at a distance, walking in even step. Farley isn¡¯t with them. And I don¡¯t see her on the concrete, leaving one of the airjets. It isn¡¯t like her to turn from a fight¡ªunless she never made it out of Norta. I swallow the sobering thought and focus on her father.


    ¡°Colonel.¡± I dip my head in greeting.


    He surprises me when he puts out one incredibly callused hand.


    ¡°Good to see you whole,¡± he says.


    ¡°Whole as can be expected.¡±


    That unsettles him. He coughs, looking between the three of us. A precarious ce to be for a man who openly fears what we are.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to see my family now, Colonel.¡±


    There¡¯s no reason to ask permission. I move to sidestep him, but his hand stops me cold. This time, I fight the gut urge to flinch away. No one else is going to see my fear. Not right now. Instead, I level my eyes on his, and let him realize exactly what he¡¯s doing.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t my decision,¡± the Colonel says firmly. He raises his eyebrows, imploring me to listen. Then he tips his head to the side. Over his shoulder, Rash and Tahir nod at me.


    ¡°Miss Barrow¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been instructed¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªto escort you¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªto your debriefing.¡±


    The twins blink at me in unison, finishing their maddening tandem speech. Like the Colonel, they sweat in the humidity. It makes their matching ck beards and ocher skin gleam.


    Instead of punching them both, as I wish I could, I take a small<span id="page_345" title="345">step back.<i ss="calibre4">Debriefing.</i>The thought of exining all I¡¯ve been through to some Guard strategist makes me want to scream or storm¡ªor both.


    Cal cuts between us, if only to cushion whatever blow I might send their way.


    ¡°You¡¯re really going to make her do this now?¡± His tone of disbelief is undercut with warning. ¡°It can wait.¡±


    The Colonel exhales slowly, the picture of exasperation. ¡°It may seem heartless¡±¡ªhe throws a cutting re at the Montfort twins¡ª¡°but you have vital information on our enemies. These are our orders, Barrow.¡± His voice softens. ¡°I wish they weren¡¯t.¡±


    With a light touch, I push Cal to the side. ¡°I¡¯m¡ªgoing¡ªto¡ªsee¡ªmy¡ªfamily¡ªnow!¡± I shout, speaking back and forth between the insufferable twins. They just scowl.


    ¡°How rude,¡± Rash mutters.


    ¡°Quite rude,¡± Tahir mutters back.


    Cameron conceals a lowugh as a cough. ¡°Don¡¯t tempt her,¡± she warns. ¡°I¡¯ll look the other way if lightning strikes.¡±


    ¡°The orders can wait,¡± Cal adds, using all of his military training to seemmanding, even if he has little authority here. The Scarlet Guard sees him as a weapon, nothing more. I know because I used to see him the same way.


    The twins don¡¯t budge. Rash blusters, drawing himself up like a bird fluffing its feathers. ¡°Certainly you have as much motive as anyone to aid in King Maven¡¯s downfall?¡±


    ¡°Certainly you know the best ways to defeat him?¡± Tahir carries on.


    They¡¯re not wrong. I¡¯ve seen Maven¡¯s deepest wounds and darkest parts. Where to hit him to make him bleed most. But in this moment, with everyone I love so close, I can barely see straight. Right now, if someone chained Maven to the ground in front of me, I wouldn¡¯t stop<span id="page_346" title="346">to kick him in the teeth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care who¡¯s holding your leash, any of you.¡± I step neatly around them both. ¡°Tell your master to wait.¡±


    The brothers trade nces. They speak in each other¡¯s thoughts, debating. I would walk away if I knew where to go, but I¡¯m hopelessly adrift.


    My mind already races ahead, to Mom, Dad, Gisa, Tramy, and Bree. I picture them holed up in another barracks, squeezed into a dormitory room smaller than our stilt house. Mom¡¯s bad cooking stinking up the space. Dad¡¯s chair, Gisa¡¯s scraps. It makes my heart ache.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find them myself,¡± I hiss, intending to leave the twins behind for good.


    Instead, Rash and Tahir bow back, waving me on. ¡°Very well¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your debriefing is in the morning, Miss Barrow.¡±


    ¡°Colonel, if you would escort her to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Colonel says sharply, cutting them both off. I¡¯m grateful for his hastiness. ¡°Follow me, Mare.¡±


    The Piedmont base is muchrger than Tuck, judging by the size of thending field. In the dark it¡¯s hard to tell, but it reminds me more of Fort Patriot, the Nortan military headquarters in Harbor Bay. The hangars arerger, the aircraft numbering in the dozens. Instead of walking to wherever we¡¯re going, the Colonel¡¯s men drive us in an open-topped transport. Like some of the jets, its sides are striped yellow and white. Tuck I could understand. An abandoned base, out of sight, out of mind, was probably easy for the Scarlet Guard to take. But this is none of those things.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Kilorn?¡± I mumble under my breath, nudging Cal beside me.


    <span id="page_347" title="347">¡°With your family, I assume. He bounced between them and the newbloods most of the time.¡±


    Because he has no family of his own.


    I drop my voice lower, to save the Colonel any offense. ¡°And Farley?¡±


    Cameron leans around Cal, her eyes oddly kind. ¡°She¡¯s in the hospital, but don¡¯t worry. She didn¡¯t go to Archeon; she isn¡¯t injured. You¡¯ll see her soon.¡± She blinks rapidly, selecting her words with care. ¡°You two will have . . . things to talk about.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    The warm air tugs at me with sticky fingers, tangling my hair. I can barely sit still in my seat, too excited and nervous. When I was taken, Shade had just died¡ªbecause of me. I wouldn¡¯t me anyone, including Farley, if they hated me for it. Time doesn¡¯t always heal wounds. Once in a while, it makes them worse.


    Cal keeps a hand on my leg, a firm weight as a reminder of his presence. Next to me, his eyes whip back and forth, noting every turn of the transport. I should do the same. The Piedmont base is unfamiliar ground. But I can¡¯t bring myself to do much more than chew my lip and hope. My nerves buzz, but not from electricity. When we make a right, turning in to awork of cheery brick row houses, I feel like I might explode.


    ¡°Officers¡¯ quarters,¡± Cal mutters under his breath. ¡°This is a royal base. Government funded. There¡¯s only a few Piedmont bases of this size.¡±


    His tone tells me he wonders as I do.<i ss="calibre4">Then how are we here?</i>


    We slow in front of the only house with every window aze. Without thought, I vault over the side of the transport, almost tripping<span id="page_348" title="348">over the rags of my dress. My vision narrows to the path in front of me. Gravel walk, gstone steps. The ripples of movement behind curtained windows. I hear only my heartbeat, and the creak of an opening door.


    Mom reaches me first, outstripping both my long-limbed brothers. The collision almost knocks the air from my lungs, and her resulting hug actually does. I don¡¯t mind. She could break every bone in my body and I wouldn¡¯t mind.


    Bree and Tramy half carry both of us up the steps and into the row house. They¡¯re shouting something while Mom whispers in my ear. I hear none of it. Happiness and joy overwhelm every sense. I¡¯ve never felt anything like it.


    My knees brush against a rug and Mom kneels with me in the middle of therge foyer. She keeps kissing my face, alternating cheeks so quickly I think they might bruise. Gisa worms in with us, her dark red hair aze in the corner of my eye. Like the Colonel, she has a dusting of new freckles, brown spots against golden skin. I tuck her close. She used to be smaller.


    Tramy grins over us, sporting a dark, well-kept beard. He was always trying to grow one as a teenager. Never got further than patchy stubble. Bree used to tease him. Not now. He braces himself against my back, thick arms wrapping around Mom and me. His cheeks are wet. With a jolt, I realize mine are too.


    ¡°Where¡¯s . . . ?¡± I ask.


    Thankfully, I don¡¯t have time to fear the worst. When he appears, I wonder if I¡¯m hallucinating.


    He leans heavy on Kilorn¡¯s arm and a cane. The months have been good to him. Regr meals filled him out. He walks slowly from an adjoining room.<i ss="calibre4">Walks.</i>His pace is stilted, unnatural, unfamiliar. My<span id="page_349" title="349">father has not had two legs in years. Or more than one working lung. As he approaches, eyes bright, I listen. No rasp. No click of a machine to help him breathe. No squeak of a rusty old wheelchair. I don¡¯t know what to think or say. I forgot how tall he is.


    Healers. Probably Sara herself. I thank her a thousand times silently inside my heart. Slowly, I stand, pulling the army jacket tight around me. It has bullet holes. Dad eyes them, still a soldier.


    ¡°You can hug me. I won¡¯t fall over,¡± he says.


    <i ss="calibre4">Liar.</i>He almost topples when I wrap my arms around his middle, but Kilorn keeps him upright. We embrace in a way we haven¡¯t been able to since I was a little girl.


    Mom¡¯s soft hands brush my hair away from my face, and she settles her head next to mine. They keep me between them, sheltered and safe. And for that moment, I forget. There is no Maven, no manacles, no brand, no scars. No war, no rebellion.


    No Shade.


    I wasn¡¯t the only one missing from our family. Nothing can change that.


    He isn¡¯t here, and never will be again. My brother is alone on an abandoned ind.


    I refuse to let another Barrow share his fate.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 21

    <i ss="calibre4">The bathwater swirls brown</i>and red. Dirt and blood. Mom drains the water twice, and still she keeps finding more in my hair. At least the healer on the jet took care of my fresh wounds, so I can enjoy the soapy heat without any more pain. Gisa perches on a stool by the edge of the tub, her spine straight in the stiff posture she perfected over the years. Either she¡¯s gotten prettier or six months dulled my memory of her face. Straight nose, full lips, and sparkling, dark eyes. Mom¡¯s eyes, my eyes. The eyes all the Barrows have, except Shade. He was the only one of us with eyes like honey or gold. From my dad¡¯s mother. Those eyes are gone forever.


    I turn from thoughts of my brother and stare at Gisa¡¯s hand. The one I broke with my foolish mistakes.


    The skin is smooth now, the bones reset. No evidence of her mangled body part, shattered by the butt of a Security officer¡¯s gun.


    ¡°Sara,¡± Gisa exins gently, flexing her fingers.


    ¡°She did a good job,¡± I tell her. ¡°With Dad too.¡±


    ¡°That took a whole week, you know. Regrowing everything from<span id="page_351" title="351">the thigh down. And he¡¯s still getting used to it. But it didn¡¯t hurt as much as this.¡± She flexes her fingers, grinning. ¡°You know she had to rebreak these two?¡± Her index and middle finger wiggle. ¡°Used a hammer. Hurt like hell.¡±


    ¡°Gisa Barrow, yournguage is appalling.¡± I ssh a little water at her feet. She swears again, drawing her toes away.


    ¡°me the Scarlet Guard. Seems they spend all their time cursing and asking for more gs.¡±<i ss="calibre4">Sounds about right.</i>Not one to be outdone, Gisa reaches into the tub and flicks water at me.


    Mom tuts at both of us. She tries to look stern, and fails horribly. ¡°None of that, you two.¡±


    A fuzzy white towel snaps between her hands, held out. As much as I want to spend another hour soaking in soothing hot water, I want to get back downstairs much more.


    The water sloshes around me as I stand up and step out of the bath, curling into the towel. Gisa¡¯s smile falters a little. My scars are in as day, pearly bits of white flesh against darker skin. Even Mom nces away, giving me a second to wrap the towel a bit better, hiding the brand on my corbone.


    I focus on the bathroom instead of their shamed faces. It isn¡¯t as fine as the one I had in Archeon, but theck of Silent Stone more than makes up for it. Whatever officer lived here had very bright taste. The walls are garish orange trimmed in white to match the porcin fixings, including a fluted sink, the deep bathtub, and a shower hidden behind a lime-green curtain. My reflection stares back from the mirror over the sink. I look like a drowned rat, albeit a very clean one. Next to my mother, I see our resemnce more closely. She¡¯s small-boned as I am, our skin the same golden shade. Though hers is more careworn and wrinkled, carved with the years.


    <span id="page_352" title="352">Gisa leads us out and into the hall, while Mom follows, drying my hair with another soft towel. They show me into a powder-blue bedroom with two fluffy beds. It¡¯s small but more than suitable. I¡¯d take a dirt floor over the most sumptuous chamber in Maven¡¯s pce. Mom is quick to pull me into a pair of cotton pajamas, not to mention socks and a soft shawl.


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯m going to boil,¡± I protest kindly, unwinding the shawl from my neck.


    She takes it back with a smile. Then she kisses me again, swooping to brush both my cheeks. ¡°Just making youfortable.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, I am,¡± I tell her, giving her arm a squeeze.


    In the corner, I notice my jeweled gown from the wedding, now reduced to scraps. Gisa follows my gaze and blushes.


    ¡°Thought I could save a bit of it,¡± my sister admits, looking almost sheepish. ¡°Those are rubies. I¡¯m not going to waste rubies.¡±


    It seems she has more of my thief¡¯s instincts than I realized.


    And, apparently, so does my mother.


    She speaks before I even take a step toward the bedroom door.


    ¡°If you think I¡¯m going to let you stay up to all hours talking war, you are absolutely incorrect.¡± To cement her point, she folds her arms and settles directly in my path. My mother is shorter, like me, but she¡¯s aborer of many years. She is far from weak. I¡¯ve seen her manhandle all three of my brothers, and I know firsthand she¡¯ll wrestle me into bed if she needs to.


    ¡°Mom, there are things I need to say¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your debriefing is at eight a.m. tomorrow. Say it then.¡±


    ¡°¡ªand I want to know what I missed¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Guard overthrew Corvium. They¡¯re working on Piedmont.<span id="page_353" title="353">That¡¯s all anyone downstairs knows.¡± She speaks rapid-fire, herding me toward the bed.


    I look to Gisa for help, but she backs away, hands raised.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to Kilorn¡ª¡±


    ¡°He understands.¡±


    ¡°Cal¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is absolutely fine with your father and brothers. He can storm the capital; he can handle them.¡±


    With a smirk, I imagine Cal sandwiched between Bree and Tramy.


    ¡°Besides, he did everything he could to bring you back to us,¡± she adds with a wink. ¡°They won¡¯t give him any trouble, not tonight at least. Now get in that bed and shut your eyes, or I¡¯ll shut them for you.¡±


    The lights hiss in their bulbs; the wiring in the room snakes along electric lines of light. None of itpares to the strength of my mother¡¯s voice. I do as she says, mbering under the nkets of the closest bed. To my surprise, she gets in next to me, hugging me close.


    For the thousandth time tonight, she kisses my cheek. ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere.¡±


    In my heart, I know that¡¯s not true.


    This war is far from won.


    But at least it can be true for tonight.


    Birds in Piedmont make a horrible racket. They chirp and trill outside the windows, and I imagine droves of them perched in the trees. It¡¯s the only exnation for such noise. They are good for one thing, though: I never heard birds in Archeon. Even before I open my eyes, I know yesterday was not a dream. I know where I¡¯m waking up, and what I¡¯m waking up to.


    <span id="page_354" title="354">Mom is an early riser by habit. Gisa isn¡¯t here either, but I¡¯m not alone. I poke out the bedroom door to find anky boy sitting at the top of the stairs, his legs stretched out over the steps.


    Kilorn gets to his feet with a grin, his arms spread wide. There¡¯s a decent chance I¡¯ll fall apart from all the hugging.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± he says. Even after six months of capture and torment, he won¡¯t treat me with kid gloves. We fall back into our old ways with blinding speed.


    I nudge him in the ribs. ¡°No thanks to you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, military raids and tactical strikes aren¡¯t exactly my specialty.¡±


    ¡°You have a specialty?¡±


    ¡°Well, besides being a nuisance?¡± heughs, walking me downstairs. Pots and pans tter somewhere, and I follow the smell of frying bacon. In the daylight, the row house seems friendly, and out of ce for a military base. Butter-yellow walls and florid purple rugs warm the central hallway, but it is suspiciously bare of decorations. Nail holes dot the wallpaper. Maybe a dozen paintings have been removed. The rooms we pass¡ªa salon and a study¡ªare also sparsely furnished. Either the officer who lived here emptied his home, or someone else did it for him.


    <i ss="calibre4">Stop it,</i>I tell myself. I¡¯ve earned the right not to think about betrayals or backstabbing for one damn day.<i ss="calibre4">You¡¯re safe; you¡¯re safe; it¡¯s over.</i>I repeat the words in my head.


    Kilorn puts an arm out, stopping me at the door to the kitchen. He leans forward into my space, until I can¡¯t avoid his eyes. Green as I remember. They narrow in concern. ¡°You¡¯re okay?¡±


    Usually, I would nod, smile away the insinuation. I¡¯ve done it so many times before. I pushed away the people closest to me, thinking I<span id="page_355" title="355">could bleed alone. I won¡¯t do that anymore. It made me hateful, horrific. But the words I want to pour out of me won¡¯te. Not for Kilorn. He wouldn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Starting to think I need a word that means yes and no at the same time,¡± I whisper, looking at my toes.


    He puts a hand to my shoulder. It doesn¡¯t linger. Kilorn knows the lines I¡¯ve drawn between us. He won¡¯t push past them. ¡°I¡¯m here when you need to talk.¡± Not<i ss="calibre4">if</i>,<i ss="calibre4">when</i>. ¡°I¡¯ll hound you until you do.¡±


    I offer a shaky grin. ¡°Good.¡± The sound of cooking fat crackles on the air. ¡°I hope Bree hasn¡¯t eaten it all.¡±


    My brother certainly tries. While Tramy helps her cook, Bree hovers at Mom¡¯s shoulder, picking strips of bacon right out of the hot grease. She swats him away as Tramy gloats, smirking over a pan of eggs. They¡¯re both adults, but they seem like children, like I remember them. Gisa sits at the kitchen table, watching out of the corner of her eye. Doing her best to remain proper. She drums her fingers on the wooden tabletop.


    Dad is more restrained, leaning against a wall of cabs, his new leg angled out in front of him. He spots me before the others and offers a small, private smile. Despite the cheerful scene, sadness eats at his edges.


    He feels our missing piece. The one that will never be found.


    I swallow around the lump in my throat, pushing the ghost of Shade away.


    Cal is also noticeably absent. Not that he will stay away long. He¡¯s probably sleeping, or perhaps nning the next stage of . . . whatever¡¯s going on.


    ¡°Other people need to eat,¡± I scold as I pass Bree. Quickly, I snatch the bacon from his fingers. Six months have not dulled my reflexes or<span id="page_356" title="356">impulses. I grin at him as I take a seat next to Gisa, now twisting her long hair into a neat bun.


    Bree makes a face as he sits, a te in hand piled with buttered toast. He never ate this well in the army, or on Tuck. Like the rest of us, he¡¯s taking full advantage of the food. ¡°Yeah, Tramy, save some for the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°Like you really need it,¡± Tramy retorts, pinching Bree¡¯s cheek. They end up pping each other away.<i ss="calibre4">Children,</i>I think again.<i ss="calibre4">And soldiers too.</i>


    Both of them were conscripted, and both of them survived longer than most. Some might call it luck, but they¡¯re strong, both of them. Smart in battle, if not at home. Warriors lie beneath their easy grins and boyish behavior. For now I¡¯m d I don¡¯t have to see it.


    Mom serves me first. No oneins, not even Bree. I dig into eggs and bacon, as well as a cup of rich, hot coffee with cream and sugar. The food is fit for a Silver noble, and I should know. ¡°Mom, how did you get this?¡± I ask around bites of egg. Gisa makes a face, wrinkling her nose at the food lolling about in my mouth as I speak.


    ¡°Daily delivery for the street,¡± Mom replies, tossing a braid of gray-and-brown hair over her shoulder. ¡°This row is all Guard officers, ranking officials, and significant individuals¡ªand their families.¡±


    ¡°¡®Significant individuals¡¯ meaning . . .¡± I try to read between the lines. ¡°Newbloods?¡±


    Kilorn answers instead. ¡°If they¡¯re officers, yeah. But newblood recruits live in the barracks with the rest of the soldiers. Thought it was better that way. Less division, less fear. We¡¯re never going to have a proper army if most of the troops are afraid of the person next to them.¡±


    In spite of myself, I feel my eyebrows rise in surprise.


    <span id="page_357" title="357">¡°Told you I had a specialty,¡± he whispers with a wink.


    My mother beams, putting the next te of food in front of him. She ruffles his hair fondly, setting the tawny locks on end. He awkwardly tries to smooth them down. ¡°Kilorn¡¯s been improving rtions between the newbloods and the rest of the Scarlet Guard,¡± she says proudly. He tries to hide the resulting blush with a hand.


    ¡°Warren, if you¡¯re not going to eat that¡ª¡±


    Dad reacts faster than any of us, rapping Tramy¡¯s outstretched hand with his cane. ¡°Manners, boy,¡± he growls. Then he snatches bacon from my own te. ¡°Good stuff.¡±


    ¡°Best I¡¯ve ever had,¡± Gisa agrees. She daintily but eagerly picks at eggs sprinkled with cheese. ¡°Montfort knows their food.¡±


    ¡°Piedmont,¡± Dad corrects. ¡°Food and stores are from Piedmont.¡±


    I file the information away and wince at the instinct to do so. I¡¯m so used to dissecting the words of everyone around me that I do it without thought, even to my family.<i ss="calibre4">You¡¯re safe; you¡¯re safe; it¡¯s over.</i>The words repeat in my head. Their rhythm levels me out a bit.


    Dad still refuses to sit.


    ¡°So how do you like the leg?¡± I ask.


    He scratches his head, fidgeting. ¡°Well, I won¡¯t be returning it anytime soon,¡± he says with a rare smile. ¡°Takes getting used to. Skin healer¡¯s helping when she can.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. That¡¯s really good.¡±


    I was never truly ashamed of Dad¡¯s injury. It meant he was alive and safe from conscription. So many other fathers, Kilorn¡¯s included, died for a nonsense war while mine lived. The missing leg made him sour, discontent, resentful of his chair. He scowled more than he smiled, a bitter hermit to most. But he was a living man. He told me once it was cruel to give hope where none should be. He had no hope of walking<span id="page_358" title="358">again, of being the man he was before. Now he stands as proof of the opposite and that hope, no matter how small, no matter how impossible, can still be answered.


    In Maven¡¯s prison, I despaired. I wasted. I counted the days and wished for an ending, no matter the kind. But I had hope. Foolish, illogical hope. Sometimes a single flicker, sometimes a me. It also seemed impossible. Just like the path ahead, through war and revolution. We could all die in theing days. We could be betrayed. Or . . . we could win.


    I don¡¯t even know what that looks like, or what exactly to hope for. I just know that I must keep my hope alive. It is the only shield I have against the darkness inside.


    I look around at the kitchen table. Once Imented that my family did not know me, didn¡¯t understand what I had be. I thought myself separate, alone, isted.


    I could not be more wrong. I know better now. I know who I am.


    I am Mare Barrow. Not Mareena, not the lightning girl. Mare.


    My parents quietly offer to apany me to the debriefing. Gisa does too. I refuse. This is a military undertaking, all business, all for the cause. It will be easier for me to recall in detail if my mother isn¡¯t holding my hand. I can be strong in front of the Colonel and his officers, but not her. She makes it too tempting to break. Weakness is eptable, forgivable, around family. But not when lives and wars hang in the bnce.


    The kitchen clock ticks eight a.m., and right on time an open-topped transport rolls up outside the row house. I go quietly. Only Kilorn follows me out, but not to join me. He knows he has no part in this.


    <span id="page_359" title="359">¡°So what will you do with yourself for the day?¡± I ask as I wrench open the brass-knobbed door.


    He shrugs. ¡°I had a schedule up in Trial. Bit of training, rounds with the newbloods, lessons with Ada. After I came down here with your parents, I figured I¡¯ll keep it up.¡±


    ¡°A schedule,¡± I snort, stepping out into the sunshine. ¡°You sound like a Silverdy.¡±


    ¡°Well, when you¡¯re as good-looking as I am . . . ,¡± he sighs.


    It¡¯s already hot, the sun zing above the eastern horizon, and I strip off the thin jacket Mom forced me into. Leafy trees line the street, disguising the military base as an upper-ss neighborhood. Most of the brick row houses look empty, their windows dark and shuttered. At the bottom of the steps, my transport waits. The driver behind the wheel pushes down his sunsses, eyeing me over the brim. I should have known. Cal gave me all the time I needed with my family, but he couldn¡¯t stay away long.


    ¡°Kilorn,¡± he calls, waving a hand in greeting. Kilorn returns the gesture with ease and a smile. Six months has killed their rivalry at the root.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find youter,¡± I tell him. ¡°Compare notes.¡±


    He nods. ¡°Sure thing.¡±


    Even though it¡¯s Cal in the driver¡¯s seat, drawing me in like a beacon, I walk slowly to the transport. In the distance, airjet engines roar. Every step is another inch closer to reliving six months of captivity. If I turned around, no one would me me. But it would only prolong the inevitable.


    Cal watches, his face grim in the daylight. He extends a hand, helping me into the front seat like I¡¯m some kind of invalid. The engine<span id="page_360" title="360">purrs, its electric heart afort and a reminder. I may be scared, but I¡¯m not weak.


    With onest wave to Kilorn, Cal guns the engine and spins the wheel, driving us down the street. The breeze ruffles his roughly cut hair, highlighting uneven spots.


    I run a hand down the back of his head. ¡°Did you do this yourself?¡±


    He flushes silver. ¡°I tried.¡± Leaving one hand on the wheel, he takes mine in the other. ¡°Are you going to be all right for this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get through it. I suppose your reports have most of the important parts. I just have to fill in the holes.¡± The trees thin on either side of us, where the officer street hits arger avenue. To the left is thending field. We turn right, the transport arcing smoothly over pavement. ¡°And hopefully someone starts filling me in on all . . . this.¡±


    ¡°With these people, you have to demand answers rather than wait for them.¡±


    ¡°Have you been demanding, Your Highness?¡±


    He chuckles low in his throat. ¡°They certainly think so.¡±


    It¡¯s a five-minute drive to our destination, and Cal does his best to get me up to speed. There was a headquarters along the Laknder border near Trial. All the Colonel¡¯s soldiers evacuated north in anticipation of a raid on the ind. They spent months belowground, in freezing bunkers, while Farley and the Colonel tradedmunications with Command and prepared for their next target. Corvium. Cal¡¯s voice breaks a little when he describes the siege. He led the strike himself, taking the walls in a surprise raid and then the fortress city, block by block. It¡¯s possible he knew the soldiers he was fighting. It¡¯s possible he killed friends. I don¡¯t prod at either wound. In the end, theypleted the siege, removing thest Silver officers by offering them surrender or execution.


    <span id="page_361" title="361">¡°Most are held hostage now, some ransomed back to their families. And some chose death,¡± he murmurs, his voice trailing off. He nces over at me, just for a moment, his eyes hidden behind lenses of darkened ss.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I murmur, and I mean it. Not just because Cal is in pain, but because I have long since learned how gray this world is. ¡°Will Julian be at the debriefing?¡±


    Cal sighs, grateful for the change in subject. ¡°I don¡¯t know. This morning he said the Montfort brass have been very amodating where he is concerned¡ªgiving him ess to the base archives, aboratory, all the time he wants to continue his newblood studies.¡±


    I can think of no better reward for Julian Jacos. Time and books.


    ¡°But they might not be too keen on letting a singer near their leader,¡± Cal adds, thoughtful.


    ¡°Understandable,¡± I reply. While our abilities are more destructive, Julian¡¯s ability to manipte is just as deadly. ¡°So, how long has Montfort been at this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know either,¡± he says, his annoyance obvious. ¡°But they took real notice after Corvium. And now, with Maven¡¯s alliance with the Laknds? He¡¯s uniting too, on the rebellion,¡± he exins. ¡°Montfort and the Guard did the same. Instead of guns and food, Montfort started sending soldiers. Reds, newbloods. They already had a n to spring you out of Archeon. Pincer move. Us from Trial, Montfort from Piedmont. They can organize, I¡¯ll give them that. They just needed the right moment.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°They picked a hell of a moment.¡± Gunfire and bloodshed cloud my thoughts. ¡°All that for me. Seems stupid.¡±


    Cal¡¯s grip on my hand tightens. He was raised to be the perfect Silver soldier. I remember his manuals, his books on military tactics.<span id="page_362" title="362"><i ss="calibre4">Victory at any cost,</i>they said. And he used to believe it. Just as I used to think nothing on earth could make me go back to Maven.


    ¡°Either they had another target in Archeon, or Montfort really, really wants you,¡± Cal mutters as the transport slows.


    We stop in front of another brick building, its front decorated by white columns and a long, wrapping porch. Again I think of Fort Patriot, its gates decorated in foreboding bronze. Silvers like beautiful things, and this is no exception. Flowering vines crawl up the columns, blooming with purple bursts of wisteria and fragrant honeysuckle. Soldiers in uniform walk beneath the nts, keeping to the shade. I spot Scarlet Guard in their mismatched clothes and red scarves, Laknders in blue, and a crawling mess of official Montfort green. My stomach flips.


    The Colonel marches out to meet us, blissfully alone.


    He starts in before I manage to get down from the transport. ¡°You¡¯ll be meeting with me, two Montfort generals, and one Command officer.¡±


    Both Cal and I jolt, eyes wide. ¡°Command?¡± I balk.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The Colonel¡¯s good eye shes. He spins on his heel, forcing us to keep up. ¡°Let¡¯s just say wheels are in motion.¡±


    I roll my eyes, already exasperated. ¡°How about you just say what you mean?¡±


    ¡°Probably because he doesn¡¯t know,¡± replies a familiar voice.


    Farley leans in the shadow of one of the columns, arms crossed high over her chest. I gape, jaw dropping open. Because she is hugely, hriously pregnant. Her belly strains against an altered uniform of a tied shift dress and baggy pants. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she gave birth in the next thirty seconds.


    ¡°Ah¡± is all I can think to say.


    <span id="page_363" title="363">She looks almost amused. ¡°Do the math, Barrow.¡±


    Nine months. Shade. Her reaction on the cargo jet when I told her what Jon said.<i ss="calibre4">The answer to your question is yes.</i>


    I didn¡¯t know what it meant, but she did. She had her suspicions. And she learned she was pregnant with my brother¡¯s child less than an hour after he was murdered. Each revtion is a kick in the gut. Equal parts joy and sorrow. Shade has a child¡ªone he¡¯ll never get to see.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe no one thought to tell you,¡± Farley continues, throwing pointed res at Cal, who shuffles awkwardly. ¡°Certainly had the time.¡±


    In my shock, all I can do is agree. Not just Cal, but my mother, the rest of the family. ¡°Everyone knew about this?¡±


    ¡°Well, no use arguing about it now,¡± Farley pushes on, heaving herself off the column. Even in the Stilts, most women take to bed at this stage of pregnancy, but not her. She keeps a gun at her hip, holstered in open warning. A pregnant Farley is still a dangerous Farley. Probably more so. ¡°I have a feeling you want to get this over as quickly as possible.¡±


    When she turns her back, leading us in, I hit Cal in the ribs. Twice for good measure.


    He grits his teeth, breathing through the blow. ¡°Sorry,¡± he grumbles.


    The interior of what must be the basemand building seems more like a mansion. Staircases spiral on either side of the entrance hall, connecting to a gallery above lined by windows. Crown molding lines the ceiling, which is painted to look like the wisteria outside. The floor is parquet wood, alternating nks of mahogany, cherry, and oak in intricate designs. But like in the row houses, anything that can¡¯t be bolted down is gone. nk spaces line the walls, while alcoves meant<span id="page_364" title="364">for sculptures or busts hold guards instead. Montfort guards.


    Up close, their uniforms are better made than anything the Scarlet Guard or the Colonel¡¯s Laknders wear. More like the uniforms of Silver officers. They¡¯re mass-produced¡ªsturdy¡ªwith badges, insignia, and the white triangle emzoned on their arms.


    Cal observes as closely as I do. He nudges me, nodding up the stairs. In the gallery, no fewer than six Montfort officers watch us go. They are gray-haired, battle-worn, with enough medals to sink a ship. Generals.


    ¡°Cameras too,¡± I whisper to him. In my head I pick them out, noting each electric signature while we pass through the entrance hall.


    Despite the empty walls and sparse decorations, the fine passages make my skin crawl. I keep telling myself the person next to me isn¡¯t one of the Arvens. This isn¡¯t Whitefire. My ability is proof of that. No one is keeping me prisoner. I wish I could drop my guard. It¡¯s second nature at this point.


    The meeting room reminds me of Maven¡¯s council chamber. It has a long, polished table and finely upholstered chairs, and it¡¯s illuminated by a bank of windows looking out over another garden. Again the walls are empty, except for a seal painted directly on the wall. Yellow and white stripes, with a purple star in the center. Piedmont.


    We¡¯re the first to arrive. I expect the Colonel to take a seat at the head of the table, but he doesn¡¯t, electing for the chair on its right instead. The rest of us file in next to him, facing the empty side we leave open for the Montfort officers and Command.


    The Colonel looks on, perplexed. He watches as Farley sits, his good eye cold and steely. ¡°Captain, you don¡¯t have clearance for this.¡±


    Cal and I exchange nces, eyebrows raised. Farley and the Colonel sh often. At least that hasn¡¯t changed.


    <span id="page_365" title="365">¡°Oh, were you not informed?¡± she replies, pulling a folded strip of paper from her pocket. ¡°So sad how that happens.¡± With a flick of her hand, she slides the paper over to the Colonel.


    He unfolds it greedily, eyes scanning a page of harsh-typed letters. It isn¡¯t long, but he stares at it for a while, not believing the words. Finally he smooths the message against the table. ¡°This can¡¯t be right.¡±


    ¡°Command wants a representative at the table.¡± Farley grins. She sys her hands wide. ¡°Here I am.¡±


    ¡°Then Command made a mistake.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Command now, Colonel. There is no mistake.¡±


    Command rules the Scarlet Guard, the hub of a very secretive wheel. I have only heard whispers of their existence, but enough to know they control the entirety of a vast,plicated operation. If they made Farley one of them, does this mean that the Guard is trulying out of the shadows¡ªor is it just Farley they want?


    ¡°Diana, you can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    She bristles, flushing red. ¡°Because I¡¯m pregnant? I assure you, I can handle two tasks at once.¡± If not for their uncanny resemnce, both in appearance and attitude, it would be easy to forget that Farley is the Colonel¡¯s daughter. ¡°Do you want to press the matter further, Willis?¡±


    He clenches a fist on the message, knuckles turning bone white. But he shakes his head.


    ¡°Good. And it¡¯s General now. Act ordingly.¡±


    A retort dies in the Colonel¡¯s throat, giving him a strangled look. With a satisfied smirk, Farley retrieves the message and tucks it away. She notes Cal watching, just as confused as I am.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only ranking officer in the room now, Calore.¡±


    ¡°I suppose not. Congrattions,¡± he adds, offering a tight smile.


    It takes her off guard. After her father¡¯s open hostility, she didn¡¯t<span id="page_366" title="366">expect support from anyone, least of all the begrudging Silver prince.


    The Montfort generals enter from another door, resplendent in their dark green uniforms. One I saw in the gallery. She has an even bob of white hair, watery brown eyes, and long, flutteringshes. She blinks rapidly. The other, a dark-haired woman, brown-skinned, looks to be about forty and built like an ox. She tips her head at me, as if greeting a friend.


    ¡°I know you,¡± I say, trying to ce her face. ¡°How do I know you?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t answer, turning her head over her shoulder to wait for one more person, a gray-haired man in in clothing. But I barely notice him at all, distracted by hispanion. Even without his house colors, dressed in simple grays instead of his usual faded gold, Julian is hard to miss. I feel a burst of warmth at the sight of my old teacher. Julian inclines his head, offering a small smile in greeting. He looks better than I¡¯ve ever seen him, even when I first met him at the summer pce. Then he was worn, wearied by a court of enemies, haunted by a dead sister, a broken Sara Skonos, and his own doubt. Though his hair is now more gray than brown, his wrinkles deeper, he seems vibrant, alive, unburdened. Whole. The Scarlet Guard has given him purpose. And Sara too, I bet.


    His presence soothes Cal even more than me. He rxes a bit at my side, giving his uncle the slightest nod. Both of us see what this is, what kind of message Montfort is trying to send. They do not hate Silvers¡ªand they do not fear them.


    The other man shuts the door behind him as Julian takes a seat, firmly nting himself on our side of the table. Even though he¡¯s six feet tall, he seems small without a uniform of his own. Instead, he wears civilian clothing. A simple buttoned shirt, pants, shoes. No weapons that I can see. He has red blood, that¡¯s certain, judging by the<span id="page_367" title="367">pink undertones in his sandy skin. Newblood or Red, I don¡¯t know. Everything about him is decidedly neutral, pleasantly average, and unassuming. He seems a nk page, either by nature or design. There¡¯s nothing else to indicate who or what he might be.


    But Farley knows. She moves to get to her feet, and he waves her down.


    ¡°No need for that, General,¡± he says. In a way, he reminds me of Julian. They have the same wild eyes, the only thing remarkable about him. His are angled, darting back and forth, taking in everything for observation and understanding. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to finally meet you all,¡± he adds, nodding to each of us in turn. ¡°Colonel, Miss Barrow, Your Highness.¡±


    Under the table, Cal¡¯s fingers twitch against his leg. No one calls him that anymore. Not people who mean it.


    ¡°And who are you, exactly?¡± the Colonel asks.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the man replies. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I could note sooner. My name is Dane Davidson, sir. I serve as premier to the Free Republic of Montfort.¡±


    Cal¡¯s fingers twitch again.


    ¡°Thank you all foring. I¡¯ve wanted this meeting for some time now,¡± Davidson continues, ¡°and I think that together, we can achieve magnificent things.¡±


    This man is the leader of the entire country. He¡¯s the one who asked for me, who wanted me to join him. Has he done all this to get his way? Like his general¡¯s face, his name rings a distant bell.


    ¡°This is General Torkins.¡± Davidson gestures between them. ¡°And General Salida.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Salida.</i>I don¡¯t know her name. But now I¡¯m certain I¡¯ve seen her before.


    <span id="page_368" title="368">The sturdily built general notes my confusion. ¡°I did some reconnaissance, Miss Barrow. I presented myself to King Maven when he was interviewing Ardent¡ªI mean newbloods. You may remember.¡± To demonstrate she sweeps her hand at the table. No, not<i ss="calibre4">at</i>.<i ss="calibre4">Through.</i>Like it¡¯s made of nothing¡ªor she is.


    The memory snaps into focus. She disyed her abilities and was epted into Maven¡¯s ¡°protection,¡± along with many other newbloods. One of them, in her fear, exposed Nanny to the entire court.


    I stare at her. ¡°You were there the day Nanny¡ªthe newblood who could change her face¡ªdied.¡±


    Salida looks truly sorry. She dips her head. ¡°If I had known, if I could have done something, truly I would have. But Montfort and the Scarlet Guard did notmunicate openly, not then. We didn¡¯t know all your operations, and they did not know ours.¡±


    ¡°No longer.¡± Davidson remains standing, his fists braced against the table. ¡°The Scarlet Guard has need for secrecy, yes, but I¡¯m afraid it will only do more harm than good from here onward. Too many moving parts not to get in each other¡¯s way.¡±


    Farley shifts in her seat. Either she wants to disagree or the chair is ufortable. But she holds her tongue, letting Davidson carry on.


    ¡°So, in the interest of transparency, I felt it best for Miss Barrow to detail her captivity, as much as she can, to all parties. And afterward, I will answer any and all questions you may have about myself, my country, and our road ahead.¡±


    In Julian¡¯s histories, there were records of rulers who were elected, rather than born. They earned their crowns with an array of attributes¡ªsome strength, some intelligence, some empty promises and intimidation. Davidson rules the so-called Free Republic, and his people chose him to lead. Based on what, I can¡¯t say yet. He has a firm<span id="page_369" title="369">way of speaking, a natural conviction. And he¡¯s obviously very smart. Not to mention he is the kind of man who gets more attractive with the years. I could easily see how people wanted him to rule.


    ¡°Miss Barrow, whenever you¡¯re ready.¡±


    To my surprise, the first hand to hold mine is not Cal¡¯s, but Farley¡¯s. She gives me a reassuring squeeze.


    I start at the beginning. The only ce I can think to start.


    My voice breaks when I detail how I was forced to remember Shade. Farley lowers her eyes, her pain just as deep as mine. I soldier through, to Maven¡¯s growing obsession, the boy king who twisted lies into weapons, using my face and his words to turn as many newbloods as possible against the Scarlet Guard. All the while his fraying edges bing more apparent.


    ¡°He says she left holes,¡± I tell them. ¡°The queen. She toyed in his head, taking pieces away, putting pieces in, jumbling him up. He knows that he is wrong, but he believes himself on a path, and he won¡¯t turn from it.¡±


    A current of heat ripples. At my side, Cal keeps his face still, eyes boring holes in the table. I tread carefully.


    <i ss="calibre4">His mother took away his love for you, Cal. He loved you. He knows he did. It just isn¡¯t there anymore, and it never will be.</i>But those words are not for Davidson or the Colonel or even Farley to hear.


    The Montfort people seem most interested in the Piedmont visit. They perk up at the mention of Daraeus and Alexandret, and I walk them through their visit step by step. Their questioning, their manner, down to what kind of clothes they wore. When I mention Michael and Charlotta, the missing prince and princess, Davidson purses his lips.


    As I speak, spilling more and more of my ordeal, a numbness washes over me. I detach from the words. My voice drones. The house rebellion.<span id="page_370" title="370">Jon¡¯s escape. Maven¡¯s near death. The sight of silver blood gushing from his neck. Another interrogation, mine and the Haven woman¡¯s. That was the first time I saw Maven truly rattled, when ne¡¯s sister pledged her allegiance to a different king. To Cal. It resulted in the exile of many members of court, possible allies.


    ¡°I tried to separate him from House Samos. I knew they were his strongest remaining ally, so I yed on his weakness for me. If he married Evangeline, I told him, she would kill me.¡± Pieces move into ce as I speak them. I flush at the implication that I am the reason for such a deadly alliance. ¡°I think it may have convinced him to look to the Laknds for a different bride¡ª¡±


    Julian cuts me off. ¡°Volo Samos was already searching for an excuse to detach from Maven. Ending the betrothal was just the final straw. And I assume the Laknder negotiations were in y much longer than you think.¡± He quirks a thin smile. Even if he¡¯s lying, it makes me feel a bit better.


    I race through my memories of the coronation tour, a glorified parade to hide his dealings with the Laknders. Maven¡¯s revocation of the Measures, the end of the Laknder War, his betrothal to Iris. Careful moves to buy goodwill from his kingdom, to get credit for stopping a war without stopping its destruction.


    ¡°Silver nobles came back to court before the wedding, and Maven kept me alone for most of the time. Then there was the wedding itself. The Laknder alliance was sealed. The storm¡ªyour storm¡ªfollowed. Maven and Iris fled to his escape train, but we were separated.¡±


    It was only yesterday. Still, this feels like recalling a dream. Adrenaline fogs the battle, reducing my memories to color and pain and fear. ¡°My guards dragged me back into the pce.¡±


    <span id="page_371" title="371">I pause, hesitating. Even now, I can¡¯t believe what Evangeline did.


    ¡°Mare?¡± Cal prods, his voice and the brush of his hand gentle. He¡¯s just as curious as the rest.


    It¡¯s easier to face him than the others. He alone understands how strange my escape was. ¡°Evangeline Samos cut us off. She killed the Arven guards and she . . . she freed me. She set me loose. I still don¡¯t know why.¡±


    A silence descends over the table. My greatest rival, a girl who threatened to kill me, a person with cold steel instead of a heart, is the reason I¡¯m here. Julian doesn¡¯t try to hide his surprise, his thin eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. But Cal doesn¡¯t look surprised at all. Instead, he draws a deep breath, his chest rising with the motion. Could that be¡ªpride?


    I don¡¯t have the energy to guess. Or to detail the way Samson Merandus died, ying Cal and me off each other until we both burned him alive.


    ¡°You know the rest,¡± I finish, exhausted. I feel like I¡¯ve been talking for decades.


    Premier Davidson stands, stretching. I expect more questions, but instead he opens a cab and pours me a ss of water. I don¡¯t touch it. I¡¯m in an unfamiliar ce run by unfamiliar people. I have very little trust left in me, and I won¡¯t waste it on someone I just met.


    ¡°Our turn?¡± Cal asks. He leans forward, eager to begin his own interrogation.


    Davidson inclines his head, lips tugged into t, neutral line. ¡°Of course. I assume you¡¯re wondering what we¡¯re doing here in Piedmont, and on a royal fleet base to boot?¡±


    When no one stops him, Davidsonunches ahead.


    ¡°As you know, the Scarlet Guard began in the Laknds, and<span id="page_372" title="372">filtered down into Norta this past year. Colonel Farley and General Farley were integral to both endeavors, and I thank them for their hard work.¡± He nods at them in turn. ¡°At the orders of your Command, other operatives undertook a simr campaign in Piedmont. Infiltrate, control, overthrow. Here, in fact, is where agents of Montfort first encountered agents of the Scarlet Guard, which, up untilst year, seemed a fiction to us. But the Scarlet Guard was very real, and we certainly shared a goal. Like yourpatriots, we seek to overthrow oppressive Silver rulers and expand our democratic republic.¡±


    ¡°It seems you¡¯ve done so already.¡± Farley indicates the room.


    Cal narrows his eyes. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°We concentrated our efforts on Piedmont due to its precarious structure. Princes and princesses rule their territories in shaky peace beneath a high prince elected from their ranks. Some controlrge tracts ofnd, others a city or simply a few miles of farms. Power is fluid, always changing. Currently, Prince Bracken of the Lowcountry is the high prince, the strongest Silver in Piedmont, with thergest territory and the greatest resources.¡± With a sweep of his hand, Davidson brushes his fingers against the seal on the wall. He traces the purple star. ¡°This is the grandest of the three military fortresses in his possession. It is now ceded to our personal use.¡±


    Cal sucks in a breath. ¡°You¡¯re working with Bracken?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s working for us,¡± Davidson replies proudly.


    My mind spins out. A Silver royal, operating on behalf of a country looking to take everything away from him? For a moment, it sounds ludicrous. Then I remember exactly who¡¯s sitting next to me.


    ¡°The princes visited Maven on Bracken¡¯s behalf. They questioned me for him.¡± I narrow my eyes at the premier. ¡°You told them to do that?¡±


    <span id="page_373" title="373">General Torkins shifts in her seat and clears her throat. ¡°Daraeus and Alexandret are sworn allies to Bracken. We had no knowledge of their contact with King Maven until one of them turned up dead in the middle of an assassination attempt.¡±


    ¡°Thanks to you, we know why,¡± Salida adds.


    ¡°What about the survivor? Daraeus. He¡¯s working against you¡ª¡±


    Davidson blinks slowly, his eyes nk and unreadable. ¡°He was working against us.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I murmur, thinking of all the ways the Piedmont prince could have been killed.


    ¡°And the others?¡± The Colonel presses on. ¡°Michael and Charlotta. The missing prince and princess.¡±


    ¡°Bracken¡¯s children,¡± Julian says, his voice tight.


    A sick feeling washes over me. ¡°You took his children? To make him cooperate?¡±


    ¡°A boy and girl for control of coastal Piedmont? For all these resources?¡± Torkins scoffs, her white hair rippling as she shakes her head. ¡°An easy trade. Think of the lives we would lose fighting for every mile. Instead, Montfort and the Scarlet Guard have real progress.¡±


    My heart clenches at the thought of two children, Silver or not, being held captive to make their father kneel. Davidson reads the sentiment on my face.


    ¡°They¡¯re well taken care of. Provided for.¡±


    Overhead, the lights flicker like the beating of moth¡¯s wings. ¡°A cell is still a cell, no matter how you dress it up,¡± I sneer.


    He doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°And a war is a war, Mare Barrow. No matter how good your intentions may be.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Well, it¡¯s too bad. Save all those soldiers here, but<span id="page_374" title="374">waste them on rescuing one person. Was that an easy trade too? Their lives for mine?¡±


    ¡°General Salida, what was thest count?¡± the premier asks.


    She nods, reciting from memory. ¡°Of the one hundred and two Ardents recruited to the Nortan army in thest few months, sixty were present as special guards to the wedding. All sixty were rescued, and debriefedst night.¡±


    ¡°Due inrge part to the efforts of General Salida, who was embedded with them.¡± Davidson ps a hand on her meaty shoulder. ¡°Including you, we saved sixty-one Ardents from your king. Each will be given food, shelter, and a choice of resettlement or service. In addition, we were able to raid arge amount of the Nortan Treasury. Wars are not cheap. Ransoming worthless or weak prisoners only gets us so far.¡± He pauses. ¡°Does that answer your question?¡±


    Relief mixes with the undercurrent of dread I can never seem to shake. The attack on Archeon was not just for me. I have not been freed from one dictator only to be taken by another. None of us knows what Davidson might do, but he isn¡¯t Maven. His blood is red.


    ¡°One more question for you, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Davidson pushes on. ¡°Miss Barrow, would you say the king of Norta is in love with you?¡±


    In Whitefire, I smashed too many sses of water to count. I feel the urge to do it again. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± A lie. An easy lie.


    Davidson is not so easily swayed. His wild eyes flicker, amused. Catching the light, they seem gold then brown then gold again. Shifting as the sun on a field of swaying wheat. ¡°You can take a well-educated guess.¡±


    Hot anger licks up inside me like a me.


    ¡°What Maven considers love is not love at all.¡± I yank aside the cor of my shirt, revealing my brand. The<i ss="calibre4">M</i>is in as day. So many<span id="page_375" title="375">eyes brush my skin, taking in the raised edges of pearly scar tissue and burned flesh. Davidson¡¯s gaze traces the lines of fire, and I feel Maven¡¯s touch in his stare.


    ¡°Enough,¡± I breathe, pushing the shirt back in ce.


    The premier nods. ¡°Fine. I will ask you to¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I mean I¡¯ve had enough of this. I need . . . time.¡± Heaving a shaky breath, I push back from the table. My chair scrapes against the floor, echoing in the sudden silence. No one stops me. They just watch, eyes full of pity. For once, I¡¯m d of it. Their pity lets me go.


    Another chair follows mine. I don¡¯t need to look back to know it¡¯s Cal.


    As on the airjet, I feel the world start to close and suffocate, expand and overwhelm. The halls, so like Whitefire, stretch into an endless line. Lights pulse overhead. I lean into the sensation, hoping it will ground me.<i ss="calibre4">You¡¯re safe; you¡¯re safe; it¡¯s over.</i>My thoughts spiral out of control, and my feet move of their own volition. Down the stairs, through another door, out into a garden choked by fragrant flowers. The clear sky above is a torment. I want it to rain. I want to be washed clean.


    Cal¡¯s hands find the back of my neck. The scars ache beneath his touch. His warmth bleeds into my muscles, trying to soothe away the pain. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. It helps a little. I can¡¯t see anything in the darkness, including Maven, his pce, or the bounds of that horrible room.


    <i ss="calibre4">You¡¯re safe; you¡¯re safe; it¡¯s over.</i>


    It would be easy to stay in the dark, to drown. Slowly, I lower my hands and force myself to look at the sunlight. It takes more effort than I thought possible. I refuse to let Maven keep me prisoner one second longer than he already has. I refuse to live this way.


    ¡°Can I take you back to your house?¡± Cal asks, his voice low. His<span id="page_376" title="376">thumbs work steady circles at the space between neck and shoulders. ¡°We can walk, give you some time.¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving him any more of my time.¡± Angry, I turn around and raise my chin, forcing myself to look Cal in the eye. He doesn¡¯t move, patient and unassuming. All reaction, adjusting to my emotions, letting me set the pace. After so long at the mercy of others, it feels good to know someone will allow me my own choices. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back yet.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay here.¡±


    ¡°Me neither.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about Maven or politics or war.¡±


    My voice echoes in the leaves. I sound like a child, but Cal just nods along. For once, he seems a child too, with a ragged haircut and simple clothing. No uniform, no military gear. Only a thin shirt, pants, boots, and his bracelets. In another life, he might look normal. I stare at him, waiting for his features to shift into Maven¡¯s. They never do. I realize he isn¡¯t quite Cal either. He has more worry than I thought possible. Thest six months have ruined him too.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± I ask him.


    His shoulders droop, the slightest release of steel tension. He blinks. Cal is not one to be taken off guard. I wonder if anyone has bothered to ask him that question since the day I was taken.


    After a long pause, he heaves a breath. ¡°I will be. I hope.¡±


    ¡°So do I.¡±


    This garden was tended by greenwardens once, its many flower beds spiraling in the overgrown remnants of intricate designs. Nature takes over now, different blossoms and colors spilling into one another. Blending, decaying, dying, blooming as they wish.


    <span id="page_377" title="377">¡°Remind me to trouble both of you for some blood at a more opportune moment.¡±


    Iugh out loud at Julian¡¯s graceless request. He idles at the edge of the garden, kindly intruding. Not that I mind. I grin and cross the garden quickly, embracing him . He returns the action happily.


    ¡°That would sound strangeing from anyone else,¡± I tell him as I pull back. Cal chuckles in agreement at my side. ¡°But sure, Julian. Feel free. Besides, I owe you.¡±


    Julian tips his head in confusion. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I found some books of yours in Whitefire.¡± I don¡¯t lie, but I¡¯m careful with my words. No use hurting Cal more than he¡¯s already been. He doesn¡¯t need to know that Maven gave me the books. I won¡¯t give him any more false hope for his brother. ¡°Helped pass the . . . time.¡±


    While the mention of my imprisonment sobers Cal, Julian doesn¡¯t let us linger in the pain. ¡°Then you understand what I¡¯m trying to do,¡± he says quickly. His smile doesn¡¯t reach his darkening eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t you, Mare?¡±


    ¡°¡®Not a god¡¯s chosen, but a god¡¯s cursed,¡¯¡± I murmur, recalling the words he scrawled in a forgotten book. ¡°You¡¯re going to figure out where we came from, and why.¡±


    Julian folds his arms. ¡°I¡¯m certainly going to try.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 22

    <i ss="calibre4">Every morning starts the</i>same way. I can¡¯t stay in the bedroom; the birds always wake me up early. Good that they do. It¡¯s too hot to runter in the day. The Piedmont base makes for a good track, though. It is well protected, the boundaries guarded by both Montfort and Piedmont soldiers. Thetter are all Reds, of course. Davidson knows that Bracken, the puppet prince, is likely quietly scheming and won¡¯t let any of his Silvers past the gates. In fact, I haven¡¯t seen any Silvers at all, except the ones I already know. All of the abilitied are newbloods or Ardents, depending on who you speak to. If Davidson has Silvers with him, serving equally in his Free Republic as he says they are, I haven¡¯t seen any.


    Ice my shoes tightly. Mist curls in the street outside, hanging low along the brick canyon. Utching the front door, I grin when the cool air hits my skin. It smells like rain and thunder.


    As expected, Cal sits on the bottom step, legs stretched out on the narrow sidewalk. Still, my heart lurches in my chest at the sight of him. He yawns loudly in greeting, almost unhinging his jaw.


    <span id="page_379" title="379">¡°Come on,¡± I chide him, ¡°this is sleeping in for a soldier.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t prefer to sleep in when I can.¡± He stands with exaggerated annoyance, all but sticking his tongue out.


    ¡°Feel free to go back to that little bunk room you insist on staying in at the barracks. You know, you¡¯d get a bit more time if you moved to Officers Row¡ªor stopped running with me altogether.¡± I shrug with a sly grin.


    Matching my smile, he tugs on the hem of my shirt, pulling me toward him. ¡°Don¡¯t insult my bunk room,¡± he mutters, before dropping a kiss on my lips. Then my jaw. Then my neck. Each touch blooms, a burst of fire beneath my skin.


    Reluctantly, I push his face away. ¡°There is a real possibility my dad shoots you from the window if you keep this up here.¡±


    ¡°Right, right.¡± He recovers quickly, paling. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say Cal was actually scared of my father. The thought isical. A Silver prince, a general who can raise infernos with a flick of his fingers, afraid of a limping old Red. ¡°Let¡¯s stretch.¡±


    We go through the motions, Cal more thoroughly than I. He scolds me gently, finding something wrong with every move. ¡°Don¡¯t lunge into it. Don¡¯t rock back and forth. Easy, slow.¡± But I¡¯m eager, thirsty to run. Eventually, he relents. With a nod of his head, he lets us begin.


    At first the pace is easy. I almost dance on my toes, exhrated by the steps. They feel like freedom. The fresh air, the birds, the mist brushing past with damp fingers. My even, steady breath and steadily rising heartbeat. The first time we ran here, I had to stop and cry, too happy to stop the tears. Cal sets a good clip, keeping me from sprinting until my lungs give out. The first mile passes well enough, getting us to the perimeter wall. Half stone, half chain link topped with razor wire, and a few soldiers patrol the far side. Montfort men. They nod<span id="page_380" title="380">to each of us, used to our route after two weeks. Other soldiers jog in the distance, running their usual training exercises, but we don¡¯t join them. They drill in rows with shouting sergeants. It¡¯s not for me. Cal is demanding enough. And thankfully, Davidson hasn¡¯t pressed me on the whole ¡°resettlement or service¡± choice. In fact, I haven¡¯t seen him since my debriefing, even though he now lives on base with the rest of us.


    The next two miles are more difficult. Cal pushes a harder pace. It¡¯s hotter today, even this early, with clouds gathering overhead. As the mist burns off, I sweat hard and salt collects on my lips. Legs pumping, I wipe my face on the hem of my shirt. Cal feels the heat too. At my side, he just pulls his shirt off entirely, tucking it into the waistband of tight training pants. My first instinct is to warn him against sunburn. The second is to stop and stare at the well-defined muscles of his bare abdomen. Instead, I focus on the path before me, forcing another mile. Another. Another. His breathing beside me is suddenly very distracting.


    We round the shallow forest separating the barracks and Officers Row from the airfield, when thunder rumbles somewhere. A few miles away, certainly. Cal puts out an arm at the noise, slowing me down. He snaps to face me, both hands gripping my shoulders as he leans down to my eye level. Bronze eyes bore into mine, looking for something. The thunder rolls again, closer.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he asks, all concern. One hand strays to my neck to soothe the scars burning red hot with exertion. ¡°Calm down.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not me.¡± I tip my head toward the darkening storm clouds with a smile. ¡°That¡¯s just weather. Sometimes, when it gets too hot and humid, thunderstorms can¡ª¡±


    Heughs. ¡°Okay, I get it. Thank you.¡±


    <span id="page_381" title="381">¡°Ruining a perfectly good run,¡± I tut, moving my hand to take his. He grins crookedly, smiling so wide it crinkles his eyes. As the storm moves closer, I feel its electric heart thrumming. My pulse steadies to match it, but I push away the seductive purr of lightning. Can¡¯t let loose a storm so close.


    I have no control of rain, and it falls in a sudden curtain, making us both yelp. Whatever bits of my clothes weren¡¯t covered in sweat quickly soak through. The sudden cold is a shock to us both, Cal in particr.


    His bare skin steams, wrapping his torso and arms in a thinyer of gray mist. Raindrops hiss when they make contact, sh-boiling. As he calms, it stops, but he still pulses with warmth. Without thought, I tuck into him, shivering down my spine.


    ¡°We should go back,¡± he mutters to the top of my head. I feel his voice reverberate in his chest, my palm t to where his heart rips a fast tempo. It thunders under my touch, in stark contrast to his calm face.


    Something stops me from agreeing. Another tug, deeper inside. Somewhere I can¡¯t name.


    ¡°Should we?¡± I whisper, expecting the rain to swallow my voice.


    His arms tighten around me. He didn¡¯t miss a word.


    The trees are new growth, their leaves and branches not syed wide enough to offer total cover from the sky. But enough from the street. My shirt goes first,nding in mud. I toss his into the muck too, just so we¡¯re even. Rain pelts down in fat drops, each one a cold surprise to run down my nose or spine or my arms wrapped around his neck. Warm hands do battle across my back, a delightful opposite to the water. His fingers walk the length of my spine, pressing into each vertebra. I do the same, counting his ribs. He shivers, and not from the rain, as my nails scrape along his side. Cal responds with teeth. They graze the length of my jaw before finding my ear. I shut my eyes for a<span id="page_382" title="382">second, unable to do anything but feel. Every sensation is a firework, a thunderbolt, an explosion.


    The thunder gets closer. As if drawn to us.


    I run my fingers through his hair, using it to pull him closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. He tastes like salt and smoke. Closer. I can¡¯t seem to get close enough. ¡°Have you done this before?¡± I should be afraid, but only the cold makes me shiver.


    He tips his head back, and I almost whine in protest. ¡°No,¡± he whispers, looking away. Darkshes drip rain. His jaw tightens, as if ashamed.


    So like Cal, to feel embarrassment for something like this. He likes to know the end of a path, the answer to a question before asking. I almostugh.


    This is a different kind of battle. There¡¯s no training. And instead of donning armor, we throw the rest of our clothes away.


    After six months of sitting by his brother¡¯s side, lending my entire being to an evil cause, I have no fear of giving my body to a person I love. Even in the mud. Lightning shes overhead and behind my eyes. Every nerve sparks to life. It takes all my concentration to keep Cal from feeling the wrong end of such things.


    His chest flushes beneath my palms, rising with reckless heat. His skin looks even paler next to mine. Using his teeth, he utches his memaker bracelets and tosses them into the undergrowth.


    ¡°Thank my colors for the rain,¡± he murmurs.


    I feel the opposite. I want to burn.


    I refuse to go back to the row house covered in mud, and due to Cal¡¯s oh-so-inconvenient living quarters, I can¡¯t clean off at his barracks unless I feel like sharing the showers with a dozen other soldiers. He<span id="page_383" title="383">picks leaves out of my hair as we walk toward the base hospital, a squat building overgrown with ivy.


    ¡°You look like a shrub,¡± he says, sporting an almost-manic smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what you¡¯re supposed to say.¡±


    Cal nearly giggles. ¡°How would you know?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªugh,¡± I deflect, ducking into the entrance.


    The hospital is nearly deserted at this hour, staffed with a few nurses and doctors to oversee next to no patients. Healers make them mostly irrelevant, needed only for lengthy diseases or extremelyplicated injuries. We walk the cinder-block halls alone, under harsh fluorescent lights and easy silence. My cheeks still burn as my mind does war with itself. Instinct makes me want to shove Cal into the nearest room and lock the door behind us. Sense tells me I cannot.


    I thought it would be different. I thought I would feel different. Cal¡¯s touch has not erased Maven¡¯s. My memories are still there, still just as painful as they were yesterday. And as much as I try, I have not forgotten the canyon that will always stretch between us. No kind of love can erase his faults, just like none can erase mine.


    A nurse with an armful of nkets rounds the corner ahead, her feet a blur over the tiled floor. She stops at the sight of us, almost dropping the linens. ¡°Oh!¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re fast, Miss Barrow!¡±


    My flush intensifies as Cal quickly turns augh into a cough. ¡°Excuse me?¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    She grins. ¡°We just sent a message to your home.¡±


    ¡°Uh . . . ?¡±


    ¡°Follow me, sweetie; I¡¯ll take you to her.¡± The nurse beckons, shifting the linens to her hip. Cal and I trade confused nces. He shrugs and trots after her, oddly carefree. His army-trained caution seems far away.


    <span id="page_384" title="384">The nurse chatters excitedly as we walk in her wake. Her ent is Piedmontese, making the words slower and sweeter. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t take long. She¡¯s progressing quickly. Soldier to the bone, I suppose. Doesn¡¯t want to waste any time.¡±


    Our hallway dead-ends into arger ward, much busier than the rest of the hospital. Wide windows look out on yet another garden, now dark andshed with rain. Piedmont certainly has a thing for flowers. Several doors branch off on either side, leading to empty rooms and empty beds. One of them is open, and more nurses flit in and out. An armed Scarlet Guard soldier keeps watch, although he doesn¡¯t look very alert. It¡¯s still early, and he blinks slowly, numbed by the quiet efficiency of the ward.


    Sara Skonos looks awake enough for the two of them. Before I can call to her, she raises her head, eyes gray as the storm clouds outside.


    Julian was right. She has a lovely voice.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± she says. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve ever heard her speak.


    I don¡¯t know her very well, but we embrace anyway. Her hands graze my bare arms, sending shooting stars of relief into overworked muscles. When she leans back, she pulls another leaf out of my hair, then demurely brushes mud from the back of my shoulder. Her eyes flicker, noting the mud streaking Cal¡¯s limbs. Next to the sterile atmosphere of the hospital, with its gleaming surfaces and bright lights, we stick out like a pair of very sore and dirty thumbs.


    Her lips twist into the slightest smirk. ¡°I hope you enjoyed your morning run.¡±


    Cal clears his throat and his face flushes. He wipes a hand on his pants, but only seeds in spreading the incriminating mud even more. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    <span id="page_385" title="385">¡°Each of these rooms is equipped with a bathroom, including a shower. I can arrange for changes of clothes as well.¡± Sara points with her chin. ¡°If you like.¡±


    The prince ducks his face to hide his flush as it deepens. He slinks away, leaving a trail of wet footprints in his wake.


    I remain, letting him go on ahead. Even though she can speak again, her tongue returned by another skin healer, I assume, Sara doesn¡¯t talk much. She has more meaningful ways tomunicate.


    She touches my arm again, gently pushing me toward the open door. With Cal out of sight, I can think a little more clearly. The dots connect, one by one. Something tightens in my chest, an equal twist of sadness and excitement. I wish Shade were here.


    Farley sits up in the bed, her face red and swollen, a sheen of sweat across her brow. The thunder outside is gone, melting to a downpour of endless rain weeping down the windows. She barks out augh at the sight of me, then winces at the sudden action. Sara moves quickly to her side, putting soothing hands to Farley¡¯s cheeks. Another nurse idles against the wall, waiting to be useful.


    ¡°Did you run here or crawl through a sewer?¡± Farley asks over Sara¡¯s fussing.


    I move deeper into the room, careful not to get anything else dirty. ¡°Got caught in the storm.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± She sounds entirely unconvinced. ¡°Was that Cal outside?¡±


    My blush suddenly matches hers. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± she says again, drawing out the word.


    Her eyes tick over me, as if she can read thest half hour on my skin. I fight the urge to check myself for any suspicious handprints. Then she reaches out, gesturing for the nurse. She leans down and Farley whispers in her ear, her words too fast and low for me to catch. The<span id="page_386" title="386">nurse nods, scurrying off to procure whatever Farley wants. She gives me a tight smile as she goes.


    ¡°You cane closer. I¡¯m not going to explode.¡± She nces up at Sara. ¡°Yet.¡±


    The skin healer offers a well-practiced, obliging smile. ¡°It won¡¯t be long now.¡±


    Tentative, I take a few steps forward, until I can reach out and take Farley¡¯s hand if I want to. A few machines blink at the side of her bed, pulsing slowly and quietly. They pull me in, hypnotic in their even rhythm. The ache for Shade multiplies. We¡¯re going to get a piece of him soon, but he¡¯s nevering back. Not even in a baby with his eyes, his name, his smile. A baby he will never get to love.


    ¡°I thought about Madeline.¡±


    Her voice snaps me out of the spiral. ¡°What?¡±


    Farley picks at her white bedspread. ¡°That was my sister¡¯s name.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Last year, I found a photo of her family in the Colonel¡¯s office. It was taken years ago, but Farley and her father were unmistakable, posing next to her equally blond mother and sister. All of them had a simr look. Broad-shouldered, athletic, their eyes blue and steely. Farley¡¯s sister was the smallest of them all, still growing into her features.


    ¡°Or ra. After my mother.¡±


    If she wants to keep talking, I¡¯m here to listen. But I won¡¯t pry. So I keep quiet, waiting, letting her lead the conversation. ¡°They died a few years ago. Back in the Laknds, at home. The Scarlet Guard wasn¡¯t so careful then, and one of our operatives was caught knowing too much.¡± Pain flickers across her face now and then, both from the memory and her current state. ¡°Our vige was small, overlooked, unimportant. The perfect ce for something like the Guard to grow.<span id="page_387" title="387">Until one man breathed its name under torture. The king of the Laknds punished us himself.¡±


    The memory of him shes through my mind. A small man, still and foreboding as the surface of undisturbed water. Orrec Cy. ¡°My father and I were away when he raised the shores of the Hud, pulling water out of the bay to flood our vige and wipe it from the face of his kingdom.¡±


    ¡°They drowned,¡± I murmur.


    Her voice never wavers. ¡°Reds across the country were inmed by the Drowning of the Nortnds. My father told our story up and down thekes, in too many viges and towns to count, and the Guard flourished.¡± Farley¡¯s empty expression bes a scowl. ¡°¡®At least they died for something,¡¯ he used to say. ¡®We could only be so lucky.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Better to live for something.¡± I agree, a lesson I learned the hard way.


    ¡°Yes, exactly. Exactly . . .¡± She trails off, but she takes my hand without flinching. ¡°So how are you adjusting?¡±


    ¡°Slowly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a bad thing.¡±


    ¡°The family stays around the house most days. Julian visits when he isn¡¯t holed up in the baseb. Kilorn is always around too. Nursese to work with my dad, get him readjusted to the leg¡ªhe¡¯s progressing beautifully by the way,¡± I add, looking back to Sara, quiet in her corner. She beams, pleased. ¡°He¡¯s good at hiding what he feels, but I can tell he¡¯s happy. Happy as he can be.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask about your family. I asked about you.¡± Farley taps a finger against the inside of my wrist. In spite of myself, I flinch, remembering the weight of manacles. ¡°For once, I¡¯m giving you permission to whine about yourself, lightning girl.¡±


    <span id="page_388" title="388">I sigh.


    ¡°I¡ªI can¡¯t be alone in rooms with locked doors. I can¡¯t . . .¡± Slowly, I pull my wrist from her grasp. ¡°I don¡¯t like things on my wrists. It feels too much like the manacles Maven used to keep me a prisoner. And I can¡¯t see anything for what it is. I look for deceit everywhere, in everyone.¡±


    Her eyes darken. ¡°That¡¯s not necessarily a terrible instinct.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± I mutter.


    ¡°What about Cal?¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°Thest time I saw you two together before¡ªall that, you were inches from ripping each other to shreds.¡±<i ss="calibre4">And inches away from Shade¡¯s corpse.</i>¡°I assume that¡¯s all settled.¡±


    I remember the moment. We haven¡¯t spoken of it. My relief, our relief at my escape pushed it far into the background, forgotten. But as Farley speaks, I feel the old wound reopen. I try to rationalize. ¡°He is still here. He helped the Guard raid Archeon; he led the takeover of Corvium. I only wanted him to choose a side, and he clearly has.¡±


    Words whisper in my ear, tugging on the back of a memory.<i ss="calibre4">Choose me. Choose the dawn.</i>¡°He chose me.¡±


    ¡°Took him long enough.¡±


    I have to agree. But at least there¡¯s no turning him from this path now. Cal is the Scarlet Guard¡¯s. Maven made sure the country knew that.


    ¡°I have to go clean up. If my brothers see me like this . . .¡±


    ¡°Go ahead.¡± Farley shifts against her raised pillows, trying to adjust into a morefortable position. ¡°You might have a niece or nephew by the time you get back.¡±


    Again the thought is bittersweet. I force a smile, for her sake.


    <span id="page_389" title="389">¡°I wonder if the baby will be . . . like Shade.¡± My meaning is obvious. Not in appearance, but ability. Will their child be a newblood like he was and I am? Is that how this even works?


    Farley just shrugs, understanding. ¡°Well, it hasn¡¯t teleported out of me yet. So who knows?¡±


    At the door, her nurse returns, holding a shallow cup. I move back to let her pass, but she approaches me, not Farley. ¡°The general asked me to get you this,¡± she says, holding out the cup. In it is a single pill. White, unassuming.


    ¡°Your choice,¡± Farley says from the bed. Her eyes are grave as her hands cradle her stomach. ¡°I thought you should have that, at least.¡±


    I don¡¯t hesitate. The pill goes down easily.


    Some timeter, I have a niece. Mom refuses to let anyone else hold ra. She ims to see Shade in the newborn, even though that¡¯s practically impossible. The little girl looks more like a wrinkled red tomato than any brother of mine.


    Out in the ward, the rest of the Barrows congregate in their excitement. Cal is gone, returning to his training schedule. He didn¡¯t want to intrude on a private family moment. Giving me space as much as anyone else.


    Kilorn sits with me, cramped into a little chair against the windows. The rain weakens with every passing second.


    ¡°Good time to fish,¡± he says, ncing at the gray sky.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you start mumbling about the weather too.¡±


    ¡°Touchy, touchy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re living on borrowed time, Warren.¡±


    Heughs, rising to the joke. ¡°I think we all are at this point.¡±


    From anyone else it would sound foreboding, but I know Kilorn<span id="page_390" title="390">too well for that. I nudge his shoulder. ¡°So, how¡¯s training going?¡±


    ¡°Well. Montfort has dozens of newblood soldiers, all trained. Some abilities ovep¡ªDarmian, Harrick, Farrah, a few more¡ªand they¡¯re improving by leaps and bounds with their mentors. I drill with Ada, and the kids when Cal doesn¡¯t. They need a familiar face.¡±


    ¡°No time for fishing, then?¡±


    He chuckles, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. ¡°No, not really. It¡¯s funny¡ªI used to hate getting up to work the river. Hated every second of sunburns and rope burns and stuck hooks and fish guts all over my clothes.¡± He gnaws on his nails. ¡°Now I miss it.¡±


    I miss that boy too.


    ¡°The smell made it really hard to be friends with you.¡±


    ¡°Probably why we stuck together. No one else could handle my stink or your attitude.¡±


    I smile and tip my head back, leaning my skull against the window ss. Raindrops roll past, fat and steady. I count them in my head. It¡¯s easier than thinking about anything else around me or ahead of me.


    <i ss="calibre4">Forty-one, forty-two . . .</i>


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could sit still for this long.¡±


    Kilorn watches me, thoughtful. He¡¯s a thief too, and he has thief¡¯s instincts. Lying to him won¡¯t aplish anything, only push him farther away. And that¡¯s not something I can bear right now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± I whisper. ¡°Even in Whitefire, as a prisoner, I tried to escape, tried to scheme, spy, survive. But now . . . I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not sure I can continue.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to. No one on earth would me you if you walked away from all of this and never came back.¡±


    I keep staring at the raindrops. In the pit of my belly, I feel sick. ¡°I know.¡± Guilt eats through me. ¡°But even if I could disappear right<span id="page_391" title="391">now, with everyone I care about, I wouldn¡¯t do it.¡±


    There¡¯s too much anger in me. Too much hate.


    Kilorn nods in understanding. ¡°But you don¡¯t want to fight either.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be . . .¡± My voice trails away.


    <i ss="calibre4">I don¡¯t want to be a monster. A shell with nothing but ghosts. Like Maven.</i>


    ¡°You won¡¯t. I won¡¯t let you. And don¡¯t even get me started on Gisa.¡±


    In spite of myself, I bite back augh. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not alone in this. In all my work with the newbloods, I found that¡¯s what they most fear.¡± He leans his own head back against the window. ¡°You should talk to them.¡±


    ¡°I should,¡± I murmur, and I mean it. A tiny bit of relief blooms in my chest. Those wordsfort me like nothing else.


    ¡°And in the end, you need to figure out what you want,¡± he prods gently.


    Bathwater swirls, boilingzily in fat, white bubbles. A pale boy looks up at me, his eyes wide and his neck bared. In reality I just stood. I was weak and stupid and scared. But in the daydream I put my hands around his neck and squeeze. He ils in the scalding water, dipping under. Never to resurface. Never to haunt me again.


    ¡°I want to kill him.¡±


    Kilorn¡¯s eyes narrow as a muscle twinges in his cheek. ¡°Then you have to train, and you have to win.¡±


    Slowly, I nod.


    At the edge of the ward, almost entirely in shadow, the Colonel keeps vigil. He stares at his feet, not moving. He doesn¡¯t go in to see his daughter and new grandchild. But he doesn¡¯t leave either.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 23

    <i ss="calibre4">Sheughs against my</i>neck, her touch a brush of lips and cold steel. My crown perches precariously on her red curls, steel and diamond glinting between ruby locks. With her ability, she makes the diamonds wink like luminous stars.


    Reluctant, I sit up and leave my bed, the silky sheets, and ne behind. She yelps when I throw open the curtains, letting the sunlight stream in. With a flick of her hand the window shadows, blooming with shade until the light reduces to her liking.


    I dress in the dimness, donning small ck undergarments and a pair ofced sandals. Today is special, and I take my time molding an outfit to my form from the metal sheets in my closet. Titanium and darkened steel ripple across my limbs. ck and silver, it reflects light in an array of brilliant colors. I don¡¯t need a maid toplete my appearance, nor do I want one floating around in my room. I do it myself, matching sparkling blue-ck lipstick to coal-dark eyeliner dotted with specially made crystals. ne dozes through it all, until I pull the crown from her head. It fits me perfectly.


    <span id="page_393" title="393">¡°Mine,¡± I tell her, leaning down to kiss her once more. She smileszily, her lips curving against my own. ¡°Don¡¯t forget, you¡¯re supposed to be present today.¡±


    She bows yfully. ¡°As Your Highnessmands.¡±


    The title is so delicious I want to lick the words right out of her mouth. But at the risk of ruining my makeup, I refrain. And I don¡¯t look back, lest I lose my grip on whatever self-control I have left these days.


    Ridge House has belonged to my family for generations, sprawling across the cresting edge of the many rifts that give our region its name. All steel and ss, it¡¯s easily my favorite of the family estates. My personal chambers face east, toward the dawn. I like rising with the sun, as much as ne disagrees. The passage connecting my rooms to the main halls of the estate are maron designed, made of steel walkways with open sides. Some run along the ground, but many arch over the leafy treetops, jagged rocks, and springs dotting the property. Should battle evere to our door, an invading force would have a difficult time fighting their way through a structure set against them.


    Despite the manicured forest and luxurious grounds of the Ridge, few birdse here. They know better. As children, Ptolemus and I used many for target practice. The rest fell to my mother¡¯s whims.


    More than three hundred years ago, before the Calore kings rose, the Ridge did not exist, and neither did Norta. This corner ofnd was ruled by a Samos warlord, my direct ancestor. Ours is the blood of conquerors, and our fortunes have risen again. Maven is not the only king in Norta anymore.


    Servants are good at making themselves scarce here, appearing only when needed or called upon. In recent weeks, they seem almost too good at their job. It isn¡¯t hard to guess why. Many Reds are fleeing,<span id="page_394" title="394">either to the cities for safety against civil war, or to join the Scarlet Guard¡¯s rebellion. Father says the Guard itself has escaped to Piedmont, which is all but a puppet, dancing on Montfort¡¯s strings. He maintains channels ofmunication with the Montfort and Guard leaders, albeit begrudgingly. But for now, the enemy of our enemy is our friend, making us all tentative allies where Maven is concerned.


    Tolly waits in the gallery, the wide, open hall running the length of the main house. Windows on all sides offer a view in every direction, over miles of the Rift. On the clearest of days, I might be able to see Pitarus to the west, but clouds hang low in the distance as spring rains race the length of the sprawling river valley. In the east, valleys and hills roll off in increasingly high slopes, ending in blue-green mountains. The Rift region is, in my correct opinion, the most beautiful piece of Norta. And it is mine. My family¡¯s. House Samos rules this heaven.


    My brother certainly looks like a prince, the heir to the throne of the Rift. Instead of armor, Tolly wears a new uniform. Silver gray instead of ck, with gleaming onyx-and-steel buttons and an oil-dark sash crossing him from shoulder to hip. No medals yet, at least none that he can wear. The rest were earned in service to another king. His silvery hair is wet, stered back against his head. Fresh from a shower. He keeps his new hand tucked in close, protective of the appendage. It took Wren the better part of a day to regrow it properly, and even then she needed an immense amount of help from two of her kin.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my wife?¡± he asks, looking down the open passage behind me.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be along eventually. Lazy thing.¡± Tolly married ne a week ago. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s seen her since the wedding night, but he hardly minds. The arrangement is mutually agreed upon.


    <span id="page_395" title="395">He links his good arm in mine. ¡°Not everyone can operate on as little sleep as you.¡±


    ¡°Well, what about you? I¡¯ve heard all that work on your hand has led to somete nights with Lady Wren,¡± I reply, leering. ¡°Or am I misinformed?¡±Exclusive ? content by N(?)ve/l/Drama.Org.


    Tolly grins, sheepish. ¡°Is it that even possible?¡±


    ¡°Not here.¡± In Ridge House, it¡¯s near impossible to keep secrets. Especially from Mother. Her eyes are everywhere, in mice and cats and the asional daring sparrow. Sunlight angles through the gallery, ying across many sculptures of fluid metal. As we pass, Ptolemus twists his new hand in the air, and the sculptures twist with it. They re-form, each one moreplex than thest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t dawdle, Tolly. If the ambassadors arrive before we do, Father might spike our heads to the gate,¡± I scold him. Heughs at themon threat and old joke. Neither of us has ever seen such a thing. Father has killed before, certainly, but never so crudely or so close to home.<i ss="calibre4">Don¡¯t bleed in your own garden,</i>he would say.


    We wind our way down from the gallery, keeping to the outer walkways so as to better enjoy the spring weather. Most of the interior salons look out on the walkway, their windows polished te ss or their doors thrown open to catch the spring breeze. Samos guards line one, and they nod their heads when we approach, paying deference to their prince and princess. I smile at the gesture, but their presence unsettles me.


    The Samos guards oversee a violent operation: the making of Silent Stone. Even Ptolemus pales as we pass. The smell of blood overpowers us both for a moment, filling the air with sharp iron. Two Arvens sit inside the salon, chained to their seats. Neither is here willingly. Their house is allied to Maven, but we have need for Silent Stone, and so<span id="page_396" title="396">they are here. Wren hovers between them, noting their progress. Both their wrists have been slit open, and they bleed freely intorge buckets. When the Arvens reach their limit, Wren will heal them up and stimte their blood production, all to begin again. Meanwhile, the blood will be mixed with cement, hardened into the deadly blocks of ability-suppressing stone. For what, I don¡¯t know, but Father certainly has ns for it. A prison, maybe, like the one Maven built for Silvers and newbloods both.


    Our grandest receiving chamber, the aptly named Sunset Stretch, is on the western slope. I suppose now it¡¯s technically our throne room as well. As we approach, courtiers of my father¡¯s newly created nobility dot the way, thickening with every forward step. Most are Samos cousins, elevated by our deration of independence. A few of closer blood, my father¡¯s siblings and their children, im princely titles for themselves, but the rest remain lords anddies, content as always to live off my father¡¯s name and my father¡¯s ambitions.


    Bright colors stand out among the usual ck and silver, an obvious indication of today¡¯s assembly. Ambassadors from the other houses in open revolt havee to treat with the kingdom of the Rift. To kneel. House Iral will argue. Attempt to bargain. The silks think their secrets can buy them a crown, but power is the only currency here. Strength the only coin. And they surrendered both by entering our territory.


    Haven hase as well, the shadows basking in sunlight, while the Laris windweavers in yellow keep close to each other. Thetter have already given their allegiance to my father, and they bring with them the might of the Air Fleet, having seized control of most air bases. I care more about House Haven, though. ne won¡¯t say it, but she misses her family. Some have pledged loyalty to Samos already, but not all, including her own father, and it tears at her to see her house<span id="page_397" title="397">splinter. In truth, I think it¡¯s why she didn¡¯te down here with me. She can¡¯t bear the sight of her house divided. I wish I could make them kneel for her.


    In the morning light, the Sunset Stretch is still impressive with its smooth river-rock flooring and sweeping views of the valley. The Allegiant River winds like a blue ribbon over green silk,zily curving back and forth into the distant rainstorm.


    The coalition has not arrived yet, allowing Tolly and me time to take our seats¡ªthrones. His on Father¡¯s right, mine on Mother¡¯s left. All are made of the finest steel, polished to a mirror sheen. It¡¯s cold to the touch, and I tell myself not to shiver as I sit. Goose bumps rise on my skin anyway, mostly in anticipation. I am a princess, Evangeline of the Rift, of the royal house of Samos. I thought my fate was to be someone else¡¯s queen, subject to someone else¡¯s crown. This is so much better. This is what we should have been nning for all along. I almost regret the years of my life wasted training only to be someone¡¯s wife.


    Father enters the hall with a crowd of advisers, his head dipped to listen. He doesn¡¯t speak much by nature. His thoughts are his own, but he listens well, taking all into consideration before making decisions. Not like Maven, the foolish king who only followed his own wedpass.


    Mother follows alone, in her usual green, withoutdies or advisers. Most give her a wide berth. Probably because of the two-hundred-pound ck panther padding at her heels. It keeps pace with her, breaking from her side only when she reaches her throne. Then it weaves around me, nuzzling its massive head against my ankle. I keep still out of habit. Mother¡¯s control of her creatures is well practiced, but not perfect. I¡¯ve seen her pets take bites out of many servants, whether she willed it or not. The panther shakes its head once before returning<span id="page_398" title="398">to Mother, taking a seat on her left, between us. She rests a single hand zing with emeralds on its head, strokes its silky ck fur. The gigantic cat blinks slowly, its yellow eyes round.


    I meet Mother¡¯s gaze over the animal, raising a single brow. ¡°Hell of an entrance.¡±


    ¡°It was the panther or the python,¡± she replies. Emeralds sh across the crown of her head, expertly set into silver. Her hair falls in a thick, ck sheet, perfectly straight and smooth. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find a gown to match the snake.¡± She gestures down at the jade folds of her chiffon dress. I doubt that¡¯s the reason, but I don¡¯t say so out loud. Her machinations will be apparent soon enough. Smart as she is, Mother has little talent for subterfuge. Her threatse openly. Father is a good match for her in this way. His maneuvers take years, always moving in the shadows.


    But for now, he stands in bright sunlight. His advisers fall back at a wave of his hand, and he ascends to sit with us. A powerful sight. Like Ptolemus, he wears clothes of brocaded silver, his old ck robes abandoned. I can feel the suit of armor beneath his regalia. Chromium. Just like the simple band across his brow. No gems for Father. He has little use for them.


    ¡°Cousins of iron,¡± he says quietly to the Sunset Stretch, looking out on the many Samos faces dotting the receiving crowd.


    ¡°Kings of steel!¡± they shout back, putting fists to the air. The force of it thrums in my chest.


    In Norta, in the throne rooms of Whitefire or Summerton, someone always crowed the name of the king, announcing his presence. As with gems, Father doesn¡¯t care about such needless disys. Everyone here knows our name. To repeat it would only show weakness, a thirst for reassurance. Father has neither.


    <span id="page_399" title="399">¡°Begin,¡± he says. His fingers drum on the arm of his throne, and the heavy iron doors at the far end of the hall swing open.


    The ambassadors are few but high-ranking, leaders of their houses. Lord Salin of Iral seems to be wearing all the jewels my fathercks, his broad cor of rubies and sapphires stretching from shoulder to shoulder. The rest of his clothes are equally patterned in red and blue, and his robes billow around his ankles. Another might trip, but an Iral silk has no such fear. He moves with lethal grace, eyes hard and dark. He does his best to measure up to the memory of his predecessor, Ara Iral. His escorts are silks as well, just as mboyant. They are a beautiful house, with skin like cold bronze and lush ck hair. Sonya is not with him. I considered her a friend at court, as much as I consider anyone a friend. I don¡¯t miss her, and it¡¯s probably for the best she isn¡¯t here.


    Salin¡¯s eyes narrow at the sight of my mother¡¯s panther, now purring beneath her touch.<i ss="calibre4">Ah.</i>I had forgotten. His mother, the murdereddy of Iral, was called the Panther in her youth.<i ss="calibre4">Subtle, Mother.</i>


    Half a dozen Haven shadows ripple into being, their faces decidedly less hostile. In the back of the room, I notice ne appear as well. But her face stays in shadow, hiding her pain from everyone else in the crowded room. I wish I could seat her next to me. But even though my family has been more than obliging where she is concerned, that can never happen. She¡¯ll sit behind Tolly one day. Not me.


    Lord Jerald, ne¡¯s father, is the leading member of the Haven delegation. Like her, he has vibrant red hair and glowing skin. He seems younger than his years, softened by his natural ability to manipte light. If he knows his daughter is in the back of the room, he doesn¡¯t show it.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± Salin Iral inclines his head just enough to be polite.


    Father does not bend. Only his eyes move, flickering between the<span id="page_400" title="400">ambassadors. ¡°My lords. Mydies. Wee to the kingdom of the Rift.¡±


    ¡°We thank you for your hospitality,¡± Jerald offers.


    I can almost hear my father grind his teeth. He despises wasted time, and such pleasantries are certainly that. ¡°Well, you traveled all this way. I hope it is to uphold your pledge.¡±


    ¡°We pledged to support you in coalition, to supnt Maven,¡± Salin says. ¡°Not this.¡±


    Father sighs. ¡°Maven has been supnted in the Rift. And with your allegiance, that can spread.¡±


    ¡°With you as king. One dictator for another.¡± Mutters break out among the crowd, but we remain silent as Salin spits his nonsense.


    Next to me, Mother leans forward. ¡°It¡¯s hardly fair topare my husband to that addled prince who has no business sitting his father¡¯s throne.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t stand by and let you seize a crown that is not yours,¡± Salin growls back.


    Mother clucks her tongue. ¡°You mean a crown you didn¡¯t think to seize yourself? Pity the Panther was murdered. She would have nned for this, at least.¡± She continues stroking the glossy predator at her side. It growls low in its throat, baring fangs.


    ¡°The fact remains, my lord,¡± Father cuts in, ¡°while Maven is floundering, his armies and resources vastly outnumber our own. Especially now that the Laknders have bound themselves to him. But together, we can defend. Strike out in force. Wait for more of his kingdom to crumble. Wait for the Scarlet Guard¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard.¡± Jerald spits on our beautiful floor. His face colors with a gray flush. ¡°You mean Montfort. The true power behind those wretched terrorists. Another kingdom.¡±


    <span id="page_401" title="401">¡°Technically¡ª¡± Tolly begins, but Jerald presses on.


    ¡°I¡¯m beginning to think you care not for Norta, but only for your title and your crown. On keeping whatever you piece you can while greater beasts devour our nation,¡± Jerald snaps. In the crowd, ne flinches and shuts her eyes. No one speaks to my father this way.


    The panther snarls again, matching Mother¡¯s rising temper. Father just sits back against his throne, watching the open threat ripple through the Sunset Stretch.


    After a long, trembling moment, Jerald sinks to a knee. ¡°My apologies, Your Majesty. I misspoke. I did not intend . . .¡± He trails off under the king¡¯s watchful eye, the words dying on his fleshy lips.


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard will never take hold here. No matter what radicals may be backing them.¡± Father speaks resolutely. ¡°Reds are inferior, beneath us. That is the work of biology. Life itself knows we are their masters. Why else are we Silver? Why else are we their gods, if not to rule them?¡±


    The Samos cousins cheer. ¡°Kings of steel!¡± echoes through the chamber again.


    ¡°If newbloods want to throw their lot in with insects, let them. If they want to turn their backs on our way of life, let them. And when they return to fight us, to fight nature, kill them.¡±


    The cheer grows, spreading from our house to Laris. Even a few in the delegations p or nod along. I doubt they¡¯ve ever heard Volo Samos speak this much¡ªhe¡¯s been saving his voice and his words for the moments that matter. This is certainly that.


    Only Salin remains still. His dark eyes, rimmed with ck liner, stand out sharply. ¡°Is that why your daughter let a terrorist go free? Why she ughtered four Silvers of a noble house to do so?¡±


    ¡°Four Arvens sworn to Maven.¡± My voice snaps like a whip crack.<span id="page_402" title="402">The Iral lord turns his gaze on me and I feel electrified, almost rising in my seat. These are my first words as a princess, my first words spoken with a voice that is truly my own. ¡°Four soldiers who would take everything you are if their wretched king asked. Do you mourn them, my lord?¡±


    Salin scowls in disgust. ¡°I mourn the loss of a valuable hostage, nothing more. And obviously I question your decision, Princess.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Another drop of derision in your voice and I¡¯ll cut out your tongue.</i>


    ¡°The decision was mine,¡± Father says evenly. ¡°Like you said, the Barrow girl was a valuable hostage. We took her from Maven.¡±<i ss="calibre4">And loosed her on the Square, like a beast from its cage.</i>I wonder how many of Maven¡¯s soldiers she took with her that day. Enough to fulfill Father¡¯s n at least, to cover our own escape.


    ¡°And now she¡¯s in the wind!¡± Salin implores. His temper slips, inch by inch.


    Father shows no signs of interest and states the obvious. ¡°She is in Piedmont, of course. And I assure you, Barrow was more dangerous under Maven¡¯smand than she¡¯ll ever be under theirs. Our concern should be eliminating Maven, not radicals destined to fail.¡±


    Salin nches. ¡°Fail? They hold Corvium. They control a vast amount of Piedmont, using a Silver prince as a puppet. If that is failure¡ª¡±


    ¡°They seek to make equal that which is not fundamentally equal.¡± My mother speaks coldly, and her words ring true. ¡°It is foolish, like bncing an impossible equation. And it will end in bloodshed. But it will end. Piedmont will rise up. Norta will throw back Red devils. The world will keep turning.¡±


    All argument seems to die with Mother¡¯s voice. Like Father, she sits<span id="page_403" title="403">back, satisfied. For once, she is without her familiar hiss of snakes. Just the great panther, purring under her touch.


    Father forges on, eager tond the killing strike. ¡°Our objective is Maven. The Laknds. Cleaving the king from his new ally will leave him vulnerable, mortally so. Will you support us in our quest to rid this poison from our country?¡±


    Slowly, Salin and Jerald exchange nces, their eyes meeting across the empty space between them. Adrenaline surges in my veins. They will kneel. They must kneel.


    ¡°Will you support House Samos, House Laris, House Lern¡ª¡±


    A voice cuts him off. The voice of a woman. It echoes¡ªfrom nowhere. ¡°You presume to speak for me?¡±


    Jerald twists his wrist, his fingers moving in a rapid circle. Everyone in the chamber gasps, including me, when a third ambassador blinks into existence between Iral and Haven. Her house appears behind her, a dozen of them in clothes of red and orange, like the setting sun. Like an explosion.


    Mother jolts beside me, surprised for the first time in many, many years. My adrenaline bes spikes of ice, chilling my blood.


    The leader of House Lern takes a daring step forward. Her appearance is severe. Gray hair tied into a neat bun, her eyes burning like heated bronze. The older woman does not know the name of fear. ¡°I will not support a Samos king while a Calore heir lives.¡±


    ¡°I knew I smelled smoke,¡± Mother mutters, pulling her hand back from the panther. It immediately tenses, shifting to stand as its ws slide into ce.


    She just shrugs, smirking. ¡°Easy to say, Larentia, now that you see me standing here.¡± Her fingers drum at her side. I watch them closely.<span id="page_404" title="404">She is an oblivion, able to explode things with a touch. If she got close enough, she could obliterate my heart in my chest or my brain in my skull.


    ¡°I am a queen¡ª¡±


    ¡°So am I.¡± Anabel Lern grins wider. Though her clothes are fine, she wears no jewelry that I can see, no crown. No metal. My fist ws at my side. ¡°We will not turn our backs on my grandson. The throne of Norta belongs to Tiberias the Seventh. Ours is a crown of mes, not steel.¡±


    Father¡¯s anger gathers like thunder and breaks like lightning. He stands from his throne, one fist clenching. The metal reinforcements of the chamber itself twist, groaning under the strain of his fury.


    ¡°We had a deal, Anabel!¡± he snarls. ¡°The Barrow girl for your support.¡±


    She just blinks.


    Even from the far side, I can hear my brother hiss. ¡°Have you forgotten the reason the Guard has Corvium? Did you not see your grandson fighting his own in Archeon? How can the kingdom stand behind him now?¡±


    Anabel doesn¡¯t flinch. Her lined face remains still, her expression open and patient. A kindly old woman in everything but the waves of ferocity emanating from her. She waits for my brother to push on, but he doesn¡¯t, and she inclines her head. ¡°Thank you, Prince Ptolemus, for at least not furthering the outrageous falsity of my son¡¯s murder and my grandson¡¯s exile. Bothmitted at the hands of ra Merandus, both spread through the kingdom in the worst propaganda I have ever seen. Yes, Tiberias has done terrible things to survive. But they were to survive. After every one of us turned on him, abandoned him, after his own poisoned brother tried to kill him in the arena like a base criminal.<span id="page_405" title="405">A crown is the least we can give him in apology.¡±


    Behind her, Iral and Haven stand firm. A curtain of tension falls over the hall. Everyone feels it. We¡¯re Silvers, born to strength and power. All of us train to fight, to kill. We hear the tick of a clock in every heart, counting down to bloodshed. I nce at ne, lock eyes with her. She presses her lips into a grim line.


    ¡°The Rift is mine,¡± Father growls, sounding like one of Mother¡¯s beasts. The noise shudders in my bones, and I am instantly a child.


    It has no such effect on the old queen. Anabel just tips her head to the side. Sunlight glints down the straight, iron strands of her hair gathered at the nape of her neck.


    ¡°Then keep it,¡± she replies with a shrug. ¡°As you said, we had a deal.¡±


    And just like that, the coiling turmoil threatening to engulf the room sweeps away. A few of the cousins, as well as Lord Jerald, visibly exhale.


    Anabel spreads her hands wide, an open gesture. ¡°You are the king of the Rift, and may you reign for many prosperous years. But my grandson is the rightful king of Norta. And he will need every ally we can muster to take his kingdom back.¡±


    Even Father did not foresee this turn. Anabel Lern has not been to court in many years, electing to remain in Delphie, her house¡¯s seat. She despised ra Merandus and could not be near her¡ªthat, or she feared her. I suppose now, with the whisper queen gone, the oblivion queen can return. And return she has.


    I tell myself not to panic. Blindsided as Father may be, this is not surrender. We keep the Rift. We keep our home. We keep our crowns. It¡¯s only been a few weeks, but I¡¯m loath to give away what we¡¯ve nned for. What I deserve.


    <span id="page_406" title="406">¡°I wonder how you intend to restore a king who wants no part in a throne,¡± Father muses. He steeples his fingers and surveys Anabel over them. ¡°Your grandson is in Piedmont¡ª¡±


    ¡°My grandson is an unwilling operative of the Scarlet Guard, which in turn is controlled by the Free Republic of Montfort. You¡¯ll find that their leader, the one calling himself premier, is quite a reasonable man,¡± she adds with the air of someone discussing the weather.


    My stomach twists, and I feel vaguely sick. Something in me, a deep instinct, screams for me to kill her before she can continue.


    Father raises an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ve made contact with him?¡±


    The Lern queen smiles tightly. ¡°Enough to negotiate. But I speak to my grandson more often these days. He¡¯s a talented boy, very good with machines. He reached out in his desperation, asking for only one thing. And thanks to you, I delivered.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Mare.</i>


    Father narrows his eyes. ¡°Does he know of your ns, then?¡±


    ¡°He will.¡±


    ¡°And Montfort?¡±


    ¡°Is eager to ally themselves with a king. They will support a war of restoration in the name of Tiberias the Seventh.¡±


    ¡°As they have in Piedmont?¡± If no one else will point out her folly, I certainly must. ¡°Prince Bracken dances on their strings, controlled. Reports indicate they have taken his children. You would so willingly let your grandson be their puppet too?¡±


    I came here eager to see others kneel. I remain seated, but I feel bare before Anabel as she grins. ¡°As your mother said so eloquently, they seek to make equal that which is not fundamentally equal. Victory is impossible. Silver blood cannot be overthrown.¡±


    Even the panther is quiet, watching the exchange with ticking eyes.<span id="page_407" title="407">Its tail flicks slowly. I focus on its fur, dark as the night sky. An abyss, just like the one we edge toward. My heart drums a harried rhythm, pumping both fear and adrenaline throughout my body. I don¡¯t know which way Father will lean. I don¡¯t know what will be of this path. It makes my skin crawl.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Anabel adds, ¡°the kingdom of Norta and the kingdom of the Rift would be tightly bound by their alliance. And by marriage.¡±


    The floor seems to tip beneath me. It takes every ounce of will and pride to remain on my cold and vicious throne.<i ss="calibre4">You are steel,</i>I whisper in my head.<i ss="calibre4">Steel does not break or bend.</i>But I can already feel myself bowing, giving way to my father¡¯s will. He¡¯ll trade me in a heartbeat, if it means keeping the crown. The kingdom of the Rift, the kingdom of Norta¡ªVolo Samos will take whatever he can grasp. If thetter is out of reach, he will do whatever he can to maintain the first. Even if it means breaking his promise. Selling me off one more time. My skin prickles. I thought all this was behind us. I am a princess now, my father a king. I don¡¯t need to marry anyone for a crown. The crown is in my blood, in me.


    <i ss="calibre4">No, that isn¡¯t true. You still need Father. You need his name. You are never your own.</i>


    Blood thunders in my ears, the roar of a hurricane. I can¡¯t bring myself to look up at ne. I promised her. She married my brother so we would never be parted. She upheld her side of the bargain, but now? They¡¯ll send me to Archeon. She¡¯ll stay here with Tolly as his wife and, one day, his queen. I want to scream. I want to rip the infernal chair under me to shreds and tear everyone in this room apart. Including myself. I can¡¯t do this. I can¡¯t live like this.


    A few weeks of the closest thing to freedom I¡¯ve ever known¡ªand I can¡¯t let it go. I can¡¯t go back to living for someone else¡¯s ambitions.


    <span id="page_408" title="408">I breathe through my nose, trying to keep my rage in check. I have no gods, but I certainly pray.


    <i ss="calibre4">Say no. Say no. Say no. Please, Father, say no.</i>


    No one looks at me, my only relief. No one watches my slow unraveling. They only have eyes for my father and his decision. I try to detach. Try to put my pain in a box and tuck it away. It¡¯s easy to do in Training, in a fight. But it¡¯s almost impossible now.


    <i ss="calibre4">Of course.</i>The voice in my headughs sadly.<i ss="calibre4">Your path always led here, no matter what.</i>I was made to marry the Calore heir. Physically made. Mentally made. Constructed. Like a castle, or a tomb. My life has never been my own, and it never will be.


    My father¡¯s words drive nails into my heart, each one another burst of bloody sorrow.


    ¡°To the kingdom of Norta. And the kingdom of the Rift.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 24

    <i ss="calibre4">It takes Morrey longer</i>than the other hostages.


    Some believed within minutes. Others held out for days, stubbornly clinging to the lies they¡¯d been spoon-fed.<i ss="calibre4">The Scarlet Guard is a collection of terrorists, the Scarlet Guard is evil. The Scarlet Guard will make life worse for you. King Maven freed you from war and will free you from more still.</i>Twisted half-truths spun into propaganda. I can understand how they and so many others were taken in. Maven exploited a thirst in Reds who didn¡¯t know what it was to be manipted. They saw a Silver pledging to listen when his predecessors would not, to hear the voices of people who had never been heard. An easy hope to buy into.


    And the Scarlet Guard are far from innocent heroes. They are wed at best,bating oppression with violence. The children of the Dagger Legion remain wary. They¡¯re all just teenagers bouncing from the trenches of one army to another. I don¡¯t me them for keeping their eyes open.


    Morrey still clings to his misgivings. Because of me, what I am. Maven used the Guard of murdering people like me. No matter<span id="page_410" title="410">how much my brother tries, he can¡¯t shake the words.


    As we sit down to breakfast, our bowls of oatmeal hot to the touch, I brace myself for the usual questions. We like to eat outside on the grass, beneath the open sky, with the training fields stretched out. After fifteen years in our slum, every fresh breeze feels like a miracle. I sit cross-legged, my dark green coveralls soft from wear and too much washing to count.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you leave?¡± Morrey asks, jumping right in. He stirs the oatmeal three times, counterclockwise. ¡°You haven¡¯t pledged your oath to the Guard. You don¡¯t have any reason to stay here.¡±


    ¡°Why do you do that?¡± I tap his spoon with mine. A stupid question, but an easy dodge. I never have a good answer for him, and I hate that he makes me wonder.


    He shrugs his narrow shoulders. ¡°I like the routine,¡± he mumbles. ¡°At home . . . well, you know home was bleeding awful, but . . .¡± He stirs again, the metal scraping. ¡°You remember the schedules, the whistles.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± I still hear them in my dreams. ¡°And you miss that?¡±


    He scoffs. ¡°Of course not. I just . . . Not knowing what¡¯s going to happen. I don¡¯t understand it. It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s scary.¡±


    I spoon up some oatmeal. It¡¯s thick and tasty. Morrey gave me his sugar ration, and the extra sweetness undercuts whatever difort I feel. ¡°I think that¡¯s how everyone feels. I think it¡¯s why I stay.¡±


    Morrey turns to look at me, narrowing his eyes against the re of the still-rising sun. It illuminates his face, throwing into harsh contrast how much he¡¯s changed. Steady rations have filled him out. And the cleaner air clearly agrees with him. I haven¡¯t heard the scraping cough that used to punctuate his sentences.


    One thing hasn¡¯t changed, though. He still has the tattoo, just as<span id="page_411" title="411">I do. ck ink like a brand around his neck. Our letters and numbers match almost exactly.


    <i ss="calibre4">NT-ARSM-188908</i>, his reads.<i ss="calibre4">New Town, Assembly and Repair, Small Manufacturing.</i>I¡¯m 188907. I was born first. My neck itches at the memory of the day when we were marked, permanently bound to our indentured jobs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where to go.¡± I say the words out loud for the first time, even though I¡¯ve been thinking them every day since I escaped Corros. ¡°We can¡¯t go home.¡±


    ¡°I guess not,¡± he mumbles. ¡°So what do we do here? You¡¯re going to stay and let these people¡ª¡±


    ¡°I told you before, they don¡¯t want to kill newbloods. That was a lie, Maven¡¯s lie¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about that. So the Scarlet Guard isn¡¯t going to kill you¡ªbut they¡¯re still putting you in danger. You spend every minute you¡¯re not with me training to fight, to kill. And in Corvium I saw . . . when you led us out . . .¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Don¡¯t say what I did.</i>I remember it well enough without him describing the way I killed two Silvers. Faster than I¡¯ve ever killed before. Blood pouring from their eyes and mouths, their insides dying organ by organ as my silence destroyed everything in them. I felt it then. I feel it still. The sensation of death pulses through my body.


    ¡°I know you can help.¡± He puts his oatmeal down and takes my hand. In the factories, I used to hold on to him. Our roles reverse. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see them turn you into a weapon. You¡¯re my sister, Cameron. You did everything you could to save me. Let me do the same.¡±


    With a huff, I fall back against the soft grass, leaving the bowl at my side.


    He lets me think, and instead turns his eyes on the horizon. He<span id="page_412" title="412">waves a dark hand at the fields in front of us. ¡°It¡¯s so bleeding green here. Do you think the rest of the world is like this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°We could find out.¡± His voice is so soft I pretend not to hear him, and wepse into an easy silence. I watch spring winds chase clouds across the sky while he eats, his motions quick and efficient. ¡°Or we could go home. Mama and Dad¡ª¡±


    ¡°Impossible.¡± I focus on the blue above, blue like we never saw in that hellhole we were born in.


    ¡°You saved me.¡±


    ¡°And we almost died. Better odds, and we almost died.¡± I exhale slowly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do for them right now. I thought maybe once but¡ªall we can do is hope.¡±


    Sorrow tugs at his face, souring his expression. But he nods. ¡°And stay alive. Stay ourselves. You hear me, Cam?¡± He grabs my hand. ¡°Don¡¯t let this change you.¡±


    He¡¯s right. Even though I¡¯m angry, even though I feel so much hatred for everything that threatens my family¡ªis feeding that rage worth the cost?


    ¡°So what should I do?¡± I finally force myself to ask.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what having an ability¡¯s like. You have friends who do.¡± His eyes twinkle as he pauses for effect. ¡°You do have friends, right?¡± He quirks a smirk at me over the rim of his bowl. I smack his arm for the implication.


    My mind jumps to Farley first, but she¡¯s still in the hospital, adjusting to a new baby, and she doesn¡¯t have an ability. Doesn¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to be so lethal, in control of something so deadly.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared, Morrey. When you throw a tantrum, you just yell and cry. With me, with what I can do . . .¡± I reach a hand to the sky, flexing<span id="page_413" title="413">my fingers against the clouds. ¡°I¡¯m scared of it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s good.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°At home, you remember how they use the kids? To fix the big gears, the deep wires?¡± Morrey widens his dark eyes, trying to make me understand.


    The memory echoes. Iron on iron, the screech and twist of constantly whirring machinery across endless factory floors. I can almost smell the oil, almost feel the wrench in my hand. It was a relief when Morrey and I got too big to be spiders¡ªwhat the overseers called the little kids in our division. Small enough to go where adult workers couldn¡¯t, too young to be afraid of being crushed.


    ¡°Fear can be a good thing, Cam,¡± he pushes on. ¡°Fear doesn¡¯t let you forget. And the fear you have, the respect you have for this deadly thing inside of you, I think that¡¯s an ability too.¡±


    My oatmeal is cold now, but I force a mouthful so I don¡¯t have to talk. Now the sugary taste is overpowering, and the glop sticks to my teeth.


    ¡°Your braids are a mess,¡± Morrey mutters to himself. He turns to another routine, an old one familiar to us both. Our parents worked earlier than we did, and we had to help each other get ready at dawn. He¡¯s long since known how to fix my hair, and it takes no time at all for him to untangle it. It feels good to have him back, and I¡¯m ovee with emotion as he its my curly ck hair into two braids.


    He doesn¡¯t push me to make a decision, but the conversation is enough to let questions I already had rise to the surface.<i ss="calibre4">Who do I want to be? What choice am I going to make?</i>


    In the distance, around the edge of the training fields, I spot two familiar figures. One tall, one short, both of them jogging the<span id="page_414" title="414">boundary. They do this every day, their exercises familiar to most of us. Despite Cal¡¯s much longer legs, Mare doesn¡¯t have a problem keeping up. As they get closer, I can see her smiling. I don¡¯t understand a lot of things about the lightning girl, and smiling during a run is one of them.


    ¡°Thanks, Morrey,¡± I say, getting to my feet when he finishes.


    My brother doesn¡¯t stand with me. He follows my gaze,ying eyes on Mare as she gets closer. She doesn¡¯t make him tense up, but Cal does. Morrey quickly busies himself with the bowls, ducking his head to hide his scowl. No love lost between the Coles and the prince of Norta.


    Mare raises her chin as she jogs, acknowledging us both.


    The prince tries to hide his annoyance when she slows her pace, easing into a walk to approach me and Morrey. Cal doesn¡¯t do it well, but he nods at both of us in an attempt at a polite greeting.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Mare says, shifting from foot to foot as she catches her breath. Herplexion has improved more than anything; a golden warmth is returning to her brown skin. ¡°Cameron, Morrey,¡± she says, her eyes ticking between us with catlike speed. Her brain is always spinning, looking for cracks. After what she¡¯s been through, how could she be any other way?


    She must sense the hesitation in me, because she stays put, waiting for me to say something. I almost lose my nerve, but Morrey brushes against my leg.<i ss="calibre4">Just bite the bullet,</i>I tell myself.<i ss="calibre4">She might even understand.</i>


    ¡°Would you mind taking a walk with me?¡±


    Before her capture, she would have scoffed, told me to train, brushed me away like an annoying fly. She barely tolerated me. Now she bobs her head. With a single gesture, Mare waves off Cal like only she can.


    Prison changed her, like it changed us all.Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    ¡°Sure, Cameron.¡±


    <span id="page_415" title="415">It feels like I talk for hours, spilling everything I¡¯ve been keeping inside. The fear, the anger, the sick sensation I get every time I think about what I can do and what I¡¯ve done. How it used to thrill me. How such power made me feel invincible, indestructible¡ªand now it makes me feel ashamed. It feels like stabbing myself in the stomach and letting my guts fall out. I avoid her eyes as I speak, keeping my gaze firmly on my feet as we pace the training grounds. As we press on, more and more soldiers flood the field. Newbloods and Reds, all going through their morning exercises. In their uniforms, green coveralls provided by Montfort, it¡¯s hard to tell which is which. We all look the same, united. ¡°I want to protect my brother. He tells me we should go, leave . . .¡± My voice weakens, trailing off until there are no more words.


    Mare is forceful in her reply. ¡°My sister says the same thing. Every day. She wants to take up Davidson¡¯s offer. Relocate. Let other people fight.¡± Her eyes darken with intensity. They wobble over thendscape full of green uniforms. She is mechanical in her observations, whether she knows it or not, reading risks and threats. ¡°She said we¡¯ve given enough.¡±


    ¡°So what will you do?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t turn my back.¡± She bites her lip, thoughtful. ¡°There¡¯s too much anger in me. If I don¡¯t find a way to get rid of it, it might poison me for the rest of my life. But that probably isn¡¯t what you want to hear.¡± It would be an usation from anyone else. From Cal, or Farley. From who Mare was six months ago. Instead her words are softer.


    ¡°Holding on will eat me alive,¡± I admit. ¡°Continuing on this way, using my ability to kill . . . it will make me a monster.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Monster.</i>She shivers when I say it, withdrawing inside herself. Mare Barrow has had her fair share of monsters. She looks away, idly tugging<span id="page_416" title="416">on a braid of hair curling with sweat and humidity.


    ¡°Monsters are so easily made, especially in people like us,¡± she mumbles. But she recovers quickly. ¡°You didn¡¯t fight in Archeon. Or if you did, I didn¡¯t see you.¡±


    ¡°No, I was just there to . . .¡±<i ss="calibre4">Keep you in check.</i>In the moment, a good n. But now that I know what she went through, I feel terrible.


    She doesn¡¯t push.


    ¡°Kilorn¡¯s idea back in Trial,¡± I say. ¡°He works well branching the newbloods and Reds, and he knew I wanted to take a step back. So I went along¡ªbut not to fight, not to kill, unless absolutely necessary.¡±


    ¡°And you want to continue on that path.¡± Not a question.


    Slowly, I nod. I shouldn¡¯t feel embarrassed. ¡°I think it¡¯s better this way. Defend, not destroy.¡± At my side, my fingers flex. Silence pools beneath my flesh. I don¡¯t hate my ability, but I can hate what it does.


    Mare fixes me with a grin. ¡°I¡¯m not yourmander. I can¡¯t tell you what to do, or how to fight. But I think it¡¯s a good idea. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, point them my way.¡±


    I smile. Somehow I feel a weight lift. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, by the way,¡± she adds,ing closer. ¡°I¡¯m the reason you¡¯re here. I know now, what I did to you, forcing you to join up¡ªit was wrong. And I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right. You did wrong, that¡¯s for bleeding sure. But I got what I wanted, in the end.¡±


    ¡°Morrey.¡± She sighs. ¡°I¡¯m d you got him back.¡± Her smile doesn¡¯t disappear, but it certainly fades, weakened by all mention of brothers.


    On the low rise ahead, Morrey waits, now standing in silhouette against the base buildings spread out behind him. Cal is gone. Good.


    Even though he¡¯s been with us for months, Cal is awkward without purpose, bad at conversation, and always on edge when he doesn¡¯t have<span id="page_417" title="417">a strategy to mull over. Part of me still thinks he sees us all as disposable¡ªcards to picked up and thrown away as strategy dictates.<i ss="calibre4">But he loves Mare,</i>I remind myself.<i ss="calibre4">He loves a girl with Red blood.</i>


    That must count for something.


    Before we make it back to my brother, onest fear bubbles up in my throat.


    ¡°Am I abandoning you all? The newbloods.¡±


    My ability is silent death. I am a weapon, like it or not. I can be used. I can be useful. Is it selfish to walk away?


    I get the feeling it¡¯s a question Mare has asked herself many times. But her answer is for me, and me alone.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± she mutters. ¡°You¡¯re still here. And you¡¯re one less monster for us to worry about. One less ghost.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 25

    <i ss="calibre4">Even though my time</i>at the Notch was fraught with exhaustion and heartbreak, it still holds a corner of my heart. For once, I remember the good more vividly than the bad. Days when we returned with living newbloods, snatched from the jaws of execution. It felt like progress. Every face was proof that I was not alone¡ªand that I could save people as easily as kill them. Some days, it felt simple. Right. I¡¯ve been chasing that sensation ever since.


    The Piedmont base has its own training facilities, both indoor and outdoor. Some are equipped for Silvers, the rest for Red soldiers to learn war. The Colonel and his men, now numbering in the thousands and growing every day, im the shooting range. Newbloods like Ada, those with less-devastating abilities, train with him, perfecting their aim andbat skills. Kilorn shuttles between their ranks and the newbloods on the Silver training grounds. He belongs with neither group, yet his presence soothes many. The fish boy is the opposite of a threat, not to mention a familiar face. And he doesn¡¯t fear them, like so many of the ¡°true¡± Red soldiers. No, Kilorn has seen enough from me<span id="page_419" title="419">to never be afraid of a newblood ever again.


    He apanies me now, escorting me around the edge of a building about the size of an airjet hangar. But it has no runway. ¡°Silver gymnasium,¡± he says, pointing at the structure. ¡°All sorts of stuff in there. Weights, an obstacle course, an arena¡ª¡±


    ¡°I get it.¡± I learned my skills in a ce like that, surrounded by leering Silvers who would kill me if they saw one drop of my blood. At least I don¡¯t have to worry about that anymore. ¡°Probably shouldn¡¯t train anywhere with a roof or lightbulbs.¡±


    Kilorn snorts. ¡°Probably not.¡±


    One of the gymnasium doors bangs open and a figure steps out, a towel around his neck. Cal scrubs sweat off his face, still silver-flushed with exertion. Weight lifting, I assume.


    He narrows his eyes and closes the distance between us as quickly as he can. Still panting, he puts a hand out. Kilorn takes it with an open grin. ¡°Kilorn.¡± Cal nods. ¡°Taking her on a tour?¡±


    ¡°Ye¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nah, she¡¯s going to start up with some of the others today.¡± Kilorn speaks over me, and I resist the urge to elbow him in the gut.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Cal darkens. He heaves a deep breath. ¡°I thought you were going to give yourself more time.¡±


    Kilorn surprised me in the hospital, but he¡¯s right. I can¡¯t sit around anymore. It feels useless. And I am restless, with anger boiling beneath my skin. I¡¯m not Cameron. I¡¯m not strong enough to step back. Even lightbulbs have started sparking when I enter a room. I need release.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a few days. I thought it over.¡± I put my hands on my hips, bracing myself against his inevitable counter. Without even realizing it, Cal settles into his patented arguing-with-Mare stance. Arms<span id="page_420" title="420">crossed, brow furrowed, feet firmly nted. With the sun behind me, he has to squint, and after his workout, he reeks of sweat.


    Kilorn, the rotten coward, backs away a few steps. ¡°I¡¯ll see you when you finish having a moment.¡± He tosses a shit-eating grin over his shoulder, leaving me to fend for myself.


    ¡°Just a minute,¡± I call at his retreating form. He only waves, disappearing around the corner of the gymnasium. ¡°Some backup he is. Not that I need it,¡± I add quickly, ¡°since it¡¯s my decision and this is just training. I¡¯ll be perfectly fine.¡±


    ¡°Well, half my worry is for the people in the st zone. And the rest . . .¡± He takes my hand, using it to pull me closer. I wrinkle my nose, digging in my heels. Not that it matters much. I slide along the pavement anyway.


    ¡°You¡¯re all sweaty.¡±


    He grins wrapping one arm around my back. No escape. ¡°Yep.¡±


    The scent isn¡¯t entirely unpleasant, even though it should be. ¡°So you¡¯re not going to fight me on this?¡±


    ¡°Like you said. Your decision.¡±


    ¡°Good. I don¡¯t have the energy to bicker twice in one morning.¡±


    He shifts and pushes me back gently, to better see my face. His thumbs graze the underside of my jaw. ¡°Gisa?¡±


    ¡°Gisa.¡± I huff, brushing a wisp of hair out of my face. Without the Silent Stone, my health has vastly improved, down to my nails and hair growing at a normal rate again. Still gray ends, though. That¡¯s never going away. ¡°She keeps bothering me about relocation. Go to Montfort. Leave everything behind.¡±


    ¡°And you told her go ahead, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    I blush scarlet. ¡°It just slipped out! Sometimes . . . I don¡¯t think before I speak.¡±


    <span id="page_421" title="421">Heughs. ¡°What? You?¡±


    ¡°And then Mom took her side, of course, and Dad didn¡¯t take a side at all, ying peacemaker, of course. It¡¯s like¡±¡ªmy breath hitches¡ª¡°it¡¯s like nothing ever changed. We could have been back in the Stilts, in the kitchen. I guess that shouldn¡¯t bother me so much. In the scheme of things.¡± Embarrassed, I force myself to look up at Cal. It feels horribleining about family to him. But he asked. And it spilled out. He just studies me like I¡¯m battlefield terrain. ¡°This isn¡¯t something you want to think about. It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    His grip on my hand tightens before I can even think to pull away. He knows the way I run. ¡°Actually, I was thinking about all the soldiers I trained with. At the front, especially. I¡¯ve seen soldierse back whole in body, but missing something else. They can¡¯t sleep or maybe they can¡¯t eat. Sometimes they slide right back into the past¡ªinto a memory of battle, triggered by a sound or a smell or any other sensation.¡±


    I gulp and circle my wrist with shaking fingers. Squeezing, I remember the manacles. The touch makes me sick. ¡°Sounds familiar.¡±


    ¡°You know what helps?¡±


    Of course I don¡¯t, or else I¡¯d do it. I shake my head.


    ¡°Normalcy. Routine. Talking. I know you don¡¯t exactly like thest one,¡± he adds, smirking slowly. ¡°But your family just wants you to be safe. They went through hell when you were . . . gone.¡± He still hasn¡¯t figured out the proper word for what happened to me.<i ss="calibre4">Captured</i>or<i ss="calibre4">imprisoned</i>doesn¡¯t exactly carry the right weight. ¡°And now that you¡¯re back, they¡¯re doing what anyone would do. They¡¯re protecting you. Not the lightning girl, not Mareena Titanos, but you. Mare Barrow. The girl they know and remember. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I nod slowly. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    <span id="page_422" title="422">¡°So about that talking thing.¡±


    ¡°Oh,e on, right now?¡±


    His grin splits and heughs, his stomach muscles tensing against me. ¡°Fine,ter. After training.¡±


    ¡°You should go shower.¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding? I¡¯m going to be two steps behind you the whole time. You want to train? Then you¡¯re going to train properly.¡± He pokes me in the small of my back, making me stumble forward. ¡°Come on.¡±


    The prince is incessant, jogging backward until I match his pace. We pass the track, the outdoor obstacle course, a wide field of close-cut grass, not to mention several circles of dirt for sparring and a target range more than a quarter mile long. Some newbloods run the obstacle course and the track, while a few practice alone in the field. I don¡¯t recognize them, but the abilities I see are familiar enough. A newblood akin to a nymph forms columns of clear water before letting them drop to the grass, creating spreading puddles of mud. A teleporter navigates the course with ease. She appears and disappears all over the equipment,ughing at others having a more difficult time. Every time she jumps, my stomach twists, remembering Shade.


    The sparring circles unsettle me most of all. I haven¡¯t fought someone for training, for sport, since Evangeline so many months ago. It was not an experience I care to repeat. But I¡¯ll certainly have to.


    Cal¡¯s voice keeps me level, drawing my focus back to the task at hand. ¡°I¡¯ll get you on your weights routine starting tomorrow, but today we can jump into target and theory.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Target</i>I understand. ¡°Theory?¡±


    We stop at the edge of the long range, staring at the mist burning off in the distance.


    ¡°You came into Training about a decadete for that. But before<span id="page_423" title="423">our abilities are in fighting form, we spend a lot of time studying our advantages and disadvantages, how to use them.¡±


    ¡°Like nymphs beating burners, water over fire.¡±


    ¡°Sort of. That¡¯s an easy one. But what if you¡¯re the burner?¡± I just shake my head, and he grins. ¡°See, tricky. Takes a lot of memorization andprehension. Testing. But you¡¯re going to do this on the fly.¡±


    I forgot how suited to this Cal is. He is a fish in water, at ease, grinning. Eager. This is what he¡¯s good at, what he understands, where he excels. It¡¯s a lifeline in a world that never seems to make any sense.


    ¡°Is it toote to say I don¡¯t want to train anymore?¡±


    Cal justughs, tipping his head back. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck. ¡°You¡¯re stuck with me, Barrow. Now, hit the first target.¡± He stretches out a hand, indicating a square granite block ten yards away, painted like a bull¡¯s-eye. ¡°One bolt. Dead center.¡±


    Smirking, I do as asked. I can¡¯t miss at this range. A single purple-white bolt streaks through the air and hits home. With a resounding crack, the lightning leaves a ck mark in the center of the bull¡¯s-eye.


    Before I have time to feel proud, Cal bodily shoves me aside. Off guard, I stumble, almost falling into the dirt. ¡°Hey!¡±


    He just steps away and points. ¡°Next target. Twenty yards.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I huff, turning my eyes on the second block. I raise my arm again, ready to aim¡ªand Cal shoves me again. This time my feet react more quickly, but not enough, and my bolt goes wild, crackling into the dirt.


    ¡°This feels very unprofessional.¡±


    ¡°I used to do this with someone firing nks next to my head. Would you prefer that?¡± he asks. I shake my head quickly. ¡°Then hit¡ªthe¡ªtarget.¡±


    Normally, I¡¯d be annoyed, but his smile spreads, making me blush.<span id="page_424" title="424"><i ss="calibre4">It¡¯s training,</i>I think.<i ss="calibre4">Get a hold of yourself.</i>


    This time, when he goes to push me, I sidestep and fire, clipping the granite marker. Another dodge, another shot. Cal starts to change up his tactic, going for my legs or even burning a fireball across my vision. The first time he does that, I hit the ground so fast I end up spitting dirt. ¡°Hit the target¡± bes his anthem, followed by a yard marker anywhere between fifty and ten. He shouts the targets at random, all while forcing me to dance on my toes. It¡¯s harder than running, much harder, and the sun turns brutal as the day wears on.


    ¡°The target is a swift. What do you do?¡± he asks.


    I grit my teeth, panting. ¡°Spread the bolt. Catch him as he dodges¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me, do it.¡±


    With a grunt, I swing my arm in a chopping, horizontal motion, sending a spray of voltage in the target¡¯s direction. The sparks are weaker, less concentrated, but enough to slow a swift down. Next to me, Cal just nods his head, the only indication that I did something right. It feels good anyway.


    ¡°Thirty yards. Banshee.¡±


    pping my hands to my ears, I squint at the target, willing lightning without use of my fingers. A bolt vaults from my body, arcing like a rainbow. It misses, but I ssh the electricity, making the sparks burst in different directions.


    ¡°Five yards. Silence.¡±


    The thought of an Arven floods me with panic. I try to focus. My hand strays for a gun that isn¡¯t there, and I pretend to shoot the target. ¡°Bang.¡±


    Cal snorts a bit. ¡°That doesn¡¯t count, but okay. Five yards, maron.¡±


    That one I know intimately. With all the force I can muster, I rocket<span id="page_425" title="425">a st of lightning at the target. It cracks in two, sliding apart at dead center.


    ¡°Theory?¡± a soft voice says behind us.


    I was so focused on the range that I didn¡¯t notice Julian standing by to watch, with Kilorn at his side. My old teacher offers a tight smile, his hands folded behind his back in his usual way. I¡¯ve never seen him so casually dressed, with a light cotton shirt and shorts revealing thin chicken legs. Cal should get him on a weights routine too.


    ¡°Theory,¡± Cal confirms. ¡°After a fashion.¡± He waves me down, giving me a brief respite. Immediately I sit in the dirt, stretching out my legs. Despite the constant dodging, it¡¯s the lightning that makes me tired. Without the adrenaline of battle or the threat of death hanging over my head, my stamina is decidedly lessened. Not to mention the fact that I¡¯m about six months out of practice. With even motions, Kilorn stoops and puts a frosty water bottle down at my side.


    ¡°Thought you might need this,¡± he says with a wink.


    I grin up at him. ¡°Thanks,¡± I manage, before gulping down a few cold mouthfuls. ¡°What are you doing down here, Julian?¡±


    ¡°Just on my way to the archives. Then I decided to see what all the fuss was about.¡± He gestures over his shoulder. I jolt at the sight of a dozen or so assembled on the edge of the range, all of them staring at us. At me. ¡°Seems you have a bit of an audience.¡±


    I grit my teeth.<i ss="calibre4">Great.</i>


    Cal shifts, just a bit, to hide me from view. ¡°Sorry. Didn¡¯t want to break your concentration.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I tell him, forcing myself to stand. My limbs groan in protest.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll see you bothter,¡± Julian says, looking between me and Cal.


    <span id="page_426" title="426">I answer quickly. ¡°We can go with you¡ª¡±


    But he cuts me off with a knowing smirk, gesturing toward the crowd of bystanders. ¡°Oh, I think you have introductions to make. Kilorn, would you mind?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Kilorn replies. I want to smack the grin right off his face, and he knows it. ¡°After you, Mare.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I force through a clenched jaw.


    Fighting my natural instinct to slink away from attention, I take a few steps toward the newbloods. A few more. A few more. Until I reach them, Cal and Kilorn alongside. In the Notch, I didn¡¯t want friends. Friends are harder to say good-bye to. That hasn¡¯t changed, but I see what Kilorn and Julian are doing. I can¡¯t close myself off from others anymore. I try to force a winning smile at the people around me.


    ¡°Hi. I¡¯m Mare.¡± It sounds stupid and I feel stupid.


    One of the newbloods, the teleporter, bobs her head. She has a forest-green Montfort uniform, long limbs, and closely cropped brown hair. ¡°Yeah, we know. I¡¯m Arezzo,¡± she says, sticking out a hand. ¡°I jumped you and Calore out of Archeon.¡±


    No wonder I didn¡¯t recognize her. The minutes after my escape are still a blur of fear, adrenaline, and overpowering relief. ¡°Right, of course. Thank you for that.¡± I blink, trying to remember her.


    The others are just as friendly and open, as pleased to meet another newblood as I am. Everyone in this group is Montfort-born or Montfort-allied, in green uniforms with white triangles on the breast and insignia on each bicep. Some are easy to decipher¡ªtwo wavy lines for the nymph-like newblood, three arrows for the swift. No one has badges or medals, though. There¡¯s no telling who might be an officer. But all are military-trained, if not military-raised.<span id="page_427" title="427">They usest names and have firm handshakes, each one a born or made soldier. Most know Cal on sight and nod at him in a very official manner. Kilorn they greet like an old friend.


    ¡°Where¡¯s E?¡± Kilorn asks, directing his question at a man with ck skin and shockingly green hair. Dyed, clearly. His name is Rafe. ¡°I sent her a message toe down and meet Mare. Tyton too.¡±


    ¡°Last I saw, they were practicing on top of Storm Hill. Which, technically¡±¡ªhe nces at me, almost apologetic¡ª¡°is where electricons are supposed to train.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s an electricon?¡± I ask, and immediately feel foolish.


    ¡°You.¡±


    I sigh, sheepish. ¡°Right. I figured that about as soon as I asked.¡±


    Rafe floats a spark over his hand, letting it weave between his fingers. I feel it, but not like my own lightning. The green sparks answer to him and him alone. ¡°It¡¯s an odd word, but we¡¯re odd things, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    I stare at him, almost breathless with excitement. ¡°You¡¯re . . . like me?¡±


    He nods, indicating the lightning bolts on his sleeves. ¡°Yes,<i ss="calibre4">we</i>are.¡±


    Storm Hill is just like it sounds. It rises at a gentle incline in the middle of another field at the opposite end of the base, as far from the airfield as possible. Less chance of hitting a jet with a stray bolt of lightning. I get the sense the hill is a new addition, judging by the loose earth beneath my feet as we approach the summit. The grass is new growth too, the work of a greeny or newblood equivalent. It¡¯s more lush than the training fields. But the crown of the slope is a mess, charred earth packed t, crisscrossed by cracks and the smell of a distant thunderstorm. While<span id="page_428" title="428">the rest of the base enjoys bright blue skies, a ck cloud revolves over Storm Hill. A thunderhead, rising thousands of feet into the sky like a column of dark smoke. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it, so controlled and contained.


    The blue-haired woman from Archeon stands beneath the cloud, her arms outstretched, palms up to the thunder. A straight-backed man with swooping white hair like a wave¡¯s crest stands back from her, thin and lean in his green uniform. Both have lightning-bolt insignia.


    Blue sparks dance over the woman¡¯s hands, small as worms.


    Rafe leads us, Cal close at my side. Even though he deals with his fair share of lightning, the ck cloud puts him on edge. He keeps ncing up, as if expecting it to explode. Some blue shes weakly in the darkness, illuminating it from within. Thunder rumbles with it, low and thrumming like a cat¡¯s purr. It shivers my bones.


    ¡°E, Tyton,¡± Cal calls. He waves a hand.


    They turn at their names, and the shing in the clouds abruptly stops. The woman lowers her hands, tucking away her palms, and the thunderhead starts to dissolve before our eyes. She bounds over in leaps of energy, trailed by the more stoic man.


    ¡°I was wondering when we would meet,¡± she says, her voice high and breathy to match her dainty stature. Without warning, she takes my hands and kisses me on both cheeks. Her touch shocks, sparks leaping from her skin to mine. It doesn¡¯t hurt, but it certainly perks me up. ¡°I¡¯m E, and you¡¯re Mare, of course. And this tall drink of water is Tyton.¡±


    The man in question is certainly tall, with tawny skin, a sprinkling of freckles, and a jaw sharper than the edge of a cliff. With a flick of his head, he tosses his white hair to one side, letting it fall over his left eye. He winks with the right. I expected him to be old, with hair like that,<span id="page_429" title="429">but he can¡¯t be more than twenty-five. ¡°Hello¡± is all he says, his voice deep and certain.


    ¡°Hi.¡± I nod at them, overwhelmed both by their presence and my own inability to act anywhere close to normal. ¡°Sorry, this is a bit of a shock.¡±


    Tyton rolls his eyes, but E bursts outughing. A half secondter, I understand and cringe.


    Cal chuckles at my side. ¡°That was pretty horrible, Mare.¡± He nudges my shoulder as discreetly as he can, a brush of warmth emanating from him. A very smallfort in the Piedmont heat.


    ¡°We understand,¡± E offers quickly, stealing the words away. ¡°It¡¯s always overwhelming to meet another Ardent, let alone three who share your ability. Right, boys?¡± She elbows Tyton in the chest and he barely reacts, annoyed. Rafe just nods. I get the feeling E does most of the talking and, based on what I remember from the blue lightning storm in Archeon, most of the fighting. ¡°I despair of you both,¡± E mutters, shaking her head at them. ¡°But I have you now, don¡¯t I, Mare?¡±


    Her eager nature and open smile take me severely off guard. People this nice are always hiding something. I swallow my suspicion enough to give her what I hope is a genuine smile.


    ¡°Thank you for bringing her,¡± she adds to Cal, her tone shifting. The cheery, blue-haired pixie draws up her spine and hardens her voice, bing a soldier before my eyes. ¡°I think we can take her training from here.¡±


    Cal barks out a lowugh. ¡°Alone? Are you serious?¡±


    ¡°Were you?¡± she shoots back, narrowing her eyes. ¡°I saw your ¡®practice.¡¯ Little bursts on a target range is hardly sufficient to maximize her abilities. Or do you know how to coax a storm out of her?¡±


    <span id="page_430" title="430">Based on the way his lips twist, I can tell he wants to say something decidedly inappropriate. I stop him before he can, grabbing his wrist. ¡°Cal¡¯s military background¡ª¡±Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    ¡°¡ªis fine for conditioning.¡± E cuts me off. ¡°And perfect for training you to fight Silvers the way he does. But your abilities stretch beyond his understanding. There are things he can¡¯t teach you, things you must learn either the hard way¡ªby yourself¡ªor the easy way . . . with us.¡±


    Her logic is sound, albeit unsettling.<i ss="calibre4">There are things Cal can¡¯t teach me, things he doesn¡¯t understand.</i>I remember when I tried to train Cameron¡ªI didn¡¯t know her ability the same way I knew mine. It was like speaking a differentnguage. I was still able tomunicate, but not truly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll watch, then,¡± Cal says with stony resolve. ¡°Is that eptable?¡±


    E grins, her mood bouncing back to cheerful. ¡°Of course. I would, however, advise you to stand back and stay alert. Lightning is a bit of a wild filly. No matter how much you rein her in, she¡¯ll always try to run wild.¡±


    He gives me onest look and the tiniest quirk of a supportive smile before heading to the edge of the hilltop, well beyond the ring of st marks. When he gets there, he flops down and leans back on his arms, eyes trained on me.


    ¡°He¡¯s nice. For a prince,¡± E offers.


    ¡°And a Silver,¡± Rafe pipes in.


    I nce at him, confused. ¡°There aren¡¯t nice Silvers in Montfort?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never been,¡± he replies. ¡°I¡¯m Piedmont-born, from down in the Floridians.¡± He dots his fingers in the air, illustrating the chain of swampy inds. ¡°Montfort recruited me a few months ago.¡±


    <span id="page_431" title="431">¡°And you two?¡± I look between E and Tyton.


    She¡¯s quick to reply. ¡°Prairie. The Sandhills. That¡¯s raider country, and my family lived on the move. Eventually we kept west into the mountains. Montfort took us in near ten years ago. That¡¯s where I met Tyton.¡±


    ¡°Montfort-born,¡± he says, as if that¡¯s any exnation. Not very talkative, probably because E has enough words for all of us. She steers me toward the center of what can only be called a st zone, until I¡¯m directly beneath the still-dissipating storm cloud.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s see what we¡¯re working with,¡± E says, nudging me into ce. The breeze rustles her hair, sending bright blue locks over one shoulder. Moving in tandem, the other two take up spots around me, until we¡¯re clustered in the four corners of a square. ¡°Start small.¡±


    ¡°Why? I can¡ª¡±


    Tyton looks up. ¡°She wants to check your control.¡±


    E nods.


    I heave a breath. Excited as I am with fellow electricons, I feel a bit like an overnannied child. ¡°Fine.¡± Cupping my hands, I call forth the lightning, letting jagged sparks of purple and white sy around the bowl of my fingers.


    ¡°Purple sparks?¡± Rafe says, grinning. ¡°Nice.¡±


    I flicker between the unnatural colors on their heads, smirking. Green, blue, white locks.


    ¡°I have no ns to dye my hair.¡±


    Summer hits Piedmont with a boiling vengeance, and Cal is the only person who can stand it. Gasping from exertion and heat, I smack him in the ribs until he rolls away. He does so slowly,zily, almost drifting off to sleep. Instead, he goes too far and falls right off the narrow bed<span id="page_432" title="432">onto the hard,minated floor. That wakes him up. He vaults forward, ck hair sticking up at angles, naked as a newborn.


    ¡°My colors,¡± he curses, rubbing his skull.


    I have little pity for his pain. ¡°If you didn¡¯t insist on sleeping in a glorified broom closet, this wouldn¡¯t be an issue.¡± Even the ceiling, blocks of speckled ster, is depressing. And the single open window does nothing for the heat, especially in the middle of the day. I don¡¯t want to think about the walls or how thin they might be. At least he doesn¡¯t have to bunk with other soldiers.


    Still on the floor, Cal grumbles. ¡°I like the barracks.¡± He fumbles for a pair of shorts before pulling them on. Then go the bracelets, snapping back into ce on his wrists. Thetches areplicated, but he slips them on like it¡¯s second nature. ¡°And you don¡¯t have to share a room with your sister.¡±


    I shift and throw a shirt over my head. Our midday break will be over in a few minutes, and I¡¯m expected up on Storm Hill soon. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll just get over that little thing I have about sleeping alone.¡± Of course, by<i ss="calibre4">thing</i>I mean still-debilitating trauma. I have terrible nightmares if there isn¡¯t someone in the room with me.


    Cal stills, shirt half over his head. He sucks in a breath, wincing. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡±


    It¡¯s my turn to grumble. I pick at Cal¡¯s sheets. Military-issue, washed so many times they¡¯re almost worn through. ¡°I know.¡±


    The bed shifts, springs groaning, as he leans toward me. His lips brush the crown of my head. ¡°Any more nightmares?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I answer so quickly he raises an eyebrow in suspicion, but it¡¯s the truth. ¡°As long as Gisa¡¯s there. She says I don¡¯t make a sound. Her, on the other hand . . . I forgot so much noise coulde from such a<span id="page_433" title="433">small person.¡± Iugh to myself, and find the courage to look him in the eye. ¡°What about you?¡±


    Back in the Notch, we slept side by side. Most nights he tossed and turned, muttering in his sleep. Sometimes he cried.


    A muscle ripples in his jaw. ¡°Just a few. Maybe twice a week, that I can remember.¡±


    ¡°Of?¡±


    ¡°My father, mostly. You. What it felt like to be fighting you, watching myself try to kill you, and not being able to do a thing to stop it.¡± He flexes his hands in memory of the dream. ¡°And Maven. When he was little. Six or seven.¡±


    The name still feels like acid in my bones, even though it¡¯s been so long since Ist saw him. He has given several broadcasts and derations since, but I refuse to watch them. My memories of him are terrorizing enough. Cal knows that, and out of respect for me, he absolutely does not talk about his brother. Until now.<i ss="calibre4">You asked,</i>I scold myself. I grit my teeth, mostly to stop from vomiting up all the words I haven¡¯t told him. Too painful for him. It won¡¯t help to know what kind of monster his brother was forced into bing.


    He pushes on, eyes far away in the memory. ¡°He used to be afraid of the dark, until one day he just wasn¡¯t. In my dreams, he¡¯s ying in my room, sort of walking around. Looking at my books. And darkness follows him. I try to tell him. Try to warn him. He doesn¡¯t care. He doesn¡¯t mind. And I can¡¯t stop it. It swallows him whole.¡± Slowly, Cal runs a hand down his face. ¡°Don¡¯t need to be a whisper to know what that means.¡±


    ¡°ra is dead,¡± I murmur, moving so we¡¯re side by side. As if that¡¯s anyfort.


    <span id="page_434" title="434">¡°And he still took you. He still did horrible things.¡± Cal stares at the floor, unable to hold my gaze. ¡°I just can¡¯t understand why.¡±


    I could keep quiet. Or distract him. But the words boil furiously in my throat. He deserves the truth. Reluctant, I take his hand.


    ¡°He remembers loving you, loving your father. But she took that love away, he said. Cut it out of him like a tumor. She tried to do the same with his feelings for me¡±¡ªand Thomas before¡ª¡°but it didn¡¯t work. Certain kinds of love . . .¡± My breath hitches. ¡°He said they¡¯re harder to remove. I think the attempt twisted him, more than he already was. She made it impossible for him to let go of me. Everything he felt for both of us was corrupted, made into something worse. With you, hatred. With me, obsession. And there is nothing either of us could do to change him. I don¡¯t even think she could undo her own work.¡±


    His only reply is silence, letting the revtion hang in the air. My heart breaks for the exiled prince. I give him what I think he needs. My hand, my presence, and my patience. After a long, long time, he opens his eyes.


    ¡°As far as I know, there are no newblood whispers,¡± he says. ¡°Not one that I¡¯ve found or been told about. And I¡¯ve done my fair share of searching.¡±


    This I did not expect. I blink, confused.


    ¡°Newbloods are stronger than Silvers. And ra was just Silver. If someone can . . . can fix him, isn¡¯t it worth it to try?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± is all I can say. Just the idea numbs me, and I don¡¯t know how to feel. If Maven could be healed, so to speak, would that be enough to redeem him? Certainly it won¡¯t change what he¡¯s done. Not only to me and Cal, to his father, but to hundreds of other people. ¡°I really don¡¯t know.¡±


    <span id="page_435" title="435">But it gives Cal hope. I see it there, like a tiny light in the distance of his eyes. I sigh, smoothing his hair. He needs another cut with a steadier hand than his own. ¡°I guess if Evangeline can change, maybe anyone can.¡±


    His suddenugh echoes low in his chest. ¡°Oh, Evangeline is the same as always. She just had more incentive to let you go than to let you stay.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Because I know who told her to do it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I ask sharply.


    With a sigh, Cal gets up and crosses the room. The opposite wall is all cabry, and mostly empty. He doesn¡¯t have many possessions beyond his clothes and a few bits of tactical gear. To my surprise, he paces. It sets my teeth on edge.


    ¡°The Guard blocked every attempt I made to get you back,¡± he says, hands moving rapidly as he speaks. ¡°No messages, no support for infiltration. No spies of any kind. I wasn¡¯t going to sit in that freezing base and wait for someone to tell me what to do. So I made contact with someone I trust.¡±


    Realization punches me in the gut. ¡°Evangeline?¡±


    ¡°My colors, no,¡± he gasps. ¡°But Nanabel, my grandmother¡ªmy father¡¯s mother¡ª¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Anabel Lern. The old queen.</i>¡°You call her . . . Nanabel?¡±


    He flushes silver and my heart skips a beat. ¡°Force of habit,¡± he grumbles. ¡°Anyway, she never came to court while ra was there, but I thought she might once she died. She knew what ra was, and she knows me. She would have seen through the queen¡¯s lie. She would have understood Maven¡¯s role in our father¡¯s death.¡±


    <span id="page_436" title="436">Communicating with the enemy. There¡¯s no way Farley knew about this, or the Colonel. Nortan prince or not, either of them would have shot him if they did.


    ¡°I was desperate. And in hindsight, it was really, really stupid,¡± he adds. ¡°But it worked. She promised to get you free when the opportunity presented itself. The wedding was that opportunity. She must have given support to Volo Samos to ensure your escape, and it was worth it. You¡¯re here now because of her.¡±


    I speak slowly. I must understand. ¡°So you let her know the raid on Archeon wasing?¡±


    He moves back to me with blinding speed, kneeling to take both my hands. His fingers are zing hot, but I force myself not to pull away. ¡°Yes. She¡¯s more open to channeling with Montfort than I realized.¡±


    ¡°She<i ss="calibre4"municated</i>with them?¡±


    He blinks. ¡°She still does.¡±


    For a second, I wish I had colors to curse with. ¡°How? How is this possible?¡±


    ¡°I assume you don¡¯t want an exnation of how radios and broadcasters work.¡± He smiles. I don¡¯tugh at the joke. ¡°Montfort is obviously open to working with Silvers, in whatever capacity, to reach their goals. This is an¡±¡ªhe searches for the right words¡ª¡°even partnership. They want the same thing.¡±


    I almost scoff in disbelief. Royal Silvers working with Montfort . . . and the Guard? It sounds positively ludicrous. ¡°And what do they want?¡±


    ¡°Maven off the throne.¡±


    A chill goes through me despite the summer heat and the closeness of Cal¡¯s body. Tears I can¡¯t control spring to my eyes.


    <span id="page_437" title="437">¡°But they still want a throne.¡±


    ¡°No¡ª¡±


    ¡°A Silver king for Montfort to control, but a Silver king all the same. Reds in the dirt, as always.¡±


    ¡°I promise you, that¡¯s not what this is.¡±


    ¡°Long live Tiberias the Seventh,¡± I whisper. He flinches. ¡°When the houses rebelled, Maven interrogated them. And every one of them died saying those words.¡±


    His face falls in sadness. ¡°I never asked for that,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Never wanted that.¡±


    The young man kneeling in front of me was born to a crown. Want had nothing to do with his upbringing. Want was stamped out of him at a young age, reced with duty, with what his wretched father told him a king should be.


    ¡°Then what do you want?¡± When Kilorn asked me that same question, it gave me focus, purpose, a clear path in darkness. ¡°What do you want, Cal?¡±


    He answers quickly, eyes zing. ¡°You.¡± His fingers tighten on mine, hot but steady in temperature. He¡¯s holding himself back as much as he can. ¡°I am in love with you, and I want you more than anything else in the world.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Love</i>is not a word we use. We feel it, we mean it, but we don¡¯t say it. It feels so final, a deration from which there is no easy return. I¡¯m a thief. I know my exits. And I was a prisoner. I hate locked doors. But his eyes are so close, so eager. And it¡¯s what I feel. Even though the words terrify me, they are the truth. Didn¡¯t I say I would start telling the truth?


    ¡°I love you,¡± I whisper, leaning forward to brace my forehead against his. Eyshes that are not my own flutter close to my skin.<span id="page_438" title="438">¡°Promise me. Promise you won¡¯t leave. Promise you won¡¯t go back. Promise you won¡¯t undo everything my brother died for.¡±


    His low sigh washes across my face.


    ¡°I promise.¡±


    ¡°Remember when we told each other no distractions?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He runs a zing finger over my earrings, touching each one in turn.


    ¡°Distract me.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 26

    <i ss="calibre4">My training continues twofold,</i>leaving me exhausted. It¡¯s for the best. Exhaustion makes it easy to sleep and hard to worry. Every time doubt tugs at my brain, over Cal or Piedmont or whateveres next, I¡¯m too tired to entertain the thoughts. I run and weight train with Cal in the mornings, taking advantage of thesting effects of Silent Stone. After their heaviness, nothing physical seems difficult. He also slips in a bit of theory betweenps, even though I assure him E has it covered. He just shrugs and keeps on. I don¡¯t mention that her training is more brutal, designed to kill. Cal was raised to fight, but with a skin healer in the wings. His version of sparring is very different from hers, which focuses on total annihtion. Cal is more oriented on defense. His unwillingness to kill Silvers unless absolutely necessary is thrown into harsh relief by my hours with the electricons.


    E is a brawler. Her storms gather with blinding speed, spinning ck clouds out of clear skies to fuel a merciless fuside of lightning. I remember her in Archeon, wielding a gun with one hand and lightning in the other. Only Iris Cy¡¯s quick thinking kept her from turning<span id="page_440" title="440">Maven to a pile of smoking ash. I don¡¯t think my lightning will ever be as destructive as hers, not without years of training, but her tutge is invaluable. From her I learn that storm lightning is more powerful than any other kind, hotter than the surface of the sun, with the strength to split even diamondss. Just one bolt like hers drains me so fully I can barely stand, but she does it for fun and target practice. Once she made me run through a minefield of her storm lightning to test my footwork.


    Web lightning, as Rafe calls it, is more familiar. He uses bolts and sparks thrown from his hands and feet, usually in sying webs of green, to protect his body. While he can call storms too, he prefers more urate methods, and he fights with precision. His lightning can take form. He¡¯s best at the shield, a weaving crackle of electric energy that can stop a bullet, and a whip to cut through rock and bone. Thetter is striking to behold: a fraying arc of electricity that moves like deadly rope, able to burn through anything in its path. I feel the force of it every time we spar. It doesn¡¯t hurt me as much as it would anyone else, but any lightning I can¡¯t wrench control of strikes deep. Usually I end the day with my hair on end, and when Cal kisses me, he always gets a shock or two.


    The quiet Tyton doesn¡¯t spar with any of us, or with anyone, for that matter. He has given no name to his specialty, but E calls it pulse lightning. His control of electricity is astounding. The pure white sparks are small but concentrated, containing the strength of a storm bolt. Like a live-wire bullet.


    ¡°I¡¯d show you brain lightning,¡± he mutters to me one day, ¡°but I doubt anyone would volunteer to help the demonstration.¡±


    We pass the sparring circles together, beginning the long walk across the base to Storm Hill. Now that I¡¯ve been with them awhile,<span id="page_441" title="441">Tyton actually speaks more than a few words to me. Still, it¡¯s a surprise to hear his slow, methodic voice.


    ¡°What¡¯s brain lightning?¡± I ask, intrigued.


    ¡°What it sounds like.¡±


    ¡°Helpful,¡± E sneers at my side. She continues braiding her vivid hair back from her face. It hasn¡¯t been dyed in a few weeks, as evidenced by the dirty-blond hair showing at the root. ¡°He means that a human body runs on a pulse of electrical signals. Very small, ridiculously fast. Difficult to detect and almost impossible to control. They¡¯re most concentrated in the brain, and easiest to harness there.¡±


    My eyes widen as I look at Tyton. He just keeps walking, white hair over one eye, hands shoved into his pockets. Unassuming. As if what E just said isn¡¯t terrifying. ¡°You can control someone¡¯s brain?¡± Cold fear rips me like a knife to the gut.


    ¡°Not the way you¡¯re thinking.¡±


    ¡°How do you know¡ª¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re very easy to predict, Mare. I¡¯m not a mind reader, but I know six months at the mercy of a whisper would make anyone suspicious.¡± With an annoyed sigh, he raises a hand. A spark brighter than the sun and more blinding weaves through his fingers. One touch from it could turn a man inside out with its force. ¡°E¡¯s trying to say I can look at a person and drop them like a sack of hammers. Affect the electricity in their body. Give them a seizure if I¡¯m feeling merciful. Kill them outright if not.¡±


    I look back at E and Rafe, blinking between them. ¡°Have either of you learned that?¡±


    Both scoff. ¡°Neither of us has anywhere near the control required,¡± E says.


    ¡°Tyton can kill someone discreetly, without anyone else knowing,¡±<span id="page_442" title="442">Rafe exins. ¡°We could be having dinner in the mess hall and the premier drops on the other side of the room. Seizure. He dies. Tyton doesn¡¯t blink and keeps on eating. Of course,¡± he adds, pping Tyton on the back, ¡°not that we think you would ever do that.¡±


    Tyton barely reacts. ¡°Comforting.¡±


    What a monstrous¡ªand useful¡ªway to use our ability.


    In the sparring circles, someone yells in frustration. The sound draws my attention, and I turn to see a pair of newbloods grappling. Kilorn oversees the spar and waves at us.


    ¡°Going to give the rings a try today?¡± he says, gesturing at the circles of dirt marking the sparring grounds. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen the lightning girl spark up in a long while.¡±


    I feel a surprisingly eager tug. Sparring with E or Rafe is exciting, but matching lightning to lightning isn¡¯t exactly helpful. There¡¯s no reason to practice fighting something we won¡¯t encounter for a long time.


    E answers before I can, stepping forward. ¡°We spar on Storm Hill. And we¡¯re alreadyte.¡±


    Kilorn just raises an eyebrow. He wants my answer, not hers.


    ¡°Actually, I wouldn¡¯t mind. We should be practicing against what Maven has in his arsenal.¡± I try to keep my tone diplomatic. I like E; I like Rafe. I even like what I know of Tyton, which is very little. But I have a voice too. And I think we can only go so far fighting each other. ¡°I¡¯d like to spar here today.¡±


    E opens her mouth to argue, but it¡¯s Tyton who speaks first. ¡°Fine,¡± he says. ¡°Who?¡±


    The closest thing to Maven we have.


    <span id="page_443" title="443">¡°You know, I¡¯m a lot better at this than he is.¡±


    Cal stretches an arm over his head, the bicep straining against thin cotton. He grins as I watch, enjoying the attention. I just glower and cross my arms over my chest. He hasn¡¯t agreed to my request, but he hasn¡¯t said no either. And the fact that Cal cut short his own training routine toe to the sparring circles says enough.


    ¡°Good. That will make fighting him easier.¡± I¡¯m careful with my words.<i ss="calibre4">Fight</i>, not<i ss="calibre4">kill</i>. Ever since Cal mentioned his search for someone who can ¡°fix¡± his brother, I have to tread lightly. As much as I want to kill Maven for what he did to me, I can¡¯t voice those thoughts. ¡°If I train against you, he won¡¯t be difficult at all.¡±


    He scuffs the dirt beneath his feet. Testing the terrain. ¡°We already fought.¡±


    ¡°Under the influence of a whisper. Someone else pulled the strings. That¡¯s not the same.¡±


    At the edge of the circle, a bit of a crowd gathers to watch. When Cal and I step onto the same sparring ground, word travels quickly. I think Kilorn might even be taking bets, weaving through the dozen or so newbloods with a shifty grin. One of them is Reese, the healer I struck when I was first rescued. He lies in wait like the skin healers used to when I trained with Silvers. Ready to fix whatever we break.


    My fingers drum against my arms, each one ticking. In my bones, I call to lightning. It rises at mymand, and I feel the clouds gather overhead. ¡°Are you going to keep wasting my time so you can strategize, or can we get started?¡±


    He just winks and continues his stretches. ¡°Almost done.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Stooping, I brush the finely ground dirt over my hands, wiping away any sweat. Cal taught me that. He grins and does the<span id="page_444" title="444">same. Then, to the surprise and delight of more than a few people, he pulls his shirt clean off and tosses it to the side.


    Better food and hard training have made us both more muscr, but where I am lean and agile, smoothly curved, he is all hard angles and cut lines of definition. I¡¯ve seen him undressed many times and still it gives me pause, sending a flush from my cheeks all the way down to my toes. I swallow forcibly. At the edge of my vision, both E and Rafe look him over with interest.


    ¡°Trying to distract me?¡± I pretend to shrug it off, ignoring the heat all over my face.


    He cocks his head to side, a picture of innocence. He even ps his hand to his chest, forcing a false gasp as if to say<i ss="calibre4">Who, me?</i>¡°You¡¯ll just fry the shirt anyway. I¡¯m saving supplies. But,¡± he adds, beginning to circle, ¡°a good soldier uses every advantage at his disposal.¡±


    Above me, the sky continues to darken. Now I can definitely hear Kilorn taking bets. ¡°Oh, you think you have the advantage? That¡¯s cute.¡± I match his movements, circling in the opposite direction. My feet move of their own ord. I trust them. The adrenaline feels familiar, born of the Stilts, the training arena, every battle I¡¯ve ever been in. It takes hold in my nerves.


    I hear Cal¡¯s voice in my head, even as he tenses, settling into an all-too-familiar stance.<i ss="calibre4">Burner. Ten yards.</i>My hands fall to my sides, fingers swirling as purple-white sparks jump in and out of my skin. Across the circle, he flicks his wrists¡ªand searing heat zes across my palms.


    I yelp, jumping back to see my sparks are red me. He took them from me. With a burst of energy, I thrust them back into lightning. They ripple, wanting to be fire, but I hold my concentration, keeping the sparks from bursting out of control.


    ¡°First blow to Calore!¡± Kilorn yells at the edge of the circle. A mix<span id="page_445" title="445">of groans and cheers runs through the still-growing crowd. He ps and thumps his feet. It reminds me of the arena, the Stilts, when he yelled for Silver champions. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Mare, pick it up!¡±


    A good lesson, I realize. Cal didn¡¯t have to open our spar by revealing something I wasn¡¯t prepared for. He could have held it back. Waited to use that unseen advantage. Instead, he yed that piece first. He¡¯s going easy on me.


    <i ss="calibre4">First mistake.</i>


    Ten yards away, Cal beckons, indicating for me to continue. A taunt as much as anything. He¡¯s best on the defense. He wants me toe to him. Fine.


    At the edge of the circle, E mutters a warning to the crowd. ¡°I¡¯d step back if I were you.¡±


    My fist clenches, and lightning strikes. It rips down with blinding force, hitting the circle dead center, like an arrow to a bull¡¯s-eye. But it doesn¡¯t dig into the ground, cracking the earth as it should. Instead, I use abination of storm and web. The purple-white bolt res across the sparring circle, racing over the dirt at knee height. Cal throws up an arm to protect his eyes from the bright sh, using the other hand to ripple the sparks around him, morphing them to zing blue me. I sprint and burst from the lightning he can¡¯t bear to look at. With a roar, I slide into his legs, knocking him down. He hits the sparks and flops, seizing from the shock as I pop back to my feet.


    Red-hot heat brushes my face, but I push it back with a shield of electricity. Then I¡¯m on the ground too, legs swept out from under me. My face hits the ground hard and I taste dirt. A hand grabs my shoulder, a hand that burns, and I swing out with an elbow, catching his jaw. That burns too. His entire body is ame. Red and orange, yellow and blue. Waves of heat distortion pulse from him, making the<span id="page_446" title="446">entire world sway and undte.


    Scrambling, I scoop my arm against the dirt and haul, chucking as much as I can into his face. He flinches, and it smothers some of his fire, giving me enough time to get to my feet. With another swing of my arms, I pull a whip of lightning into form, sparking and hissing in the air. He dodges each blow, rolling and ducking, light as a dancer on his feet. Fireballs spit from my electricity, the pieces I can¡¯t entirely control. Cal pulls them into churning whips of his own, surrounding the circle in an inferno. Purple and red sh, spark and burn, until the packed dirt beneath us churns like a stormy sea, and the sky goes ck, raining thunderbolts.N?velDrama.Org ? 2024.


    He dances close enough for a blow. I feel the force of his fist ripple as I drop beneath it, and I smell burned hair. I get in a strike of my own,nding a brutal elbow to a kidney. He grunts in pain but responds in kind, ripping ming fingers down my back. My flesh ripples with fresh blisters, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Cal would stop the fight if he knew how much this hurt. And it hurts. Pain shrieks up my spine and my knees buckle. Scrambling, I throw out my arms to stop a fall, and the lightning pushes me to my feet. I push through the searing pain because I have to know what it feels like. Maven will probably do worse when the timees.


    I use web again, a defensive maneuver to keep his hands off me. A strong bolt races up his leg, into his muscles, nerves, and bones. The skeleton of a prince shes in my head. I pull back the blow enough to avoid permanent damage. He twitches, falling onto his side. I¡¯m on him without thinking, working the bracelets I¡¯ve seen himtch and utch a dozen times. Beneath me, his eyes roll and he tries to fight me off. The bracelets go flying, glinting purple against my sparks.


    An arm wraps around my middle, flipping me over. The ground<span id="page_447" title="447">against my back is like a tongue of white-hot fire. I scream this time, losing control. Sparks burst from my hands, and Cal flies back of his own ord, scrambling from the fury of lightning.


    Fighting tears, I push up, fingers digging into the dirt. A few yards away, Cal does the same. His hair is wild with static energy. We¡¯re both wounded, both too proud to stop. We stagger to our feet like old men, swaying on uneasy limbs. Without his bracelets, he calls to the grass burning on the edge of the circle, forming me from embers. It rockets at me as my lightning bursts again.


    Both collide¡ªwith a tingling blue wall. It hisses, absorbing the force of both strikes. Then it disappears like a window wiped clean.


    ¡°Perhaps next time you two should spar in the range field,¡± Davidson calls. Today the premier looks like everyone else in his in green uniform, standing on the edge of the circle. At least, it was a circle. Now the dirt and grass are a charred mess,pletely torn up, a battleground ripped apart by our abilities.


    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 copses 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, nd 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<span id="page_448" title="448">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¡¯tst. 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¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get it done.¡±


    The dirt squeezes through my fingers, the smallest relief as I w 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 wouldin, but I don¡¯t have the brain capacity. Not after<span id="page_449" title="449">Davidson¡¯s operatives¡¯test 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 ncing 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 ra 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 Laknds. We don¡¯t have exact numbers, or an ability count.¡±


    My hands tremble on the t 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. Lern, 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 exin further. I know what Arvens can do firsthand. ¡°I don¡¯t know the Laknders, 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¡ª¡± He stops himself and nces sidelong at Cal, who doesn¡¯t react. ¡°To Maven, they<span id="page_450" title="450">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 iplete without his twin, and leans oddly, as if topensate 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 ssified, but I can guess. Salida was once embedded in Maven¡¯s newblood army. Rash is a perfect recement 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 ormunication 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 Laknds. Maven¡¯s new bride and her alliance put us in a bit of a bind,¡± Farley exins. ¡°We don¡¯t have nearly enough resources there, now that most of the Guard is here. We can¡¯t monitor three separate countries¡ª¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re sure it¡¯s Corvium? You¡¯re absolutely sure?¡± Cal snaps.


    <span id="page_451" title="451">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, in and simple?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll move quickly once intentions are known¡ª¡±


    ¡°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 ra. 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.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Too many times to count.</i>


    ¡°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, mming a fist on the council table. A ss pitcher full of water wobbles, and Davidson calmly rights it with quick, even reflexes.


    <span id="page_452" title="452">¡°Calore, I¡¯ll need you to coordinate.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">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 ves.</i>I bite my tongue.<i ss="calibre4">People we need to win.</i>


    Cal dips his head. ¡°The Kingdom of the Rift has pledged support. We¡¯ll have Samos soldiers, Iral, Laris, and Lern.¡±


    ¡°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 nk 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 semnce of peace.


    ¡°Yes.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 27

    <i ss="calibre4">It is not a</i>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¡¯sfort enough.


    ¡°Cal is downstairs,¡± Gisa whispers, her keen hands on my shoulders. ¡°You have to go.¡±


    <span id="page_454" title="454">As I sit up, already dressed in my uniform, I pull her into onest embrace.


    ¡°You do this too much,¡± she mutters, trying to sound yful 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¡¯ting either. Corvium is far past his limits. Another bitterfort. As much as I used toin 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 bes 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 ra 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<span id="page_455" title="455">scream of jets taking to the skies.


    Most are dropjets, designed to transportrge numbers of troops at speed. Theynd vertically, without runways, and can be piloted directly into Corvium. I¡¯m seized by a terrible sense of familiarity as we board ours. Thest 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. Itsts 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.<span id="page_456" title="456">She finally has an official green uniform, as does Farley, though Farley¡¯s is different. Not green, but dark red, with a white<i ss="calibre4">C</i>on her arm.<i ss="calibre4">Command.</i>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 jetst, 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. E, Rafe, and Tyton areing 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.


    <span id="page_457" title="457">¡°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 Lern, the other rebelling houses. Samos too.¡±


    ¡°Princess Evangeline,¡± I mutter, stillughing 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 . . .¡±<i ss="calibre4">If</i>, 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 toe. I know Corvium from pictures and broadcasts. ck granite walls, gold and iron reinforcements. A spiraling fortress that used to be thest 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,nding at their controlled strip in Rocasta before heading ovend. They should be at the walls soon. Before us.


    <i ss="calibre4">Inches for miles,</i>Davidson said.


    I hope he¡¯s right.


    <span id="page_458" title="458">Cameron tosses her cards into myp. Four queens smolder up at me, all of them teasing. ¡°Fourdies, Barrow,¡± she snickers. ¡°What next? Going to bet your bleeding boots?¡±N?velDrama.Org ? 2024.


    I grin and swipe the cards into my pile, discarding my useless hand of red numbers and a single ck 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 ofundry.¡±


    Across from us, Cal stops his preparatory stretching to snort. ¡°You think Mare doesundry?¡±


    ¡°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 y 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 rm. The third sends the cards flying out of my hands, fanning out in midair. I m back against my seat and fumble for my harness. Cameron does the same while Cal snaps himself back, his eyes shing 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 ck.


    <span id="page_459" title="459">¡°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 shes 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¡¯tnd in that.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯tnd at all,¡± Cal snarls.


    ¡°Maybe I can do something, stop the lightning¡ª¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t just be lightning down there!¡± Even over the roar of the climbing ne, his voice rumbles. More than a few heads turn in his direction. Davidson¡¯s is one of them. ¡°Windweavers and storms are going to blow us off course the second we drop through the clouds. They¡¯ll make us crash.¡±


    Cal¡¯s eyes flutter up and down jet, taking stock of us. The wheels turn in his head, working on overdrive. My fear gives way to faith. ¡°What¡¯s your n?¡±


    The jet bucks again, bouncing us all in our seats. It doesn¡¯t faze Cal.


    ¡°I need gravitrons, and I need you,¡± he adds, pointing at Cameron.


    Her gaze turns steely. She nods. ¡°I think I know where you¡¯re going with this.¡±


    ¡°Radio the other jets. We¡¯re going to need a teleporter in here, and I need to know where the rest of the gravitrons are. They have to distribute.¡±


    Davidson ducks his chin in a sharp nod. ¡°You heard him.¡±


    My stomach swoops at the implication as the jet bursts into activity. Soldiers double-check their weapons and zip into tactical gear, their faces full of determination. Cal most of all.


    <span id="page_460" title="460">He forces himself out of his seat, clutching the supports to keep steady. ¡°Get us directly over Corvium. Where¡¯s that teleporter?¡±


    Arezzo blinks into existence, dropping to a knee to stop her momentum. ¡°I do not enjoy that,¡± she spits.


    ¡°Unfortunately you and the other ¡¯porters are going to be doing it a lot,¡± Cal replies. ¡°Can you handle jumping between the jets?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she says, like it¡¯s the most obvious thing in the world.


    ¡°Good. Once we¡¯re down, take Cameron to the next jet in line.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Down.</i>


    ¡°Cal,¡± I almost whimper. I can do a lot of things, but this?


    Arezzo cracks her knuckles, speaking over me. ¡°Affirmative.¡±


    ¡°Gravitrons, use your cables. Six to a body. Keep it tight.¡±


    The newbloods in question spring to their feet, pulling wound cords from special slots on their tactical vests. Each one has a mess of clips, allowing them to transport multiple people with their ability to manipte gravity. Back at the Notch, I recruited a man named Gareth. He used his ability to fly or jump great distances.


    But not to jump out of jets.


    Suddenly I feel very sick, and sweat breaks out on my forehead.


    ¡°Cal?¡± I say again, my voice climbing higher.


    He ignores me. ¡°Cam, your job is to protect the jet. Put out as much silence as you can¡ªpicture a sphere; it¡¯ll help keep us level in the storm.¡±


    ¡°Cal?¡± I yelp. Am I the only one thinking this is suicide? Am I the only sane person here? Even Farley seems nonplussed, her lips pursed into a grim line as she cables herself to one of the six gravitrons. She feels my eyes and looks up. Her face flickers for an instant, reflecting one ounce of the terror I feel. Then she winks.<i ss="calibre4">For Shade,</i>she mouths.


    Cal forces me up, either ignoring my fear or not noticing it. He<span id="page_461" title="461">personally straps me to the tallest gravitron, anky woman. He cables in next to me, one arm heavy across my shoulders while the rest of me is crushed against the newblood. All down the jet, the others do the same, nking their gravitron lifelines.


    ¡°Pilot, what¡¯s our position?¡± Cal shouts over my head.


    ¡°Five seconds to center,¡±es a responding bark.


    ¡°n all passed on?¡±


    ¡°Affirmative, sir! Center, sir!¡±


    Cal grits his teeth. ¡°Arezzo?¡±


    She salutes. ¡°Ready, sir.¡±


    There¡¯s a very good chance I will throw up all over the poor gravitron in the middle of this honeb of people. ¡°Easy,¡± Cal breathes in my ear. ¡°Just hold on; you¡¯ll be fine. Close your eyes.¡±


    I definitely want to. I fidget now, tapping my legs, shuddering. All nerves, all movement.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t crazy,¡± Cal whispers. ¡°People do this. Soldiers train to do stuff like this.¡±


    I tighten my grip on him, enough to make it hurt. ¡°Have you?¡±


    He just gulps.


    ¡°Cam, you can start. Pilot, begin drop.¡±


    The wave of silence hits me like a sledgehammer. It isn¡¯t enough to hurt, but the memory of it makes my knees buckle. I grit my teeth to keep from screaming and squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see stars. Cal¡¯s natural warmth acts as an anchor, but a shaky one. I tighten my grip around his back, as if I can bury myself inside him. He murmurs to me but I can¡¯t hear him. Not past the feel of slow, smothering darkness and an even worse death. My heartbeat triples, ramming in my chest until I think it might explode out of me. I can¡¯t believe it, but I actually want to jump out of the ne now. Anything to get away from<span id="page_462" title="462">Cameron¡¯s silence. Anything to stop remembering.


    I barely feel the ne drop or rock against the storm. Cameron exhales in steady puffs, trying to keep her breathing even. If the rest of the ne feels the pain of her ability, they don¡¯t show it. We descend in quiet. Or maybe my body is simply refusing to hear anymore.


    When we shuffle backward, crowding onto the drop tform, I realize this is it. The jet rumbles, buffeted by winds Cameron cannot deflect. She shouts something I can¡¯t decipher over the pound of blood in my ears.


    Then the world opens beneath me. And we fall.


    At least when House Samos ripped myst jet out of the sky, they had the decency to leave us in a cage of metal. We have nothing but the wind and freezing rain and swirling darkness pulling us every which way. Our momentum must be enough to keep us on target, as well as the fact that no sane person would expect us to be leaping out of nes a few thousand feet in the air in the middle of a storm. The wind whistles like a woman¡¯s scream, wing at every inch of me. At least the pressure of Cameron¡¯s silence is gone. The veins of lightning in the clouds call to me, as if saying good-bye before I¡¯m turned into a crater.


    Everyone yells on the way down. Even Cal.


    I¡¯m still yelling when we start slowing about fifty feet above the jagged tips of Corvium, spiraling out in a hexagon of buildings and inner walls. And I¡¯m hoarse when we bump gently against the smoothly paved ground, slick with at least two inches of rainwater.


    Our newblood hastily unclips us all, and I fall backward, not caring about the bitterly cold puddle I¡¯m lying in. Cal jumps to his feet.


    I lie there for a second, thinking of nothing. Just staring up at the sky I plummeted through¡ªand somehow survived. Then Cal grabs my arm and hoists me up, literally pulling me back to reality.


    <span id="page_463" title="463">¡°The rest are going to bending here, so we have to move.¡± He shoves me ahead of him, and I stumble a bit through the sloshing water. ¡°Gravitrons, Arezzo wille down with the next batch to teleport you back up. Stay sharp.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± they echo, bracing themselves for another round. I¡¯m almost sick at the thought.


    Farley actually is sick. She heaves up her guts in an alleyway, dumping whatever her quick breakfast was. I forgot she hates flying, not to mention teleporting. The drop was the worst of both.


    I make for her, looping my arm to help her stand up straight. ¡°You okay?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she replies. ¡°Just giving the wall a fresh coat of paint.¡±


    I nce at the sky, stillshing us with cold rain. Oddly cold for this time of year, even in the north. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving. They aren¡¯t on the walls yet, but they will be.¡±


    Cal steams slightly and zips up the neck of his vest to keep the water out. ¡°Shivers,¡± he calls. ¡°I have a feeling we¡¯re about to be snowed in.¡±


    ¡°Should we go to the gates?¡±


    ¡°No. They¡¯re warded with Silent Stone. Silvers can¡¯t pummel their way in. They have to go over.¡± He gestures for us and the rest of our dropjet to follow him. ¡°We have to be on the ramparts, ready to push back whatever they throw. The storm is just the vanguard. Block us in, reduce our vision. Keep us blind until they¡¯re on top of us.¡±


    His pace is hard to match, especially through the rain, but I forge to his side anyway. Water soaks through my boots, and it isn¡¯t long before I lose sensation in my toes. Cal stares ahead, as if his eyes alone can set the entire world on fire. I think he wants to. That would make this easier.


    Once again he must fight¡ªand probably kill¡ªthe people he was<span id="page_464" title="464">raised to protect. I take his hand, because there are no words I can say right now. He squeezes my fingers, but lets them go just as quickly.


    ¡°Your grandmother¡¯s troops can¡¯t get in the same way.¡± As I speak, more gravitrons and soldiers plummet out of the sky. All screaming, all safe when they touch down. We turn a corner, moving from one ring of walls to the next, leaving them behind. ¡°How do we join our forces?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯reing from the Rift. That¡¯s southwest. Ideally, we¡¯ll keep Maven¡¯s force upied long enough for them to take the rear. Pin them between us.¡±


    I gulp. So much of the n relies on the work of Silvers. I know better than to trust such things. House Samos could simply not arrive and let us all be captured or killed. Then they would be free to challenge Maven outright. Cal isn¡¯t stupid. He knows all this. And he knows Corvium and its garrison are too valuable to lose. This is our g, our rebellion, our promise. We stand against the might of Maven Calore, and his twisted throne.


    Newbloods man the ramparts, joined by Red soldiers with arms and ammunition. They don¡¯t fire, only stare out into the distance. One of them, a tall string bean of a man with a uniform like Farley¡¯s and a<i ss="calibre4">C</i>on his shoulder, steps forward. He sps arms with her first, nodding his head.


    ¡°General Farley,¡± he says.


    She dips her chin. ¡°General Townsend.¡± Then she nods to another ranking officer in green, probably themander of the Montfort newbloods. The short, squat woman with bronze skin and a long, white braid coiled around her head returns the action. ¡°General Akkadi.¡±


    ¡°What are we looking at?¡± Farley asks them both.


    Another soldier approaches in red instead of green. Her hair is<span id="page_465" title="465">different, dyed scarlet, but I recognize her.


    ¡°Good to see you, Lory,¡± Farley says, all business. I would greet the newblood too if we had the time. I¡¯m quietly happy to see another one of the Notch recruits not just alive but thriving. Like Farley, her red hair is closely cut. Lory belongs to the cause.


    She nods at us all before throwing an arm out over the metal-edged ramparts. Her ability is extremely heightened senses, allowing her to see much farther than we can. ¡°Their force is to the west, with their backs to the Choke. They have storms and shivers just inside the first ring of cloud cover, out of your sight.¡±


    Cal leans forward, squinting at the thick ck clouds and pelting rain. They make it impossible for him to see farther than a quarter mile from the walls. ¡°Do you have snipers?¡±


    ¡°We tried,¡± General Townsend sighs.


    Akkadi concurs. ¡°Waste of ammunition. The wind just eats the bullet.¡±


    ¡°Windweavers too, then.¡± Cal sets his jaw. ¡°They have the aim for that.¡±


    The meaning is clear. The windweavers of Norta, House Laris, rebelled against Maven. So this force is Laknder. Another person might miss the twitch of a smile or the release of tension in Cal¡¯s shoulders, but I don¡¯t. And I know why. He was raised to fight Laknders. This is an enemy that won¡¯t break his heart.


    ¡°We need E. She¡¯s best at storm lightning.¡± I point up at the looming towers overlooking this section of wall. ¡°If we get her up high, she can turn the storm against them. Not control it, but use it to fuel herself.¡±


    ¡°Good, get it done,¡± Cal says with a clipped tone. I¡¯ve seen him in a fight, in battle, but never something like this. He bes another<span id="page_466" title="466">person entirely. Laser-focused, inhumanly so, without even a flicker of the gentle, torn prince. Whatever warmth he has left is an inferno, meant to destroy. Meant to win. ¡°When the gravitrons finish the drops, put them here, evenly spaced. The Laknders are going to charge the walls. Let¡¯s make it hard for them to move. General Akkadi, who else do you have on hand?¡±


    ¡°Good mix of defensive and offensive,¡± she responds. ¡°Enough bombers to turn the Choke road into a minefield.¡± With a proud smirk, she indicates the nearby newbloods who have what look like sunbursts on their shoulders. Bombers. Better than oblivions, able to explode something or someone on sight instead of just touch.


    ¡°Sounds like a n,¡± Cal says. ¡°You keep your newbloods ready. Strike at your discretion.¡±


    If Townsend minds being dictated to, and by a Silver at that, he doesn¡¯t show it. Like the rest of us, he feels the thrum of death in the air. There¡¯s no room for politics now. ¡°And my soldiers? I¡¯ve got a thousand Reds on the walls.¡±


    ¡°Keep them there. Bullets are just as good as abilities, sometimes more so. But conserve ammunition. Target only those who slip through the first wave of defenses. They want us to overexert, and we¡¯re not going to do that.¡± He nces at me. ¡°Are we?¡±


    I grin, blinking away the rain. ¡°No, sir.¡±


    At first, I wonder if the Laknders are very slow to move, or very stupid. It takes the better part of the hour, but between Cameron, the gravitrons, and the teleporters, we manage to get everyone into Corvium from the thirty or so dropjets. About a thousand soldiers, all trained and deadly. Our advantage, Cal says, lies in uncertainty. Silvers still don¡¯t know how to fight people like me. They don¡¯t know what<span id="page_467" title="467">we¡¯re truly capable of. I think that¡¯s why Cal mostly leaves Akkadi to her own devices. He doesn¡¯t know her troops well enough tomand them properly. But Reds he knows. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, one I try to swallow away. In the stretch of time, I try not to wonder how many Reds the person I love sacrificed for an empty war.


    The storm never changes. Always churning, dumping rain. If they¡¯re trying to flood us, it¡¯s going to take a long time. Most of the water drains, but some of the lower streets and alleys are six inches deep in murky water. It makes Cal uneasy. He keeps wiping off his face or pushing back his hair, skin slightly steaming in the cold.


    Farley has no shame. She propped her jacket up over her head a long time ago, and looks like some kind of maroon ghost. I don¡¯t think she moves for twenty minutes, her head resting on folded arms as she stares out at thendscape. Like the rest of us, she waits for a strike that maye at any second. It sets my teeth on edge, and the constant rage of adrenaline drains me almost as badly as Silent Stone.


    I jump when Farley speaks.


    ¡°Lory, are you thinking what I¡¯m thinking?¡±


    At another perch, Lory also has a jacket over her head. She doesn¡¯t turn, unable to wrench her senses away. ¡°I really hope not.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I ask, looking between them. The movement sends fresh rainwater down my shirt cor, and I shiver. Cal sees it happen and moves closer to my back, extending some of his warmth to me.


    Slowly, Farley turns, trying not to get drenched. ¡°The storm is moving. Closing in. A few feet every minute, and getting faster.¡±


    ¡°Shit,¡± Cal breathes behind me. Then he springs into action, taking his warmth with him. ¡°Gravitrons, be ready! When I say, you tighten your grip on that field.¡±<i ss="calibre4">Tighten.</i>I¡¯ve never seen a gravitron use their ability to strengthen gravity, only loosen it. ¡°Drop whatever¡¯sing.¡±


    <span id="page_468" title="468">As I watch, the storm picks up speed, enough to note at a nce. It continues swirling, but spirals closer and closer with every rotation, clouds bleeding over open ground. Lightning cracks deep within, a pale, empty color. I narrow my eyes, and for a moment, it shes purple, veining with strength and rage. But I have nothing to aim at yet. Lightning, no matter how powerful, is useless without a target.


    ¡°The force is marching behind the storm, closing the distance,¡± Lory calls, confirming our worst fears. ¡°They¡¯reing.¡±

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 28

    <i ss="calibre4">The wind howls. It</i>buffets the walls and ramparts, blowing more than a few back from their position. Rain freezes on the stonework, making our footing precarious. The first casualty is a fall. A Red soldier, one of Townsend¡¯s. The wind catches his jacket, blowing him backward along the slick walkway. He shouts as he goes over the edge, plunging thirty feet¡ªbefore sailing skyward, born of a gravitron¡¯s concentration. Hends hard on the wall, colliding with a sickening crack. The gravitron didn¡¯t have enough control. But the soldier is alive. Injured, but alive.


    ¡°Brace yourself!¡± echoes down the lines of soldiers, passing between green uniforms and red. When the wind roars again, we buckle down. I tuck myself against the icy metal of a rampart, safe from the worst of it. A windweavers¡¯ strike is unpredictable, unlike normal weather. It splits and curves, wing like fingers. All while the storm tightens around us.


    Cameron shoves in next to me. I nce at her, surprised. She¡¯s supposed to be back with the healers, to form ast wall against any siege. If anyone can defend them from Silvers, give them the time and space<span id="page_470" title="470">to treat our soldiers, it¡¯s her. The rain makes her shiver, her teeth chattering. She seems smaller, younger, in the cold and closing darkness. I wonder if she¡¯s even turned sixteen yet.


    ¡°All right, lightning girl?¡± she says with some difficulty. Water drips over her face.


    ¡°All right,¡± I murmur back. ¡°What are you doing up here?¡±


    ¡°Wanted to see,¡± she says, lying. The young girl is here because she believes she has to be.<i ss="calibre4">Am I abandoning you?</i>she asked before. I see the question in her eyes now. And my answer is the same. If she doesn¡¯t want to be a killer, she shouldn¡¯t have to be.


    I shake my head. ¡°You protect the healers, Cameron. Get back to them. They¡¯re defenseless, and if they go down¡ª¡±


    She bites her lip. ¡°We all do.¡±


    We stare at each other, trying to be strong, trying to find strength in each other. Like me, she¡¯s soaked through. Her darkshes clump together, and every time she blinks it looks like she¡¯s crying. The raindropsnd hard, making us both squint as they pelt down our faces. Until they don¡¯t. Until the raindrops start rolling in the opposite direction, flowing up. Her eyes widen as mine do, watching with horror.


    ¡°Nymph strike!¡± I scream in warning.


    Above us, the rain shimmers, dancing on the air, joining together intorger andrger droplets. And the puddles, the inches of water in the streets and alleys¡ªthey be rivers.


    ¡°Brace!¡± echoes again. This time the blow is freezing water instead of wind, foaming white as it breaks like a wave, curving up and over the walls and buildings of Corvium. A spray catches me hard, dashing my head against the rampart, and the world spins. A few bodies go over the wall, spinning into the storm. Their silhouettes disappear quickly, as do their screams. The gravitrons save a few, but not all.


    <span id="page_471" title="471">Cameron slides away, on hands and knees, to get back to the stairs. She uses her ability to make a cocoon of safety as she sprints back to her post well inside the second wall.


    Cal skids next to me, almost losing his footing. In my daze, I grab at him, pulling him close. If he goes over the wall, I know I¡¯ll just go after him. He watches, terrified, as the water assaults our ranks like the waves of a churning sea. It makes him useless. me has no ce here. His fire cannot burn. And my lightning is just the same. One spark and I¡¯ll shock who knows how many of our own troops. I can¡¯t risk it.


    Akkadi and Davidson have no such restriction. While the premier throws up a glowing blue shield at the edge of the wall, protecting anyone else from going over the edge, Akkadi roars to her newblood troops, barking orders I can¡¯t hear over the crashing waves.


    The water spikes, shuddering. Suddenly at war with itself. We have nymphs too.


    But no storms. No newbloods who can seize control of the hurricane around us. Its darkness closes in, so absolute it seems like midnight. We¡¯ll be fighting blind. And it hasn¡¯t even started yet. I still haven¡¯t seen a single one of Maven¡¯s soldiers, or the Laknder army. Not one red banner or blue. But they¡¯reing. They¡¯re certainlying.


    I grit my teeth. ¡°Get up.¡±


    The prince is heavy, slowed by his fear. Putting a hand to his neck, I give him the smallest shock. The gentle kind Tyton showed me. He rockets to his feet, alive and alert. ¡°Right, thanks,¡± he mutters. With a nce, he takes stock. ¡°The temperature¡¯s dropping.¡±


    ¡°Genius,¡± I hiss back. Every part of me feels frozen.


    Above us, the water rages, splitting and re-forming. It wants to crash down, it wants to dissipate. Some of it peels off and vaults over Davidson¡¯s shield, racing away into the storm like a strange bird. After<span id="page_472" title="472">a moment, the rest crashes down, drenching us all anew. A cheer goes up anyway. The newblood nymphs, while outnumbered and off guard, just won their first bout.


    Cal doesn¡¯t join in the celebrations. Instead, he rakes his wrists together, igniting his hands into weak me. They sputter in the downpour, fighting to burn. Until, suddenly, the rain turns to bitter, blizzard snow. In the utter darkness it winks red, gleaming in the weak lights of Corvium and Cal¡¯s me.


    I feel my hair start to freeze on my head and shake my ponytail. Splinters of ice go flying in every direction.


    A roar rises out of the storm, different from the wind. With many voices. A dozen, a hundred, a thousand. The ckout blizzard presses in. Briefly, Cal¡¯s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs aloud.


    ¡°Prepare for attack,¡± he says hoarsely.


    The first ice bridge spikes through the rampart two feet away from me and I vault back, yelping. Another splits the stone twenty feet away, spearing soldiers with its jagged edges. Arezzo and the other teleporters spring into action, collecting the wounded to jump them back to our healers. Almost instantly, Laknder soldiers, their shadows like monsters, vault off the bridges¡ªthey ran up the ice as it grew. Ready to strike.


    I¡¯ve seen Silver battles before. They are chaos.


    This is worse.


    Cal lunges forward, his fires jumping hot and high. The ice is thick, not so easily melted, and he carves pieces from the nearest bridge like a lumberjack with a chainsaw. It makes him vulnerable. I slice through the first Laknder to get near him, and my sparks send the armored man spinning into darkness. Another quickly follows, until my skin crawls with purple-white veins of hissing lightning. Gunfire drowns<span id="page_473" title="473">out whatever orders anyone might be shouting. I focus on myself, on Cal. Our survival. Farley stays close, gun tucked up. Like Cal, she puts me to her back, letting me defend her blind spot. She doesn¡¯t flinch as she fires her gun, pummeling the nearest bridge with bullets. She centers on the ice, not the warriors bursting out of the blizzard. It cracks and splinters beneath the berserkers, crumbling into darkness.


    Thunder rumbles, closer by the second. Bolts of blue-white electricity explode through the clouds, crashing down around Corvium. From the towers, E¡¯s aim is deadly, striking just outside the walls. An ice bridge falls to her wrath, cracking in two¡ªbut it regrows, re-forming in midair at the will of a shiver hiding somewhere. Bombers do the same, obliterating ssy hunks of ice with bursts of explosive force. They just creep back, skittering through another rampart. Green lightning crackles somewhere to my left as Rafe arcs his whips into a stampeding horde of Laknders. His blow meets a shield of water, which absorbs the current as they advance. Water doesn¡¯t stop bullets, though. Farley peppers them with gunfire, dropping a few Silvers where they stand. Their bodies slide off into darkness.


    I turn my attentions to the closest bridge of soldiers. Instead of the ice, I focus on the figures charging from the darkness. Their blue armor is thick, scaled, and with their helmets they look inhuman. It makes them easier to kill. They force one another forward, pressing on to the walls. A snaking line of faceless monsters. Purple lightning explodes from my wed hands and races through their hearts, jumping from one suit of armor to the other. The metal superheats, fading from blue to red, and many fall off the bridge in their agony. More rece them, vaulting out of the storm. It is a killing ground, a funnel of death. Tears freeze on my cheeks as I lose count of how many skeletons I rip through.


    <span id="page_474" title="474">Then the city wall cracks between my feet, one side sliding from the other. A concussive blow shudders through my bones. Then another. The crack widens. Quickly, I pick an edge, jumping to Cal¡¯s side before the crack swallows me whole. Roots worm up through the fissure, thick as my arm, and growing. They pry apart the stone like massive fingers, sending spider cracks past my feet like bolts of stone lightning. The wall bucks under the strain.


    Greenwardens.


    ¡°The wall is going to break,¡± Cal breathes. ¡°They¡¯ll crack it right open and get behind us.¡±


    I clench a fist. ¡°Unless?¡± He just stares nkly, at a loss. ¡°There has to be something we can do!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the storm. If we can get rid of the storm, get visibility, we can use our range. . . .¡± As he speaks, he sets fire to the roots, now creeping closer. me races its length, charring the nt. It just grows back. ¡°We need windweavers. Blow the clouds away.¡±


    ¡°House Laris. So we hold until they get here?¡±


    ¡°Hold and hope they¡¯re enough.¡±


    ¡°Fine. As for this . . .¡± I nod at the gap widening by the second. Soon a Silver army will burst right through. ¡°Let¡¯s give them an explosive wee.¡±


    Cal nods, understanding. ¡°Bombers!¡± he roars over the howling wind and snow. ¡°Get down there and be ready!¡± Pointing, he indicates the street running just inside the outer wall. The first ce Laknders will overrun us.


    A dozen or so bombers hear him and obey, peeling off their posts to man the street. My feet move of their own ord, intending to follow. Cal grabs my wrist and I almost skid. ¡°I didn¡¯t say you,¡± he growls. ¡°You stay right here.¡±


    <span id="page_475" title="475">Quickly, I peel his fingers away. The grip is too tight, heavy as a manacle. Even in the heat of battle, I find myself thrown back through time, to a pce where I was a prisoner. ¡°Cal, I¡¯m going to help the bombers hold. I can do that.¡± His bronze eyes flicker in the darkness, the red mes of two zing candles. ¡°If they breach the wall, you¡¯re going to be surrounded. And then the storm will be the least of our worries.¡±


    His decision is quick¡ªand stupid. ¡°Fine, I¡¯lle.¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°They need you up here.¡± I put a palm to his chest, pushing him away from me. ¡°Farley, Townsend, Akkadi¡ªthe soldiers need generals on the line. They need<i ss="calibre4">you</i>on the line.¡±


    If not for the battle, Cal would argue. He just grazes my hand. There¡¯s no time for anything. Especially when I¡¯m right.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I tell him as I jump away, sliding over frozen stones. The storm eats his response. I spare one heartbeat to worry for him, to wonder if we might never see each other again. The next heartbeat erases the thought. I have no time for it. I have to stay focused. I have to stay alive.


    I pick up my feet up and slide down the stairs, the frozen rails slipping through my curled hands. On the street, out of the wind, the air is much warmer and the puddles are gone. Either frozen or the water was used above to assault the defenders of the Corvium wall.


    Bombers face the crack in the wall, spreading farther with each second. Up on the ramparts it widens to several feet, but here the crack is just inches¡ªand growing. Another shudder runs through the stone and below my feet, like an explosion or an earthquake in the ground. I swallow hard, imagining a strongarm on the other side of the wall, her fists raining blow after blow upon our foundations.


    ¡°Wait to strike,¡± I tell the bombers. They look to me for orders,<span id="page_476" title="476">even though I¡¯m not an officer. ¡°No explosions until it¡¯s clear they¡¯reing through. We don¡¯t need to help them along.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll shield the breach as long as possible,¡± a voice says behind me.


    I whirl to see Davidson, his face streaked in gray blood steadily turning ck. He looks pale beneath the blood, stunned by it. ¡°Premier,¡± I mutter, dipping my head. He responds after a long moment. Dazed by the battle. So different on the field than it is in the war room.


    Instead, I turn my electricity on our attackers. Using the roots as a map, I run lightning along the nt matter, letting it curl and spiral with the path of the root. I can¡¯t see the greenwarden at the far side, but I feel him. Though dulled by the dense root, my sparks ripple through his body. A distant shriek echoes through the cracks in the stone, somehow audible over the chaos above and around.


    The greenwarden isn¡¯t the only Silver able to bring down stone. Another takes his ce, a strongarm judging by the way the stone shudders and cracks. Blow after blow sends rubble and dust through the widening gap.


    Davidson stands on my left, mouth slightly agape. Numb.


    ¡°First battle?¡± I mutter as another thunderous strike hits home.


    ¡°Hardly,¡± he says, to my surprise. ¡°I was a soldier once too. I¡¯m told I was on a list of yours?¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Dane Davidson.</i>The name flutters in my mind, a butterfly brushing wings against the bars of a bone cage. Ites back as if through mud, slowly, with great effort. ¡°Julian¡¯s list.¡±


    He nods. ¡°Smart man, Jacos. Connecting dots no one else even sees. Yes, I was one of the Nortan Reds to be executed by their legion. For crimes of blood, not body. When I escaped, the officers marked me as dead anyway. So they didn¡¯t have to exin another lost criminal.¡± He<span id="page_477" title="477">licks lips cracked by the cold. ¡°I fled to Montfort, collecting others like me along the way.¡±


    Another crack. The gap before us widens as feeling returns to my toes. I wiggle them in my boots, preparing to fight. ¡°Sounds familiar.¡±


    Davidson¡¯s voice gains strength and momentum as he speaks. As he remembers what we are fighting for. ¡°Montfort was in ruin. A thousand Silvers iming their own crowns, every mountain its own kingdom, the country splintered beyond recognition. Only Reds stood united. And Ardents were in the shadows, waiting to be unleashed. Divide and conquer, Miss Barrow. It¡¯s the only way to beat them.¡±


    The Kingdom of Norta, the Kingdom of the Rift, Piedmont, the Laknds. Silvers at one another¡¯s throats, squabbling for smaller and smaller pieces while we wait to take the whole lot. Though Davidson looks overwhelmed, I can almost smell the steel in his bones. A genius, perhaps, and dangerous certainly.


    A gust of snow brings me back. The only thing I need to be concerned with is what happens now.<i ss="calibre4">Survive. Win.</i>


    Blue-tinged energy bursts through the splintering wall, pulsing across the foot-wide expanse of emptiness. Davidson holds the shield in ce with an outstretched hand. A drop of blood drips off his chin, steaming in the cold.


    A silhouette on the other side pummels the shield, fists raining knuckled hell down on the rippling field. Another strongarm joins the shadow and works to widen the gap, attacking stone instead. The shield grows with their efforts.


    ¡°Be ready,¡± Davidson says. ¡°When I split the shield, fire with everything.¡±


    We obey, preparing to strike.


    <span id="page_478" title="478">¡°Three.¡±


    Purple sparks web between my fingers and weave into a pulsing ball of destructive light.


    ¡°Two.¡±


    The bombers kneel in formation, like snipers. Instead of guns, they just have their fingers and eyes.


    ¡°One.¡±


    With a twitch, the blue shield cuts in two and ms the pair of strongarms into the walls with sickening cracks of bone. We fire through the opening, my lightning a ze. It illuminates the darkness beyond, showing a dozen berserker soldiers ready to rush the breach. Many drop to their knees, spitting fire and blood as the bombers explode their insides. Before any can recover, Davidson seals the shield again, catching a returning volley of bullets.


    He looks surprised by our sess.


    On the wall above us, a fireball churns in the ck storm, a torch against the false night. Cal¡¯s fire spreads and strikes in a snake of me. The red heat turns the sky to scarlet hell.


    I just clench a fist and gesture at Davidson.


    ¡°Again,¡± I tell him.


    It¡¯s impossible to mark the passage of time. Without the sun, I have no idea how long we spend battling the breach. Even though we push back the assault again and again, every attempt widens the gap bit by bit.<i ss="calibre4">Inches for miles,</i>I tell myself. On the wall, the wave of soldiers has not won the ramparts. The ice bridges keeping back, and we keep fighting them. A few corpsesnd in the street, beyond even a healer¡¯s touch. Between strikes, we drag the bodies into the alleyways, out of sight. I search each dead face, holding my breath every time. Not Cal, not Farley. The only<span id="page_479" title="479">one I recognize is Townsend, his neck snapped clean. I expect a wash of guilt or pity, but I feel nothing. Just the knowledge that strongarms are up on the walls as well, tearing our soldiers apart.


    Davidson¡¯s shield stretches across the gap in the wall, now at least ten feet wide, yawning open like stone jaws. Bodies lie in the open mouth. Smoking corpses felled by lightning, or brutally ripped open by a bomber¡¯s merciless stare. Through the quivering field of blue, shadows gather in the darkness, waiting to try our wall again. Hammers of water and ice batter against Davidson¡¯s ability. A banshee scream reverberates off its expanse, and even the echo is painful to our ears. Davidson winces. Now the blood on his face streaks with sweat dripping down his forehead, nose, and cheeks. He sprints toward his limit, and we are running out of time.


    ¡°Someone get me Rafe!¡± I shout. ¡°And Tyton.¡±


    A runner sprints off as soon as the words are out of my mouth, vaulting up the steps to find them. I watch the wall above, searching for a familiar silhouette.


    Cal works a manic rhythm, perfect as a machine. Step, turn, strike. Step, turn, strike. Like me, he finds an empty ce where survival is the only thought. At every break in the oing rush of enemies, he re-forms his soldiers, directing the Reds in their fire, or working with Akkadi and Lory to eliminate another target in the darkness. How many are dead, I can¡¯t say.


    Another corpse tumbles from the ramparts, end over end. I grab his arms to drag him off before I realize his armor is not armor at all, but scaled pieces of stony flesh, smoldering with the heat of a fire prince¡¯s anger. I draw back surprised, as if burned myself. A stoneskin. The few clothes on his dead body are blue and gray. House Macanthos. Norta. One of Maven¡¯s.


    <span id="page_480" title="480">I swallow hard against the implication. Maven¡¯s forces have reached the walls. We aren¡¯t just fighting Laknders anymore. A roar of fury rises in my chest and I almost wish I could storm through the breach myself. Tear through everything on the other side. Hunt him down. Kill him between his army and mine.


    Then the corpse grabs me.


    He twists, and my wrist breaks with a snap. I shriek against the sudden bleeding pain racing up my arm.


    Lightning ripples from my flesh, escaping me like a scream. It covers his body in purple sparks and lethal, dancing light. But either his stony flesh is too thick or his resolve is too strong. The stoneskin does not let go, his pincerlike fingers now wing at my neck. Explosions blossom along his back, the work of bombers. Bits of stone slough off him like dead skin and he howls. His grip only tightens with the pain. I make the mistake of trying to pry off his hands, now locked around my throat. His rocky flesh cuts my skin, and blood wells up between my fingers, red and hot in the frozen air.


    Spots dance before my eyes, and I loose another st of lightning, letting it pour from my agony. The blow rockets him off me and back into a building. He crashes through headfirst, body hanging out into the street. The bombers finish him off, exploding through the exposed skin on his back.


    Davidson trembles on his feet, still holding the thinning shield. He saw it all, and could do nothing unless he wanted the invading force to overrun us. A corner of his mouth quivers, as if to apologize for making the right decision.


    ¡°How much longer can you hold?¡± I ask, gasping out the words. I spit blood on the street.


    He grits his teeth. ¡°A little while.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4"><span id="page_481" title="481">That¡¯s not helpful,</i>I want to snap. ¡°A minute? Two?¡±


    ¡°One,¡± he forces out.


    ¡°One will do.¡±


    I re through the shield as it weakens, the vivid shade of blue fading with Davidson¡¯s strength. As it clears, so do the figures on the other side. Blue armor and ck cut with red. Laknds and Norta. No crown, no king. Just shock troops meant to overwhelm us. Maven won¡¯t set foot in Corvium unless the city is his. While the Calore brother on the wall will fight to the death, Maven is not foolish enough to risk himself in a fight. He knows his strength is behind the lines, on a throne rather than a battlefield.


    Rafe and Tyton approach from opposite sides, having held their stretch of wall. While Rafe looks meticulous, green hair still slicked back from his face, Tyton is positively painted in blood. All silver. He isn¡¯t wounded. His eyes glow with a strange kind of anger, burning red in the churning firelight over our heads.


    I note Darmian along with a number of other wreckers, all of them gifted with invulnerable flesh. They carry wicked axes, their edges worked to razor sharpness. Good tobat strongarms. At close range, they¡¯re our best chance.


    ¡°Form up,¡± Tyton says, taciturn to a fault.


    We follow, organizing into hasty lines at Davidson¡¯s back. His arm shakes as we move, holding on as long as he can. Rafe takes my left, Tyton my right. I nce between them, wondering if I should say something. I can feel the static energy blooming from them both, familiar but strange. Their electricity, not mine.


    In the storm, the blue thunder continues to rage. E fuels us, and we leech to her lightning.


    ¡°Three,¡± Davidson says.


    <span id="page_482" title="482">Green on my left, white on my right. The colors flicker on the edge of my vision, each spark a tiny heartbeat.


    ¡°Two.¡±


    I suck in one more breath. My throat aches, bruised by the stoneskin. But I¡¯m still breathing.


    ¡°One.¡±


    Again the shield copses, opening our insides to the oing storm.


    ¡°BREACH!¡± echoes along the ramparts as the forces turn their attention on the gap in the wall. The Silver army responds in kind, surging toward us with a deafening yell. Green and purple lightning shudders through the killing ground, leaping along the first wave of soldiers. Tyton moves like a man throwing darts, his minuscule needles of lightning exploding into blinding bolts that toss Silver troops into the air. Many seize and twitch. He has no mercy.


    The bombers follow our lead, moving with us as we close the breach. They only need an open line of sight to work, and their destruction churns stone, flesh, and earth in equal measure. Dirt falls with the snow, and the air tastes like ash. Is this what war is? Is this what it feels like to fight in the Choke? Tyton tosses me back, throwing out an arm to move my body. Darmian and the other wreckers surge before us, a human shield. Their axes cut in and out, spraying blood until the ruined walls on either side are coated in mirrored swaths of liquid silver.


    No. I remember the Choke. The trenches. The horizon stretched in every direction, reaching down to meet and cratered by decades of bloodshed. Each side knew the other. That war was evil, but defined. This is just a nightmare.


    Soldier after soldier, Laknder and Nortan, pulses into the breach.<span id="page_483" title="483">Each pushed by the man or woman behind. As on the bridges, they funnel into a killing ground. The crowd moves like the pull of the ocean, one wave drawing us back before the other goes forward. We have the advantage, but only slightly. More strongarms pummel at the walls, hoping to widen the gap. Telkies lob rubble into our line, pulverizing one of the bombers, while another freezes solid, mouth fixed open in a silent scream.


    Tyton dances with fluid movements, each palm zing with white lightning. I use web on the ground, spreading a puddle of electric energy beneath the pounding feet of the advancing army. Their bodies pile up, threatening to form another wall across the breach. But the telkies just wave them away, sending corpses spinning into the ck storm.


    I taste blood, but my broken wrist is just a buzz of pain now. It hangs limp at my side, and I¡¯m grateful for the adrenaline that won¡¯t let me feel the snapped bone.


    The street and earth turn to liquid beneath my feet, running with red and silver. The swampy ground ims more than a few. When a newblood falls, a nymph jumps on him, pouring water down his nose and throat. He drowns before my eyes. Another corpse lies on her side, roots curling from her eyeballs. All I know is lightning. I can¡¯t remember my name, my purpose, what I¡¯m fighting for¡ªbeyond the air in my lungs. Beyond one more second of life.


    A telky splits us apart, sending Rafe flying backward. Then me in the opposite direction. I spiral forward, over the top of the force pushing through the wall breach. To the other side. To the killing fields of Corvium.


    Ind hard, rolling end over end until Ie to an abrupt stop, half buried in freezing mud. A bolt of pain spikes through my adrenaline<span id="page_484" title="484">shield, reminding me of a very broken bone and perhaps a few more. The storm winds tear at my clothes as I try to sit up, shards of ice scraping at my eyes and cheeks. Even though the wind howls, it isn¡¯t so dark out here. Not ck, but gray. A blizzard at dusk rather than midnight. I squint back and forth, too winded to do anything but lie in pain.


    What were open fields, greenwns sloping off either side of the Iron Road, are now frozen tundra, each de of grass like a razor of icicle. From this angle, Corvium is impossible to make out. Just like we couldn¡¯t see through the pitch ck of the storm, neither can the assaulting forces. It hinders them as much as us. Several battalions cluster like shadows, cutting silhouettes against the storm. Some attempt the ice bridges still forming and re-forming, but now most surge toward the breach. The rest lie in wait behind me, a smudge outside the worst of the storm. Maybe hundreds held in reserve, maybe thousands. Blue and red gs snap in the wind, just bright enough to make out.<i ss="calibre4">Caught between a rock and a hard ce,</i>I sigh to myself. And I¡¯m stuck in the mud, surrounded by corpses and the walking wounded. At least most are focused on themselves, on missing limbs or split bellies, rather than a single Red girl in their midst.


    Laknder soldiers dart around me, and I brace myself for the worst. But they march on, stomping for the thundering clouds and the rest of the army slouching toward destruction. ¡°Get to the healers!¡± one of them shouts over their shoulder, not even looking back. I look down, realizing I¡¯m covered in silver blood. Some red, but mostly silver.


    Quickly, I rub mud over my bleeding wounds and the bits of my uniform that are still green. The cuts sear with pain, making me hiss through my teeth. I look back at the clouds, watching lightning pulse within. Blue at the crown, green at the base, where the breach is. Where I have to get back to.


    <span id="page_485" title="485">The mud sucks at my limbs, trying to freeze solid around me. With my broken wrist tucked against my chest, I push off with one arm, fighting to be free. I pull away with a loud pop and start sprinting, heaving breath after breath. Each one burns.


    I make it ten yards, almost to the back of the Silver army, before I realize this isn¡¯t going to work. They¡¯re packed too tightly to slip through, even for me. And they¡¯ll probably stop me if I try. My face is well known, even covered in mud. I can¡¯t chance it. Or the ice bridges. One might crumble beneath me, or the Red soldiers might shoot me dead as I try to get back over the wall. Each choice ends badly. But so does standing here. Maven¡¯s forces will push another assault and send another wave of troops. I see no way forward and no way back. For one terrifying, empty moment, I stare at the ckness of Corvium. Lightning flickers within the storm, weaker than before. It seems a towering hurricane topped with a thunderhead,yered with a blizzard and gale-force winds. I feel small against it, a single star in a sky of violent constetions.


    How can we defeat this?


    The first scream of a jet sends me to my knees, covering my head with my good hand. It ripples in my chest, a burst of electricity hammering like a heart. A dozen follow at low altitude, their engines spiraling the snow and ash as they scream between the two halves of the army.


    More jets spiral on the outer edge of the storm, around and around, carving through it. The clouds drift with the jets, as if maized to the wings. Then I hear another roar. Another wind, stronger than the first, blowing with the fury of a hundred hurricanes. The wind works to clear the storm, tearing it apart with force. The clouds part enough to show the towers of Corvium, where blue lightning reigns. The wind<span id="page_486" title="486">follows the jets, pooling beneath their freshly painted wings.


    Painted bright yellow.


    <i ss="calibre4">House Laris.</i>


    My lips tug into a smile. They¡¯re here. Anabel Lern kept her word.


    I look for the other houses, but a falcon screams around me, its blue-ck wings beating the air. Talons gleam, sharp as a de, and I jump back to cover my face from the bird. It just screeches keenly before pping away, gliding over the battleground toward¡ªoh no.


    Maven¡¯s reserves areing. Battalions, legions. ck armor, blue armor, red armor. I¡¯m going to be smashed between both halves of his army.


    Not without a fight.


    I let loose, purple bolts rocketing down around me. Pushing back soldiers, making them question every step. They know what my abilities look like. They¡¯ve seen what the lightning girl can do. They pause, but only for a moment. Enough to let me set my feet and turn, angling my body. Smaller target,rger chance of survival. My good fist clenches, ready to take them all down with me.


    Many of the Silvers assaulting the breach turn in my direction. The distraction is their downfall. Green lightning and white pulse through them, clearing the way for red me as it charges toward me.


    The swifts close the distance first and catch a web of lightning. Some zip backward but others fall, unable to outrun sparks. Storm bolts, crackling out of the sky, keep the worst at bay, forming a protective circle around me. From the outside, it looks like a cage of electricity, but it¡¯s a cage of my own making. A cage I control.


    I dare any king to put me in a cage now.


    I expect my lightning to draw him, like a moth to a candle me.<span id="page_487" title="487">I search the oing horde for Maven. A red cape, a crown of iron mes. A white face in the sea, his eyes blue enough to pierce mountains.


    Instead, the Laris jets move in for another pass, swooping low over both armies. They split around me, making soldiers scramble for cover as screaming metal rushes overhead. A dozen or so figures tumble from the backs of therger jets, somersaulting on the air before plummeting to the ground at a speed that would pancake most humans. Instead, they throw out their arms, stopping themselves abruptly, churning up dirt, ash, and snow. And iron. Lots of iron.


    Evangeline and her family, brother and father included, turn to face the oing army. The falcon keens around them, screaming as it darts on the harsh wind. Evangeline spares a nce over her shoulder, her eyes finding mine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make this a habit!¡± she shouts.


    Exhaustion hits me because, strangely, I feel safe.


    Evangeline Samos has my back.


    Fire zes at the edge of my vision on either side. It hems me in, almost blinding. I stumble back and hit a wall of muscle and tactical armor. Cal cradles my broken wrist, holding it gently.


    For once, I don¡¯t remember the manacles.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Chapter 29

    <i ss="calibre4">The doors of Corvium¡¯s</i>administrative tower are solid oak, but their hinges and trimmings are iron. They glide open in front of us, bowing before the Royal House of Samos. We enter the council chamber gracefully, in front of the eyes of our patchwork excuse for an alliance. Montfort and the Scarlet Guard sit on the left, simple in their green uniforms, our Silvers on the right in their varying house colors. Their respective leaders, Premier Davidson and Queen Anabel, watch us enter in silence. Anabel wears her crown now, marking herself as a queen, albeit to a long-dead king. It¡¯s a beaten ring of rose gold, set with tiny ck gems. Simple. But it stands out all the same. She drums her deadly fingers on the t of the table, eagerly disying her wedding ring. A fiery red jewel, also set in rose gold. Like Davidson, she has the look of a predator, never blinking, never distracted. Prince Tiberias and Mare Barrow are not here, or else I can¡¯t see them. I wonder if they¡¯ll split to their respective sides and colors.


    Windows on every side of the tower room open on thend, where the air still smolders with ash and the western fields are choked in mud,<span id="page_489" title="489">flooded and swamped by the extraseasonal catastrophe. Even this high up, everything smells like blood. I scrubbed my hands for what seemed like hours, washing every inch, and still I can¡¯t get rid of the scent. It clings like a ghost, harder to forget than the faces of the people I killed on the field. The metallic tang infects everything.


    Despite themanding view, all eyes focus on the moremanding person leading our family. Father has no ck robes, just his chromium armor shimmering like a mirror melded to his trim form. A warrior king in every inch. Mother does not disappoint either. Her crown of green stones matches the emerald boa constrictor draped around her neck and shoulders like a shawl. It slithers slowly, scales reflecting the afternoon light. Ptolemus looks simr to Father, though the armor painted to his broad chest, narrow waist, and lean legs is ck as oil. Mine is a mix of both, striped in skintightyers of chromium and ck steel. It isn¡¯t the armor I wore on the field, but the armor I need now. Terrible, threatening, showing every ounce of Samos pride and power.


    Four chairs like thrones are set against the windows, and we sit as one, presenting a united front. No matter how much I want to scream.


    I feel like a traitor to myself, having let days, weeks pass without opposition. Without so much as a whisper of how much Father¡¯s n terrifies me. I don¡¯t want to be queen of Norta. I don¡¯t want to belong to anyone. But what I want doesn¡¯t matter. Nothing will threaten my father¡¯s machinations. King Volo is not one to be denied. Not by his own daughter, his flesh and blood. His possession.


    An all-too-familiar ache rises in my chest as I settle onto my throne. I do my best to keepposed, quiet, and dutiful. Loyal to my blood. It¡¯s all I know.


    I haven¡¯t spoken to my father in weeks. I can only nod to his<span id="page_490" title="490"></spanmands. Words are beyond my ability. If I open my mouth, I fear my temper will get the best of me. It was Tolly¡¯s idea to stay quiet.<i ss="calibre4">Give it time, Eve. Give it time.</i>But time for what, I have no idea. Father doesn¡¯t change his mind. And Queen Anabel is hell-bent on pushing her grandson back to the throne. My brother is just as disappointed as I am. Everything we did¡ªmarrying him to ne, betraying Maven, supporting Father¡¯s kingly ambitions¡ªwas so we could stay together. All for nothing. He¡¯ll rule in the Rift, married to the girl I love, while I¡¯m shipped off like a crate of ammunition, once more a gift to a king.


    I¡¯m grateful for the distraction when Mare Barrow decides to grace the council with her presence, Prince Tiberias trailing at her heels. I forgot what a tragic puppy he became in her presence, all wide eyes begging for attention. His keen soldier sense trains on her instead of the task at hand. Both of them are still vibrating with adrenaline from the siege, and no wonder. It was a brutal thing. Barrow still has blood on her uniform.


    Both trek down the central aisle splitting the council. If they feel the weight of their action, they don¡¯t show it. Most conversation reduces to a murmur or stops altogether to watch the pair, waiting to see which side of the room they choose.


    Mare is quick, stalking past the front row of green uniforms to lean against the far wall. Out of the spotlight.


    The prince, the rightful king of Norta, doesn¡¯t follow. He approaches his grandmother instead, one hand outstretched to embrace her. Anabel is much smaller than him, reduced to an old woman in his presence. But her arms encircle him easily. They have the same eyes, burning like heated bronze. She grins up at him.


    Tiberias lingers in her embrace, just for a moment, holding on to thest piece of his family. The seat beside his grandmother is empty,<span id="page_491" title="491">but he doesn¡¯t take it. He elects to join Mare at the wall. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, fixing Father with a heated stare. I wonder if he knows what she has nned for the two of us.


    No one takes the seat he left behind. No one dares take the ce of the rightful heir to Norta.<i ss="calibre4">My beloved betrothed</i>echoes in my head. The words taunt me worse than my mother¡¯s snakes.


    Suddenly, with a flick of his hand, Father drags Salin Iral by his belt buckle, pulling him up from his seat, over his table, and across the oak floor. No one protests, or makes a sound.Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be hunters.¡±


    Father¡¯s voice rumbles low in his throat.


    Iral didn¡¯t bother to wash off after the battle, evidenced by the sweat matting his ck hair. Or maybe he¡¯s just petrified. I wouldn¡¯t me him. ¡°Your Majesty¡ª¡±


    ¡°You ensured Maven would not escape. I believe your exact words, my lord, were ¡®no snake can escape a silk fist.¡¯¡± Father doesn¡¯t condescend to look at this failure of a lord, an embarrassment to his house and his name. Mother watches enough for both of them, seeing with her own eyes as well as the eyes of the green snake. It notices me staring and flicks its forked pink tongue in my direction.


    Others watch Salin¡¯s humiliation. The Reds look dirtier than Salin, some of them still caked in mud and blue with cold. At least they aren¡¯t drunk. Lord General Laris sways in his chair, sipping conspicuously from a skrger than anything one should have in politepany. Not that Father or Mother or anyone else will begrudge him the liquor. Laris and his house did their job beautifully, bringing airjets to the cause while dissipating that infernal storm threatening to snow Corvium under. They proved their worth.


    As did the newbloods. Silly as their chosen name sounds, they held<span id="page_492" title="492">off the attack for hours. Without their blood and sacrifice, Corvium would be back in Maven¡¯s hands. Instead, he failed a second time. He has been defeated twice. Once by rabble, and now at the hands of a proper army and a proper king. My gut twists. Even though we won, the victory feels like defeat to me.


    Mare glowers at the exchange, her entire body tensing like a twisting wire. Her eyes tick between Salin and my father, before straying to Tolly. I feel a tremor of fear for my brother, even though she promised not to kill him. In Caesar¡¯s Square she unleashed a wrath like I¡¯ve never seen. And on the Corvium battlefield she held her own, even surrounded by an army of Silvers. Her lightning is far deadlier than I remember. If she chose to murder Tolly right now, I doubt anyone could stop her. Punish her, of course, but not stop her.


    I have a feeling she won¡¯t be terribly pleased by Anabel¡¯s n. Any Silver woman in love with a king would be content to be a consort, bound though not married¡ªbut I don¡¯t believe Reds think that way. They have no idea how important the house bonds are, or how deeply vital heirs of strong blood have always been. They think love matters when wedding vows are spoken. I suppose that is a small blessing in their lives. Without power, without strength, they have nothing to protect and no legacy to uphold. Their lives are inconsequential, but still, their lives are their own.


    As I thought mine was, for a few brief, foolish weeks.


    On the battlefield, I told Mare Barrow not to make a habit of letting me save her. Ironic. Now I hope she saves me from a queen¡¯s gilded prison, and a king¡¯s bridal cage. I hope her storm destroys the alliance before it even takes root.


    ¡°. . . prepares for escape as well as attack. Swifts were in ce, transports, airjets. We never even saw Maven.¡± Salin keeps up his protest,<span id="page_493" title="493">hands raised above his head. Father lets him. Father always gives a person enough rope to hang themselves. ¡°The Laknder king was there. Hemanded his troops himself.¡±


    Father¡¯s eyes sh and darken, the only indication of his sudden difort. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And now he lies in a grave with them.¡± Salin nces up at his steel king, a child searching for approval. He trembles down to his fingertips. I think of Iris left behind in Archeon, a new queen on a poisoned throne. And now without her father, cut off from the only family who came south at her side. She was formidable, to say the least, but this will weaken her immensely. If she weren¡¯t my enemy, I might feel pity.


    Slowly, Father rises from his throne. He looks thoughtful. ¡°Who killed the king of the Laknds?¡±


    The noose tightens.


    Salin grins. ¡°I did.¡±


    The noose snaps, and so does Father. With a clenched fist, in the blink of an eye, he twists Salin¡¯s buttons off his jacket, rolling them into thin spindles of iron. Each one wraps around his neck, pulling, forcing Salin to stand. They keep rising, until his toes scrabble against the floor, searching for purchase.


    At the tables, the Montfort leader leans back in his chair. The woman next to him, a very severe blonde with facial scars, curls her lips into a scowl. I remember her from the attack on Summerton, the one that almost took my brother¡¯s life. Cal tortured her himself and now they¡¯re practically side by side. She¡¯s Scarlet Guard, highly ranked, and, if I¡¯m not mistaken, one of Mare¡¯s closest allies.


    ¡°Your orders¡ª¡± Salin chokes out. He ws at the iron threads around his neck, digging into his flesh. His face grays as blood pools beneath his flesh.


    <span id="page_494" title="494">¡°My orders were to kill Maven Calore or prevent his escape. You did neither.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Killed a king of sovereign nation. An ally of Norta who had no reason to do anything but defend the new Laknder queen. But now?¡± Father scoffs, using his ability to draw Salin closer. ¡°You¡¯ve given them a rather wonderful incentive to drown us all. The ruling queen of the Laknds will not stand for this.¡± He ps Salin across the face with a resounding crack. The blow is meant to shame, not hurt. It works well. ¡°I strip you of your titles and responsibilities. House Iral, redistribute them as you see fit. And get this worm out of my sight.¡±


    Salin¡¯s family is quick to drag him from the chamber before he can dig a deeper hole. When the iron threads spring free, all he does is cough and perhaps cry. His sobs echo in the hall but are quickly cut off by the mming of the doors. A pathetic man. Though I¡¯m d he didn¡¯t kill Maven. If the Calore brat died today, there would be no obstacle between Cal and the throne. Cal and me. This way, at least, there is some dark hope.


    ¡°Does anyone have anything useful to contribute?¡± Father sits back down smoothly and runs a finger down the spine of Mother¡¯s snake. Its eyes slide shut in pleasure. Disgusting.


    Jerald Haven looks like he wants to disappear in his chair, and he just might. He stares at his folded hands, willing my father not to humiliate him next. Luckily, he¡¯s saved by the scowling Scarlet Guardmander. She stands, scraping back her seat.


    ¡°Our intelligence indicates that Maven Calore now relies on eyes to keep him safe. They can see the immediate future¡ª¡±


    Mother clucks her tongue. ¡°We know what an eye is, Red.¡±


    ¡°Good for you,¡± themander replies without hesitation.


    <span id="page_495" title="495">If not for Father and our precarious position, I expect Mother would ram her emerald snake down the Red¡¯s throat. She just purses her lips. ¡°Control your people, Premier, or I will.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Command general of the Scarlet Guard, Silver,¡± the woman spits back. I catch Mare smirking behind her. ¡°If you want our help, you¡¯re going to show some respect.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Mother concedes graciously. Her gems sparkle as she dips her head. ¡°Respect where respect is due.¡±


    Themander still glowers, her rage boiling. She eyes my mother¡¯s crown with disgust.


    Thinking quickly, I p my hands together. A familiar sound. A summons. Quietly, a Red maid of House Samos scampers into the chamber, a ss of wine in hand. She knows her orders and darts to my side, offering me the drink. With slow, exaggerated movements, I take the cup. I never break eye contact with the Redmander as I drink. My fingers drum along the etched ss to hide my nerves. At worst, I¡¯ll make Father angry. At best . . .


    I smash the ss goblet on the floor. Even I flinch at the sound and the implication. Father tries not to react, but his mouth tightens.<i ss="calibre4">You should know me better than this. I¡¯m not giving up without a fight.</i>


    Without hesitation, the maid kneels to clean it up, sweeping shards of ss into her bare hands. And without hesitation, the fierce Red woman vaults over her table, setting off a flurry of motion. Silvers jump to their feet, as do Reds, and Mare herself pushes off the wall, angling herself across her friend¡¯s path.


    The Redmander towers over her, but Barrow holds her back all the same.


    ¡°How can we ept this?¡± the woman shouts at me, thrusting a fist at the maid on the floor. The tang of blood increases tenfold as she<span id="page_496" title="496">slices her hands. ¡°How?¡±


    Everyone in the room seems to be wondering the same thing. Shouts rise between more vtile members of each side. We are Silver houses of noble and ancient blood, allied with rebels, criminals, servants, and thieves. Abilities or not, our ways of life stand in direct opposition. Our goals are not the same. The council chamber is a powder keg. If I¡¯m lucky it will explode. Blow apart any threat of marriage. Destroy the cage they want to put me back in.


    Over Mare¡¯s shoulder, themander sneers at me, her eyes like two blue daggers. If this room and my own clothes weren¡¯t dripping with metal, I might be afraid. I stare back at her, looking every inch the Silver princess she was raised to hate. At my feet, the maid finishes her work and shuffles away, her hands pincushioned with pieces of ss. I make a mental note to send Wren to heal herter.


    ¡°Poorly done,¡± Mother whispers in my ear. She pats my arm and the snake slithers along her hand, curling over my skin. Its flesh is mmy and cold.


    I grit my teeth against the sensation.


    ¡°How can we ept this?¡±


    The prince¡¯s voice cuts the chaos. It stuns many into silence, including the sneering Redmander. Mare bodily removes her, escorting her back to her chair with some difficulty. The rest turn to the exiled prince, watching him as he straightens. The months have been good to Tiberias Calore. A life of war suits him. He seems vibrant and alive, even after narrowly escaping death on the walls. In her seat, his grandmother allows herself the smallest smile. I feel my heart sink in my chest. I don¡¯t like that look. My hands w the arms of my throne, nails digging into wood instead of flesh.


    ¡°Every single person in this room knows we have reached a tipping<span id="page_497" title="497">point.¡± His eyes wander to find Mare. He draws his strength from her. If I were a sentimental person, I might be moved. Instead, I think of ne, left safely behind at Ridge House. Ptolemus has need of an heir, and neither of us wanted her in the battle. Even so, I wish she were here to sit beside me. I wish I didn¡¯t have to suffer this alone.


    Cal was trained to statecraft, and he is no stranger to speeches. Still, he¡¯s not as talented as his brother, and he trips up more than a few times as he prowls the floor. Unfortunately, no one seems to mind. ¡°Reds have lived their lives as glorified ves, bonded to their lots. Be it in a slum town, in one of our pces¡ªor in the mud of a river vige.¡± A flush spreads across Mare¡¯s cheeks. ¡°I used to think as I was taught. That our ways were set. Reds were inferior. Changing their ce would nevere to pass, not without bloodshed. Not without great sacrifice. Once, I thought those things were too high a cost to pay. But I was wrong.


    ¡°To those of you who disagree¡±¡ªhe res at me, and I tremble¡ª¡°who believe yourself better, who believe yourself gods, you are wrong. And not because people like the lightning girl exist. Not because we suddenly find ourselves in need of allies to defeat my brother. Because you are simply wrong.


    ¡°I was born a prince. I knew more privilege than almost anyone here. I was raised with servants at my beck and call, and I was taught that their blood, because of a color, meant less than mine. ¡®Reds are stupid; Reds are rats; Reds are incapable of controlling their own lives; Reds are meant to serve.¡¯ These are words we¡¯ve all heard. And they are lies. Convenient ones that make our lives easier, our shame nonexistent, and their lives unbearable.¡±


    He stops next to his grandmother, tall at her side. ¡°It can¡¯t be tolerated anymore. It simply can¡¯t be. Difference is not division.¡±


    <span id="page_498" title="498">Poor, naive Calore. His grandmother nods in approval, but I remember her in my own house, and what she said. She wants her grandson on the throne, and she wants the old world.


    ¡°Premier,¡± Tiberias says, gesturing to the Montfort leader.


    With a clearing of his throat, the man stands. Taller than most, but weedy. He has the look of a pale fish with an equally empty expression. ¡°King Volo, we thank you for your aid in the defense of Corvium. And here, now, before the eyes of our leadership and your own, I would like to know your sentiments on what Prince Tiberias has just said.¡±


    ¡°If you have a question, Premier, ask it,¡± Father rumbles.


    The man keeps his face still, unreadable. I get the sense he hides as many secrets and ambitions as the rest of us. Would that I could put the screws to him. ¡°Red and Silver, Your Majesty. Which color rises in this rebellion?¡±


    A muscle quivers in one pale cheek as my father exhales. He runs a hand through his pointed beard. ¡°Both, Premier. This is a war for us both. On this you have my word, sworn on the heads of my children.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Thank you so much, Father. The Redmander would collect that price with a smile if given the opportunity.</i>


    ¡°Prince Tiberias speaks truthfully,¡± Father continues, lying though his teeth. ¡°Our world has changed. We must change with it. Common enemies make strange allies, but we are allies all the same.¡±


    As with Salin, I sense a noose tightening. It loops around my neck, threatening to hang me above the abyss. Is this what the rest of my life will feel like? I want to be strong. This is what I trained and suffered for. This is what I thought I wanted. But freedom was too sweet. One gasp of it and I can¡¯t let go.<i ss="calibre4">I¡¯m sorry, ne. I¡¯m so sorry.</i>


    ¡°Do you have other questions about the terms, Premier Davidson?¡± Father pushes on. ¡°Or shall we continue nning the<span id="page_499" title="499">overthrow of a tyrant?¡±


    ¡°And what terms would those be?¡± Mare¡¯s voice sounds different, and no wonder. I knew herst as a prisoner, smothered almost beyond recognition. Her sparks have returned with a vengeance. She nces between Father and her premier, looking to them for answers.


    Father is almost gleeful as he exins, and I hold my breath.<i ss="calibre4">Save me, Mare Barrow. Loose the storm I know you have. Bewitch the prince as you always do.</i>


    ¡°The Kingdom of the Rift will stand in sovereignty after Maven is removed. The kings of steel will reign for generations. With allowances made for my Red citizens, of course. I have no intention of creating a ve state like the one Norta is.¡±


    Mare looks far from convinced, but holds her tongue.


    ¡°Of course, Norta will need a king of her own.¡±


    Her eyes widen. Horror bleeds through her, and she whips her head to Cal, looking for answers. He seems just as taken aback as she fumes. The lightning girl is easier to read than the pages of a children¡¯s book.


    Anabel rises from her seat to stand proudly. Her lined face beams as she turns to Cal, putting a hand to his cheek. He¡¯s too shocked to react to her touch. ¡°My grandson is the rightful king of Norta, and the throne belongs to him.¡±


    ¡°Premier . . . ,¡± Mare whispers, now looking at the Montfort leader. She is almost begging. A flicker of sadness pierces his mask.


    ¡°Montfort pledges to back the installment of Ca¡ª¡± He stops himself. The man looks anywhere but at Mare Barrow. ¡°King Tiberias.¡±


    A current of heat ripples on the air. The prince is angry, violently so. And the worst is yet toe, for all of us. If I¡¯m lucky, he¡¯ll burn the tower down.


    ¡°We will cement the alliance between the Rift and the rightful<span id="page_500" title="500">king in the usual way,¡± Mother says, twisting the knife. She enjoys this. It takes everything to keep my tears inside, where no one else can see.


    The implication of her words is not lost on anyone. Cal gives a strangled sort of yelp, a gasp very unbing of a prince, let alone a king.


    ¡°Even after all this, Queenstrial still brought forth a royal bride.¡± Mother runs a hand over mine, her fingers crossing where my wedding ring will be.


    Suddenly the high chamber feels stifling, and the smell of blood crashes through my senses. It¡¯s all I can think about, and I lean into the distraction, letting the sharp iron bite overwhelm me. My jaw clenches, teeth tight against all the things I want to say. They rattle in my throat, begging to be loose.<i ss="calibre4">I don¡¯t want this anymore. Let me go home.</i>Each word is a betrayal to my house, my family, my blood. My teeth grate against one another, bone on bone. A locked cage for my heart.


    I feel trapped inside myself.


    <i ss="calibre4">Make him choose, Mare. Make him turn me aside.</i>


    She breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling at rapid speed. Like me, she has too many words she wants to scream. I hope she sees how much I want to refuse.


    ¡°No one thought to consult me,¡± the prince hisses, pushing his grandmother away. His eyes burn. He has perfected the art of ring at a dozen people at once. ¡°You mean to make me a king¡ªwithout my consent?¡±


    Anabel has no fear of me and seizes his face again. ¡°We¡¯re not making you anything. We¡¯re simply helping you be what you are. Your father died for your crown, and you want to throw it away? For who? Abandon your country? For what?¡±


    He has no answer.<i ss="calibre4">Say no. Say no. Say no.</i>


    <span id="page_501" title="501">But already I see the tug. The lure. Power seduces all, and it makes us blind. Cal is not immune to it. If anything, he is particrly vulnerable. All his life he watched a throne, preparing for a day it would be his. I know firsthand that¡¯s not a habit a person can easily break. And I know firsthand that few things taste sweeter than a crown. I think of ne again. Does he think of Mare?


    ¡°I need some air,¡± he whispers.


    Of course, Mare follows him out, sparks trembling in her wake.


    On instinct, I almost call for another cup of wine. But I refrain. Mare isn¡¯t here to stop themander if she snaps again, and more alcohol will just make me sicker than I already am.


    ¡°Long live Tiberias the Seventh,¡± Anabel says.


    The chamber echoes the sentiment. I only mouth the words. I feel poisoned.

 King鈥檚 Cage: Epilogue

    <i ss="calibre4">He scrapes his bracelets</i>together angrily, letting his wrists spit sparks. None of them catch or burst into me. Spark after spark, each one cold and weakpared to mine. Useless. Futile. I follow him down a spiraling stair to a balcony. If it has a lovely view, I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t have the capacity to see much farther than Cal. Everything inside me quivers.


    Hope and fear battle through me in equal measure. I see it in Cal too, shing behind his eyes. A storm rages in the bronze, two kinds of fire.


    ¡°You promised,¡± I whisper, trying to tear him apart without moving a muscle.


    Cal paces wildly before putting his back to the rails of the balcony. His mouth flops open and closed, searching for something to say. For any exnation.<i ss="calibre4">He¡¯s not Maven. He¡¯s not a liar,</i>I have to remind myself.<i ss="calibre4">He doesn¡¯t want to do this to you.</i>But will that stop him?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think¡ªwhat logical person could want me to be king after what I¡¯ve done? Tell me if you truly thought anyone would let me near<span id="page_503" title="503">a throne,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ve killed Silvers, Mare, my own people.¡± He buries his face in his zing hands, scrubbing them over his features. Like he wants to pull himself inside out.


    ¡°You killed Reds too. I thought you said there was no difference.¡±


    ¡°Difference not division.¡±


    I snarl. ¡°You make a wonderful speech about equality but let that Samos bastard sit there and im a kingdom just like the one we want to end. Don¡¯t lie and say you didn¡¯t know about his terms, his new crown. . . .¡± My voice trails away before I can speak the rest aloud. And make it real.


    ¡°You know I had no idea.¡±


    ¡°Not one?¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Not a whisper from your grandmother. Not even a dream of this?¡±


    He swallows hard, unable to deny his deepest desires. So he doesn¡¯t even try. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do to stop Samos. Not yet¡ª¡±


    I p him across the face. His head moves with the momentum of the blow and stays that way, looking out to the horizon I refuse to see.


    My voice cracks. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about Samos.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± he says, the words soft on the ash wind. Sadly, I believe him. It makes it harder to stay angry, and without anger I have only fear and sorrow. ¡°I really didn¡¯t know.¡±


    Tears burn salty tracks down my cheeks, and I hate myself for crying. I just watched who knows how many people die, and killed many of them myself. How can I shed tears over this? Over one person still breathing right before my eyes?


    My voice hitches. ¡°Is this the part where I ask you to choose me?¡±


    Because it is a choice. He need only say no. Or yes. One word holds both our fates.


    <i ss="calibre4">Choose me. Choose the dawn.</i>He didn¡¯t before. He has to now.


    <span id="page_504" title="504">Shaking, I take his face in my hands and turn him to look at me. When he can¡¯t, when his bronze eyes focus on my lips or my shoulder or the brand exposed to the warm air, something inside me breaks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to marry her,¡± he murmurs. ¡°That can be negotiated.¡±


    ¡°No, it can¡¯t. You know it can¡¯t.¡± Iugh coldly at his absurd posturing.


    His eyes darken. ¡°And you know what marriage is to us¡ªto Silvers. It doesn¡¯t mean anything. It has no bearing on what we feel, and who we feel for.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think it¡¯s the marriage I¡¯m angry about?¡± Rage boils in me, hot and wild and impossible to ignore. ¡°Do you really think I have any ambition to be your¡ªor anyone¡¯s¡ªqueen?¡±


    Warm fingers tremble against mine, their grip tightening as I start to slip away. ¡°Mare, think of what I can do. What kind of king I can be.¡±


    ¡°Why does anyone need to be king at all?¡± I ask slowly, sharpening every word.


    He has no answer.


    In the pce, during my imprisonment, I learned that Maven had been made by his mother, formed into the monster he became. There is nothing on earth that can change him or what she did. But Cal was made too. All of us were made by someone else, and all of us have some thread of steel that nothing and no one can cut.


    I thought Cal was immune to the corruptive temptation of power. How wrong I was.


    He was born to be a king. It¡¯s what he was made for. It¡¯s what he was made to want.


    ¡°Tiberias.¡± I¡¯ve never said his real name before. It doesn¡¯t suit him. It doesn¡¯t suit us. But that¡¯s who he is. ¡°Choose me.¡±


    <span id="page_505" title="505">His hands smooth over mine, his fingers sying to match my own. As he does, I shut my eyes. I allow myself one long second to memorize what he feels like. Like that day in Piedmont, when the rainstorm caught us both, I want to burn. I want to burn.This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°Mare,¡± he whispers. ¡°Choose me.¡±


    <i ss="calibre4">Choose a crown. Choose another king¡¯s cage. Choose a betrayal to everything you¡¯ve bled for.</i>


    I find my thread of steel too. Thin but unbreakable.


    ¡°I am in love with you, and I want you more than anything else in the world.¡± His words sound hollowing from me. ¡°Anything else in this world.¡±


    Slowly, my eyelids flutter open. He finds the spine to match my gaze.


    ¡°Think what we could do together,¡± he murmurs, trying to pull me closer. My feet hold firm. ¡°You know what you are to me. Without you, I have no one. I am alone. I have nothing left. Don¡¯t leave me alone.¡±


    My breathing turns ragged.


    I kiss him for what could be, what might be, what will be¡ªthest time. His lips feel strangely cold as we both turn to ice.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t alone.¡± The hope in his eyes cuts deeply. ¡°You have your crown.¡±


    I thought I knew what heartbreak was. I thought that was what Maven did to me. When he stood and left me kneeling. When he told me everything I ever thought him to be was a lie. But then, I believed I loved him.


    I know now, I didn¡¯t know what love was. Or what even the echo of heartbreak felt like.


    To stand in front of a person who is your whole world and be told<span id="page_506" title="506">you are not enough. You are not the choice. You are a shadow to the person who is your sun.


    ¡°Mare, please.¡± He begs like a child in his desperation. ¡°How did you think this was going to end? What did you really think would happen next?¡± I feel the heat of him even as every part of me goes cold. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this.¡±


    But I do.


    I turn away, deaf to his protests. But he doesn¡¯t try to stop me. He lets me walk away.


    Blood drowns out everything but my screaming thoughts. Terrible ideas, hateful words, broken and twisted like a bird without wings. They limp by, each one worse than thest.<i ss="calibre4">Not a god¡¯s chosen, but a god¡¯s cursed.</i>That¡¯s what we all are.


    It¡¯s a wonder I don¡¯t fall down the spiraling steps of the tower¡ªa miracle I make it outside without copsing. The sun overhead is hatefully bright, a harsh contrast to the abyss inside me. I shove a hand deep into my uniform pocket and barely register the sharp sting of something. It doesn¡¯t take long to realize¡ªthe earring. The one Cal gave me. I almostugh at the thought of it. Another broken promise. Another Calore betrayal.


    A burning need to run tugs at my heart. I want Kilorn, I want Gisa. I want Shade to appear and tell me this is another dream. I imagine them beside me, their words and open arms afort.


    Another voice drowns them out. It burns my insides.


    <i ss="calibre4">Cal follows orders, but he can¡¯t make choices.</i>


    I sigh at the thought of Maven¡¯s words. Cal did make a choice. And in the deepest parts of myself, I¡¯m not surprised. The prince is as he has always been. A good person at his core, but unwilling to act. Unwilling<span id="page_507" title="507">to truly change himself. The crown is in his heart, and hearts do not change.


    Farley finds me in an alley, staring at a wall with nk eyes, my tears long since dried. She hesitates for once, her boldness long gone. Instead, she approaches with almost tender slowness, a hand outstretched to touch my shoulder.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know until you did,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I swear it.¡±


    The person she loved is dead, stolen by someone else. Mine chose to walk away. Chose everything I hate over everything I am. I wonder which hurts more.


    Before I let myself rx into her, allow her tofort me, I notice someone else standing nearby.


    ¡°I knew,¡± Premier Davidson says. It sounds like an apology. At first I feel another surge of anger, but it isn¡¯t his fault. Cal didn¡¯t have to agree. Cal didn¡¯t have to let me go.


    Cal didn¡¯t have to eagerly leap into a well-baited trap.


    ¡°Divide and conquer,¡± I whisper, remembering his own words. The fog of heartbreak clears enough for me to understand. Montfort and the Scarlet Guard would never support a Silver king, not truly. Not without other motives in y.


    Davidson nods his head. ¡°It¡¯s the only way to beat them.¡±


    Samos, Calore, Cy. The Rift, Norta, the Laknds. All driven by greed, all ready to break one another for an already-broken crown. All part of Montfort¡¯s own n. I force another breath, and try to recover. Try to forget Cal, forget Maven, focus on the road ahead. Where it leads, I don¡¯t know.


    Somewhere in the distance, somewhere in my bones, thunder rolls.


    We¡¯re going to let them kill each other.

 Red Queen: Chapter 3

    <i>It¡¯s been going on</i>for the better part of thest hundred years. I don¡¯t think it should even be called a war anymore, but there isn¡¯t a word for this higher form of destruction. In school they told us it started overnd. The Laknds are t and fertile, bordered by immensekes full of fish. Not like the rocky, forested hills of Norta, where the farnds can barely feed us. Even the Silvers felt the strain, so the king dered war, plunging us into a conflict neither side could really win.


    The Laknder king, another Silver, responded in kind, with the full support of his own nobility. They wanted our rivers, to get ess to a sea that wasn¡¯t frozen half the year, and the water mills dotting our rivers. The mills are what make our country strong, providing enough electricity so that even the Reds can have some. I¡¯ve heard rumors of cities farther south, near the capital, Archeon, where greatly skilled Reds build machines beyond myprehension. For transport onnd, water, and sky, or weapons to rain destruction wherever the Silvers might need. Our teacher proudly told us Norta was the light of the world, a nation made great by our technology and power. All the<span id="page_21" title="21">rest, like the Laknds or Piedmont to the south, live in darkness. We were lucky to be born here.<i>Lucky</i>. The word makes me want to scream.


    But despite our electricity, the Laknder food, our weapons, their numbers, neither side has much advantage over the other. Both have Silver officers and Red soldiers, fighting with abilities and guns and the shield of a thousand Red bodies. A war that was supposed to end less than a century ago still drags on. I always found it funny that we fought over food and water. Even the high-and-mighty Silvers need to eat.


    But it isn¡¯t funny now, not when Kilorn is going to be the next person I say good-bye to. I wonder if he¡¯ll give me an earring so I can remember him when the polished legionnaire takes him away.


    ¡°One week, Mare. One week and I¡¯m gone.¡± His voice cracks, though he coughs to try to cover it up. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. They¡ªthey won¡¯t take me.¡±


    But I can see the fight going out of his eyes.


    ¡°There must be something we can do,¡± I blurt out.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing anyone can do. No one has escaped conscription and lived.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t need to tell me that. Every year, someone tries to run. And every year, they¡¯re dragged back to the town square and hanged.


    ¡°No. We¡¯ll find a way.¡±


    Even now, he finds the strength to smirk at me.<i>¡°We?¡±</i>


    The heat in my cheeks surges faster than any me. ¡°I¡¯m doomed for conscription same as you, but they¡¯re not going to get me either. So we run.¡±


    The army has always been my fate, my punishment, I know that. But not his. It¡¯s already taken too much from him.


    ¡°There¡¯s nowhere we can go,¡± he sputters, but at least he¡¯s arguing.<span id="page_22" title="22">At least he¡¯s not giving up. ¡°We¡¯d never survive the north in winter, the east is the sea, the west is more war, the south is radiated to all hell¡ªand everywhere in between is crawling with Silvers and Security.¡±


    The words pour out of me like a river. ¡°So is the vige. Crawling with Silvers and Security. And we manage to steal right under their noses and escape with our heads.¡± My mind races, trying my hardest to find something, anything, that might be of use. And then it hits me like a bolt of lightning. ¡°The ck-market trade, the one<i>we</i>help keep running, smuggles everything from grain to lightbulbs. Who¡¯s to say they can¡¯t smuggle people?¡±


    His mouth opens, about to spout a thousand reasons why this won¡¯t work. But then he smiles. And nods.


    I don¡¯t like getting involved with other people¡¯s business. I don¡¯t have time for it. And yet here I am, listening to myself say four dooming words.


    ¡°Leave everything to me.¡±


    The things we can¡¯t sell to the usual shop owners we have to take to Will Whistle. He¡¯s old, too feeble to work the lumberyards, so he sweeps the streets by day. At night, he sells everything you could want out of his moldy wagon, from heavily restricted coffee to exotics from Archeon. I was nine with a fistful of stolen buttons when I took my chances with Will. He paid me three copper pennies for them, no questions asked. Now I¡¯m his best customer and probably the reason he manages to stay afloat in such a small ce. On a good day I might even call him a friend. It was years before I discovered Will was part of a muchrger operation. Some call it the underground, others the ck market, but all I care about is what they can do. They have fences, people like Will, everywhere. Even in Archeon, as impossible as that sounds. They<span id="page_23" title="23">transport illegal goods all over the country. And now I¡¯m betting that they might make an exception and transport a person instead.


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    In eight years, Will has never said no to me. Now the wrinkled old fool is practically mming shut the doors of his wagon in my face. I¡¯m happy Kilorn stayed behind, so he doesn¡¯t have to see me fail him.


    ¡°Will,<i>please</i>. I know you can do it¡ª¡±


    He shakes head, white beard waggling. ¡°Even if I<i>could</i>, I am a tradesman. The people I work with aren¡¯t the type to spend their time and effort shuttling another runner from ce to ce. It¡¯s not our business.¡±


    I can feel my only hope, Kilorn¡¯s only hope, slipping right through my fingers.


    Will must see the desperation in my eyes because he softens, leaning against the wagon door. He heaves a sigh and nces backward, into the darkness of the wagon. After a moment, he turns back around and gestures, beckoning me inside. I follow dly.


    ¡°Thank you, Will,¡± I babble. ¡°You don¡¯t know what this means to me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sit down and be quiet, girl,¡± a high voice says.


    Out of the shadows of the wagon, hardly visible in the dim light of Will¡¯s single blue candle, a woman rises to her feet. Girl, I should say, since she barely looks older than me. But she¡¯s much taller, with the air of an old warrior. The gun at her hip, tucked into a red sash belt stamped with suns, is certainly not authorized. She¡¯s too blond and fair to be from the Stilts, and judging by the light sweat on her face, she¡¯s not used to the heat or humidity. She is a foreigner, an ounder, and an ouw at that.<i>Just the person I want to see</i>.


    She waves me to the bench cut into the wagon wall, and she sits<span id="page_24" title="24">down again only when I have. Will follows closely behind and all but copses into a worn chair, his eyes flitting between the girl and me.


    ¡°Mare Barrow, meet Farley,¡± he murmurs, and she tightens her jaw.


    Her gazends on my face. ¡°You wish to transport cargo.¡±


    ¡°Myself and a boy¡ª¡± But she holds up arge, callused hand, cutting me off.


    ¡°<i>Cargo</i>,¡± she says again, eyes full of meaning. My heart leaps in my chest; this Farley girl might be of the helping kind. ¡°And what is the destination?¡±


    I rack my brain, trying to think of somewhere safe. The old ssroom map swims before my eyes, outlining the coast and the rivers, marking cities and viges and everything in between. From Harbor Bay west to the Laknds, the northern tundra to the radiated wastes of the Ruins and the Wash, it¡¯s all dangerousnd for us.


    ¡°Somewhere safe from the Silvers. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Farley blinks at me, her expression unchanging. ¡°Safety has a price, girl.¡±


    ¡°Everything has a price,<i>girl</i>,¡± I fire back, matching her tone. ¡°No one knows that more than me.¡±


    A long beat of silence stretches through the wagon. I can feel the night wasting away, taking precious minutes from Kilorn. Farley must sense my unease and impatience but makes no hurry to speak. After what seems like an eternity, her mouth finally opens.


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard epts, Mare Barrow.¡±


    It takes all the restraint I have to keep from jumping out of my seat with joy. But something tugs at me, keeping a smile from crossing my face.


    ¡°Payment is expected in full, to the equivalent of one thousand crowns,¡± Farley continues.


    <span id="page_25" title="25">That almost knocks the air from my lungs. Even Will looks surprised, his fluffy white eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. ¡°A<i>thousand</i>?¡± I manage to choke out. No one deals in that amount of money, not in the Stilts. That could feed my family for a year.<i>Many years</i>.


    But Farley isn¡¯t finished. I get the sense that she enjoys this. ¡°This can be paid in paper notes, tetrarch coins, or the bartering equivalent. Per item, of course.¡±


    <i>Two thousand crowns</i>. A fortune. Our freedom is worth a fortune.


    ¡°Your cargo will be moved the day after tomorrow. You must pay then.¡±


    I can barely breathe. Less than two days to umte more money than I have stolen in my entire life.<i>There is no way</i>.


    She doesn¡¯t even give me time to protest.


    ¡°Do you ept the terms?¡±


    ¡°I need more time.¡±


    She shakes her head and leans forward. I smell gunpowder on her. ¡°Do you ept the terms?¡±


    It is impossible. It is foolish.<i>It is our best chance</i>.


    ¡°I ept the terms.¡±


    The next moments pass in a blur as I trudge home through the muddy shadows. My mind is on fire, trying to figure out a way to get my hands on anything worth even close to Farley¡¯s price. There¡¯s nothing in the Stilts, that¡¯s for sure.


    Kilorn is still waiting in the darkness, looking like a little lost boy. I suppose he is.


    ¡°Bad news?¡± he says, trying to keep his voice even, but it trembles anyway.


    <span id="page_26" title="26">¡°The underground can get us out of here.¡± For his sake, I keep myself calm as I exin. Two thousand crowns might as well be the king¡¯s throne, but I make it seem like nothing. ¡°If anyone can do it, we can. We<i>can</i>.¡±


    ¡°Mare.¡± His voice is cold, colder than winter, but the hollow look in his eyes is worse. ¡°It¡¯s over. We lost.¡±


    ¡°But if we just¡ª¡±


    He grabs my shoulders, holding me at an arm¡¯s length in his firm grip. It doesn¡¯t hurt but it shocks me all the same. ¡°Don¡¯t do this to me, Mare. Don¡¯t make believe there¡¯s a way out of this. Don¡¯t give me hope.¡±


    He¡¯s right. It¡¯s cruel to give hope where none should be. It only turns into disappointment, resentment, rage¡ªall the things that make this life more difficult than it already is.


    ¡°Just let me ept it. Maybe¡ªmaybe then I can actually get my head in order, get myself trained properly, give myself a fighting chance out there.¡±


    My hands find his wrists and I hold on tight. ¡°You talk like you¡¯re already dead.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I am.¡±


    ¡°My brothers¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your father made sure they knew what they were doing long before they went away. And it helps that they¡¯re all the size of a house.¡± He forces a smirk, trying to get me tough. It doesn¡¯t work. ¡°I¡¯m a good swimmer and sailor. They¡¯ll need me on thekes.¡±


    It¡¯s only when he wraps his arms around me, hugging me, that I realize I¡¯m shaking. ¡°Kilorn¡ª,¡± I mumble into his chest. But the next words won¡¯te.<i>It should be me</i>. But my time is fast approaching. I can only hope Kilorn survives long enough for me to see him again, in<span id="page_27" title="27">the barracks or in a trench. Maybe then I¡¯ll find the right words to say. Maybe then I¡¯ll understand how I feel.


    ¡°Thank you, Mare. For everything.¡± He pulls back, letting go of me far too quickly. ¡°If you save up, you¡¯ll have enough by the time the legiones for you.¡±


    For him, I nod. But I have no ns of letting him fight and die alone.


    By the time I settle down into my cot, I know I will not sleep tonight. There must be something I can do, and even if it takes all night, I¡¯m going to figure it out.


    Gisa coughs in her sleep and it¡¯s a courteous, tiny sound. Even unconscious, she manages to bedylike. No wonder she fits in so well with the Silvers. She¡¯s everything they like in a Red: quiet, content, and unassuming. It¡¯s a good thing she¡¯s the one who has to deal with them, helping the superhuman fools pick out silk and fine fabrics for clothes they¡¯ll wear just once. She says you get used to it, to the amount of money they spend on such trivial things. And at Grand Garden, the marketce in Summerton, the money increases tenfold. Together with her mistress, Gisa sewsce, silk, fur, even gemstones to create wearable art for the Silver elite who seem to follow the royals everywhere. The parade, she calls them, an endless march of preening peacocks, each one more proud and ridiculous than the next. All Silver, all silly, and all status-obsessed.


    I hate them even more than usual tonight. The stockings they lose would probably be enough to save me, Kilorn, and half the Stilts from conscription.


    For the second time tonight, lightning strikes.


    ¡°Gisa. Wake up.¡± I do not whisper. The girl sleeps like the dead.<i>¡°Gisa.¡±</i>


    <span id="page_28" title="28">She shifts and groans into her pillow. ¡°Sometimes I want to kill you,¡± she grumbles.


    ¡°How sweet. Now<i>wake up</i>!¡±


    Her eyes are still closed when I pounce,nding on her like a giant cat. Before she can start yelling and whining and get my mother involved, I mp a hand on her mouth. ¡°Just listen to me, that¡¯s all. Don¡¯t talk, just listen.¡±


    She huffs against my hand but nods all the same.


    ¡°Kilorn¡ª¡±


    Her skin flushes bright red at the mention of him. She even giggles, something she never does. But I don¡¯t have time for her schoolgirl crush, not now.


    ¡°Stop that, Gisa.¡± I take a shaky breath. ¡°Kilorn is going to be conscripted.¡±


    And then herughter is gone. Conscription isn¡¯t a joke, not to us.


    ¡°I¡¯ve found a way to get him out of here, to save him from the war, but I need your help to do it.¡± It hurts to say it, but somehow the words pass my lips. ¡°I need you, Gisa. Will you help me?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t hesitate to answer, and I feel a great swell of love for my sister.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    It¡¯s a good thing I¡¯m short, or else Gisa¡¯s extra uniform would never fit. It¡¯s thick and dark, not at all suited to the summer sun, with buttons and zippers that seem to cook in the heat. The pack on my back shifts, almost taking me over with the weight of cloth and sewing instruments. Gisa has her own pack and constricting uniform, but they don¡¯t seem to bother her at all. She¡¯s used to hard work and a hard life.


    We sail most of the distance upriver, squashed between bushels of<span id="page_29" title="29">wheat on the barge of a benevolent farmer Gisa befriended years ago. People trust her around here, like they can never trust me. The farmer lets us off with a mile still to go, near the winding trail of merchants heading for Summerton. Now we shuffle with them, toward what Gisa calls the Garden Door, though there are no gardens to be seen. It¡¯s actually a gate made of sparkling ss that blinds us before we even get a chance to step inside. The rest of the wall looks to be made of the same thing, but I can¡¯t believe the Silver king would be stupid enough to hide behind ss walls.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t ss,¡± Gisa tells me. ¡°Or at least, not entirely. The Silvers discovered a way to heat diamond and mix it with other materials. It¡¯s totally impregnable. Not even a bomb could get through that.¡±


    <i>Diamond walls</i>.


    ¡°That seems necessary.¡±


    ¡°Keep your head down. Let me do the talking,¡± she whispers.


    I stay on her heels, my eyes on the road as it fades from cracked ck asphalt to paved white stone. It¡¯s so smooth I almost slip, but Gisa grabs my arm, keeping me steady. Kilorn wouldn¡¯t have a problem walking on this, not with his sea legs. But then Kilorn wouldn¡¯t be here at all. He¡¯s already given up.<i>I will not</i>.


    As we get closer to the gates, I squint through the re to see to the other side. Though Summerton only exists for the season, abandoned before the first frostfall, it¡¯s the biggest city I¡¯ve ever seen. There are bustling streets, shops, cantina bars, houses, and courtyards, all of them pointed toward a shimmering monstrosity of diamondss and marble. And now I know where it got its name. The Hall of the Sun shines like a star, reaching a hundred feet into the air in a twisting mass of spires and bridges. Parts of it darken seemingly at will, to give the upants privacy. Can¡¯t have the peasants looking at the king and his<span id="page_30" title="30">court. It¡¯s breathtaking, intimidating, magnificent¡ªand this is just the<i>summer</i>house.


    ¡°Names,¡± a gruff voice barks, and Gisa stops short.


    ¡°Gisa Barrow. This is my sister, Mare Barrow. She¡¯s helping me bring some wares in for my mistress.¡± She doesn¡¯t flinch, keeping her voice even, almost bored. The Security officer nods at me and I shift my pack, making a show of it. Gisa hands over our identification cards, both of them torn, dirty things ready to fall apart, but they suffice.


    The man examining us must know my sister because he barely nces at her ID. Mine he scrutinizes, looking between my face and my picture for a good minute. I wonder if he¡¯s a whisper too and can read my mind. That would put an end to this little excursion very quickly and probably earn me a cable noose around my neck.


    ¡°Wrists,¡± he sighs, already bored with us.


    For a moment, I¡¯m puzzled, but Gisa sticks out her right hand without a thought. I follow the gesture, pointing my arm at the officer. He ps a pair of red bands around our wrists. The circles shrink until they¡¯re tight as shackles¡ªthere¡¯s no removing these things on our own.


    ¡°Move along,¡± the officer says, gesturing with azy wave of the hand. Two young girls are not a threat in his eyes.


    Gisa nods in thanks but I don¡¯t. This man doesn¡¯t deserve an ounce of appreciation from me. The gates yawn open around us and we march forward. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, drowning out the sounds of Grand Garden as we enter a different world.


    It¡¯s a market like I¡¯ve never seen, dotted with flowers and trees and fountains. The Reds are few and fast, running errands and selling their own wares, all marked by their red bands. Though the Silvers wear no band, they¡¯re easy to spot. They drip with gems and precious metals, a fortune on every one of them. One slip of a hook and I can go home<span id="page_31" title="31">with everything I¡¯ll ever need. All are tall and beautiful and cold, moving with a slow grace no Red can im. We simply don¡¯t have the time to move that way.


    Gisa guides me past a bakery with cakes dusted in gold, a grocer disying brightly colored fruits I¡¯ve never seen before, and even a menagerie full of wild animals beyond myprehension. A little girl, Silver judging by her clothes, feeds tiny bits of apple to a spotted, horselike creature with an impossibly long neck. A few streets over, a jewelry store sparkles in every color of the rainbow. I make note of it but keeping my head straight here is difficult. The air seems to pulse, vibrant with life.


    Just when I think there could be nothing more fantastic than this ce, I look closer at the Silvers and remember exactly who they are. The little girl is a telky, levitating the apple ten feet into the air to feed the long-necked beast. A florist runs his hands through a pot of white flowers and they explode into growth, curling around his elbows. He¡¯s a greeny, a maniptor of nts and the earth. A pair of nymphs sits by the fountain,zily entertaining children with floating orbs of water. One of them has orange hair and hateful eyes, even while kids mill around him. All over the square, every type of Silver goes about their extraordinary lives. There are so many, each one grand and wonderful and powerful and so far removed from the world I know.


    ¡°This is how the other half lives,¡± Gisa murmurs, sensing my awe. ¡°It¡¯s enough to make you sick.¡±


    Guilt ripples through me. I¡¯ve always been jealous of Gisa, her talent and all the privileges it affords her, but I¡¯ve never thought of the cost. She didn¡¯t spend much time in school and has few friends in the Stilts. If Gisa were normal, she would have many. She would smile. Instead, the fourteen-year-old girl soldiers through with needle and<span id="page_32" title="32">thread, putting the future of her family on her back, living neck-deep in a world she hates.


    ¡°Thank you, Gee,¡± I whisper into her ear. She knows I don¡¯t just mean for today.


    ¡°Sa¡¯s shop is there, with the blue awning.¡± She points down a side street, to a tiny store sandwiched between a pair of caf¨¦s. ¡°I¡¯ll be inside, if you need me.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± I answer quickly. ¡°Even if things go wrong, I won¡¯t get you involved.¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°Good.¡± Then she grabs my hand, squeezing tight for a second. ¡°Be careful. It¡¯s crowded today, more than usual.¡±


    ¡°More ces to hide,¡± I tell her with a smirk.


    But her voice is grave. ¡°More officers too.¡±


    We continue walking, every step bringing us closer to the exact moment she¡¯ll leave me alone in this strange ce. A thrum of panic goes through me as Gisa gently lifts the pack from my shoulders. We¡¯ve reached her shop.


    To calm myself, I ramble under my breath. ¡°Speak to no one, don¡¯t make eye contact. Keep moving. I leave the way I came, through the Garden Door. The officer removes my band and I keep walking.¡± She nods as I speak, her eyes wide, wary and perhaps even hopeful. ¡°It¡¯s ten miles to home.¡±


    ¡°Ten miles to home,¡± she echoes.


    Wishing for all the world I could go with her, I watch Gisa disappear beneath the blue awning. She¡¯s gotten me this far. Now it¡¯s my turn.

 Red Queen: Chapter 4

    <i>I¡¯ve done this a</i>thousand times before, watching the crowd like a wolf does a flock of sheep. Looking for the weak, the slow, the foolish. Only now, I am very much the prey. I might choose a swift who¡¯ll catch me in half a heartbeat, or worse, a whisper who could probably sense meing a mile away. Even the little telky girl can best me if things go south. So I will have to be faster than ever, smarter than ever, and worst of all,<i>luckier</i>than ever. It¡¯s maddening. Fortunately, no one pays attention to another Red servant, another insect wandering past the feet of gods.


    I head back to the square, arms hanging limp but ready at my sides. Normally this is my dance, walking through the most congested parts of a crowd, letting my hands catch purses and pockets like spiderwebs catching flies. I¡¯m not stupid enough to try that here. Instead, I follow the crowd around the square. Now I¡¯m not blinded by my fantastic surroundings but looking beyond them, to the cracks in the stone and the ck-uniformed Security officers in every shadow. The impossible Silver worldes into sharper focus. Silvers barely look at each other,<span id="page_34" title="34">and they<i>never</i>smile. The telky girl looks bored feeding her strange beast, and merchants don¡¯t even haggle. Only the Reds look alive, darting around the slow-moving men and women of a better life. Despite the heat, the sun, the bright banners, I have never seen a ce so cold.


    What concern me most are the ck video cameras hidden in the canopy or alleyways. There are only a few at home, at the Security outpost or in the arena, but they¡¯re all over the market. I can just hear them humming in firm reminder:<i>someone else is watching here</i>.


    The tide of the crowd takes me down the main avenue, past taverns and caf¨¦s. Silvers sit at an open-air bar, watching the crowd pass as they enjoy their morning drinks. Some watch video screens set into walls or hanging from archways. Each one ys something different, ranging from old arena matches to news to brightly colored programs I don¡¯t understand, all blending together in my head. The high whine of the screens, the distant sound of static, buzzes in my ears. How they can stand it, I don¡¯t know. But the Silvers don¡¯t even blink at the videos, almost ignoring them entirely.


    The Hall itself casts a glimmering shadow over me, and I find myself staring in stupid awe again. But then a droning noise snaps me out of it. At first it sounds like the arena tone, the one used to start a Feat, but this one is different. Low and heavier somehow. Without a thought, I turn to the noise.


    In the bar next to me, all the video screens flicker to the same broadcast. Not a royal address but a news report. Even the Silvers stop to watch in rapt silence. When the drone ends, the report begins. A fluffy blond woman, Silver no doubt, appears on the screen. She reads from a piece of paper and looks frightened.


    ¡°Silvers of Norta, we apologize for the interruption. Thirteen minutes ago there was a terrorist attack in the capital.¡±


    <span id="page_35" title="35">The Silvers around me gasp, bursting into fearful murmurs.


    I can only blink in disbelief. Terrorist attack? On the Silvers?


    <i>Is that even possible?</i>Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    ¡°This was an organized bombing of government buildings in West Archeon. ording to reports, the Royal Court, the Treasury Hall, and Whitefire Pce have been damaged, but the court and the treasury were not in session this morning.¡± The image changes from the woman to footage of a burning building. Security officers evacuate the people inside while nymphs st water onto the mes. Healers, marked by a ck-and-red cross on their arms, run to and fro among them. ¡°The royal family was not in residence at Whitefire, and there are no reported casualties at this time. King Tiberias is expected to address the nation within the hour.¡±


    A Silver next to me clenches his fist and pounds on the bar, sending spider cracks through the solid rock top.<i>A strongarm</i>. ¡°It¡¯s the Laknders! They¡¯re losing up north so they¡¯reing down south to scare us!¡± A few jeer with him, cursing the Laknds.


    ¡°We should wipe them out, push all the way through to Prairie!¡± another Silver echoes. Many cheer in agreement. It takes all my strength not to snap at these cowards who will never see the front lines or send their children to fight. Their Silver war is being paid for in Red blood.


    As more and more footage rolls, showing the marble facade of the courthouse explode into dust or a diamondss wall withstanding a fireball, part of me feels happy. The Silvers are not invincible. They have enemies, enemies who can hurt them, and for once, they aren¡¯t hiding behind a Red shield.


    The newscaster returns, paler than ever. Someone whispers to her offscreen and she shuffles through her notes, her hands shaking. ¡°It<span id="page_36" title="36">seems that an organization has taken responsibility for the Archeon bombing,¡± she says, stumbling a bit. The shouting men quiet quickly, eager to hear the words on-screen. ¡°A terrorist group calling themselves the Scarlet Guard released this video moments ago.¡±


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard?¡± ¡°Who the hell¡ª?¡± ¡°Some kind of trick¡ª?¡± and other confused questions rise around the bar. No one has heard of the Scarlet Guard before.


    <i>But I have</i>.


    That¡¯s what Farley called herself. Her and Will. But they are<i>smugglers</i>, both of them, not terrorists or bombers or whatever else the broadcast might say.<i>It¡¯s a coincidence, it can¡¯t be them</i>.


    On-screen, I¡¯m greeted by a terrible sight. A woman stands in front of a shaky camera, a scarlet bandanna tied around her face so only her golden hair and keen blue eyes shine out. She holds a gun in one hand, a tattered red g in another. And on her chest, there¡¯s a bronze badge in the shape of a torn-apart sun.


    ¡°We are the Scarlet Guard and we stand for the freedom and equality of all people¡ª,¡± the woman says. I recognize her voice.


    <i>Farley</i>.


    ¡°¡ªstarting with the Reds.¡±


    I don¡¯t need to be a genius to know that a bar full of angry, violent Silvers is thest ce a Red girl wants to be. But I can¡¯t move. I can¡¯t tear my eyes away from Farley¡¯s face.


    ¡°You believe you are the masters of the world, but your reign as kings and gods is at an end. Until you recognize us as<i>human</i>, as<i>equal</i>, the fight will be at your door. Not on a battlefield but in your cities. In your streets. In your homes. You don¡¯t see us, and so we are everywhere.¡± Her voice hums with authority and poise. ¡°And we will rise up, Red as the dawn.¡±


    <span id="page_37" title="37"><i>Red as the dawn</i>.


    The footage ends, cutting back to the ck-jawed blonde. Roars drown out the rest of the broadcast as Silvers around the bar find their voices. They scream about Farley, calling her a terrorist, a murderer, a Red devil. Before their eyes can fall on me, I back out into the street.


    But all down the avenue, from the square to the Hall, Silvers boil out from every bar and caf¨¦. I try to rip off the red band around my wrist, but the stupid thing holds firm. Other Reds disappear into alleys and doorways, trying to flee, and I¡¯m smart enough to follow. By the time I find an alleyway, the screaming starts.


    Against every instinct, I look over my shoulder to see a Red man being held up by the neck. He pleads with his Silver assant, begging. ¡°Please, I don¡¯t know, I don¡¯t know who the hell those people are!¡±


    ¡°What is the Scarlet Guard?¡± the Silver yells into his face. I recognize him as one of the nymphs who was ying with children not half an hour ago. ¡°Who are they?¡±


    Before the Red can answer, a spray of water pounds against him, stronger than falling hammers. The nymph raises a hand and the water rises up, sshing him again. Silvers surround the scene, jeering with glee, cheering him on. The Red sputters and gasps, trying to catch his breath. He proims his innocence with every spare second, but the water keepsing. The nymph, wide-eyed with hate, shows no signs of stopping. He pulls water from the fountains, from every ss, raining it down again and again.


    The nymph is drowning him.


    The blue awning is my beacon, guiding me through the panicked streets as I dodge Reds and Silvers alike. Usually chaos is my best friend, making my work as a thief that much easier. No one notices a missing coin<span id="page_38" title="38">purse when they¡¯re running from a mob. But Kilorn and two thousand crowns are no longer my top priority. I can only think about getting to Gisa and getting out of the city that will certainly be a prison.<i>If they close the gates</i>. . . I don¡¯t want to think about being stuck here, trapped behind ss with freedom just out of reach.


    Officers run back and forth in the street¡ªthey don¡¯t know what to do or who to protect. A few round up Reds, forcing them to their knees. They shiver and beg, repeating over and over that they don¡¯t know anything. I¡¯m willing to bet I¡¯m the only one in the entire city who had even<i>heard</i>of the Scarlet Guard before today.


    That sends a new stab of fear through me. If I¡¯m captured, if I tell them what little I know¡ªwhat will they do to my family? To Kilorn? To the Stilts?


    <i>They cannot catch me</i>.


    Using the stalls to hide, I run as fast as I can. The main street is a war zone, but I keep my eyes forward, on the blue awning beyond the square. I pass the jewelry store and slow. Just one piece could save Kilorn. But in the heartbeat it takes me to stop, a hail of ss scrapes my face. In the street, a telky has his eyes on me and takes aim again. I don¡¯t give him the chance and take off, sliding under curtains and stalls and outstretched arms until I get back to the square. Before I know it, water sloshes around my feet as I sprint through the fountain.


    A frothing blue wave knocks me sideways, into the churning water. It¡¯s not deep, no more than two feet to the bottom, but the water feels like lead. I can¡¯t move, I can¡¯t swim,<i>I can¡¯t breathe</i>. I can barely think. My mind can only scream<i>nymph</i>, and I remember the poor Red man on the avenue, drowning on his own two feet. My head smacks the stone bottom and I see stars,<i>sparks</i>, before my vision clears. Every inch of my skin feels electrified. The water shifts around me, normal again,<span id="page_39" title="39">and I break the surface of the fountain. Air screams back into my lungs, searing my throat and nose, but I don¡¯t care.<i>I¡¯m alive</i>.


    Small, strong hands grab me by the cor, trying to pull me from the fountain.<i>Gisa</i>. My feet push off the bottom and we tumble to the ground together.


    ¡°We have to go,¡± I yell, scrambling to my feet.


    Gisa is already running ahead of me, toward the Garden Door. ¡°Very perceptive of you!¡± she screams over her shoulder.


    I can¡¯t help but look back at the square as I follow her. The Silver mob pours in, searching through the stalls with the voracity of wolves. The few Reds left behind cower on the ground, begging for mercy. And in the fountain I just escaped from, a man with orange hair floats facedown.


    My body trembles, every nerve on fire as we push toward the gate. Gisa holds my hand, pulling us both through the crowd.


    ¡°Ten miles to home,¡± Gisa murmurs. ¡°Did you get what you needed?¡±


    The weight of my shamees crashing down as I shake my head. There was no time. I could barely get down the avenue before the report came through.<i>There was nothing I could do</i>.


    Gisa¡¯s face falls, folding into a tiny frown. ¡°We¡¯ll figure out something,¡± she says, her voice just as desperate as I feel.


    But the gate looms ahead, growing closer with every passing second. It fills me with dread. Once I pass through, once I leave, Kilorn will really be gone.


    And I think that¡¯s why she does it.


    Before I can stop her, grab her, or pull her away, Gisa¡¯s clever little hand slips into someone¡¯s bag. Not just any someone though, but an escaping Silver. A Silver with lead eyes, a hard nose, and square-set<span id="page_40" title="40">shoulders that scream ¡°don¡¯t mess with me.¡± Gisa might be an artist with a needle and thread, but she¡¯s no pickpocket. It takes all of a second for him to realize what¡¯s happening. And then someone grabs Gisa off the ground.


    It¡¯s the same Silver. There are<i>two</i>of them.<i>Twins?</i>


    ¡°Not a wise time to start picking Silver pockets,¡± the twins say in unison. And then there are three of them, four, five, six, surrounding us in the crowd.<i>Multiplying</i>.<i>He¡¯s a cloner</i>.


    They make my head spin. ¡°She didn¡¯t mean any harm, she¡¯s just a stupid kid¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just a stupid kid!¡± Gisa yells, trying to kick the one holding her.


    They chuckle together in a horrifying sound.


    I lunge at Gisa, trying to pry her away, but one of them pushes me back to the ground. The hard stone road knocks the air from my lungs, and I gasp for breath, watching helplessly as another twin puts a foot on my stomach, holding me down.


    ¡°Please¡ª,¡± I choke out, but no one¡¯s listening to me anymore. The whining in my head intensifies as every camera spins to look at us. I feel electrified again, this time by fear for my sister.


    A Security officer, the one who let us inside earlier this morning, strides over, his gun in hand. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± he growls, looking around at the identical Silvers.


    One by one, they meld back together, until only two remain: the one holding Gisa and the one pinning me to the ground.


    ¡°She¡¯s a thief,¡± one says, shaking my sister. To her credit, she doesn¡¯t scream.


    The officer recognizes her, his hard face twitching into a frown for a split second. ¡°You know thew, girl.¡±


    <span id="page_41" title="41">Gisa lowers her head. ¡°I know thew.¡±


    I struggle as much as I can, trying to stop what¡¯sing. ss shatters as a nearby screen cracks and shes, broken by the riot. It does nothing to stop the officer as he grabs my sister, pushing her to the ground.


    My own voice screams out, joining the din of the chaos. ¡°It was me! It was my idea! Hurt me!¡± But they don¡¯t listen. They don¡¯t care.


    I can only watch as the officerys my sister next to me. Her eyes are on mine as he brings the butt of his gun down, shattering the bones in her sewing hand.

 Red Queen: Chapter 5

    <i>Kilorn will find me</i>anywhere I try to hide, so I keep moving. I sprint like I can outrun what I¡¯ve done to Gisa, how I¡¯ve failed Kilorn, how I¡¯ve destroyed everything. But even I can¡¯t outrun the look in my mother¡¯s eyes when I brought Gisa to the door. I saw the hopeless shadow cross her face, and I ran before my father wheeled himself into view. I couldn¡¯t face them both.<i>I¡¯m a coward</i>.


    So I run until I can¡¯t think, until every bad memory fades away, until I can only feel the burning in my muscles. I even tell myself the tears on my cheeks are rain.


    When I finally slow to catch my breath, I¡¯m outside the vige, a few miles down that terrible northern road. Lights filter through the trees around the bend, illuminating an inn, one of the many on the old roads. It¡¯s crowded like it is every summer, full of servants and seasonal workers who follow the royal court. They don¡¯t live in the Stilts, they don¡¯t know my face, so they¡¯re easy prey for pickpocketing. I do it every summer, but Kilorn is always with me, smiling into a drink as he watches me work.<i>I don¡¯t suppose I¡¯ll see his smile for much longer</i>.


    <span id="page_43" title="43">A bellow ofughter rises as a few men stumble from the inn, drunk and happy. Their coin purses jingle, heavy with the day¡¯s pay.<i>Silver money</i>, for serving, smiling, and bowing to monsters dressed as lords.


    I caused so much harm today, so much hurt to the ones I love most. I should turn around and go home, to face everyone with at least some courage. But instead I settle against the shadows of the inn, content to remain in darkness.


    <i>I guess causing pain is all I¡¯m good for</i>.


    It doesn¡¯t take long to fill the pockets of my coat. The drunks filter out every few minutes and I press against them, pasting on a smile to hide my hands. No one notices, no one even cares, when I fade away again. I¡¯m a shadow, and no one remembers shadows.


    Midnightes and goes and still I stand, waiting. The moon overhead is a bright reminder of the time, of how long I¡¯ve been gone.<i>Onest pocket</i>, I tell myself.<i>One more and I¡¯ll go</i>. I¡¯ve been saying it for the past hour.


    I don¡¯t think when the next patrones out. His eyes are on the sky, and he doesn¡¯t notice me. It¡¯s too easy to reach out, too easy to hook a finger around the strings of his coin purse. I should know better by now that nothing here is easy, but the riot and Gisa¡¯s hollow eyes have made me foolish with grief.


    His hand closes around my wrist, his grip firm and strangely hot as he pulls me forward out of the shadows. I try to resist, to slip away and run, but he¡¯s too strong. When he spins, the fire in his eyes puts a fear in me, the same fear I felt this morning. But I wee any punishment he might summon. I deserve it all.


    ¡°Thief,¡± he says, a strange surprise in his voice.


    I blink at him, fighting the urge tough. I don¡¯t even have the strength to protest. ¡°Obviously.¡±


    <span id="page_44" title="44">He stares at me, scrutinizing everything from my face to my worn boots. It makes me squirm. After a long moment, he heaves a breath and lets me go. Stunned, I can only stare at him. When a silver coin spins through the air, I barely have the wits to catch it.<i>A tetrarch. A silver tetrarch worth one whole crown</i>. Far more than any of the stolen pennies in my pockets.Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    ¡°That should be more than enough to tide you over,¡± he says before I can respond. In the light of the inn, his eyes glint red-gold, the color of warmth. My years spent sizing people up do not fail me, even now. His ck hair is too glossy, his skin too pale to be anything but a servant. But his physique seems more like a woodcutter¡¯s, with broad shoulders and strong legs. He¡¯s young too, a little older than me, though not nearly as assured of himself as any neen- or twenty-year-old should be.


    I should kiss his boots for letting me go<i>and</i>giving me such a gift, but my curiosity gets the better of me. It always does.


    ¡°Why?¡± The wordes out hard and harsh. After a day like today, how can I be anything else?


    The question takes him aback and he shrugs. ¡°You need it more than I do.¡±


    I want to throw the coin back in his face, to tell him I can take care of myself, but part of me knows better.<i>Has today taught you nothing?</i>¡°Thank you,¡± I force out through gritted teeth.


    Somehow, heughs at my reluctant gratitude. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt yourself.¡± Then he shifts, taking a step closer.<i>He is the strangest person I¡¯ve ever met</i>. ¡°You live in the vige, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, gesturing to myself. With my faded hair, dirty clothes, and defeated eyes, what else could I be? He stands in stark contrast, his shirt fine and clean, and his shoes are soft, reflective leather.<span id="page_45" title="45">He shifts under my gaze, ying with his cor. I make him nervous.


    He pales in the moonlight, his eyes darting. ¡°Do you enjoy it?¡± he asks, deflecting. ¡°Living there?¡±


    His question almost makes meugh, but he doesn¡¯t look amused. ¡°Does anyone?¡± I finally respond, wondering what on earth he¡¯s ying at.


    But instead of retorting swiftly, snapping back like Kilorn would, he falls silent. A dark look crosses his face. ¡°Are you heading back?¡± he says suddenly, gesturing down the road.


    ¡°Why, scared of the dark?¡± I drawl, folding my arms across my chest. But in the pit of my stomach, I wonder if I should be afraid.<i>He¡¯s strong, he¡¯s fast, and you¡¯re all alone out here</i>.


    His smile returns, and thefort it gives me is unsettling. ¡°No, but I want to make sure you keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the night. Can¡¯t have you driving half the bar out of house and home, can we? I¡¯m Cal, by the way,¡± he adds, stretching out a hand to shake.


    I don¡¯t take it, remembering the zing heat of his skin. Instead, I set off down the road, my steps quick and quiet. ¡°Mare Barrow,¡± I tell him over my shoulder, and it doesn¡¯t take much for his long legs to catch up.


    ¡°So are you always this pleasant?¡± he prods, and for some reason, I feel very much like I¡¯m being examined. But the cold silver in my hand keeps me calm, reminding me of what else he has in his pockets.<i>Silver for Farley. How fitting</i>.


    ¡°The lords must pay well for you to carry whole crowns,¡± I retort, hoping to scare him off the topic. It works beautifully and he retreats.


    ¡°I have a good job,¡± he exins, trying to brush it off.


    ¡°That makes one of us.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    <span id="page_46" title="46">¡°Seventeen,¡± I finish for him. ¡°I still have some time before conscription.¡±


    He narrows his eyes, lips twisting into a grim line. Something hard creeps into his voice, sharpening his words. ¡°How much time?¡±


    ¡°Less every day.¡± Just saying it aloud makes my insides ache.<i>And Kilorn has even less than me</i>.


    His words die away and he¡¯s staring again, surveying me as we walk through the woods.<i>Thinking</i>. ¡°And there are no jobs,¡± he mutters, more to himself than me. ¡°No way for you to avoid conscription.¡±


    His confusion puzzles me. ¡°Maybe things are different where you¡¯re from.¡±


    ¡°So you steal.¡±


    <i>I steal</i>. ¡°It¡¯s the best I can do,¡± falls from my lips. Again, I remember that causing pain is all I¡¯m good for. ¡°My sister has a job though.¡± It slips out before I remember¡ª<i>No she doesn¡¯t. Not anymore. Because of you</i>.


    Cal watches me battle with the words, wondering whether or not to correct myself. It¡¯s all I can do to keep my face straight, to keep from breaking down entirely in front of aplete stranger. But he must see what I¡¯m trying to hide. ¡°Were you at the Hall today?¡± I think he already knows the answer. ¡°The riots were terrible.¡±


    ¡°They were.¡± I almost choke on the words.


    ¡°Did you . . . ,¡± he presses in the quietest, calmest way. It¡¯s like poking a hole in a dam, and it alles spilling out. I couldn¡¯t stop the words even if I wanted to.


    I don¡¯t mention Farley or the Scarlet Guard or even Kilorn. Just that my sister slipped me into Grand Garden, to help me steal the money we needed to survive. Then came Gisa¡¯s mistake, her injury, what it meant to us. What I¡¯ve done to my family. What I have been doing, disappointing my mother, embarrassing my father, stealing from the people<span id="page_47" title="47">I call mymunity. Here on the road with nothing but darkness around me, I tell a stranger how terrible I am. He doesn¡¯t ask questions, even when I don¡¯t make sense. He just listens.


    ¡°It¡¯s the best I can do,¡± I say again before my voice gives out entirely.


    Then silver shines in the corner of my eye. He¡¯s holding up another coin. In the moonlight, I can just see the outline of the king¡¯s ming crown stamped into the metal. When he presses it into my hand, I expect to feel his heat again, but he¡¯s gone cold.


    <i>I don¡¯t want your pity</i>, I feel like screaming, but that would be foolish. The coin will buy what Gisa no longer can.


    ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry for you, Mare. Things shouldn¡¯t be like this.¡±


    I can¡¯t even summon the strength to frown. ¡°There are worse lives to live. Don¡¯t feel sorry for me.¡±


    He leaves me at the edge of the vige, letting me walk through the stilt houses alone. Something about the mud and shadows makes Cal ufortable, and he disappears before I get a chance to look back and thank the strange servant.


    My home is quiet and dark, but even so, I shudder in fear. The morning seems a hundred years away, part of another life where I was stupid and selfish and maybe even a little bit happy. Now I have nothing but a conscripted friend and a sister¡¯s broken bones.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t worry your mother like that,¡± my father¡¯s voice rumbles at me from behind one of the stilt poles. I haven¡¯t seen him on the ground in more years than I care to remember.


    My voice squeaks in surprise and fear. ¡°Dad? What are you doing? How did you¡ª?¡± But he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, to the pulley rig dangling from the house. For the first time, he used it.


    ¡°Power went out. Thought I¡¯d give it a look,¡± he says, gruff as ever.<span id="page_48" title="48">He wheels past me, stopping in front of the utility box piped into the ground. Every house has one, regting the electric charge that keeps the lights on.


    Dad wheezes to himself, his chest clicking with each breath. Maybe Gisa will be like him now, her hand a metallic mess, her brain torn and bitter with the thought of what could have been.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just<i>use</i>the ¡¯lec papers I get you?¡±


    In response, Dad pulls a ration paper from his shirt and feeds it into the box. Normally, the thing would spark to life, but nothing happens.<i>Broken</i>.


    ¡°No use,¡± Dad sighs, sitting back in his chair. We both stare at the utility box, at a loss for words, not wanting to move, not wanting to go back upstairs. Dad ran just like I did, unable to stay in the house, where Mom was surely crying over Gisa, weeping for lost dreams, while my sister tried not to join her.


    He bats the box like hitting the damn thing can suddenly bring light and warmth and hope back to us. His actions be more harried, more desperate, and anger radiates from him. Not at me or Gisa but the world. Long ago he called us ants, Red ants burning in the light of a Silver sun. Destroyed by the greatness of others, losing the battle for our right to exist because we are not<i>special</i>. We did not evolve like them, with powers and strengths beyond our limited imaginations. We stayed the same, stagnant in our own bodies.<i>The world changed around us and we stayed the same</i>.


    Then the anger is in me too, cursing Farley, Kilorn, conscription, every little thing I can think of. The metal box is cool to the touch, having long lost the heat of electricity. But there are vibrations still, deep in the mechanism, waiting to be switched back on. I lose myself in trying to find the electricity, to bring it back and prove that even one<span id="page_49" title="49">small thing can go right in a world so wrong. Something sharp meets my fingertips, making my body jolt. An exposed wire or faulty switch, I tell myself. It feels like a pinprick, like a needle spiking in my nerves, but the pain never follows.


    Above us, the porch light hums to life.


    ¡°Well, fancy that,¡± Dad mutters.


    He spins in the mud, wheeling himself back to the pulley. I follow quietly, not wanting to bring up the reason we are both so afraid of the ce we call home.


    ¡°No more running,¡± he breathes, buckling himself into the rig.


    ¡°No more running,¡± I agree, more for myself than him.


    The rig whines with the strain, hoisting him up to the porch. I¡¯m quicker on thedder, so I wait for him at the top, then wordlessly help detach him from the rig. ¡°Bugger of a thing,¡± Dad grumbles when we finally unsnap thest buckle.


    ¡°Mom will be happy you¡¯re getting out of the house.¡±


    He looks up at me sharply, grabbing my hand. Though Dad barely works now, repairing trinkets and whittling for kids, his hands are still rough and callused, like he just returned from the front lines.<i>The war never leaves</i>.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell your mother.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know it seems like nothing, but it¡¯s enough of something. She¡¯ll think it¡¯s a small step on a big journey, you see? First I leave the house at night, then during the day, then I¡¯m rolling around the market with her like it¡¯s twenty years ago. Then things go back to the way they were.¡± His eyes darken as he speaks, fighting to keep his voice low and level. ¡°I¡¯m never getting better, Mare. I¡¯m never going to<i>feel</i>better. I can¡¯t let her hope for that, not when I know it¡¯ll never happen. Do you understand?¡±


    <span id="page_50" title="50"><i>All too well, Dad</i>.


    He knows what hope has done to me and softens. ¡°I wish things were different.¡±


    ¡°We all do.¡±


    Despite the shadows, I can see Gisa¡¯s broken hand when I get up to the loft. Normally she sleeps in a ball, curled up under a thin nket, but now she lies on her back, with her injury elevated on a pile of clothes. Mom reset her splint, improving my meager attempt to help, and the bandages are fresh. I don¡¯t need light to know her poor hand is ck with bruises. She sleeps restlessly, her body tossing, but her arm stays still. Even in sleep, it hurts her.


    I want to reach out to her, but how can I make up for the terrible events of the day?


    I pull out Shade¡¯s letter from the little box where I keep all his correspondences. If nothing else, this will calm me down. His jokes, his words, his<i>voice</i>trapped in the page always soothe me. But as I scan the letter again, a sense of dread pools in my stomach.


    ¡°<i>Red as the dawn</i>. . .¡± the letter reads. There it is, in as the nose on my face. Farley¡¯s words from her video, the Scarlet Guard¡¯s rallying cry, in my brother¡¯s handwriting. The phrase is too strange to ignore, too unique to brush off. And the next sentence, ¡°<i>see the sun rise stronger</i>. . .¡± My brother is smart but practical. He doesn¡¯t care about sunrises or dawns or witty turns of phrase.<i>Rise</i>echoes in me, but instead of Farley¡¯s voice in my head, it¡¯s my brother speaking.<i>Rise, red as the dawn</i>.


    Somehow, Shade knew. Many weeks ago, before the bombing, before Farley¡¯s broadcast, Shade knew about the Scarlet Guard and tried to tell us.<i>Why?</i>


    <i>Because he¡¯s one of them</i>.

 Red Queen: Chapter 6

    <i>When the door bangs</i>open at dawn, I¡¯m not frightened. Security searches are normal, though we usually only get one or two a year. This will be the third.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Gee,¡± I mutter, helping her out of her cot and down thedder. She moves precariously, leaning on her good arm, and Mom waits for us on the floor. Her arms close around Gisa, but her eyes are on me. To my surprise, she doesn¡¯t look angry or even disappointed with me. Instead, her gaze is soft.


    Two officers wait by the door, their guns hanging by their sides. I recognize them from the vige outpost, but there¡¯s another figure, a young woman in red with a triple-colored crown badge over her heart.<i>A royal servant, a Red who serves the king</i>, I realize, and I begin to understand. This is not a usual search.


    ¡°We submit to search and seizure,¡± my father grumbles, speaking the words he must every time this happens. But instead of splitting off to paw through our house, the Security officers stand firm.


    The young woman steps forward and, to my horror, addresses me.<span id="page_52" title="52">¡°Mare Barrow, you have been summoned to Summerton.¡±


    Gisa¡¯s good hand closes around mine, like she can hold me back. ¡°W-What?¡± I manage to stammer.


    ¡°You have been summoned to Summerton,¡± she repeats, and gestures to the door. ¡°We will escort you. Please proceed.¡±


    A summons. For a Red. Never in my life have I heard of such a thing. So why me? What have I done to deserve this?


    On second thought, I¡¯m a criminal and probably considered a terrorist due to my association with Farley. My body prickles with nerves, every muscle taut and ready. I¡¯ll have to run, even though the officers block the door.<i>It¡¯ll be a miracle if I make it to a window</i>.


    ¡°Calm down, everything¡¯s settled after yesterday.¡± She chuckles, mistaking my fear. ¡°The Hall and the market are well controlled now.<i>Please proceed</i>.¡± To my surprise, she smiles, even as the Security officers clench their guns. It puts a chill in my blood.


    To refuse Security, to refuse a<i>royal summons</i>, would mean death¡ªand not just for me. ¡°Okay,¡± I mumble, untangling my hand from Gisa¡¯s. She moves to grab on to me, but our mother pulls her back. ¡°I¡¯ll see youter?¡±


    The question hangs in the air, and I feel Dad¡¯s warm hand brush my arm.<i>He¡¯s saying good-bye</i>. Mom¡¯s eyes swim with unshed tears, and Gisa¡¯s trying not to blink, to remember everyst second of me.<i>I don¡¯t even have something I can leave her</i>. But before I can linger or let myself cry, an officer takes me by the arm and pulls me away.


    The words force themselves past my lips, though theye out as barely more than a whisper. ¡°I love you.¡±


    And then the door ms behind me, shutting me out of my home and my life.


    They hasten me through the vige, down the road to the market<span id="page_53" title="53">square. We pass by Kilorn¡¯s run-down house. Usually he¡¯s awake by now, halfway to the river to start the day early when it¡¯s still cool, but those days are gone. Now I bet he sleeps through half the day, enjoying what littleforts he can before conscription. Part of me wants to yell good-bye to him, but I don¡¯t. He¡¯lle sniffing around for meter, and Gisa will tell him everything. With a silentugh I remember that Farley will be expecting me today, with a fortune in payment. She¡¯ll be disappointed.


    In the square, a gleaming ck transport waits for us. Four wheels, ss windows, rounded to the ground¡ªit looks like a beast ready to consume me. Another officer sits at the controls and guns the engine when we approach, spitting ck smoke into the early-morning air. I¡¯m forced into the back without a word, and the servant barely slides in next to me before the transport takes off, racing down the road at speeds I had never even imagined.<i>This will be my first¡ªandst¡ªtime riding in one</i>.


    I want to speak, to ask what¡¯s going on, how they¡¯re going to punish me for my crimes, but I know my words will fall on deaf ears. So I stare out the window, watching the vige disappear as we enter the forest, racing down the familiar northern road. It¡¯s not so crowded as yesterday, and Security officers dot the way.<i>The Hall is controlled</i>, the servant had said. I suppose this is what she meant.


    The diamondss wall shines ahead, reflecting the sun as it rises from the woods. I want to squint, but I keep myself still. I must keep my eyes open here.N?velDrama.Org ? 2024.


    The gate crawls with ck uniforms, all Security officers checking and rechecking travelers as they enter. When we coast to a stop, the serving woman pulls me out of the transport and past the line and through the gate. No one protests, or even bothers to check for IDs. She must be familiar here.


    <span id="page_54" title="54">Once we¡¯re inside, she nces back at me. ¡°I¡¯m Ann, by the way, but we mostly go byst names. Call me Walsh.¡±


    <i>Walsh</i>. The name sounds familiar. Paired with her faded hair and tanned skin, it can mean only one thing. ¡°You¡¯re from . . . ?¡±


    ¡°The Stilts, same as you. I knew your brother Tramy, and I wish I didn¡¯t know Bree. A real heartbreaker, that one.¡± Bree had a reputation around the vige before he left. He told me once that he didn¡¯t fear conscription as much as everyone else because the dozen bloodthirsty girls he was leaving behind were far more dangerous. ¡°I don¡¯t know you though. But I certainly will.¡±


    I can¡¯t help but bristle. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean you¡¯re going to be working long hours here. I don¡¯t know who hired you or what they told you about the job, but it starts to wear on you. It¡¯s not all changing bedsheets and cleaning tes. You have to look without seeing, hear without listening. We¡¯re objects up there, living statues meant to serve.¡± She sighs to herself and turns, wrenching open a door built right into the side of the gate. ¡°Especially now, with this Scarlet Guard business. It¡¯s never a good time to be a Red, but this is very bad.¡±


    She steps through the door, seemingly into the solid wall. It takes me a moment to realize she¡¯s going down a flight of stairs, disappearing into semidarkness.


    ¡°The job?¡± I press. ¡°What job? What is this?¡±


    She turns on the stairs, all but rolling her eyes at me. ¡°You¡¯ve been summoned to fill a serving post,¡± she says like it¡¯s the most obvious thing in the world.


    <i>Working. A job</i>. I almost fall over at the thought.


    <i>Cal</i>. He said he had a good job¡ªand now he¡¯s pulled some strings to do the same for me. I might even be working with him. My heart<span id="page_55" title="55">leaps at the prospect, knowing what this means.<i>I¡¯m not going to die, I¡¯m not even going to fight. I¡¯m going to work and I¡¯m going to live. Andter, when I find Cal, I can convince him to do the same for Kilorn</i>.


    ¡°Keep up, I don¡¯t have time to hold your hand!¡±


    Scrambling after her, I descend into a surprisingly dark tunnel. Small lights glow on the walls, making it just possible to see. Pipes run overhead, humming with running water and electricity.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I finally breathe.


    I can almost hear Walsh¡¯s dismay as she turns to me, confused. ¡°The Hall of the Sun, of course.¡±


    For a second, I think I can feel my heart stop. ¡°Wha-what? The pce, the actual pce?¡±


    She taps the badge on her uniform. The crown winks in the low light.


    ¡°You serve the king now.¡±


    They have a uniform ready for me, but I barely notice it. I¡¯m too amazed by my surroundings, the tan stone and glittering mosaic floor of this forgotten hall in the house of a king. Other servants bustle past in a parade of red uniforms. I search their faces, looking for Cal, wanting to thank him, but he never appears.


    Walsh stays by me, whispering advice. ¡°Say nothing. Hear nothing. Speak to no one, for they will not speak to you.¡±


    I can hardly keep the words straight; thest two days have been a ruin on my heart and soul. I think life has simply decided to open the floodgates, trying to drown me in a whirlwind of twists and turns.


    ¡°You came on a busy day, perhaps the worst we will ever see.¡±


    ¡°I saw the boats and airships¡ªSilvers have been going upriver for weeks,¡± I say. ¡°More than usual, even for this time of year.¡±


    <span id="page_56" title="56">Walsh hurries me along, pushing a tray of glittering cups into my hands. Surely these things can buy my freedom and Kilorn¡¯s, but the Hall is guarded at every door and window. I could never slip by so many officers, even with all my skills.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening today?¡± I dumbly ask. A lock of my dark hair falls in my eyes, and before I can try to swish it away, Walsh pushes the hair back and fastens it with a tiny pin, her motions quick and precise. ¡°Is that a stupid question?¡±


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t know about it either, not until we started preparing. After all, they haven¡¯t had one for twenty years, since Queen ra was selected.¡± She speaks so fast her words almost blur together. ¡°Today is Queenstrial. The daughters of the High Houses, the great Silver families, have alle to offer themselves to the prince. There¡¯s a big feast tonight, but now they¡¯re in the Spiral Garden, preparing to present, hoping to be chosen. One of those girls gets to be the next queen, and they¡¯re pping each other silly for the chance.¡±


    An image of a bunch of peacocks shes in my head. ¡°So, what, they do a spin, say a few words, bat their eyshes?¡±


    But Walsh snorts at me, shaking her head. ¡°Hardly.¡± Then her eyes glitter. ¡°You¡¯re on serving duty, so you¡¯ll get to see for yourself.¡±


    The doors loom ahead, made of carved wood and flowing ss. A servant props them open, allowing the line of red uniforms to move through. And then it¡¯s my turn.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t youing?¡± I can hear the desperation in my voice, almost begging Walsh to stay with me. But she backs away, leaving me alone. Before I can hold up the line or otherwise ruin the organized assembly of servants, I force myself forward and out into the sunlight of what she called the Spiral Garden.


    At first I think I¡¯m in the middle of another arena like the one back<span id="page_57" title="57">home. The space curves downward into an immense bowl, but instead of stone benches, tables and plush chairs crowd the spiral of terraces. nts and fountains trickle down the steps, dividing the terraces into boxes. They join at the bottom, decorating a grassy circle ringed with stone statues. Ahead of me is a boxed area dripping with red and ck silk. Four seats, each one made of unforgiving iron, look down on the floor.


    <i>What in hell is this ce?</i>


    My work goes by in a blur, following the lead of the other Reds. I¡¯m a kitchen server, meant to clean, aid the cooks, and currently, prepare the arena for the uing event. Why the royals need an arena, I¡¯m not sure. Back home they are only used for Feats, to watch Silver against Silver, but what could it mean here? This is a pce. Blood will never stain these floors. Yet the not-arena fills me with a dreadful feeling of foreboding. The prickling sensation returns, pulsing under my skin in waves. By the time I finish and return to the servant entrance, Queenstrial is about to begin.


    The other servants make themselves scarce, moving to an elevated tform surrounded by sheer curtains. I scramble after them and bump into line, just as another set of doors opens, directly between the royal box and the servants¡¯ entrance.


    <i>It¡¯s starting</i>.


    My mind shes back to Grand Garden, to the beautiful, cruel creatures calling themselves human. All shy and vain, with hard eyes and worse tempers. These Silvers, the High Houses, as Walsh calls them, will be no different.<i>They might even be worse</i>.


    They enter as a crowd, in a flock of colors that splits around the Spiral Garden with cold grace. The different families, or houses, are easy to spot; they all wear the same colors as each other. Purple, green,<span id="page_58" title="58">ck, yellow, a rainbow of shades moving toward their family boxes. I quickly lose count of them all.<i>Just how many houses are there?</i>More and more join the crowd, some stopping to talk, others embracing with stiff arms. This is a<i>party</i>for them, I realize. Most probably have little hope to put forth a queen and this is just a vacation.


    But a few don¡¯t look to be in the celebrating mood. A silver-haired family in ck silk sits in focused silence to the right of the king¡¯s box. The patriarch of the house has a pointed beard and ck eyes. Farther down, a house of navy blue and white mutter together. To my surprise, I recognize one of them. Samson Merandus, the whisper I saw in the arena a few days ago. Unlike the others, he stares darkly at the floor, his attention elsewhere. I make a note to myself not to run into him or his deadly abilities.


    Strangely, though, I don¡¯t see any girls of age to marry a prince. Perhaps they¡¯re preparing elsewhere, eagerly awaiting their chance to win a crown.


    asionally, someone presses a square metal button on their table to flick on a light, indicating they require a servant. Whoever¡¯s closest to the door attends to them, and the rest of us shuffle along, waiting for our turn to serve. Of course, the second I move next to the door, the wretched ck-eyed patriarch ps the button on his table.


    Thank heavens for my feet, which have never failed me. I nearly skip through the crowd, dancing between roving bodies as my heart hammers in my chest. Instead of stealing from these people, I mean to serve them. The Mare Barrow ofst week wouldn¡¯t know whether tough or cry at this version of herself.<i>But she was a foolish girl, and now I pay the price</i>.


    ¡°Sir?¡± I say, facing the patriarch who had called for service. In my head, I curse at myself.<i>Say nothing</i>is the first rule, and I have already broken it.


    <span id="page_59" title="59">But he doesn¡¯t seem to notice and simply holds up his empty water ss, a bored look on his face. ¡°They¡¯re toying with us, Ptolemus,¡± he grumbles to the muscled young man next to him. I assume he is the one unfortunate enough to be called Ptolemus.


    ¡°A demonstration of power, Father,¡± Ptolemus replies, draining his own ss. He holds it out to me, and I take it without hesitation. ¡°They make us wait because they can.¡±


    <i>They</i>are the royals who have yet to make an appearance. But to hear these Silvers discuss them so, with such disdain, is perplexing. We Reds insult the king and the nobles if we can get away with it, but I think that¡¯s our prerogative. These people have never suffered a day in their lives. What problems could they possibly have with each other?


    I want to stay and listen, but even I know that¡¯s against the rules. I turn around, climbing a flight of steps out of their box. There¡¯s a sink hidden behind some brightly colored flowers, probably so I don¡¯t have to go all the way back around the not-arena to refill their drinks. That¡¯s when a metallic, sharp tone reverberates through the space, much like the one at the beginning of the First Friday Feats. It chirps a few times, sounding out a proud melody, heralding what must be the entrance of the king. All around, the High Houses rise to their feet, begrudgingly or not. I notice Ptolemus mutter something to his father again.


    From my vantage point, hidden behind the flowers, I¡¯m level with the king¡¯s box and slightly behind it. Mare Barrow, a few yards from the king. What would my family think, or Kilorn for that matter? This man sends us to die, and I¡¯ve willingly be his servant. It makes me sick.


    He enters briskly, shoulders set and straight. Even from behind, he¡¯s much fatter than he looks on the coins and broadcasts, but also taller. His uniform is ck and red, with a military cut, though I doubt he¡¯s<span id="page_60" title="60">ever spent a single day in the trenches Reds die in. Badges and medals glitter on his breast, a testament to things he¡¯s never done. He even wears a gilded sword despite the many guards around him. The crown on his head is familiar, made of twisted red gold and ck iron, each point a burst of curling me. It seems to burn against his inky ck hair flecked with gray. How fitting, for the king is a burner, as was his father, and his father before him, and so on. Destructive, powerful controllers of heat and fire. Once, our kings used to burn dissenters with nothing more than a ming touch. This king might not burn Reds anymore, but he still kills us with war and ruin. His name is one I¡¯ve known since I was a little girl sitting in the schoolroom, still eager to learn, as if it could get me somewhere.<i>Tiberias Calore the Sixth, King of Norta, me of the North</i>. A mouthful if there ever was one. I would spit on his name if I could.


    The queen follows him, nodding at the crowd. Whereas the king¡¯s clothes are dark and severely cut, her navy and white garb is airy and light. She bows only to Samson¡¯s house, and I realize she¡¯s wearing the same colors as them. She must be their kin, judging by the family resemnce. Same ash-blond hair, blue eyes, and pointed smile, making her look like a wild, predatory cat.


    As intimidating as the royals seem, they¡¯re nothingpared to the guards who follow them. Even though I¡¯m a Red born in mud, I know who they are. Everyone knows what a Sentinel looks like, because no one wants to meet them. They nk the king in every broadcast, at every speech or decree. As always, their uniforms look like me, flickering between red and orange, and their eyes glitter behind fearsome ck masks. Each one carries a ck rifle tipped with a gleaming silver bay that could cut bone. Their skills are even more frightening than their appearances¡ªelite warriors from different<span id="page_61" title="61">Silver houses, trained from childhood, sworn to the king and his family for their entire lives. They¡¯re enough to make me shiver. But the High Houses aren¡¯t afraid at all.


    Somewhere deep in the boxes, the yelling starts. ¡°Death to the Scarlet Guard!¡± someone shouts, and others quickly chime in. A chill goes through me as I remember the events of yesterday, now so far away. How quickly this crowd could turn. . . .


    The king looks ruffled, paling at the noise. He¡¯s not used to outbursts like this and almost snarls at the shouts.


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard¡ªand all our enemies¡ªare being dealt with!¡± Tiberias rumbles, his voice echoing out among the crowd. It silences them like the crack of a whip. ¡°But that is not what we are here to address. Today we honor tradition, and no Red devil will impede that. Now is the rite of Queenstrial, to bring forth the most talented daughter to wed the most noble son. In this we find strength, to bind the High Houses, and power, to ensure Silver rule until the end of days, to defeat our enemies, on the borders, and within them.¡±


    ¡°Strength,¡± the crowd rumbles back at him. It¡¯s frightening. ¡°Power.¡±


    ¡°The time hase again to uphold this ideal, and both my sons honor our most solemn custom.¡± He waves a hand, and two figures step forward, nking their father. I cannot see their faces, but both are tall and ck-haired, like the king. They too wear military uniforms. ¡°The Prince Maven, of House Calore and Merandus, son of my royal wife, the Queen ra.¡±


    The second prince, paler and slighter than the other, raises a hand in stern greeting. He turns left and right, and I catch a glimpse of his face. Though he has a regal, serious look to him, he can¡¯t be more than seventeen. Sharp-featured and blue-eyed, he could freeze fire with his<span id="page_62" title="62">smile¡ªhe despises this pageantry. I have to agree with him.


    ¡°And the crown prince of House Calore and Jacos, son of myte wife, the Queen Coriane, heir to the Kingdom of Norta and the Burning Crown, Tiberias the Seventh.¡±


    I¡¯m too busyughing at the sheer absurdity of the name to notice the young man waving and smiling. Finally I raise my eyes, just to say I was this close to the future king. But I get much more than I bargained for.


    The ss goblets in my hands drop,nding harmlessly in the sink of water.


    I know that smile, and I know those eyes. They burned into mine onlyst night. He got me this job; he saved me from conscription. He was one of us.<i>How can this be?</i>


    And then he turns fully, waving all around. There¡¯s no mistaking it.


    <i>The crown prince is Cal</i>.

 Red Queen: Chapter 7

    <i>I return to the</i>servants¡¯ tform, a hollow feeling in my stomach. Whatever happiness I felt before ispletely gone. I can¡¯t bring myself to look back, to see him standing there in fine clothes, dripping with ribbons and medals and the royal airs I hate. Like Walsh, he bears the badge of the ming crown, but his is made of dark jet, diamond, and ruby. It winks against the hard ck of his uniform. Gone are the drab clothes he worest night, used to blend in with peasants like me. Now he looks every inch a future king, Silver to the bone. To think I trusted him.


    The other servants make way, letting me shuffle to the back of the line while my head spins. He got me this job, he<i>saved</i>me, saved my family¡ªand he is one of them. Worse than one of them. A prince.<i>The</i>prince. The person everyone in this spiral stone monstrosity is here to see.


    ¡°All of you havee to honor my son and the kingdom, and so I honor you,¡± King Tiberias booms, breaking apart my thoughts as if they were ss. He raises his arms, gesturing to the many boxes of<span id="page_64" title="64">people. Though I try my hardest to keep my eyes on the king, I can¡¯t help but nce at Cal. He¡¯s smiling, but it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes.


    ¡°I honor your right to rule. The future king, the son of my son, will be of your silverblood, as he will be of mine. Who will im their right?¡±


    The silver-haired patriarch barks out in response. ¡°I im Queenstrial!¡±


    All over the spiral, the leaders of the different houses shout in unison. ¡°I im Queenstrial!¡± they echo, upholding some tradition I don¡¯t understand.


    Tiberias smiles and nods. ¡°Then it has begun. Lord Provos, if you would.¡±


    The king turns on the spot, looking toward what I assume is House Provos. The rest of the spiral follow his gaze, their eyesnding on a family dressed in gold striped with ck. An older man, his gray hair shot with streaks of white, steps forward. In his strange clothes he looks like a wasp about to sting. When he twitches his hand, I don¡¯t know what to expect.


    Suddenly, the tform lurches, moving sideways. I can¡¯t help but jump, almost knocking into the servant next to me, as we slide along an unseen track. My heart rises in my throat as I watch the rest of the Spiral Garden spin. Lord Provos is a<i>telky</i>, moving the structure along prebuilt tracks with nothing but the power of his mind.Exclusive ? content by N(?)ve/l/Drama.Org.


    The entire structure twists under hismand, until the garden floor widens into a huge circle. The lower terraces pull back, aligning with the upper levels, and the spiral bes a massive cylinder open to the sky. As the terraces move, the floor lowers, until it stops nearly twenty feet below the lowest box. The fountains turn into waterfalls, spilling from the top of the cylinder to the bottom, where they fill<span id="page_65" title="65">deep, narrow pools. Our tform glides to a stop above the king¡¯s box, allowing us a perfect view of everything, including the floor far below. All this takes less than a minute, with Lord Provos transforming the Spiral Garden into something much more sinister.


    But when Provos takes his seat again, the change is still not done. The hum of electricity rises until it crackles all around, making the hairs on my arms stand up. A purple-white light zes near the floor of the garden, sparking with energy from tiny, unseen points in the stone. No Silver stands up tomand it, like Provos did with an arena. I realize why. This is not some Silver¡¯s doing but a wonder of technology, of electricity.<i>Lightning without thunder</i>. The beams of light crisscross and intersect, weaving themselves into a brilliant, blinding. Just looking at it hurts my eyes, sending sharp daggers of pain through my head. How the others can stand it, I have no idea.


    The Silvers look impressed, intrigued with something they can¡¯t control. As for us Reds, we gape inplete awe.


    The crystallizes as the electricity expands and veins. And then, as suddenly as it came, the noise stops. The lightning freezes, solidifying in midair, creating a clear, purple shield between the floor and us. Between us and<i>whatever</i>might appear down there.


    My mind runs wild, wondering what could require a shield made of lightning. Not a bear or a pack of wolves or any of the rare beasts of the forest. Even the creatures of myth, great cats or sea sharks or dragons, would pose no harm to the many Silvers above. And why would there be beasts at Queenstrial? This is supposed to be a ceremony to choose queens, not fight monsters.


    As if answering me, the ground in the circle of statues, now the small center of the cylinder floor, opens wide. Without thinking, I push forward, hoping to get a better look with my own eyes. The rest<span id="page_66" title="66">of the servants crowd with me, trying to see what horrors this chamber can bring forth.


    The smallest girl I¡¯ve ever seen rises out of darkness.


    Cheers rise as a house in brown silk and red gemstones apuds their daughter.


    ¡°Rohr, of House Rhambos,¡± the family shouts, announcing her to the world.


    The girl, no more than fourteen, smiles up at her family. She¡¯s tiny inparison to the statues, but her hands are strangelyrge. The rest of her looks liable to blow away in a strong breeze. She takes a turn about the ring of statues, always smiling upward. Her gazends on Cal¡ªI mean the prince¡ªtrying to entice him with her doe eyes or the asional flip of honey-blond hair. In short, she looks foolish. Until she approaches a solid stone statue and sloughs its head off with a single, simple p.


    House Rhambos speaks again. ¡°Strongarm.¡±


    Below us, little Rohr destroys the floor in a whirlwind, turning statues into pulverized piles of dust while she cracks the ground beneath her feet. She¡¯s like an earthquake in tiny human form, breaking apart anything and everything in her way.


    So this is a pageant.


    A violent one, meant to showcase a girl¡¯s beauty, splendor¡ªand strength.<i>The most talented daughter</i>. This is a disy of power, to pair the prince with the most powerful girl, so that their children might be the strongest of all. And this has been going on for hundreds of years.


    I shudder to think of the strength in Cal¡¯s pinkie finger.


    He ps politely as the Rhambos girl finishes her disy of organized destruction and steps back onto the descending tform. House Rhambos cheers for her as she disappears.


    <span id="page_67" title="67">Nextes Heron of House Welle, the daughter of my own governor. She¡¯s tall, with a face like her bird namesake. The destroyed earth shifts around her as she puts the floor back together. ¡°Greenwarden,¡± her family chants.<i>A greeny</i>. At hermand, trees grow tall in the blink of an eye, their tops scraping against the lightning shield. It sparks where the boughs touch, setting fire to the fresh leaves. The next girl, a nymph of House Osanos, rises to the asion. Using the waterfall fountains, she douses the contained forest fire in a hurricane of whitewater, leaving only charred trees and scorched earth.


    This goes on for what feels like hours. Each girl rises up to show her worth, and each one finds a more destroyed arena, but they¡¯re trained to deal with anything. They range in age and appearance, but they are all dazzling. One girl, barely twelve years old, explodes everything she touches like some kind of walking bomb. ¡°<i>Oblivion</i>,¡± her family shouts, describing her power. As she obliterates thest of the white statues, the lightning shield holds firm. It hisses against her fire, and the noise shrieks in my ears.


    The electricity, the Silvers, and the shouts blur in my head as I watch nymphs and greenys, swifts, strongarms, telkies, and what seems like a hundred other kinds of Silver show off beneath the shield. Things I never dreamed possible happen before my eyes, as girls turn their skin to stone or scream apart walls of ss. The Silvers are greater and stronger than I ever feared, with powers I never even knew existed. How can these people be real?


    <i>I¡¯vee all this way and suddenly I¡¯m back in the arena, watching Silvers disy everything we are not</i>.


    I want to marvel in awe as a creature-controlling animos calls down a thousand doves from the sky. When birds dive headfirst into the lightning shield, bursting in little clouds of blood, feathers, and deadly<span id="page_68" title="68">electricity, my awe turns to disgust. The shield sparks again, burning up what¡¯s left of the birds until it shines like new. I almost retch at the sound of apuse when the cold-blooded animos sinks back into the floor.


    Another girl, hopefully thest, rises into an arena now reduced to dust.


    ¡°Evangeline, of House Samos,¡± yells the patriarch of the silver-haired family. He speaks alone, and his voice echoes across the Spiral Garden.


    From my vantage point, I notice the king and queen sit up a bit straighter. Evangeline already has their attention. In stark contrast, Cal looks down at his hands.


    While the other girls wore silk dresses and a few had strange, gilded armor, Evangeline rises in an outfit of ck leather. Jacket, pants, boots, all studded with hard silver. No, not silver. Iron. Silver is not so dull or hard. Her house cheers for her, all of them on their feet. She belongs to Ptolemus and the patriarch, but others cheer too, other families. They want her to be queen.<i>She is the favorite</i>. She salutes, two fingers to her brow, first to her family and then to the king¡¯s box. They return the gesture, tantly favoring this Evangeline.


    Maybe this is more like the Feats than I realized. Except instead of showing the Reds where we stand, this is the king showing his subjects, powerful as they are, where<i>they</i>stand.<i>A hierarchy within the hierarchy</i>.


    I¡¯ve been so preupied with the trials that I almost don¡¯t notice when it¡¯s my turn to serve again. Before anyone can nudge me in the right direction, I set off to the right box, barely hearing the Samos patriarch speak. ¡°Maron,¡± I think he says, but I have no idea what it means.


    I move through the narrow corridors that were once open<span id="page_69" title="69">walkways, down to the Silvers requiring service. The box is at the bottom, but I¡¯m quick and take almost no time getting down to them. I find a particrly fat n dressed in garish yellow silk and awful feathers, all enjoying a massive cake. tes and empty cups litter the box, and I get to work cleaning them up, my hands quick and practiced. A video screen res inside the box, disying Evangeline, who seems to be standing still down on the floor.


    ¡°What a farce this is,¡± one of the fat yellow birds grumbles as he stuffs his face. ¡°The Samos girl has already won.¡±


    <i>Strange. She seems to be the weakest of all</i>.


    I pile the tes but keep my eyes on the screen, watching her prowl across the wasted floor. It doesn¡¯t seem like there¡¯s anything for her to work with, to show what she can do, but she doesn¡¯t seem to mind. Her smirk is terrible, like she¡¯s totally convinced of her own magnificence.<i>She doesn¡¯t look magnificent to me</i>.


    Then the iron studs on her jacket move. They float in the air, each one a hard round bullet of metal. Then, like shots from a gun, they rocket away from Evangeline, digging into the dust and the walls and even the lightning shield.


    <i>She can control metal</i>.


    Several boxes apud for her, but she¡¯s far from finished. Groans and nks echo up to us from somewhere deep down in the structure of the Spiral Garden. Even the fat family stops eating to look around, perplexed. They are confused and intrigued, but I can feel the vibrations deep beneath my feet. I know to be afraid.


    With an earth-shattering noise, metal pipes splinter the floor of the arena, rising up from far below. They burst through the walls, surrounding Evangeline in a twisted crown of gray and silver metal. She looks like she¡¯sughing, but the deafening crunch of metal drowns her<span id="page_70" title="70">out. Sparks fall from the lightning shield, and she protects herself with scrap, not even breaking a sweat. Finally she lets the metal drop with a horrible smash. She turns her eyes skyward, to the boxes above. Her mouth is open wide, showing sharp little teeth.<i>She looks hungry</i>.


    It starts slowly, a slight change in bnce, until the whole box lurches. tes crash to the floor and ss cups roll forward, tumbling over the rail to shatter on the lightning shield. Evangeline is pulling our box out, bending it forward, making us tip. The Silvers around me squawk and scrabble, their apuse turning to panic. They¡¯re not the only ones¡ªevery box in our row moves with us. Far below, Evangeline directs with a hand, her brow furrowed in focus. Like Silver fighters in the ring, she wants to show the world what she¡¯s made of.


    That is the thought in my head as a yellow ball of skin and feathered clothing knocks into me, pitching me over the rail with the rest of the silverware.


    All I see is purple as I fall, the lightning shield rising up to meet me. It hisses with electricity, singeing the air. I barely have time to understand, but I know the veined purple ss will cook me alive, electrocuting me in my red uniform. I bet the Silvers will only care about waiting for someone to clean me off.


    My head bangs against the shield, and I see stars. No, not stars.<i>Sparks</i>. The shield does its job, lighting me up with bolts of electricity. My uniform burns, scorched and smoking, and I expect to see my skin do the same.<i>My corpse will smell wonderful</i>. But, somehow, I don¡¯t feel a thing.<i>I must be in so much pain that I cannot feel it</i>.


    But¡ªI<i>can</i>feel it. I feel the heat of the sparks, running up and down my body, setting every nerve on fire. It isn¡¯t a bad feeling though. In fact I feel, well,<i>alive</i>. Like I¡¯ve been living my whole life blind and now I¡¯ve opened my eyes. Something moves beneath my skin, but it¡¯s not<span id="page_71" title="71">the sparks. I look at my hands, my arms, marveling at the lightning as it glides over me. Cloth burns away, charred ck by the heat, but my skin doesn¡¯t change. The shield keeps trying to kill me, but it can¡¯t.


    Everything is wrong.


    <i>I am alive</i>.


    The shield gives off a ck smoke, starting to splinter and crack. The sparks are brighter, angrier, but weakening. I try to push myself up, to get to my feet, but the shield shatters beneath me and I fall again, tumbling over myself.


    Somehow I manage tond in a pile of dust not covered by jagged metal. Definitely bruised and weak in the muscles, but still in one piece. My uniform is not so lucky, barely holding together in a charred mess.


    I struggle to my feet, feeling more of my uniform ke off. Above us, murmurs and gasps echo through the Spiral Garden. I can feel all eyes on me, the burned Red girl. The human lightning rod.


    Evangeline stares at me, her eyes wide. She looks angry, confused¡ªand scared.


    <i>Of me</i>. Somehow, she is scared of me.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I say stupidly.


    Evangeline answers with a flurry of metal shards, all of them sharp and deadly, pointed at my heart as they rip through the air.


    Without thinking, I throw up my hands, hoping to save myself from the worst of it. Instead of catching a dozen jagged des in my palms, I feel something quite different. Like with the sparks before, my nerves sing, alive with some inner fire. It moves in me, behind my eyes, beneath my skin, until I feel more than myself. Then it bursts from me, pure power and energy.


    A jet of light¡ªno,<i>lightning</i>¡ªerupts from my hands, zing through the metal. The pieces shriek and smoke, bursting apart in the<span id="page_72" title="72">heat. They fall harmlessly to the ground as the lightning sts into the far wall. It leaves a smoking hole four feet wide, barely missing Evangeline.


    Her mouth falls open in shock. I¡¯m sure I look the same as I stare at my hands, wondering what on earth just happened to me. High above, a hundred of the most powerful Silvers wonder the same thing. I look up to see them all peering at me.


    Even the king leans over the edge of his box, his ming crown silhouetted against the sky. Cal is right next to him, staring down at me with wide eyes.


    ¡°Sentinels.¡±


    The king¡¯s voice is sharp as a razor, full of menace. Suddenly, the red-orange uniforms of Sentinels ze from almost every box. The elite guards wait for another word, another order.


    I¡¯m a good thief because I know when to run. Now is one of those times.


    Before the king can speak, I bolt, pushing past the stunned Evangeline to slide feetfirst into the still-open hatch in the floor.


    ¡°Seize her!¡± echoes behind me as I drop into the semidarkness of the chamber below. Evangeline¡¯s flying metal show punched holes in the ceiling, and I can still see up into the Spiral Garden. To my dismay, it looks like the structure is bleeding, as uniformed Sentinels drop down from their boxes, all of them racing after me.


    With no time to think, all I can do is run.


    The antechamber below the arena connects to a dark and empty hallway. Boxy ck cameras watch me as I run at full speed, turning down another corridor and another. I can feel them, hunting like the Sentinels not so far behind me.<i>Run</i>, repeats in my head.<i>Run, run, run</i>.


    I have to find a door, a window, something to help me get my<span id="page_73" title="73">bearings. If I can get outside, into the market maybe, I might have a chance. I<i>might</i>.


    The first set of stairs I find leads up to a long mirrored hall. But the cameras are there as well, sitting in the corners of the ceiling like great ck bugs.


    A st of gunfire explodes over my head, forcing me to drop to the floor. Two Sentinels, their uniforms the color of fire, crash through a mirror and charge at me.<i>They¡¯re just like Security</i>, I tell myself<i>. Just bumbling officers who don¡¯t know you. They don¡¯t know what you can do</i>.


    <i>I don¡¯t know what I can do</i>.


    They expect me to run so I do the opposite, storming the pair of them. Their guns are big and powerful, but bulky. Before they can get them up to shoot, stab, or both, I drop to my knees on the smooth marble floor, sliding between the two giants. One of them shouts after me, his voice exploding another mirror in a storm of ss. By the time they manage to change directions, I¡¯m already off and running again.


    When I finally find a window, it¡¯s a blessing and a curse. I skid to a stop in front of a giant pane of diamondss, looking out to the vast forest. It¡¯s right there, just on the other side, just beyond an imprable wall.


    <i>All right, hands, now might be a good time to do your thing</i>. Nothing happens, of course. Nothing happens when I need it to.


    A ze of heat takes me by surprise. I turn to see an approaching wall of red and orange and I know¡ªthe Sentinels have found me. But the wall is hot, flickering, almost solid.<i>Fire</i>. Anding right at me.


    My voice is faint, weak, defeated, as Iugh at my predicament. ¡°Oh, great.¡±


    I turn to run but instead collide with a broad wall of ck fabric. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me still when I try to squirm<span id="page_74" title="74">away.<i>Shock him, light him up</i>, I scream in my head. But nothing happens. The miracle isn¡¯t going to save me again.


    The heat grows, threatening to crush the air from my lungs. I survived lightning today; I don¡¯t want to press my luck with fire.


    But it¡¯s the smoke that¡¯s going to kill me. Thick and ck and much too strong, choking me. My vision swirls, and my eyelids grow heavy. I hear footsteps, shouting, the roar of fire as the world darkens.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Cal¡¯s voice says. I think I¡¯m dreaming.

 Red Queen: Chapter 8

    <i>I¡¯m on the porch</i>, watching as Mom says good-bye to my brother Bree. She weeps, holding on to him tightly, smoothing his freshly cut hair. Shade and Tramy wait to catch her if her legs fail. I know they want to cry too, watching their oldest brother go, but for Mom¡¯s sake, they don¡¯t. Next to me, Dad says nothing, content to stare at the legionnaire. Even in his armor of steel te and bulletproof fabric, the soldier looks small next to my brother. Bree could eat him alive, but he doesn¡¯t. He doesn¡¯t do anything at all when the legionnaire grabs his arm, pulling him away from us. A shadow follows, haunting after him on terrible dark wings. The world spins around me, and then I¡¯m falling.


    Ind a yearter, my feet stuck in the squelching mud beneath our house. Now Mom holds on to Tramy, begging with the legionnaire. Shade has to pull her off. Somewhere, Gisa cries for her favorite brother. Dad and I keep silent, saving our tears. The shadow returns, this time swirling around me, blotting out the sky and the sun. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping it will leave me alone.


    When I open them again, I¡¯m in Shade¡¯s arms, hugging him as<span id="page_76" title="76">tightly as I can. He hasn¡¯t cut his hair yet, and his chin-length brown hair tickles the top of my head. As I press myself to his chest, I wince. My ear stings sharply, and I pull back, seeing drops of red blood on my brother¡¯s shirt. Gisa and I had pierced our ears again, with the tiny gift Shade left us. I guess I did it wrong, as I do everything wrong. This time, I feel the shadow before I see it. And it feels angry.


    It drags me through a parade of memories, all raw wounds still healing. Some of them are even dreams. No, they are nightmares. My worst nightmares.


    A new world materializes around me, forming a shadowedndscape of smoke and ash.<i>The Choke</i>. I¡¯ve never been there, but I¡¯ve heard enough to imagine it. Thend is t, pocked with craters from a thousand falling bombs. Soldiers in stained red uniforms cower in each of them, like blood filling a wound. I float through them all, searching the faces, looking for the brothers I lost to smoke and shrapnel.


    Bree appears first, wrestling with a blue-d Laknder in a puddle of mud. I want to help him, but I keep floating until he¡¯s out of sight. Tramyes next, bending over a wounded soldier, trying to keep him from bleeding to death. His gentle features, so like Gisa¡¯s, are twisted in agony. I will never forget the screams of pain and frustration. As with Bree, I can¡¯t help him.


    Shade waits at the front of the line, beyond even the bravest of warriors. He stands on top of a ridge without regard for the bombs or the guns or the Laknder army waiting on the other side. He even has the gall to smile at me. I can only watch when the ground beneath his feet explodes, destroying him in a plume of fire and ash.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I manage to scream, reaching for the smoke that was once my brother.


    The ash takes shape, re-forming into the shadow. It engulfs me in<span id="page_77" title="77">darkness, until a wave of memories overtakes me again. Gisa¡¯s hand. Kilorn¡¯s conscription. Dading home half-dead. They blur together, a swirl of too-bright color that hurts my eyes.<i>Something is not right</i>. The memories move backward through the years, like I¡¯m watching my life in reverse. And then there are events I can¡¯t possibly remember: learning to speak, to walk, my child brothers passing me between them while Mom scolds.<i>This is impossible</i>.


    ¡°Impossible,¡± the shadow says to me. The voice is so sharp, I fear it might crack my skull. I fall to my knees, colliding with what feels like concrete.


    And then they¡¯re gone. My brothers, my parents, my sister, my memories, my nightmares, gone. Concrete and steel bars rise around me.<i>A cage</i>.


    I struggle to my feet, one hand on my aching head as thingse into focus. A figure stares at me from beyond the bars. A crown glitters on her head.


    ¡°I¡¯d bow, but I might fall over,¡± I say to Queen ra, and immediately I wish I could call back the words. She¡¯s a<i>Silver</i>, I can¡¯t talk to her that way. She could put me in the stocks, take away my rations, punish me, punish my family.<i>No</i>, I realize in my growing horror.<i>She¡¯s the queen. She could just kill me. She could kill us all</i>.


    But she doesn¡¯t look offended. Instead, she smirks. A wave of nausea washes over me when I meet her eyes, and I double over again.


    ¡°That looks like a bow to me,¡± she purrs, enjoying my pain.


    I fight the urge to vomit and reach out to grab the bars. My fist clenches around cold steel. ¡°What are you doing to me?¡±


    ¡°Not much of anything anymore. But this¡ª¡± She reaches through the bars to touch my temple. The pain triples beneath her finger, and I fall against the bars, barely conscious enough to hold on. ¡°This is to<span id="page_78" title="78">keep you from doing anything silly.¡±


    Tears sting my eyes, but I shake them away. ¡°Like stand on my own two feet?¡± I manage to spit out. I can hardly think through the pain, let alone be polite, but still I manage to hold back a stream of curses.<i>For heaven¡¯s sake, Mare Barrow, hold your tongue</i>.


    ¡°Like electrocute something,¡± she snaps.


    The pain ebbs, giving me enough strength to make it to the metal bench. When I rest my head against the cool stone wall, her words sink in.<i>Electrocute</i>.


    The memory shes across my mind,ing back in jagged pieces. Evangeline, the lightning shield, the sparks, and me<i>. It¡¯s not possible</i>.


    ¡°You are not Silver. Your parents are Red, you are Red, and your blood is red,¡± the queen murmurs, prowling before the bars of my cage. ¡°You are a miracle, Mare Barrow, an impossibility. Something even I can¡¯t understand, and I have seen all of you.¡±


    ¡°That was you?¡± I almost screech, reaching up to cradle my head again. ¡°You were in my mind? My memories? My<i>nightmares</i>?¡±


    ¡°If you know someone¡¯s fear, you know them.¡± She blinks at me like I¡¯m some stupid creature. ¡°And I had to know what it is we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    ¡°I am not an<i>it</i>.¡±


    ¡°What you are remains to be seen. But be thankful for one thing, little lightning girl,¡± she sneers, putting her face against the bars. Suddenly my legs seize up, losing all feeling like I sat on them wrong.<i>Like I¡¯m paralyzed</i>. Panic rises in my chest as I realize I can¡¯t even wiggle my toes. This must be how Dad feels, broken and useless. But somehow I get to my feet, my legs moving on their own, marching me toward the bars. On the other side, the queen watches me. Her blinks match my steps.


    <i>She¡¯s a whisper, and she¡¯s ying with me</i>. When I¡¯m close enough, she<span id="page_79" title="79">grabs my face in her hands. I cry out as the pain in my head multiplies. What I would give now for the simple doom of conscription.


    ¡°You did that in front of hundreds of Silvers, people who will ask questions, people with power,¡± she hisses in my ear, her sickly sweet breath washing over my face. ¡°That is the only reason you are still alive.¡±


    My hands clench, and I wish for the lightning again, but it doesn¡¯te. She knows what I¡¯m doing andughs openly. Stars explode behind my eyes, clouding my vision, but I hear her go in a swirl of rustling silk. My sight returns just in time to see her dress disappear around a corner, leaving me well and truly alone in the cell. I barely make it back to the bench, fighting the urge to throw up.


    Exhaustiones over me in waves, starting in my muscles and sinking into my bones. I am only human, and humans are not supposed to deal with days like today. With a jolt, I realize my wrist is bare. The red band is gone, taken away. What could that mean? Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall, but I will not cry. I have that much pride left.


    I can fight the tears but not the questions. Not the doubt growing in my heart.


    <i>What¡¯s happening to me?</i>


    <i>What am I?</i>


    I open my eyes to see a Security officer staring at me from the other side of the bars. His silver buttons shine in the low light, but they¡¯re nothingpared to the re bouncing off his bald head.


    ¡°You have to tell my family where I am,¡± I blurt out, sitting straight up.<i>At least I said I loved them</i>, I remember, thinking back to ourst moments.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to do anything but take you upstairs,¡± he replies,<span id="page_80" title="80">but without much bite. The officer is a pir of calm. ¡°Change your clothes.¡±


    Suddenly, I realize I still have a half-burned uniform hanging off me. The officer points at a neat pile of clothes near the bars. He turns his back, allowing me some semnce of privacy.


    The clothes are in but fine, softer than anything I¡¯ve ever worn before. A long-sleeved white shirt and ck pants, both of them decorated with a single silver stripe down each side. There are shoes as well, ck oiled boots that rise to my knees. To my surprise, there isn¡¯t a stitch of red on the clothes. But why, I do not know.<i>My ignorance is bing a theme</i>.


    ¡°All right,¡± I grumble, fighting thest boot up my leg. As it slides into ce, the officer turns around. I don¡¯t hear the jingle of keys, but then, I don¡¯t see a lock. How he ns to let me out of my doorless cage, I¡¯m not sure.


    But instead of opening some hidden gate, his hand twitches, and the metal bars bow open. Of course. The jailor would be a¡ª


    ¡°Maron, yes,¡± he says with a waggle of his fingers. ¡°And in case you were wondering, the girl you nearly fried is a cousin.¡±


    I almost choke on the air in my lungs, not knowing how to respond. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± It sounds like a question.


    ¡°Be sorry you missed her,¡± he replies without a hint of jest. ¡°Evangeline is a bitch.¡±


    ¡°Family trait?¡± My mouth moves faster than my brain, and I gasp, realizing what I¡¯ve just said.


    He doesn¡¯t strike me for speaking out of turn, though he has every right to. Instead, the officer¡¯s face twitches into the shadow of a smile. ¡°I guess you¡¯ll find out,¡± he says, ck eyes soft. ¡°I¡¯m Lucas Samos. Follow me.¡±


    <span id="page_81" title="81">I don¡¯t have to ask to know I have no other choice in the matter.


    He leads me out of my cell and up a winding stair, to no less than twelve Security officers. Without a word, they surround me in a well-practiced formation and force me along with them. Lucas stays by me, marching in time with the others. They keep their guns in hand, as if ready for battle. Something tells me the men aren¡¯t here to defend me but to protect everyone else.


    When we reach the more beautiful upper levels, the ss walls are strangely ck.<i>Tinted</i>, I tell myself, remembering what Gisa said about the Hall of the Sun. The diamondss can darken onmand to hide what shouldn¡¯t be seen. Obviously, I must fall into that category.


    With a jolt I realize that the windows change not because of some mechanism but a red-haired officer. She waves a hand at every wall we pass, and some power within her blocks out the light, clouding the ss with thin shade.


    ¡°She¡¯s a shadow, a bender of light,¡± Lucas whispers, noting my awe.


    The cameras are here as well. My skin crawls, feeling their electric gaze running over my bones. Normally my head would ache under the weight of so much electricity, but the pain neveres. Something in the shield has changed me. Or maybe it released something, revealing a part of myself locked away for so long.<i>What am I?</i>echoes in my head again, more threatening than before.


    Only when we pass through a monstrous set of doors does the electric sensation pass.<i>The eyes cannot see me here</i>. The chamber inside could epass my house ten times, stilts and all. And directly across from me, his fiery gaze burning into mine, is the king, sitting on a diamondss throne carved into an inferno. Behind him, a window full of daylight quickly fades to ck. It might be thest glimpse of the sun I¡¯ll ever see.


    <span id="page_82" title="82">Lucas and the other officers march me forward, but they don¡¯t stay long. With nothing but a backward nce, Lucas leads the others out.


    The king sits before me, the queen standing on his left, the princes on his right. I refuse to look at Cal, but I know he must be gawking at me. I keep my gaze on my new boots, focusing on my toes so I don¡¯t give over to the fear turning my body to lead.


    ¡°You will kneel,¡± the queen murmurs, her voice soft as velvet.


    I<i>should</i>kneel, but my pride won¡¯t let me. Even here, in front of Silvers, in front of the<i>king</i>, my knees do not bend. ¡°I will not,¡± I say, finding the strength to look up.


    ¡°Do you enjoy your cell, girl?¡± Tiberias says, his kingly voice filling the room. The threat in his words is in as day, but still I stand. He cocks his head, staring at me like I¡¯m an experiment to puzzle over.


    ¡°What do you want with me?¡± I manage to force out.


    The queen leans down next to him. ¡°I told you, she¡¯s Red through and through¡ª¡± But the king waves her off like he would a fly. She purses her lips and draws back, hands sped tightly together.<i>Serves her right</i>.


    ¡°What I want concerning you is impossible,¡± Tiberias snaps. His re smolders, like he¡¯s trying to burn me up.


    I remember the queen¡¯s words. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not sorry you can¡¯t kill me.¡±


    The king chuckles. ¡°They didn¡¯t say you were quick.¡±


    Relief floods through me. Death does not wait for me here. Not yet.


    The king throws down a stack of papers, all of them covered in writing. The top sheet has the usual information, including my name, birth date, parents, and the little brown smear that is my blood. My picture is there too, the one on my identification card. I stare down at myself, into bored eyes sick of waiting in line to have my picture taken.<span id="page_83" title="83">How I wish I could jump into the photo, into the girl whose only problems were conscription and a hungry belly.


    ¡°Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the New Era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow,¡± Tiberias recites from memory,ying my life bare. ¡°You have no upation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offenses that wouldnd you in prison in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, to name but a few. All together you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your vige and my kingdom.¡±


    The shock of his blunt words takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, I don¡¯t argue. He¡¯s entirely right.


    ¡°And yet,¡± he continues, rising to his feet. This close, I can see his crown is deathly sharp. The points can kill. ¡°You are also something else. Something I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand. So what am I to do with you?¡±


    <i>Is he asking me?</i>¡°You could let me go. I wouldn¡¯t say a word.¡±


    The queen¡¯s sharpughter cuts me off. ¡°And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in a red uniform?¡±


    <i>No. No one will</i>.


    ¡°You know my advice, Tiberias,¡± the queen adds, her eyes on the king. ¡°And it will solve both our problems.¡±


    It must be bad advice, bad for me, because Cal clenches a fist. The movement draws my eye, and I finally look at him fully. He remains still, stoic and quiet, as I¡¯m sure he¡¯s been trained to do, but fire burns behind his eyes. For a moment, he meets my gaze, but I look away<span id="page_84" title="84">before I can call out and ask him to save me.


    ¡°Yes, ra,¡± the king says, nodding at his wife. ¡°We cannot kill you, Mare Barrow.¡±<i>Not yet</i>hangs in the air. ¡°So we are going to hide you in in sight where we can watch you,<i>protect</i>you, and attempt to understand you.¡±


    The way his eyes gleam makes me feel like a meal about to be devoured.N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    ¡°Father!¡± The word bursts from Cal, but his brother¡ªthe paler, leaner prince¡ªgrabs him by the arm, holding him back from protesting further. He has a calming effect, and Cal steps back in line.


    Tiberias goes on, ignoring his son. ¡°You are no longer Mare Barrow, a Red daughter of the Stilts.¡±


    ¡°Then who am I?¡± I ask, my voice shaking with dread, thinking of all the awful things they can do to me.


    ¡°Your father was Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion, killed when you were an infant. A soldier, a Red man, took you for his own and raised you in the dirt, never telling you your true parentage. You grew up believing you were nothing, and now, thanks to chance, you are made whole again. You are Silver, ady of a lost High House, a noble with great power, and one day, a princess of Norta.¡±


    Try as I might, I can¡¯t hold back a surprised yelp. ¡°A Silver¡ªa princess?¡±


    My eyes betray me, flying to Cal.<i>A princess must marry a prince</i>.


    ¡°You will marry my son Maven, and you¡¯ll do it without putting a toe out of line.¡±


    I swear I hear my jaw hit the floor. A wretched, embarrassing sound escapes my mouth as I search for something to say, but I¡¯m honestly speechless. In front of me, the younger prince looks equally confused, sputtering just as loudly as I want to. This time, it¡¯s Cal¡¯s<span id="page_85" title="85">turn to restrain him, though his eyes are on me.


    The young prince manages to find his voice. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he blurts out, shrugging off Cal. He takes quick steps toward his father. ¡°She¡¯s¡ªwhy¡ª?¡± Usually I¡¯d be offended, but I have to agree with the prince¡¯s reservations.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± his mother snaps. ¡°You will obey.¡±


    He res at her, every inch the young son rebelling against his parents. But his mother hardens, and the prince backs down, knowing her wrath and power as well as I do.


    My voice is faint, barely audible. ¡°This seems a bit . . . much.¡± There¡¯s simply no other way to describe it. ¡°You don¡¯t want to make me ady, much less a princess.¡±


    Tiberias¡¯s face cracks into a grim smile. Like the queen, his teeth are blindingly white. ¡°Oh, but I do, my dear. For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose.¡± The jab feels like a p across the face. ¡°Here we are, in the early stages of a badly timed rebellion, with terrorist groups or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality.¡±


    ¡°The Scarlet Guard.¡±<i>Farley. Shade</i>. As soon as the name crosses my mind, I pray Queen ra stays out of my head. ¡°They bombed¡ª¡±


    ¡°The capital, yes.¡± The king shrugs, scratching his neck.


    My years in the shadows have taught me many things. Who carries the most money, who won¡¯t notice you, and what liars look like.<i>The king is a liar</i>, I realize, watching as he forces another shrug. He¡¯s trying to be dismissive, and it¡¯s just not working. Something has him scared of Farley, of the Scarlet Guard. Something much bigger than a few explosions.


    ¡°And you,¡± he continues, leaning forward. ¡°You might be able to<span id="page_86" title="86">help us stop there from being any more.¡±


    I¡¯dugh out loud if I wasn¡¯t so scared. ¡°By marrying¡ªsorry, what¡¯s your name again?¡±


    His cheeks go white in what I assume is the Silver version of a blush. After all, their blood is silver. ¡°My name is Maven,¡± he says, his voice soft and quiet. Like Cal and his father, his hair is glossy ck, but the simrities end there. While they are broad and muscled, Maven is lean, with eyes like clear water. ¡°And I still don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°What Father is trying to say is that she represents an opportunity for us,¡± Cal says, cutting in to exin. Unlike his brother, Cal¡¯s voice is strong and authoritative. It¡¯s the voice of a king. ¡°If the Reds see her, a Silver by blood but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be cated. It¡¯s like an old fairy tale, amoner bing the princess. She¡¯s their champion. They can look to her instead of terrorists.¡± And then, softer, but more important than anything else: ¡°She¡¯s a distraction.¡±


    But this isn¡¯t a fairy tale, or even a dream.<i>This is a nightmare</i>. I¡¯m being locked away for the rest of my life, forced into being someone else.<i>Into being one of them. A puppet. A show to keep people happy, quiet, and trampled</i>.


    ¡°And if we get the story right, the High Houses will be satisfied too. You¡¯re the lost daughter of a war hero. What better honor can we give you?¡±


    I meet his eyes, silently pleading. He helped me once, maybe he can do it again. But Cal tips his head from side to side, shaking his head slowly.<i>He can¡¯t help me here</i>.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a request, Lady Titanos,¡± Tiberias says. He uses my new name, my new<i>title</i>. ¡°You will go through with this, and you will do it<i>properly</i>.¡±


    <span id="page_87" title="87">Queen ra turns her pale eyes on me. ¡°You will live here, as is the custom for royal brides. Every day will be scheduled at my discretion, and you will be tutored in everything and anything possible to make you¡±¡ªshe searches for the word, chewing on her lip¡ª¡°<i>suitable</i>.¡± I don¡¯t want to know what that means. ¡°You will be scrutinized. From now on you live on the edge of a knife. One false step, one wrong word, and you will suffer for it.¡±


    My throat tightens, like I can feel the chains the king and queen are wrapping around me. ¡°What about my life¡ª?¡±


    ¡°What life?¡± ra crows. ¡°Girl, you have fallen head over heels into a miracle.¡±


    Cal squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if the sound of the queen¡¯sughter pains him. ¡°She means her family. Mare¡ªthe girl¡ªhas a family.¡±


    <i>Gisa, Mom, Dad, the boys, Kilorn¡ªa life taken away</i>.


    ¡°Oh, that,¡± the king huffs, plopping back down into his chair. ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll give them an allowance, keep them<i>quiet</i>.¡±


    ¡°I want my brothers brought home from the war.¡± For once, I feel like I¡¯ve said something right. ¡°And my friend, Kilorn Warren. Don¡¯t let the legions take him either.¡±


    Tiberias responds in half a heartbeat. A few Red soldiers mean nothing to him. ¡°Done.¡±


    It sounds less like a pardon and more like a death sentence.

 Red Queen: Chapter 9

    Lady Mareena Titanos, born<i>to Lady Nora Nolle Titanos and Lord Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion. Heiress to House Titanos. Mareena Titanos. Titanos</i>.


    My new name echoes in my head as the Red maids prepare me for theing onught. The three girls work quickly and efficiently, never speaking to one another. They don¡¯t ask me questions either, even though they must want to.<i>Say nothing</i>, I remember. They¡¯re not allowed to speak to me, and they certainly aren¡¯t allowed to talk about me to anyone else. Even the strange things, the<i>Red</i>things, I¡¯m sure they see.


    Over many agonizing minutes, they try to make me<i>suitable</i>, bathing me, styling me,<i>painting</i>me into the silly thing I¡¯m supposed to be. The makeup is the worst, especially the thick white paste applied to my skin. They go through three pots of it, covering my face, neck, corbone, and arms with the glittery wet powder. In the mirror, it looks like the warmth is leeched from me, as if the powder has covered the heat in my skin. With a gasp, I realize it¡¯s supposed to hide my natural flush, the red bloom in my skin, the red<i>blood</i>. I¡¯m pretending to be<span id="page_89" title="89">Silver, and when they finish painting my face, I actually look the part. With my newly pale skin and darkened eyes and lips, I look cold, cruel, a living razor. I look Silver. I look beautiful. And I hate it.N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    <i>How long will thisst? Betrothed to a prince</i>. Even in my head, it sounds crazy.<i>Because it is. No Silver in their right mind would marry you, let alone a prince of Norta. Not to calm rebellion, not to hide your identity, not for anything</i>.


    <i>Then why do this?</i>


    When the maids pinch and pull me into a gown, I feel like a corpse being dressed for her funeral. I know it¡¯s not far from the truth. Red girls do not marry Silver princes. I will never wear a crown or sit on a throne. Something will happen, an<i>ident</i>maybe. A lie will raise me up, and one day another lie will bring me down.


    The dress is a dark shade of purple spattered with silver, made of silk and sheerce.<i>All houses have a color</i>, I remember, thinking back to the rainbow of families. The colors of Titanos,<i>my name</i>, must be purple and silver.


    When one of the maids reaches for my earrings, trying to take away thest bit of my old life, a surge of fear pulses through me. ¡°Don¡¯t touch them!¡±


    The girl jumps back, blinking quickly, and the others freeze at my outburst.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡ª¡±<i>A Silver wouldn¡¯t apologize</i>. I clear my throat, collecting myself. ¡°Leave the earrings.¡± My voice sounds strong, hard¡ª<i>regal</i>. ¡°You can change everything else, but leave the earrings.¡±


    The three cheap pieces of metal, each one a brother, aren¡¯t going anywhere.


    ¡°The color suits you.¡±


    I whirl around to see the maids stooped in identical bows. And standing over them: Cal. Suddenly, I¡¯m very d the makeup covers<span id="page_90" title="90">the blush spreading over me.


    He gestures quickly, his hand moving in a brushing motion, and the maids scurry from the room like mice fleeing from a cat.


    ¡°I¡¯m sort of new to this royal thing, but I¡¯m not sure you¡¯re supposed to be here. In my room,¡± I say, forcing as much disdain into my voice as I can muster. After all, it¡¯s his fault I¡¯m in this forsaken mess.


    He takes a few steps toward me, and on instinct, I take a step back. My feet catch on the hem of my dress, making me choose between not moving or falling over. I don¡¯t know which is less desirable.


    ¡°I came to apologize, something I can¡¯t really do with an audience.¡± He stops short, noting my difort. A muscle twitches in his cheek as he looks me over, probably remembering the hopeless girl who tried to pickpocket him onlyst night. I look nothing like her now. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for getting you into this, Mare.¡±


    <i>¡°Mareena</i>.<i>¡±</i>The name even<i>tastes</i>wrong. ¡°That¡¯s my name, remember?¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s a good thing Mare¡¯s a suitable nickname.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think anything about me is<i>suitable</i>.¡±


    Cal¡¯s eyes rake over me, and my skin burns under his gaze. ¡°How do you like Lucas?¡± he finally says, taking an obliging step back.


    The Samos guard, the first decent Silver I¡¯ve met here. ¡°He¡¯s all right, I suppose.¡± Perhaps the queen will take him away if I reveal how gentle the officer was to me.


    ¡°Lucas is a good man. His family thinks him weak for his kindness,¡± he adds, eyes darkening a little. As if he knows the feeling. ¡°But he¡¯ll serve you well, and fairly. I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±


    <i>How thoughtful. He¡¯s given me a kind jailer</i>. But I bite my tongue. It won¡¯t do any good to snap at his mercy. ¡°Thank you, Your Highness.¡±


    The spark returns to his eyes, and a smirk to his lips. ¡°You know my name is Cal.¡±


    <span id="page_91" title="91">¡°And you know my name, don¡¯t you?¡± I tell him bitterly. ¡°You know what Ie from.¡±


    He barely nods, as if ashamed.


    ¡°You have to take care of them.¡±<i>My family</i>. Their faces swim before my eyes, already so far away. ¡°All of them, for as long as you can.¡±


    ¡°Of course I will.¡± He takes a step toward me, closing the gap between us. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says again. The words resound in my head, echoing off a memory.


    <i>The wall of fire. The choking smoke. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry</i>.


    It was Cal who caught me earlier, who kept me from escaping this awful ce.


    ¡°Are you sorry for stopping my one chance of escape?¡±


    ¡°You mean if you got past the Sentinels, Security, the walls, the woods, back to your vige to wait until the queen herself hunted you down?¡± he replies, taking my usations in stride. ¡°Stopping you was the best thing for you<i>and</i>your family.¡±


    ¡°I could¡¯ve gotten away. You don¡¯t know me.¡±


    ¡°I know the queen would tear the world apart looking for the little lightning girl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡± The nickname stings more than the fake name I¡¯m still getting used to.<i>Little lightning girl</i>. ¡°That¡¯s what your mother calls me.¡±


    Heughs bitterly. ¡°She¡¯s not my mother. She¡¯s Maven¡¯s, not mine.¡± Just by the set of his jaw, I know not to press the issue.


    ¡°Oh,¡± is all I can say, my voice very small. It fades quickly, a faint echo against the vaulted ceiling. I crane my neck, looking around at my new room for the first time since I came in. It¡¯s finer than anything I¡¯ve ever seen¡ªmarble and ss, silk and feathers. The light has changed, shifting to the orange color of dusk. Night ising. And with it, the rest of my life.


    <span id="page_92" title="92">¡°I woke up this morning as one person,¡± I mutter, more to myself than to him, ¡°and now I¡¯m supposed to be someone else entirely.¡±


    ¡°You can do this.¡± I feel him take a step toward me, his heat filling the room in a way that makes my skin prickle. But I don¡¯t look up. I won¡¯t.


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Because you<i>must</i>.¡± He bites his lip, eyes shifting over me. ¡°As beautiful as this world is, it¡¯s just as dangerous. People who are not useful, people who make mistakes, they can be removed.<i>You</i>can be removed.¡±


    <i>And I will be</i>.<i>Someday</i>. But that is not the only threat I face. ¡°So the moment I mess up could be myst?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t speak, but I can see the answer in his eyes.<i>Yes</i>.


    My fingers fiddle with the silver belt at my waist, pulling it tight. If this was a dream, I would wake up, but I don¡¯t.<i>This is really happening</i>. ¡°What about me? About¡±¡ªI hold out my hands, ring at the infernal things¡ª¡°this?¡±


    In response, Cal smiles. ¡°I think you¡¯ll get the hang of it.¡±


    Then he holds up his own bare hand. A strange contraption at his wrist, something like a bracelet with two metal ends, clicks, producing sparks. Instead of disappearing in a sh, the sparks glow and burst into red me, giving off a st of heat.<i>He¡¯s a burner, he controls heat and fire</i>, I remember.<i>He¡¯s a prince, and a dangerous one at that</i>. But the me disappears as quickly as it came, leaving only Cal¡¯s encouraging smile and the humming of cameras hidden somewhere, watching over everything.


    The masked Sentinels on the edge of my vision are a constant reminder of my new position. I¡¯m nearly a princess, engaged to the second most eligible bachelor in the country. And I¡¯m a lie. Cal is long gone, leaving<span id="page_93" title="93">me with my guards. Lucas isn¡¯t so bad, but the others are stern and quiet, never looking me in the eye. The guards and even Lucas are wardens to keep me imprisoned in my own skin, red behind a silver curtain that can never be pulled away. If I fall, if I even slip, I will die.<i>And others will die for my failure</i>.


    As they escort me toward the feast, I go over the story the queen drilled into me, the pretty tale she was going to tell the court. It¡¯s simple, easy to remember, but it still makes me cringe.


    <i>I was born at the war front. My parents were killed in an attack on the camp. A Red soldier saved me from the rubble and brought me home to a wife who always wanted a daughter. They raised me in the vige called the Stilts, and I was ignorant of my birthright or my ability until this morning. And now I am returned to my rightful ce</i>.


    The thought makes me sick. My rightful ce is at home, with my parents and Gisa and Kilorn.<i>Not here</i>.


    The Sentinels lead the way through the maze of passages in the upper levels of the pce. Like the Spiral Garden, the architecture is all curves of stone, ss, and metal, slowly turning downward. Diamondss is around every corner, showing breathtaking views of the marketce, the river valley, and the woods beyond. From this height, I can see hills I didn¡¯t know existed rising in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun.


    ¡°Thest two floors are royal apartments,¡± Lucas says, pointing up the sloping, spiraling hallway. Sunlight glitters like a firestorm, throwing speckles of light down on us. ¡°The lift will take us down to the ballroom. Just here.¡± Lucas reaches out, stopping next to a metal wall. It reflects us dully, then slides away when he waves a hand.


    The Sentinels usher us into a box with no windows and harsh lighting. I force myself to breathe, even though I¡¯d rather push out of what<span id="page_94" title="94">feels like a giant metal coffin.


    I jump a mile when the lift suddenly<i>moves</i>, making my pulse race. My breathes in short gasps as I look around in wide-eyed fright, expecting to see the others reacting in the same way. But no one else seems to mind the fact that the box we¡¯re in is<i>dropping</i>. Only Lucas notices my difort, and he slows our descent a little.


    ¡°The lift moves up and down, so we don¡¯t have to walk. This ce is very big, Lady Titanos,¡± he murmurs with the ghost of a smile.


    I¡¯m torn between wonder and fear as we drop, and I breathe a sigh of relief when Lucas opens the lift doors. We march out into the mirrored hall I ran through this morning. The broken mirrors are already fixed¡ªit looks like nothing ever happened.


    When Queen ra appears around the corner, her own Sentinels in tow, Lucas sweeps into a bow. Now she wears ck and red and silver, her husband¡¯s colors. With her blond hair and pale skin, she looks downright ghoulish.


    She grabs me by the arm, pulling me to her as we walk. Her lips don¡¯t move, but I hear her voice all the same, echoing in my head. This time it doesn¡¯t hurt or make me nauseous, but the sensation still feels sick and wrong. I want to scream, to w her out of my head. But there¡¯s nothing I can do except hate her.


    <i>The Titanos family were oblivions</i>, she says, her voice all around.<i>They could explode things with a touch, like the Lern girl did at Queenstrial</i>. When I try to remember the girl, ra projects an image of her directly into my brain. It shes, barely there, but still I see a young girl in orange blow up rock and sand like military bombs.<i>Your mother, Nora Nolle, was a storm like the rest of House Nolle. Storms control the weather, to an extent. It¡¯s notmon, but their union resulted in your unique abilities to control electricity. Say no more, if anyone asks</i>.


    <span id="page_95" title="95"><i>What do you really want with me?</i>Even in my head, my voice quivers.


    Herughter bounces inside my skull, the only answer I¡¯ll get.


    <i>Remember the person you¡¯re supposed to be, and remember well</i>, she continues, ignoring my question.<i>You are pretending to be raised Red, but you¡¯re Silver by blood. You are now Red in the head, Silver in the heart</i>.


    A shiver of fear shoots through me.


    <i>From now until the end of your days, you must lie. Your life depends on it, little lightning girl</i>.

 Red Queen: Chapter 10

    <i>ra leaves me standing</i>in the hallway, mulling over her words.


    I used to think there was only the divide, Silver and Red, rich and poor, kings and ves. But there¡¯s much more in between, things I don¡¯t understand, and I¡¯m right in the middle of it. I grew up wondering if I¡¯d have food for supper; now I¡¯m standing in a pce about to be eaten alive.


    <i>Red in the head, Silver in the heart</i>sticks with me, guiding my motions. My eyes stay wide, taking in the grand pce both Mare and Mareena had never dreamed of, but my mouth presses into a firm line. Mareena is impressed, but she keeps her emotions in check. She is cold and unfeeling.


    The doors at the end of the hall open, revealing the biggest room I¡¯ve ever seen, bigger even than the throne room. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever get used to the sheer size of this ce. I step through the doors onto anding. Stairs lead down to the floor, where every house sits in cool expectation, their eyes forward. Again, they keep to their colors. A few mutter among themselves, probably talking about me and my<span id="page_97" title="97">little show. King Tiberias and ra stand on a raised surface a few feet higher than the floor, facing the crowd of their subjects.<i>They never miss an opportunity to lord over the others</i>. Either they¡¯re very vain or very aware. To look powerful is to be powerful.


    The princes match their parents in different outfits of red and ck, both decorated with military medals. Cal stands to his father¡¯s right, his face still and impassive. If he knows who he¡¯s going to marry, he doesn¡¯t look happy about it. Maven¡¯s there too, on his mother¡¯s left, his face a storm cloud of emotions. The younger brother is not as good as Cal at hiding his feelings.


    <i>At least I won¡¯t have to deal with a good liar</i>.


    ¡°The right of Queenstrial is always a joyous event, representing the future of our great kingdom and the bonds that keep us strongly united in the face of our enemies,¡± the king says, addressing the crowd. They don¡¯t see me yet, standing on the edge of the room, looking down on them all. ¡°But as you saw today, Queenstrial has brought forth more than just the future queen.¡±


    He turns to ra, who sps the king¡¯s hand in her own with a dutiful smile. Her shift from devilish viin to blushing queen is astounding. ¡°We all remember our bright hope against the darkness of war, our captain, our<i>friend</i>, the General Ethan Titanos,¡± ra says.


    People murmur over the room, in fondness or sadness. Even the Samos patriarch, Evangeline¡¯s cruel father, bows his head. ¡°He led the Iron Legion to victory, pushing back the lines of war that had stood for nearly a hundred years. The Laknders feared him; our soldiers loved him.¡± I strongly doubt a single Red soldier loved their Silver general. ¡°Laknder spies killed our beloved friend Ethan, sneaking across the lines to destroy our one hope for peace. His wife, the Lady Nora, a good and just woman, died with him. On that fateful day sixteen years<span id="page_98" title="98">ago, House Titanos was lost. Friends were taken from us. Our blood was spilled.¡±


    Silence settles on the room as the queen pauses to dab at her eyes, wiping away what I know are fake, forced tears. A few of the girls, participants in Queenstrial, fidget in their seats. They don¡¯t care about a dead general, and neither does the queen, not really. This is about me, about somehow slipping a Red girl into a crown without anyone noticing. It¡¯s a magic trick, and the queen is a skilled magician.


    Her eyes find me, zing up to my spot at the top of the stairs, and everyone follows her gaze. Some look confused, while others recognize me from this morning. And a few stare at my dress. They know the colors of House Titanos better than I do and understand who I am. Or at least who I¡¯m pretending to be.


    ¡°This morning we saw a miracle. We watched a Red girl fall into the arena like a bolt of lightning, wielding power she should not have.¡± More murmurs rise, and a few Silvers even stand. The Samos girl looks furious, her ck eyes fixed on me.


    ¡°The king and I interviewed the girl extensively, trying to discover how she came to be.¡± Interview<i>is a funny way to describe scrambling my brain</i>. ¡°She isn¡¯t Red, but she is still a miracle. My friends, please wee back to us Lady Mareena Titanos, daughter of Ethan Titanos. Lost and now found.¡±


    With a twitch of her hand, she beckons me closer. I obey.


    I descend the stairs to stilted apuse, more focused on not tripping. But my feet are sure, my face still, as I plunge toward hundreds of faces wondering, staring, suspecting. Lucas and my guards don¡¯t follow, staying on thending. I¡¯m alone in front of these people once again, and I¡¯ve never felt so bare, even with theyers of silk and powder. Again, I¡¯m grateful for all the makeup. It¡¯s my shield, between them<span id="page_99" title="99">and the truth of who I am. A truth I don¡¯t even understand.Exclusive ? content by N(?)ve/l/Drama.Org.


    The queen gestures to an open seat in the front row of the crowd, and I make my way to it. The Queenstrial girls watch me, wondering why I¡¯m here and why I¡¯m so important all of a sudden. But they¡¯re only curious, not angry. They look at me with pity, empathizing as best they can with my sad story. Except Evangeline Samos. When I finally get to my seat, she¡¯s sitting right next to it, her eyes ring into mine. Gone are her leather clothes and iron studs; now she wears a dress of interlocked metal rings. From the way her fingers tighten, I can tell she wants nothing more than to wrap her hands around my throat.


    ¡°Saved from her parents¡¯ fate, Lady Mareena was taken from the front and brought to a Red vige not ten miles from here,¡± the king continues, taking over so he can tell the grand twist in my tale. ¡°Raised by Red parents, she worked as a Red servant. And until this morning, she believed she was one of them.¡± The apanying gasp makes my teeth grind. ¡°Mareena was a diamond in the rough, working in my own pce, the daughter of myte friend under my nose. But no more. To atone for my ignorance, and to repay her father and her house for their great contributions to the kingdom, I would like to take this moment to announce the joining of House Calore and the resurrected House Titanos.¡±


    Another gasp, this one from the girls of Queenstrial.<i>They think I¡¯m taking Cal away from them. They think I¡¯m theirpetition</i>. I raise my eyes to the king, quietly pleading for him to continue before one of the girls murders me.


    I can almost feel Evangeline¡¯s cold metal cutting into me. Her fingersce together tightly, knuckles white as she resists the urge to skin me in front of everyone. On her other side, her brooding father puts a hand on her arm to still her.


    <span id="page_100" title="100">When Maven steps forward, the tension in the room detes. He stutters briefly, tripping over the words he¡¯s been taught, but he finds his voice. ¡°Lady Mareena.¡±


    Trying my best not to shake, I rise to my feet and face him.


    ¡°In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I pledge myself to you, Mareena Titanos. Will you ept?¡±


    My heart pounds as he speaks. Though his words sound like a question, I know I have no choice in my answer. No matter how much I want to look away, my eyes stay on Maven. He gives me the smallest of encouraging smiles. I wonder to myself which girl would¡¯ve been chosen for him.


    <i>Who would I have chosen?</i>If none of this had happened, if Kilorn¡¯s master never died, if Gisa¡¯s hand was never broken, if nothing ever changed.<i>If</i>. It¡¯s the worst word in the world.


    <i>Conscription. Survival. Green-eyed children with my quick feet and Kilorn¡¯sst name</i>. That future was almost impossible before; now it¡¯s nonexistent.


    ¡°I pledge myself to you, Maven Calore,¡± I say, hammering thest nails into my coffin. My voice quivers, but I don¡¯t stop. ¡°I ept.¡±


    It carries such finality, mming a door on the rest of my life. I feel like copsing but somehow manage to sit back down gracefully.


    Maven slinks back to his seat, grateful to be out of the spotlight. His mother pats him on the arm in reassurance. She smiles softly, just for him. Even Silvers love their children. But she turns cold again as Cal stands, her smile disappearing in a heartbeat.


    The air seems to go out of the room as every girl inhales, waiting for his decision. I doubt Cal had any say in choosing a queen, but he ys his part well, just like Maven, just like I¡¯m trying to do. He smiles<span id="page_101" title="101">brightly, shing even white teeth that make a few girls sigh, but his warm eyes are terribly solemn.


    ¡°I am my father¡¯s heir, born to privilege and power and strength. You owe me your allegiance, just as I owe you my life. It is my duty to serve you and my kingdom as best I can¡ªand beyond.¡± He¡¯s rehearsed his speech, but the fervor Cal has can¡¯t be faked. He believes in himself, that he¡¯ll be a good king¡ªor die trying. ¡°I need a queen who will sacrifice just as much as I will, to maintain order, justice, and bnce.¡±


    The Queenstrial girls lean forward, eager to hear his next words. But Evangeline doesn¡¯t move, an obscene smirk twisting her face. House Samos looks equally calm. Her brother, Ptolemus, even stifles a yawn.<i>They know who has been chosen</i>.


    ¡°Lady Evangeline.¡±


    There¡¯s no gasp of surprise, no shock or excitement from her. Even the other girls, heartbroken as they are, sit back with only dejected shrugs. Everyone saw thising. I remember the fat family back in the Spiral Garden,ining that Evangeline Samos had already won.<i>They were right</i>.


    With a fluid, cold grace, Evangeline rises to her feet. She barely looks at Cal, instead turning over her shoulder to sneer at the crestfallen girls. She basks in her moment of glory. A smile ghosts over her face when her eyes fall on me. I don¡¯t miss the feral sh of teeth.


    When she turns back around, Cal echoes his brother¡¯s proposal. ¡°In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I pledge myself to you, Evangeline Samos. Will you ept?¡±


    ¡°I pledge myself to you, Prince Tiberias,¡± she says in a voice that is oddly high and breathy, contrasting with her hard appearance. ¡°I ept.¡±


    <span id="page_102" title="102">With a triumphant smirk, Evangeline sits back down and Cal retreats to his own seat. He keeps a smile fixed in ce like a piece of armor, but she doesn¡¯t seem to notice.


    Then I feel a hand find my arm, nails biting into my skin. I fight the urge to jump out of my chair. Evangeline doesn¡¯t react, still staring straight ahead at the ce that will one day be hers. If this were the Stilts, I¡¯d knock a few of her teeth out. Her fingers dig into me, down to the flesh. If she draws blood, red blood, our little game will be over before it even has a chance to begin. But she stops short of breaking skin, leaving bruises the maids will have to hide.


    ¡°Get in my way and I¡¯ll kill you slowly, little lightning girl,¡± she mutters through her smile.<i>Little lightning girl</i>. The nickname is really starting to get on my nerves.


    To cement her point, the smooth metal bracelet on her wrist shifts, turning into a circle of sharp thorns. Each tip glistens, begging to spill blood. I swallow hard, trying not to move. But she lets go quickly, returning her hand to herp. Once again, she¡¯s the picture of a demure Silver girl. If there was ever a person begging for an elbow to the face, it is Evangeline Samos.


    A quick nce around the room tells me the court has turned sullen. Some girls have tears in their eyes and throw wolfish res at Evangeline and even me. They probably waited for this day all their lives, only to fail. I want to hand my betrothal over, to give away what they so desperately want, but no. I must look happy. I must<i>pretend</i>.


    ¡°As wonderful and happy as today has been,¡± King Tiberias says, ignoring the sentiment in the room, ¡°I must remind you why this choice has been made. The might of House Samos joined with my son, and all his children to follow, will help guide our nation. You all<span id="page_103" title="103">know the precarious state of our kingdom, with war in the north and foolish extremists, enemies to our way of life, attempting to destroy us from within. The Scarlet Guard might seem small and insignificant to us, but they represent a dangerous turn for our Red brothers.¡± More than a few people in the crowd scoff at the term<i>brothers</i>, myself included.


    <i>Small and insignificant</i>. Then why do they need me? Why use me, if the Scarlet Guard is nothing to them?<i>The king is a liar</i>. But what he¡¯s trying to hide, I¡¯m still not sure. It could be the Guard¡¯s strength. It could be me.


    <i>It¡¯s probably both</i>.


    ¡°Should this rebellious streak take hold,¡± he continues, ¡°it will end in bloodshed and a divided nation, something I cannot bear. We must maintain the bnce. Evangeline<i>and</i>Mareena will help do that, for the sake of us all.¡±


    Murmurs go through the crowd at the king¡¯s words. Some nod, others look cross at the Queenstrial choices, but no one voices their dissent. No one speaks up. No one would listen if they did.


    Smiling, King Tiberias bows his head. He has won, and he knows it. ¡°Strength and power,¡± he repeats. The motto echoes out from him, as every person says the words.


    The words trip over my tongue, feeling foreign in my mouth. Cal stares down at me, watching me chant along with all the others. In that moment, I hate myself.


    ¡°Strength and power.¡±


    I suffer through the feast, watching but not seeing, hearing but not listening. Even the food, more food than I¡¯ve ever seen, tastes in in my mouth. I should be stuffing my face, enjoying what¡¯s probably the best<span id="page_104" title="104">meal of my life, but I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t even speak when Maven murmurs to me, his voice calm and level in assurance.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing fine,¡± he says, but I try to ignore him. Like his brother, he wears the same metal bracelet, the memaker. It¡¯s a firm reminder of exactly who and what Maven is¡ªpowerful, dangerous, a burner, a Silver.


    Sitting at a table made of crystal, drinking bubbly gold liquid until my head spins, I feel like a traitor.<i>What are my parents eating for dinner tonight? Do they even know where I am? Or is Mom sitting on the porch, waiting for me toe home?</i>


    Instead, I¡¯m stuck in a room full of people who would kill me if they knew the truth. And the royals of course, who would kill me if they could, who probably<i>will</i>kill me one day. They¡¯ve pulled me inside out, swapping Mare for Mareena, a thief for a crown, rags for silk,<i>Red for Silver</i>. This morning I was a servant, tonight I¡¯m a princess.<i>How much more will change? What else will I lose?</i>


    ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± Maven says, his voice swimming through the din of the feast. He pulls away my fancy goblet, recing it with a ss of water.


    ¡°I liked that drink.¡± But I gulp down the water greedily, feeling my head clear.


    Maven just shrugs. ¡°You¡¯ll thank meter.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I snap as snidely as possible. I haven¡¯t forgotten the way he looked at me this morning, like I was something on the bottom of his shoe. But now his gaze is softer, calmer, more like Cal¡¯s.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about earlier today, Mareena.¡±


    <i>My name is Mare</i>. ¡°I¡¯m sure you are,¡±es out instead.


    ¡°Really,¡± he says, leaning toward me. We¡¯re seated side by side, with the rest of the royals, at the high table. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ªusually younger<span id="page_105" title="105">princes get to choose. One of the few perks of not being the heir,¡± he adds with a terribly forced smile.


    <i>Oh</i>. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± I reply, not really knowing what to say. I should feel sorry for him, but I can¡¯t bring myself to feel any kind of pity for a prince.


    ¡°Yeah, well, you wouldn¡¯t. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    He looks back to the feasting hall, casting his gaze out like a fishing line. I wonder what face he¡¯s looking for. ¡°Is she here?¡± I murmur, trying to sound apologetic. ¡°The girl you would have chosen?¡±


    He hesitates, then shakes his head. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t have anyone in mind. But it was nice to have the option of a choice, you know?¡±


    <i>No, I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t have the luxury of choice. Not now, not ever</i>.


    ¡°Not like my brother. He grew up knowing he¡¯d never have a say in his future. I guess now I¡¯m getting a taste of what he feels.¡±


    ¡°You and your brother have everything, Prince Maven,¡± I whisper in a voice so fervent it might be a prayer. ¡°You live in a pce, you have strength, you have<i>power</i>. You wouldn¡¯t know hardship if it kicked you in the teeth, and believe me, it does that a lot. So excuse me if I don¡¯t feel sorry for either of you.¡±


    There I go, letting my mouth run away with my brain. As I recover, drinking down the rest of the water in an attempt to cool my temper, Maven just stares at me, his eyes cold. But the wall of ice recedes, melting as his gaze softens.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Mare. No one should feel sorry for me.¡± I can hear the bitterness in his voice. With a shiver, I watch him throw a nce at Cal. His older brother beams like the sun,ughing with their father. When Maven turns back around, he forces another smile, but there¡¯s a surprising sadness in his eyes.


    As much as I try, I can¡¯t ignore the sudden jolt of pity I feel for<span id="page_106" title="106">the forgotten prince. But it passes when I remember who he is and who I am.


    I¡¯m a Red girl in a sea of Silvers, and I can¡¯t afford to feel sorry for anyone, least of all the son of a snake.

 Red Queen: Chapter 11

    <i>The crowd toasts at</i>the end of the feast, their sses raised to the royal table. On they go, lords anddies in a rainbow of color trying to wiggle their way into favor. I¡¯ll have to learn them all soon, matching color to house and house to people. Maven whispers their names to me in turn, even though I won¡¯t remember them tomorrow. At first it¡¯s annoying, but soon I find myself leaning in to hear the names.


    Lord Samos is thest to stand, and when he does, a hush falls. This manmands respect, even among titans. Though his ck robes are in, trimmed with simple silk, and he has no great jewels or badges to speak of, he has the undeniable air of power. I don¡¯t need Maven to tell me he¡¯s the highest of the High Houses, a person to be feared above all others.


    ¡°Volo Samos,¡± Maven murmurs. ¡°Head of House Samos. He owns and operates the iron mines. Every gun in the wares from hisnd.¡±


    <i>So he¡¯s not just a noble. His importancees from more than just titles</i>.


    Volo¡¯s toast is short and to the point. ¡°To my daughter,¡± he rumbles, his voice low, steady, and strong. ¡°The future queen.¡±


    <span id="page_108" title="108">¡°To Evangeline!¡± Ptolemus shouts, jumping to his feet next to his father. His eyes ze around the room, daring someone to oppose them. A few lords anddies look annoyed, angry even, but they raise their cups with the rest, saluting the new princess. Their sses reflect the light, each one a tiny star in the hand of a god.


    When he finishes, Queen ra and King Tiberias rise, both of them smiling at their many guests. Cal gets up as well, then Evangeline, then Maven, and after one dumb moment, I join them. The many houses do the same at their tables, and the scraping of chairs on marble sounds like nails on a stone. Thankfully, the king and queen simply bow and walk down the short set of steps leading away from our high table.<i>It¡¯s over</i>. I¡¯ve made it through my first night.


    Cal takes Evangeline¡¯s hand and leads her after them, with Maven and me bringing up the rear. When Maven takes my hand, his skin is shockingly cold.


    The Silvers press in on both sides, watching us pass in heavy silence. Their faces are curious, cunning, cruel¡ªand behind every false smile is a reminder;<i>they are watching</i>. Every eye scraping over me, looking for cracks and imperfections, makes me squirm, but I cannot break.


    I cannot slip. Not now, not ever. I¡¯m one of them. I¡¯m special.<i>I¡¯m an ident. I¡¯m a lie. And my life depends on maintaining the illusion</i>.


    Maven tightens his fingers in mine, willing me onward. ¡°It¡¯s almost over,¡± he whispers as we near the far end of the hall. ¡°Almost there.¡±


    The feeling of being smothered passes as we leave the feast behind, but the cameras follow us with heavy, electric eyes. The more I think about it, the stronger their gaze bes, until I can sense where the cameras are before I see them. Maybe this is a side effect of my ¡°condition.¡± Maybe I¡¯ve just never been surrounded by this much electricity before, and this is how everyone feels.<i>Or maybe I¡¯m just a freak</i>.


    <span id="page_109" title="109">Back in the passageway, a group of Sentinels waits to escort us upstairs. But then, what threats could there possibly be to these people? Cal, Maven, and King Tiberias can control fire. ra can control<i>minds</i>. What could they fear?


    <i>We will rise, Red as the dawn</i>. Farley¡¯s voice, my brother¡¯s words, the creed of the Scarlet Guard,es back to me. They attacked the capital already; this could even be their next target.<i>I</i>could be a target. Farley could hold me up in another hijacked broadcast, revealing me to the world in an attempt to undermine the Silvers. ¡°<i>Look at their lies, look at</i>this<i>lie</i>,¡± she would say, pushing my face into the camera, bleeding me red for all the world to see.


    Crazier and crazier thoughtse to mind, each one more frightening and oundish than thest.<i>This ce is making me insane after just one day</i>.


    ¡°That went well,¡± ra says, snatching her hand away from the king when we reach the residence floors. He doesn¡¯t seem to mind in the least. ¡°Take the girls to their rooms.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t direct hermand at anyone in particr, but four Sentinels break off from the group. Their eyes glitter behind their ck masks.


    ¡°I can do it,¡± Cal and Maven say in unison. They nce at each other, startled.


    ra raises one perfect eyebrow. ¡°That would be inappropriate.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll escort Mareena, Mavey can take Evangeline,¡± Cal offers quickly, and Maven purses his lips at the nickname.<i>Mavey</i>. Probably what Cal called him as a boy and now it¡¯s stuck, the emblem of a younger brother, always in shadow, always second.


    The king shrugs. ¡°Let them, ra. The girls need a good night of sleep, and Sentinels would give anydy bad dreams.¡± He chuckles,<span id="page_110" title="110">tossing a yful nod at the guards. They don¡¯t respond, silent as stone. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯re allowed to talk at all.


    After a moment of tense silence, the queen turns on her heel. ¡°Very well.¡± Like any wife, she hates her husband for challenging her, and like any queen, she hates the power the king holds over her.<i>A badbination</i>.


    ¡°To bed,¡± the king says, his voice a bit more forceful and authoritative. The Sentinels stay with him, following when he goes the opposite way from his wife. I guess they don¡¯t sleep in the same room, but that¡¯s not much of a shock.


    ¡°My room is where, exactly?¡± Evangeline asks, ring at Maven. The blushing queen-to-be is gone, reced by the sharp she-devil I recognize.


    He gulps at the sight of her. ¡°Uh, this way, miss¡ªma¡¯am¡ªmydy.¡± He holds out an arm to her, but she breezes right by him. ¡°Good night, Cal, Mareena,¡± Maven sighs, making a point of looking at me.


    I can only nod at the retreating prince.<i>My betrothed</i>. The thought makes me want to be sick. Even though he seemed polite, nice even, he¡¯s<i>Silver</i>. And he¡¯s ra¡¯s son, which might be even worse. His smiles and kind words cannot hide that from me. Cal¡¯s just as bad, raised to rule, to perpetuate this world of division even further.


    He watches Evangeline disappear, his eyes lingering on her retreating form in a way that makes me strangely annoyed.


    ¡°You picked a real winner,¡± I mutter once she¡¯s out of earshot.


    Cal¡¯s smile dies with a downward twitch, and he starts walking toward my room, ascending the sloping spiral. My little legs fight to keep up with his long strides, but he doesn¡¯t seem to notice, lost in thought.


    <span id="page_111" title="111">Finally he turns, his eyes like hot coals. ¡°I didn¡¯t pick anything. Everyone knows that.¡±


    ¡°At least you knew this wasing. I woke up this morning and didn¡¯t even have a boyfriend.¡± Cal winces at my words, but I don¡¯t care. I can¡¯t handle his self-pity. ¡°And, you know, there¡¯s the ¡®you¡¯re going to be king¡¯ thing. That must be a boost.¡±


    He chuckles to himself, but he¡¯s notughing. His eyes darken, and he takes a step forward, surveying me from head to toe. Instead of looking judgmental, he seems sad. Deeply sad in the red-gold pools of his eyes, a little boy lost, looking for someone to save him.


    ¡°You¡¯re a lot like Maven,¡± he says after a long moment that makes my heart race.


    ¡°You mean engaged to a stranger? We do have that inmon.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re both very smart.¡± I can¡¯t help but snort. Cal obviously doesn¡¯t know I can¡¯t get through a fourteen-year-old¡¯s math test. ¡°You know people, you understand them, you see through them.¡±


    ¡°I did a great job of thatst night. I definitely knew you were the crown prince the whole time.¡± I still can¡¯t believe it was onlyst night.<i>What a difference a day makes</i>.


    ¡°You knew I didn¡¯t belong.¡±


    His sadness is contagious, sending an ache over me. ¡°So we¡¯ve switched ces.¡±


    Suddenly the pce doesn¡¯t seem so beautiful or so magnificent. The hard metal and stone is too severe, too bright, too unnatural, trapping me in. And underneath it all, the electric buzz of cameras drones on. It¡¯s not even a sound but a feeling in my skin, in my bones, in my blood. My mind reaches out to the electricity, as if on instinct.<i>Stop</i>, I tell myself.<i>Stop</i>. The hair stands up on my arm as something sizzles beneath my skin, a crackling energy I can¡¯t control. Of course it returns<span id="page_112" title="112">now, when it¡¯s thest thing I want.


    But the feeling passes as quickly as it came, and the electricity shifts to a low hum again, letting the world return to normal.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±Text property ? N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org.


    Cal stares down at me, confused.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I mumble, shaking my head. ¡°Just thinking.¡±


    He nods, looking almost apologetic. ¡°About your family?¡±


    The words hit me like a p. They hadn¡¯t even crossed my mind in thest few hours, and it sickens me.<i>A few hours of silk and royalty have already changed me</i>.


    ¡°I¡¯ve sent a conscript release for your brothers and your friend, and an officer to your house, to tell your parents where you are,¡± Cal continues, thinking this might calm me. ¡°We can¡¯t tell them everything though.¡±


    I can only imagine how that went.<i>Oh, hello. Your daughter is a Silver now, and she¡¯s going to marry a prince. You¡¯ll never see her again, but we¡¯ll send you some money to help out. Even trade, don¡¯t you think?</i>


    ¡°They know you work for us and have to live here, but they still think you¡¯re a servant. For now, at least. When your life bes more public, we¡¯ll figure out how to deal with them.¡±


    ¡°Can I write to them at least?¡± Shade¡¯s letters were always a bright spot in our dark days. Maybe mine will be the same.


    But Cal shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that¡¯s just not possible.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so.¡±


    He ushers me into my room, which quickly sparkles to life. Motion-activated lights, I think. Like back in the hallway, my senses sharpen and everything electrical bes a burning feeling in my mind. Immediately I know there are no less than four cameras in my room and that makes me squirm.


    <span id="page_113" title="113">¡°It¡¯s for your own protection. If anyone were to intercept the letters, to find out about you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are the cameras in here<i>for my own protection</i>?¡± I ask, gesturing to the walls. The cameras stab into my skin, watching every inch of me. It¡¯s maddening, and after a day like today, I don¡¯t know how much more I can take. ¡°I¡¯m locked in this nightmare pce, surrounded by walls and guards and people who will tear me to shreds, and I can¡¯t even get a moment¡¯s peace in my own room.¡±


    Instead of snapping back at me, Cal looks bewildered. His eyes ze around. The walls are bare, but he must be able to sense them too. How can anyone not feel the eyes pressing down?


    ¡°Mare, there aren¡¯t any cameras in here.¡±


    I wave a hand at him, dismissive. The electrical hum still breaks against my skin. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. I can feel them.¡±


    Now he truly looks lost. ¡°Feel them? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± But the words die in my throat as I realize: he doesn¡¯t feel anything. He doesn¡¯t even<i>know</i>what I¡¯m saying. How can I exin this to him, if he doesn¡¯t already know? How can I tell him I feel the energy in the air like a pulse, like another part of me? Like another sense? Would he even understand?


    <i>Would anyone?</i>


    ¡°Is that¡ªnot normal?¡±


    Something flickers in his eyes as he hesitates, trying to find the words to tell me I¡¯m different. Even among the Silvers, I¡¯m something else.


    ¡°Not to my knowledge,¡± he finally says.


    My voice sounds small, even to me. ¡°I don¡¯t think anything about me is normal anymore.¡±


    He opens his mouth to speak but thinks better of it. There¡¯s nothing<span id="page_114" title="114">he can say to make me feel better. There¡¯s nothing he can do for me at all.


    In the fairy tales, the poor girl smiles when she bes a princess. Right now, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever smile again.

 Red Queen: Chapter 12

    <i>Your schedule is as follows:</i>


    <i>0730¡ªBreakfast / 0800¡ªProtocol / 1130 Luncheon</i>


    <i>1300¡ªLessons / 1800¡ªDinner</i>.


    <i>Lucas will escort you to all. Schedule is not negotiable</i>.


    <i>Her Royal Highness Queen ra of House Merandus</i>.


    <i>The note is short</i>and to the point, not to mention rude. My mind swims at the thought of<i>five hours</i>of Lessons, remembering how terrible I was at school. With a groan, I throw the note back down on the nightstand. Itnds in a pool of golden morning light, just to tease me.


    Like yesterday, the three maids flutter in, quiet as a whisper. Fifteen minutester, after suffering through tight leather leggings, a draping gown, and other strange, impractical clothes, we settle on the inest thing I can find in the closet of wonders. Stretchy but sturdy ck pants, a purple jacket with silver buttons, and polished gray boots.<span id="page_116" title="116">Besides the glossy hair and the war paint, I almost look like myself again.


    Lucas waits on the other side of the door, one foot tapping against the stone floor. ¡°One minute behind schedule,¡± he says the second I step into the hall.


    ¡°Are you going to babysit me every day or just until I learn my way around?¡±


    He falls into step beside me, gently guiding me in the right direction. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s to a long and happy friendship, Officer Samos.¡±


    ¡°Likewise, mydy.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you say, mydy.¡±


    Next tost night¡¯s feast, breakfast looks dull inparison. The ¡°smaller¡± dining room is stillrge, with a high ceiling and a view of the river, but the long table is only set for three. Unfortunately for me, the other two happen to be ra and Evangeline. They¡¯re already halfway through their bowls of fruit by the time I shuffle in. ra barely nces at me, but Evangeline¡¯s sharp-eyed stare is enough for both of them. With the sun bouncing off her metal getup, she looks like a blinding star.


    ¡°You should eat quickly,¡± the queen says without looking up. ¡°Lady Blonos does not tolerate tardiness.¡±


    Across from me, Evangelineughs into her hand. ¡°You¡¯re still taking Protocol?¡±


    ¡°You mean you aren¡¯t?¡± My heart leaps at the prospect of not having to sit through sses with her. ¡°Excellent.¡±


    Evangeline scoffs at me, brushing off the insult. ¡°Only children take Protocol.¡±


    <span id="page_117" title="117">To my surprise, the queen takes my side. ¡°Lady Mareena has grown up under terrible circumstances. She knows nothing of our ways, of the expectations she must fulfill now. Surely you understand her needs, Evangeline?¡±


    The reprimand is calm, quiet, and threatening. Evangeline¡¯s smile drops, and she nods, not daring to meet the queen¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Luncheon today will be on the ss Terrace, with thedies of Queenstrial and their mothers. Try not to gloat,¡± ra adds, though I never would. Evangeline, on the other hand, blushes white.


    ¡°They¡¯re still here?¡± I hear myself ask. ¡°Even after¡ªnot being chosen?¡±


    ra nods. ¡°Our guests will be here for theing weeks, to properly honor the prince and his betrothed. They won¡¯t leave until after the Parting Ball.¡±


    My heart plummets in my chest until it bounces around my toes. So more nights likest night, with the pressing crowd and a thousand eyes. They¡¯ll ask questions too, questions I¡¯ll have to answer. ¡°Lovely.¡±


    ¡°And after the ball, we leave with them,¡± ra continues, twisting the knife. ¡°To return to the capital.¡±


    The capital.<i>Archeon</i>. I know the royal family goes back to Whitefire Pce at the end of every summer, and now I¡¯m going too. I¡¯ll have to leave, and this world I can¡¯t understand will be my only reality. I¡¯ll never be able to go home.<i>You knew this</i>, I tell myself,<i>you agreed to this</i>. But it doesn¡¯t hurt any less.


    When I escape back into the hallway, Lucas ushers me down the passage. As we walk, he smirks at me. ¡°You have watermelon on your face.¡±


    ¡°Of course I do,¡± I snap, wiping at my mouth with my sleeve.


    <span id="page_118" title="118">¡°Lady Blonos is just through here,¡± he says, gesturing to the end of the hall.


    ¡°What¡¯s the story about her? Can she fly or make flowers grow out of her ears?¡±Exclusive ? content by N(?)ve/l/Drama.Org.


    Lucas cracks a smile, humoring me. ¡°Not quite. She¡¯s a healer. Now, there¡¯s two kinds of healers: skin healers and blood healers. All of House Blonos are blood healers, meaning they can heal themselves. I could throw her off the top of the Hall and she¡¯d walk away without a scratch.¡±


    I¡¯d like to see that tested, but I don¡¯t say so out loud. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of a blood healer before.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have, since they¡¯re not allowed to fight in the arenas. There¡¯s simply no point in them doing it.¡±


    <i>Wow</i>. Yet another Silver of epic proportions. ¡°So if I have, um, an episode¡ª¡±


    Lucas softens, understanding what I¡¯m trying to say. ¡°She¡¯ll be just fine. The curtains, on the other hand . . .¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why they gave her to me. Because I¡¯m dangerous.¡±


    But Lucas shakes his head. ¡°Lady Titanos, they gave her to you because your posture is terrible and you eat like a dog. Bess Blonos is going to teach you how to be a<idy</i>and if you light her up a couple of times, no one will me you.¡±


    <i>How to be ady</i>. . .<i>this will be awful</i>.


    He raps his knuckles on the door, making me jump. It swings open on silent, smooth hinges, revealing a sunlit room.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back to bring you to lunch,¡± he says. I don¡¯t move, my feet nted, but Lucas nudges me into the dreaded room.


    The door swings behind me, this time shutting out the hall and anything that might calm me down. The room is fine but in with<span id="page_119" title="119">a wall of windows, and totally empty. The buzzing of cameras, lights,<i>electricity</i>, is vibrantly strong in here, almost burning the air around me with its energy. I¡¯m sure the queen is watching, ready tough at my attempts to be proper.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I say, expecting a response, but nothinges


    I cross to the windows, looking out on the courtyard. Instead of another pretty garden, I¡¯m surprised to find this window doesn¡¯t face outside at all but down into a gigantic white room.


    The floor is several stories below me, and a track rings the outer edge. In the center, a strange contraption moves and turns, spinning round and round with outstretched metal arms. Men and women, all in uniform, dodge the spinning machine. It picks up speed, twirling faster, until only two remain. They¡¯re quick, dipping and dodging with grace and speed. At every turn the machine elerates, until it finally slows, shutting down.<i>They¡¯ve beaten it</i>.


    <i>This must be some kind of training, for Security or Sentinels</i>.


    But when the two trainees move on to target practice, I realize they aren¡¯t Security at all. The pair of them shoot bright red fireballs into the air, exploding targets as they rise and fall. Each one is a perfect shot, and even from up here, I recognize their smiling faces.<i>Cal and Maven</i>.


    So this is what they do during the day. Not learning to rule, to be a king, or even a proper lord, but to train for war. Cal and Maven are deadly creatures, soldiers. But their battle isn¡¯t just on the lines. It¡¯s here, in a pce, on the broadcasts, in the heart of every person they rule. They will rule, not just by right of a crown but by might.<i>Strength and power</i>. It¡¯s all the Silvers respect, and it¡¯s all it takes to keep the rest of us ves.


    Evangeline steps up next. When the targets fly, she throws out a fan of sharp silver metal darts to take down each one in turn. No wonder<span id="page_120" title="120">sheughed at me for Protocol. While I¡¯m in here learning how to eat properly, she¡¯s training to kill.


    ¡°Enjoying the show, Lady Mareena?¡± a voice crows behind me. I turn around, my nerves tingling a bit. What I see doesn¡¯t do anything to calm me.


    Lady Blonos is a horrifying sight, and it takes all of my manners to keep my jaw from dropping.<i>Blood healer, able to heal herself</i>. I understand now what that means.


    She must be over fifty, older than my mother, but her skin is smooth and shockingly tight over her bones. Her hair is perfectly white, slicked back, and her eyebrows seem fixed in a constant state of shock, arched on her unwrinkled forehead. Everything about her is wrong, from her too-full lips to the sharp, unnatural slope of her nose. Only her deep gray eyes look alive. The rest, I realize, is<i>fake</i>. Somehow she was able to heal or change herself into this monstrous thing in an attempt to look younger, prettier,<i>better</i>.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I finally manage, ¡°I came in, and you weren¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°I observed,¡± she clips, already hating me. ¡°You stand like a tree in a storm.¡±


    She seizes my shoulders and pulls them back, forcing me to stand up straight. ¡°My name is Bess Blonos, and I¡¯m going to attempt to make you ady. You¡¯re going to be a princess one day, and we can¡¯t have you acting like a savage, can we?¡±


    <i>Savage</i>. For a brief, shining moment, I think about spitting in silly Lady Blonos¡¯s face.<i>But what would that cost me? What would that aplish? And it would only prove her right</i>. Worst of all, I realize I need her. Her training will keep me from slipping and, most important, keep me<i>alive</i>.


    ¡°No,¡± a hollow shell of my voice answers. ¡°We can¡¯t have that.¡±


    <span id="page_121" title="121">Exactly three and a half hourster, Blonos releases me from her clutches and back into Lucas¡¯s care. My back aches from the posture lessons about how to sit, stand, walk, and even sleep (<i>on your back, arms at your sides, always still</i>), but it¡¯s nothingpared to the mental exercise she put me through. She drilled the rules of court into my head, filling me with names, protocols, and etiquette. In thest few hours I received a crash course in anything and everything I¡¯m supposed to know. The hierarchy among the High Houses is slowlying into focus, but I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll mess up something anyway. We only scratched the surface of Protocol, but now I can go to the queen¡¯s stupid function with at least some idea of how to act.


    The ss Terrace is rtively close by, only a floor down and a hallway over, so I don¡¯t get much time to collect myself before facing ra and Evangeline again. This time, when I step through the doorway, I¡¯m greeted by invigorating fresh air. I¡¯m outside for the first time since I became Mareena, but now, with the wind in my lungs and the sun on my face, I feel more like Mare again. If I close my eyes, I can pretend none of this ever happened.<i>But it did</i>.


    The ss Terrace is as ornate as Blonos¡¯s ssroom was bare and lives up to its name. A ss canopy, supported by clear, artfully cut columns, stretches over us, refracting the sun into a million dancing colors to match the women milling about. It¡¯s beautiful in an artificial way, like everything else in this Silver world.


    Before I have a chance to take a breath, a pair of girls steps in front of me. Their smiles are fake and cold, just like their eyes. Judging by the colors of their gowns (dark blue and red on one, solid ck on the other), they belong to House Iral and House Haven.<i>Silks and shadows</i>, I remember, thinking back to Blonos¡¯s lessons on abilities.


    <span id="page_122" title="122">¡°Lady Mareena,¡± they say in unison, bowing stiffly. I do the same, inclining my head the way Lady Blonos showed me.


    ¡°I¡¯m Sonya of House Iral,¡± the first says, tossing her head proudly. Her movements are lithe and catlike.<i>Silks are quick and quiet, perfectly bnced and agile</i>.


    ¡°And I¡¯m ne of House Haven,¡± the other adds, her voice barely a whisper. While the Iral girl is dark, with deeply tanned skin and ck hair, ne is pale, with glossy red locks. The dancing sunlight speckles her skin in a perfect halo, making her look wless.<i>Shadow, bender of light</i>. ¡°We wanted to wee you.¡±


    But their pointed smiles and narrowed eyes don¡¯t look weing at all.


    ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s very kind.¡± I clear my throat, trying to sound normal, and the girls don¡¯t miss the action, exchanging nces. ¡°You also participated in Queenstrial?¡± I say quickly, hoping to distract them from my terrible social graces.


    This only seems to incense them. Sonya crosses her arms, showing sharp nails the color of iron. ¡°We did. Obviously we were not so lucky as you or Evangeline.¡±


    ¡°Sorry¡ª,¡±es out before I can stop it.<i>Mareena would not apologize</i>. ¡°I mean, you know I had no intention of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your intentions remain to be seen,¡± Sonya purrs, looking more like a cat with every passing second. When she turns, snapping her fingers in a way that makes her nails slice along each other, I flinch. ¡°Grandmother,e meet Lady Mareena.¡±


    <i>Grandmother</i>. I almost breathe a sigh of relief, expecting a kindly old woman toe waddling over and save me from these biting girls. But I¡¯m sorely mistaken.


    Instead of a wizened crone, I¡¯m met with a formidable woman<span id="page_123" title="123">made of steel and shadow. Like Sonya, she has coffee-colored skin and ck hair, though hers is shot with streaks of white. Despite her age, her brown eyes spark with life.


    ¡°Lady Mareena, this is my grandmother Lady Ara, the head of House Iral.¡± Sonya exins with a pointed smirk. The older woman eyes me, and her gaze is worse than any camera, piercing straight through me. ¡°Perhaps you know her as the Panther?¡±


    ¡°The Panther? I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    But Sonya keeps talking, enjoying watching me squirm. ¡°Many years ago, when the war slowed, intelligence agents became more important than soldiers. The Panther was the greatest of them all.¡±


    <i>A spy. I¡¯m standing in front of a spy</i>.


    I force myself to smile, if only to try and hide my fear. Sweat breaks out on my palms, and I hope I don¡¯t have to shake any hands. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, mydy.¡±


    Ara simply nods. ¡°I knew your father, Mareena. And your mother.¡±


    ¡°I miss them terribly,¡± I reply, saying the words to cate her.


    But the Panther looks perplexed, tipping her head to the side. For a second, I can see thousands of secrets, hard-won in the shadows of war, reflecting in her eyes. ¡°You remember them?¡± she asks, prodding at my lie.


    My voice catches, but I have to keep talking, keep lying. ¡°I don¡¯t, but I miss having parents.¡± Mom and Dad sh in my mind, but I push them away. My Red past is thest thing I should think about. ¡°I wish they were here to help me understand all this.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± she says, surveying me again. Her suspicion makes me want to leap off the balcony. ¡°Your father had blue eyes, as did your mother.¡±


    <i>And my eyes are brown</i>. ¡°I am different in many ways, most I don¡¯t<span id="page_124" title="124">even understand yet,¡± is all I can manage to say, hoping that exnation will be enough.


    For once, the queen¡¯s voice is my savior. ¡°Shall we sit,dies?¡± she says, echoing over the crowd. It¡¯s enough to pull me away from Ara, Sonya, and the quiet ne, to a seat where I can breathe a little sigh to myself.


    Halfway to Lessons, I begin to feel calm again. I addressed everyone properly and only spoke as much as I had to, as instructed. Evangeline talked enough for both of us, regaling the women with her ¡°undying love¡± for Cal and the honor she felt at being chosen. I thought the Queenstrial girls would band together and kill her, but they didn¡¯t, to my annoyance. Only the Iral grandmother and Sonya seemed to even care that I was there, though they didn¡¯t push their interrogation any further.<i>But they certainly will</i>.


    When Maven appears around the corner, I¡¯m so proud of my survival at lunch that I¡¯m not even annoyed by his presence. In fact, I feel strangely relieved and let a bit of my cold act drop. He grins,ing closer with a few long strides.


    ¡°Still alive?¡± he asks. Compared to the Irals, he¡¯s like a friendly puppy.


    I can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°You should send Lady Iral back to the Laknders. She¡¯ll make them surrender in a week.¡±


    He forces a hollowugh. ¡°She¡¯s a battle-ax that one. Can¡¯t seem to understand she¡¯s not in the war any longer. Did she question you at all?¡±


    ¡°More like interrogate. I think she¡¯s angry I beat out her granddaughter.¡±


    Fear flickers in his eyes, and I understand it.<i>If the Panther is sniffing<span id="page_125" title="125">around my trail</i>. . . ¡°She shouldn¡¯t bother you like that,¡± he mutters. ¡°I¡¯ll let my mother know, and she¡¯ll take care of it.¡±


    As much as I don¡¯t want his help, I don¡¯t see any other way around it. A woman like Ara could easily find the cracks in my story, and then I¡¯ll be truly finished. ¡°Thanks, that would¡ªthat would be very helpful.¡±


    Maven¡¯s dress uniform is gone, reced by casual clothes built for form and function. It calms me a little, to see at least someone looking so informal. But I can¡¯t let anything about him soothe me.<i>He¡¯s one of them. I can¡¯t forget that</i>.


    ¡°Are you done for the day?¡± he says, his face clearing to reveal an eager smile. ¡°I could show you around if you want.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The wordes out quickly, and his smile fades. His frown unsettles me as much as his smile. ¡°I have Lessons next,¡± I add, hoping to soften the blow. Why I care about his feelings, I don¡¯t exactly know. ¡°Your mother loves her schedules.¡±


    He nods, looking a little better. ¡°She does indeed. Well, I won¡¯t keep you.¡±


    He takes my hand gently. The cold I felt on his skin before is gone, reced with a delightful heat. Before I get a chance to pull away, he leaves me standing there alone.


    Lucas gives me a moment to collect myself before noting, ¡°You know, we¡¯d get there much faster if you actually<i>moved</i>.¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Lucas.¡±

 Red Queen: Chapter 13

    <i>My next instructor waits</i>for me in a room cluttered from floor to ceiling with more books than I¡¯ve ever seen, more books than I ever thought<i>existed</i>. They look old andpletely priceless. Despite my aversion to school and books of any kind, I feel a pull to them. But the titles and pages are written in anguage I don¡¯t understand, a jumble of symbols I could never hope to decipher.


    Just as intriguing as the books are the maps along the wall, of the kingdom and othernds, old and new. Framed against the far wall, behind a pane of ss, is a vast, colorful map pieced together from separate sheets of paper. It¡¯s at least twice as tall as me and dominates the room. Faded and ripped, it¡¯s a tangled knot of red lines and blue coasts, green forests and yellow cities. This is the old world, the before world, with old names and old borders we no longer have any use for.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange to look at the world as it once was,¡± the instructor says, appearing out of the book stacks. His yellow robes, stained and faded by age, make him look like a human piece of paper. ¡°Can you find where we are?¡±


    <span id="page_127" title="127">The sheer size of the map makes me gulp, but, like everything else, I¡¯m sure this is a test. ¡°I can try.¡±


    <i>Norta is the northeast</i>.<i>The Stilts is on the Capital River, and the river goes to the sea</i>. After a minute of pained searching, I finally find the river and the inlet near my vige. ¡°There,¡± I say, pointing just north, where I suppose Summerton might be.


    He nods, happy to know I¡¯m not a total fool. ¡°Do you recognize anything else?¡±


    But like the books, the map is written in the unknownnguage. ¡°I can¡¯t read it.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask if you could read it,¡± he replies, still pleasant. ¡°Besides, words can lie. See beyond them.¡±


    With a shrug, I force myself to look again. I was never a good student in school, and this man is going to find that out soon enough. But to my surprise, I like this game. Searching the map, looking for features I recognize. ¡°That might be Harbor Bay,¡± I finally murmur, circling the area around a hooked cape.


    ¡°Correct,¡± he says, his face folding into a smile. The wrinkles around his eyes deepen with the action, showing his age. ¡°This is Delphie now,¡± he adds, pointing to a city farther south. ¡°And Archeon is here.¡±


    He puts his finger over the Capital River, a few miles north of what looks like thergest city on the map, in the entire country of the before world.<i>The Ruins</i>. I¡¯ve heard the name, in whispers between the older kids, and from my brother Shade.<i>The Ash City, the Wreckage</i>, he called it. A tremor runs down my spine at the thought of such a ce, still covered in smoke and shadow from a war more than a thousand years ago.<i>Will this world ever be like that, if our war doesn¡¯t end?</i>


    The instructor stands back to let me think. He has a very strange<span id="page_128" title="128">idea of teaching; it¡¯ll probably end with a four-hour game of me staring at a wall.


    But suddenly, I¡¯m very aware of the buzz in this room. Orck thereof. This entire day I¡¯ve felt the electrical weight of cameras, so much that I¡¯ve stopped noticing. Until now, when I don¡¯t feel it at all.<i>It¡¯s gone</i>. I can feel the lights still pulsing with electricity, but no cameras. No eyes. ra cannot see me here.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t anyone watching us?¡±


    He only blinks at me. ¡°So there is a difference,¡± he mutters. What that means I don¡¯t know, and it infuriates me.


    <i>¡°Why?¡±</i>


    ¡°Mare, I¡¯m here to teach you your histories, to teach you how to be Silver and how to be, ah,<i>useful</i>,¡± he says, his expression souring.


    I stare at him, confused. Cold fear bleeds through me. ¡°My name is Mareena.¡±


    But he only waves a hand, brushing aside my feeble deration. ¡°I¡¯m also going to try to understand exactly how<i>you</i>came to be and how your abilities work.¡±


    ¡°My abilities came to be because¡ªbecause I¡¯m a Silver. My parents¡¯ abilities mixed¡ªmy father was an oblivion and my mother a storm.¡± I stutter through the exnation ra fed me, trying to make him understand. ¡°I¡¯m a Silver, sir.¡±


    To my horror, he shakes his head. ¡°No you are not, Mare Barrow, and you must never forget it.¡±


    <i>He knows. I¡¯m finished. It¡¯s all over</i>. I should beg, plead for him to keep my secret, but the words stick in my throat. The end ising, and I can¡¯t even open my mouth to stop it.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that,¡± he continues, noting my fear. ¡°I have no ns of alerting anyone to your<i>heritage</i>.¡±


    <span id="page_129" title="129">The relief I feel is short-lived, shifting into another kind of fear. ¡°Why? What do you want from me?¡±


    ¡°I am, above all things, a curious man. And when you entered Queenstrial a Red servant and ran out some long-lost Silverdy, I have to say I was quite curious.¡±


    ¡°Is that why there aren¡¯t any cameras in here?¡± I bristle, backing away from him. My fists clench, and I wish the lightning woulde to protect me from this man. ¡°So there¡¯s no record of you<i>examining</i>me?¡±


    ¡°There are no cameras in here because I have the power to turn them off.¡±


    Hope sparks in me, like light in absolute darkness. ¡°What is your power?¡± I ask shakily.<i>Maybe he¡¯s like me</i>.


    ¡°Mare, when a Silver says ¡®power,¡¯ they mean<i>might</i>,<i>strength</i>. ¡®Ability,¡¯ on the other hand, refers to all the silly little things we can do.¡±<i>Silly little things</i>. Like break a man in two or drown him in the town square. ¡°I mean that my sister was queen once, and that still counts for something around here.¡±


    ¡°Lady Blonos didn¡¯t teach me that.¡±


    He chuckles to himself. ¡°That¡¯s because Lady Blonos is teaching you nonsense. I will never do that.¡±


    ¡°So, if the queen<i>was</i>your sister, then you¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°Julian Jacos, at your service.¡± He sweeps into aically low bow. ¡°Head of House Jacos, heir to nothing more than a few old books. My sister was thete queen Coriane, and Prince Tiberias the Seventh, Cal as we all call him, is my nephew.¡±


    Now that he says it, I can see the resemnce. Cal¡¯s coloring is his father¡¯s, but the easy expression, the warmth behind his eyes¡ªthose muste from his mother.


    <span id="page_130" title="130">¡°So, you¡¯re not going to turn me into some science experiment for the queen?¡± I ask, still wary.


    Instead of looking offended, Julianughs aloud. ¡°My dear, the queen would like nothing more than for you to disappear. Discovering what you are, helping you understand it, is the<ist</i>thing she wants.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re going to do it anyway?¡±


    Something shes in his eyes, something like anger. ¡°The queen¡¯s reach is not so long as she wants you to think. I want to know what you are, and I¡¯m sure you do too.¡±


    As afraid as I was a moment ago, that¡¯s how intrigued I am now. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± he says, smiling at me over a stack of books. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say I must also do what was asked, to prepare you for the day you step forward.¡±


    My face falls, remembering what Cal exined in the throne room.<i>You are their champion. A Silver raised Red</i>. ¡°They want to use me to stop a rebellion. Somehow.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my dear brother-inw and his queen believe you can do so, if used appropriately.¡± Bitterness drips from his every word.


    ¡°It¡¯s a stupid idea and impossible. I won¡¯t be able to do anything, and then . . .¡± My voice trails away.<i>Then they¡¯ll kill me</i>.


    Julian follows my train of thought. ¡°You¡¯re wrong, Mare. You don¡¯t understand the power you have now, how much you could control.¡± He sps his hands behind his back, oddly tight. ¡°The Scarlet Guard are too drastic for most, too much too fast. But you are the controlled change, the kind people can trust. You are the slow burn that will quench a revolution with a few speeches and smiles. You can speak to the Reds, tell them how noble, how benevolent, how<i>right</i>the king and his Silvers are. You can talk your people back into their chains.<span id="page_131" title="131">Even the Silvers who question the king, the ones who have doubts, can be convinced by<i>you</i>. And the world will stay the same.¡±


    To my surprise, Julian seems disheartened by this. Without the buzzing cameras, I forget myself and my face curls into a sneer. ¡°And you don¡¯t want that? You¡¯re a Silver, you should<i>hate</i>the Scarlet Guard¡ªand me.¡±


    ¡°Thinking all Silvers are evil is just as wrong as thinking all Reds are inferior,¡± he says, his voice grave. ¡°What my people are doing to you and yours is wrong to the deepest levels of humanity. Oppressing you, trapping you in an endless cycle of poverty and death, just because we think you are<i>different</i>from us? That is not<i>right</i>. And as any student of history can tell you, it will end poorly.¡±


    ¡°But we are different.¡± One day in this world taught me that. ¡°We¡¯re not equal.¡±


    Julian stoops, his eyes boring into mine. ¡°I¡¯m looking at proof you are wrong.¡±


    <i>You¡¯re looking at a freak</i>,<i>Julian</i>.


    ¡°Will you let me prove you wrong, Mare?¡±


    ¡°What good will it do? Nothing will change.¡±


    Julian sighs, exasperated. He runs a hand through his thinning chestnut hair. ¡°For hundreds of years the Silvers have walked the earth as living gods and the Reds have been ves at their feet,<i>until you</i>. If that isn¡¯t change, I don¡¯t know what is.¡±


    <i>He can help me survive. Better yet, he might even help me live</i>.


    ¡°So what do we do?¡±


    My days take on a rhythm, always the same schedule. Protocol in the morning, Lessons in the afternoon, while ra parades me at lunches and dinners in between. The Panther and Sonya still seem wary of me<span id="page_132" title="132">but haven¡¯t said anything since the luncheon. Maven¡¯s help seems to have worked, as much as I hate to admit it.


    At the nextrge gathering, this time in the queen¡¯s personal dining hall, the Irals ignore mepletely. Despite my Protocol lessons, luncheon is still overwhelming as I try to remember what I¡¯ve been taught.<i>Osanos, nymphs, blue and green. Welle, greenwardens, green and gold. Lern, oblivions, orange and red. Rhambos and Tyros and Nornus and Iral and many more</i>. How anyone keeps track of this, I¡¯ll never know.


    As usual, I¡¯m seated next to Evangeline. I¡¯m painfully aware of the many metal utensils on the table, all lethal weapons in Evangeline¡¯s cruel hand. Every time she lifts her knife to cut her food, my body tenses, waiting for the blow. ra knows what I¡¯m thinking, as usual, but carries on through her meal with a smile. That might be worse than Evangeline¡¯s torture, to know she takes pleasure in watching our silent war.


    ¡°And how do you like the Hall of the Sun, Lady Titanos?¡± the girl across from me asks¡ª<i>Atara, House Viper, green and ck. The animos who killed the doves</i>. ¡°I assume it¡¯s noparison to the¡ªthe<i>vige</i>you lived in before.¡± She says the word<i>vige</i>like a curse, and I don¡¯t miss her smirk.


    The other womenugh with her, a few whispering in scandalized voices.


    It takes me a minute to respond as I try to keep my blood from boiling. ¡°The Hall and Summerton are very different from what I¡¯m used to,¡± I force out.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± another woman says, leaning forward to join the conversation. A Welle, judging by her green-and-gold tunic. ¡°I took a tour of the Capital Valley once, and I must say, the Red viges are simply deplorable. They don¡¯t even have proper roads.¡±


    <span id="page_133" title="133"><i>We can barely feed ourselves, let alone pave streets</i>. My jaw tightens until I think my teeth might shatter. I try to smile but instead end up grimacing as the other women voice their agreement.


    ¡°And the Reds, well, I suppose it¡¯s the best they can do with what they have,¡± the Welle continues, wrinkling her nose at the thought. ¡°They¡¯re suited to such lives.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not our fault they were born to serve,¡± a brown-robed Rhambos says airily, as if she¡¯s talking about the weather or the food. ¡°It¡¯s simply nature.¡±


    Anger curls through me, but one nce from the queen tells me I cannot act on it. Instead, I must do my duty. I must lie. ¡°It is indeed,¡± I hear myself say. Under the table, my hands clench, and I think my heart might be breaking.


    All over the table, the women listen attentively. Many smile, more nod as I reassert their terrible beliefs about my people. Their faces make me want to scream.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I continue, unable to stop myself. ¡°Being forced to live such lives, with no respite, no reprieve, and no escape, would make servants of anyone.¡±


    The few smiles fade, twitching into bewilderment.


    ¡°Lady Titanos is to have the best tutors and best help to make sure she adjusts properly,¡± ra says quickly, cutting me off. ¡°She¡¯s already begun with Lady Blonos.¡±


    The women mutter appreciatively while the girls exchange eye rolls. It¡¯s enough time to recover, to reim the self-control I need to survive the meal.


    ¡°What does His Royal Highness intend to do about the rebels?¡± a woman asks, her gruff voice sending a shock of silence over lunch, drawing focus away from me.


    <span id="page_134" title="134">Every eye at the table turns to the speaker, a woman in military uniform. A few otherdies wear uniforms as well, but hers shines with the most medals and ribbons. The ugly scar down her freckled face says she may actually have earned them. Here in a pce, it¡¯s easy to forget there¡¯s a war going on, but the haunted look in her eye says she will not, she<i>cannot</i>, forget.


    Queen ra puts down her spoon with practiced grace and an equally practiced smile. ¡°Colonel Macanthos, I would hardly call them rebels¡ª¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s only the attack they¡¯ve imed,¡± the colonel fires back, cutting off the queen. ¡°What about the explosion in Harbor Bay, or the airfield in Delphie for that matter? Three airjets destroyed, and two more<i>stolen</i>from one of our own bases!¡±


    My eyes widen, and I can¡¯t help but gasp with a fewdies.<i>More attacks?</i>But while the others look frightened, hands pressed to their mouths, I have to fight the urge to smile.<i>Farley has been busy</i>.


    ¡°Are you an engineer, Colonel?¡± ra¡¯s voice is sharp, cold, and final. She doesn¡¯t give Macanthos a chance to shake her head. ¡°Then you wouldn¡¯t understand how a gas leak in the Bay was at fault for the explosion. And remind me, do youmand aerial troops? Oh no, I¡¯m so sorry, your specialty lies with ground forces. The airfield incident was a training exercise overseen by Lord General Laris himself. He has personally assured His Highness of the utmost safety of the Delphie base.¡±


    In a fair fight, Macanthos could probably tear ra apart with her bare hands. But instead, ra tore the colonel apart with nothing but words. And she¡¯s not even finished. Julian¡¯s words echo in my head¡ª<i>words can lie</i>.


    ¡°Their goal is to harm innocent civilians, Silver and Red, to incite<span id="page_135" title="135">fear and hysteria. They are small, contained, and cowardly, hiding from my husband¡¯s justice. To call every mishap and misunderstanding in this kingdom the work of such evil only furthers their efforts to terrorize the rest of us. Do not give these monsters the satisfaction of that.¡±


    A few women at the table p and nod, agreeing with the queen¡¯s sweeping lie. Evangeline joins in, and the action quickly spreads, until only the colonel and I remain silent. I can tell she doesn¡¯t believe anything the queen says, but there¡¯s no way to call the queen a liar. Not here, not in her arena.


    As much as I want to stay still, I know I can¡¯t. I¡¯m Mareena, not Mare, and I have to support my queen and her wretched words. My handse together, pping for ra¡¯s lie, as the scolded colonel bows her head.


    Even though I¡¯m constantly surrounded by servants and Silvers, loneliness sets in. I don¡¯t see Cal much, what with his busy schedule of training, training, and more training. He even gets to leave the Hall, going to address troops at a nearby base or apanying his father on state business. I suppose I could talk to Maven, with his blue eyes and half smirk, but I¡¯m still wary of him. Luckily we¡¯re never truly left alone. It¡¯s a silly court tradition, to keep noble boys and girls from being<i>tempted</i>, as Lady Blonos put it, but I doubt it¡¯ll ever apply to me.


    Truthfully, half the time I forget I¡¯m supposed to marry him one day. The idea of Maven being my husband doesn¡¯t seem real. We¡¯re not even friends, let alone partners. As nice as he is, my instincts tell me not to turn my back on ra¡¯s son, that he¡¯s hiding something. What that might be, I don¡¯t know.


    Julian¡¯s teachings make it all bearable; the education I once dreaded<span id="page_136" title="136">is now a bright spot in my sea of darkness. Without the cameras and ra¡¯s eyes, we can spend our time discovering what I really am. But the going is slow, frustrating us both.


    ¡°I think I know what your problem is,¡± Julian says at the end of my first week. I¡¯m standing a few yards away, arms outstretched, looking like the usual fool. There¡¯s a strange electrical contraption at my feet, asionally spitting sparks. Julian wants me to harness it, to use it, but once again, I¡¯ve failed to produce the lightning that got me into this mess in the first ce.


    ¡°Maybe I have to be in mortal danger,¡± I huff. ¡°Should we ask for Lucas¡¯s gun?¡±


    Usually Julianughs at my jokes, but right now he¡¯s too busy thinking.


    ¡°You¡¯re like a child,¡± he finally says. I wrinkle my nose at the insult, but he continues anyway. ¡°This is how children are at first, when they can¡¯t control themselves. Their abilities present in times of stress or fear, until they learn to harness those emotions and use them to their advantage. There¡¯s a trigger, and you need to find yours.¡±


    I remember how I felt in the Spiral Garden, falling to what I thought was my doom. But it wasn¡¯t fear running through my veins as I collided with the lightning shield¡ªit was peace. It was<i>knowing</i>that my end hade and epting there was nothing I could do to stop it¡ªit was letting go.


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a try, at least,¡± Julian prods.


    With a groan, I face the wall again. Julian lined it with some stone bookshelves, all empty of course, so I have something to aim at. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him back away, watching me all the time.


    <i>Let go. Let yourself go</i>, the voice in my head whispers. My eyes slide closed as I focus, letting my thoughts fall away so that my mind can<span id="page_137" title="137">reach out, feeling for the electricity it craves to touch. The ripple of energy, alive beneath my skin, moves over me again until it sings in every muscle and nerve. That¡¯s usually where it stops, just on the edge of feeling, but not this time. Instead of trying to hold on, to push myself into this force, I let go. And I fall into what I can¡¯t exin, into a sensation that is everything and nothing, light and dark, hot and cold, alive and dead. Soon the power is the only thing in my head, blotting out all my ghosts and memories. Even Julian and the books cease to exist. My mind is clear, a ck void humming with force. Now when I push at the sensation, it doesn¡¯t disappear and it moves within me, from my eyes to the tips of my fingers. To my left, Julian gasps aloud.


    My eyes open to see purple-white sparks jumping from the contraption to my fingers, like electricity between wires.


    For once, Julian has nothing to say. And neither do I.


    I don¡¯t want to move, afraid that any small change might make the lightning disappear. But it doesn¡¯t fade. It remains, jumping and twisting in my hand like a kitten with a ball of yarn. It seems just as harmless, but I remember what I almost did to Evangeline.<i>This power can destroy if I let it</i>.


    ¡°Try to move it,¡± Julian breathes, watching me with wide, excited eyes.


    Something tells me this lightning will obey my wishes. It¡¯s part of me, a piece of my soul alive in the world.


    My fist clenches into a tight ball, and the sparks react to my straining muscles, bingrger and brighter and faster. They eat away at the sleeve of my shirt, burning through the fabric in seconds. Like a child throwing a ball, I whip my arm toward the stone shelves, releasing my fist at thest moment. The lightning flies through the air in a circle of bright sparks, colliding with the bookshelves.


    <span id="page_138" title="138">The resulting<i>boom</i>makes me scream and fall back into a stack of books. As I tumble to the ground, heart racing in my chest, the solid stone bookshelf copses on itself in a cloud of thick dust. Sparks sh over the rubble for a moment before disappearing, leaving nothing but ruins behind.


    ¡°Sorry about the shelf,¡± I say from beneath a pile of fallen books. My sleeve still smokes in a ruin of thread, but it¡¯s nothingpared to the buzz in my hand. My nerves sing, tingling with power¡ªthat felt<i>good</i>.


    Julian¡¯s shadow moves through the cloudy air, augh resounding deep in his chest as he examines my handiwork. His white grin glows through the dust.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to need a bigger ssroom.¡±


    He¡¯s not wrong. We¡¯re forced to find newer and bigger rooms to practice in each day, until we finally find a spot in the underground levels a weekter. Here the walls are metal and concrete, stronger than the decorative stone and wood of the upper floors. My aim is dismal to say the least, and Julian is very careful to steer clear of my practicing, but it bes easier and easier for me to call up the lightning.


    Julian takes notes the whole time, jotting down everything from my heartbeat to the heat of a recently electrified cup. Each new note brings another puzzled but happy smile to his face, though he doesn¡¯t tell me why. I doubt I¡¯d understand even if he did.


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± he murmurs, reading something off another metal contraption I can¡¯t name. He says it measures electrical energy, but how I don¡¯t know.


    I brush my hands together, watching them ¡°power down,¡± as Julian calls it. My sleeves remain intact this time, thanks to my new clothing.<span id="page_139" title="139">It¡¯s fireproof fabric, like what Cal and Maven wear, though I suppose mine should be called shockproof. ¡°What¡¯s fascinating?¡±


    He hesitates, like he doesn¡¯t want to tell me, like he<i>shouldn¡¯t</i>tell me, but finally shrugs. ¡°Before you powered up and fried that poor statue¡±¡ªhe gestures to the smoking pile of rubble that was once a bust of some king¡ª¡°I measured the amount of electricity in this room. From the lights, the wiring, that sort of thing. And now I just measured you.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°You gave off<i>twice</i>what I recorded before,¡± he says proudly, but I don¡¯t see why it matters at all. With a quick dip, he switches off the spark box, as I¡¯ve taken to calling it. I can feel the electricity in it die away. ¡°Try again.¡±


    Huffing, I focus again. After a moment of concentration, my sparks return, just as strong as before. But this time theye from within me.


    Julian¡¯s grin splits his face from ear to ear.


    ¡°So . . . ?¡±


    ¡°So this confirms my suspicions.¡± Sometimes I forget Julian is a schr and a scientist. But he¡¯s always quick to remind me. ¡°You produced electrical energy.¡±


    Now I¡¯m really confused. ¡°Right. That¡¯s my<i>ability</i>, Julian.¡±


    ¡°No, I thought your ability was the power to manipte, not create,¡± he says, his voice dropping gravely. ¡°No one can<i>create</i>, Mare.¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make sense. The nymphs¡ª¡±


    ¡°Manipte water that already exists. They can¡¯t use what isn¡¯t there.¡±


    ¡°Well, what about Cal? Maven? I don¡¯t see many raging infernos around for them to y with.¡±


    <span id="page_140" title="140">Julian smiles, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ve seen their bracelets, yes?¡±


    ¡°They always wear them.¡±


    ¡°The bracelets make sparks, little tiny mes for the boys to control. Without something to start the fire, they are powerless. All elementals are the same, manipting metal or water or nt life that already exists. They¡¯re only as strong as their surroundings. Not like you, Mare.¡±


    <i>Not like me. I¡¯m not like anyone</i>. ¡°So what does this mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure. You are something else entirely. Not Red, not Silver. Something else. Something<i>more</i>.¡±


    ¡°Something different.¡± I expected Julian¡¯s tests to bring me closer to some kind of answer, but instead they only raise more questions. ¡°What am I, Julian? What¡¯s wrong with me?¡±


    Suddenly it¡¯s very difficult to breathe, and my eyes swim. I have to blink back hot tears, trying to hide them from Julian. It¡¯s all catching up to me, I think. Lessons, Protocol, this ce where I can¡¯t trust anyone, where I¡¯m not even myself. It¡¯s suffocating. I want to scream, but I know I can¡¯t.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing<i>wrong</i>with being different,¡± I hear Julian say, but the words are just an echo. My own thoughts, memories of home, of Gisa and Kilorn, drown him out.


    ¡°Mare?¡± He takes a step toward me, his face a picture of kindness¡ªbut he keeps me at an arm¡¯s length. Not for my sake¡ªhis own. To protect himself from me. With a gasp, I realize the sparks have returned, running up my forearms now, threatening to engulf me in a raging bright storm. ¡°Mare, focus on me. Mare, control it.¡±


    He speaks softly, calmly, but with steady force. He even looks<i>frightened</i>of me.N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    ¡°<i>Control</i>, Mare.¡±


    <span id="page_141" title="141">But I can¡¯t control anything. Not my future, not my thoughts, not even this<i>ability</i>that is the root of all my troubles.


    There is one thing I can still control though, for now, at least. My feet.


    Like the wretched coward that I am, I run.


    The halls are empty as I tear through them, but the invisible weight of a thousand cameras presses down on me. I don¡¯t have much time until Lucas or, worse, the Sentinels, find me. I just need to breathe. I just need to see the sky above me, not ss.


    I¡¯m standing on the balcony a full ten seconds before I realize it¡¯s raining, washing me clean of my boiling anger. The sparks are gone, reced by fierce, ugly tears that track down my face. Thunder rumbles somewhere far off, and the air is warm. But the humid temperature is gone. The heat has broken, and summer will soon be over. Time is passing. My life is moving on, no matter how much I want it to stay the same.


    When a strong hand closes around my arm, I almost scream. Two Sentinels stand over me, their eyes dark behind their masks. Both are twice my size and heartless, trying to drag me back into my prison.


    ¡°Mydy,¡± one of them growls, but it doesn¡¯t sound respectful at all.


    ¡°Let me go.¡± Themand is weak, almost a whisper. I gulp down air like I¡¯m drowning. ¡°Just give me a few minutes, please¡ª¡±


    But I¡¯m not their master. They don¡¯t answer to me. No one does.


    ¡°You heard my bride,¡± another voice says. His words are firm and hard, the voice of royalty.<i>Maven</i>. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    When the prince steps out onto the balcony, I can¡¯t help but feel a rush of relief. The Sentinels straighten at his presence, both inclining their heads in his direction. The one holding me speaks up. ¡°We must<span id="page_142" title="142">keep the Lady Titanos to her schedule,¡± he says, but he loosens his grip. ¡°It¡¯s orders, sir.¡±


    ¡°Then you have new orders,¡± Maven replies, his voice like ice. ¡°I will apany Mareena back to her lessons.¡±


    ¡°Very well, sir,¡± the Sentinels say in unison, unable to refuse a prince.


    When they stomp away, their ming cloaks dripping rain, I sigh out loud. I didn¡¯t realize it before, but my hands are shaking, and I have to clench my fists to hide the tremors. But Maven is nothing if not polite and pretends not to notice.


    ¡°We have working showers<i>inside</i>, you know.¡±


    My hands wipe at my eyes, though my tears are long lost in the rain, leaving behind only an embarrassingly runny nose and some ck makeup. Thankfully, my silver powder holds. It¡¯s made of stronger stuff than I am.


    ¡°First rain of the season,¡± I manage, forcing myself to sound normal. ¡°Had to see it for myself.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± he says, moving to stand next to me. I turn my head, hoping to hide my face for just a little bit longer. ¡°I understand, you know.¡±


    <i>Do you, Prince? Do you understand what it¡¯s like to be taken away from everything you love</i>, forced<i>to be something else? To lie every minute of every day for the rest of your life? To know there¡¯s something</i>wrong<i>with you?</i>


    I don¡¯t have the strength to deal with his knowing smiles. ¡°You can stop pretending to know anything about me or my feelings.¡±


    His expression sours at my tone, his mouth twisting into a grimace. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know how difficult it is to be here? With these<i>people</i>?¡± He casts a nce over his shoulder like he¡¯s worried someone might hear. But there¡¯s no one listening except the rain and thunder. ¡°I can¡¯t say what I want, do what I want¡ªwith my mother around I can<span id="page_143" title="143">barely even<i>think</i>what I want. And my brother¡ª!¡±


    ¡°What about your brother?¡±


    The words stick in his mouth. He doesn¡¯t want to say them, but he feels them all the same. ¡°He¡¯s strong, he¡¯s talented, he¡¯s powerful¡ªand I¡¯m his shadow. The shadow of the me.¡±


    Slowly, he exhales, and I realize the air around us is strangely hot. ¡°Sorry,¡± he adds, taking a step away, letting the air cool. Before my eyes, he melts back into the Silver prince more suited to banquets and dress uniforms. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I murmur. ¡°It¡¯s nice to hear that I¡¯m notpletely alone in feeling out of ce.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s something you should know about us Silvers. We¡¯re always alone. In here, and here,¡± he says, pointing between his head and his heart. ¡°It keeps you strong.¡±


    Lightning cracks overhead, illuminating his blue eyes until they seem to glow. ¡°That¡¯s just stupid,¡± I tell him, and he chuckles darkly.


    ¡°You better hide that heart of yours, Lady Titanos. It won¡¯t lead you anywhere you want to go.¡±


    The words make me shiver. Finally I remember the rain and the mess I must look like. ¡°I should get back to my lessons,¡± I mutter, fully intending to leave him on the balcony. Instead, he catches my arm.


    ¡°I think I can help you with your problem.¡±


    I quirk an eyebrow at him. ¡°What problem?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem like the type of girl to weep at the drop of a hat. You¡¯re homesick.¡± He holds up a hand before I can protest. ¡°I can fix that.¡±

 Red Queen: Chapter 14

    <i>Security patrols my hallway</i>in roving pairs, but with Maven on my arm, they don¡¯t stop me. Even though it¡¯s night, long past when I should be in bed, no one says a word. No one crosses a prince. Where he¡¯s leading now, I don¡¯t know, but he promised to get me there.<i>Home</i>.


    He¡¯s quiet but determined, fighting a small smile. I can¡¯t help but beam at him.<i>Maybe he isn¡¯t so bad</i>. But he stops us long before I assume he should¡ªwe never even leave the residence floors.


    ¡°Here we are,¡± he says, and raps on the door.


    It swings open after a moment, revealing Cal. His appearance takes me back a step. His chest is bare, while the rest of his strange armor hangs off him. Metal tes woven into fabric, some of it dented. I don¡¯t miss the purple bruise above his heart, or the faint stubble on his cheeks. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen him in over a week, and I¡¯ve caught him at a bad moment, obviously. He doesn¡¯t notice me at first; he¡¯s focused on removing more of his armor. It makes me gulp.


    ¡°Got the board set, Mavey¡ª,¡± he begins, but stops when he looks up to see me standing with his brother. ¡°Mare, how can I, uh, what can<span id="page_145" title="145">I do for you?¡± He stumbles over his words, at a loss for once.


    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly sure,¡± I reply, looking from him to Maven. My betrothed only smirks, raising an eyebrow a little.


    ¡°For being the good son, my brother has his own discretions,¡± he says, and his air is surprisingly yful. Even Cal grins a little, rolling his eyes. ¡°You wanted to go home, Mare, and I¡¯ve found you someone who¡¯s been there before.¡±


    After a second of confusion, I realize what Maven is saying and how stupid I am for not realizing it before.<i>Cal can get me out of the pce</i>.<i>Cal was at the tavern. . . . He got himself out of here, so he can do the same for me</i>.


    ¡°Maven,¡± Cal says through gritted teeth, his grin gone. ¡°You know she can¡¯t. It¡¯s not a good idea¡ª¡±


    It¡¯s my turn to speak up, to take what I want. ¡°Liar.¡±


    He looks at me with his burning eyes, his stare going right through me. I hope he can see my determination, my desperation, my<i>need</i>.


    ¡°We¡¯ve taken everything from her, brother,¡± Maven murmurs, drawing close. ¡°Surely we can give her this?¡±


    And then slowly, reluctantly, Cal nods and waves me into his room. Dizzy with excitement, I hurry inside, almost hopping from foot to foot.


    <i>I¡¯m going home</i>.


    Maven lingers at the door, his smile fading a little when I leave his side. ¡°You¡¯re noting.¡± It isn¡¯t a question.


    He shakes his head. ¡°You¡¯ll have enough to worry about without me tagging along.¡±


    I don¡¯t have to be a genius to see the truth in his words. But just because he isn¡¯ting doesn¡¯t mean I will forget what he¡¯s done for me already. Without thinking, I throw my arms around Maven. He doesn¡¯t respond for a second but slowly lets an arm drop around my<span id="page_146" title="146">shoulders. When I pull back, a silver blush paints his cheeks. I can feel my own blood run hot beneath my skin, pounding in my ears.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too long,¡± he says, tearing his eyes away from me to look at Cal.


    Cal barely smirks. ¡°You act like I¡¯ve never done this before.¡±


    The brothers share a chuckle,ughing just for each other like I¡¯ve seen my brothers do a thousand times before. When the door shuts behind Maven, leaving me with Cal, I can¡¯t help but feel a little less animosity toward the princes.


    Cal¡¯s room is twice the size of mine but so cluttered it seems smaller. Armor and uniforms andbat suits fill the alcoves along the walls, all hanging from what I assume are models of Cal¡¯s body. They tower over me like faceless ghosts, staring with invisible eyes. Most of the armor is light, steel te and thick fabric, but a few are heavy-duty, meant for battle, not training. One even has a helmet of shining metal, with a tinted ss facete. An insignia glitters on the sleeve, sewn into the dark gray material. The ming ck crown and silver wings. What it means, what the uniforms are for, what Cal has<i>done</i>in them, I don¡¯t want to think about.


    Like Julian, Cal has stacks of books piled all over, spilling out in little rivers of ink and paper. They aren¡¯t as old as Julian¡¯s though¡ªmost look newly bound, typed out and reprinted on stic-lined sheets to preserve the words. And all are written in Common, thenguage of Norta, the Laknds, and Piedmont. While Cal disappears into his closet, stripping off the rest of his armor as he goes, I sneak a nce at his books. These are strange, full of maps, diagrams, and charts¡ªguides to the terrible art of warfare. Each one is more violent than thest, detailing military movements from recent years and even before. Great victories, bloody defeats, weapons, and maneuvers, it¡¯s enough<span id="page_147" title="147">to make my head spin. Cal¡¯s notes inside them are worse, outlining the tactics he favors, which ones are worth the cost of life. In the pictures, tiny squares represent soldiers, but I see my brothers and Kilorn and everyone like them.


    Beyond the books, by the window, there¡¯s a little table and two chairs. On the tabletop, a game board lies ready, pieces already in ce. I don¡¯t recognize it, but I know it was meant for Maven. They must meet nightly, to y andugh as brothers do.


    ¡°We won¡¯t have very long to visit,¡± Cal calls out, making me jump. I nce at the closet, catching sight of his tall, muscled back as he pulls a shirt on. There are more bruises, and scars as well, even though I¡¯m sure he has ess to an army of healers if he wants them. For some reason, he¡¯s chosen to keep the scars.


    ¡°As long as I get to see my family,¡± I answer back, maneuvering myself away so I don¡¯t keep staring at him.


    Cal emerges, this time fully dressed in in clothes. After a moment, I realize it¡¯s the same thing he wore the night I met him. I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t see him for what he was from the beginning: a wolf in sheep¡¯s clothing. And now I¡¯m the sheep pretending to be a wolf.


    We leave the residence floors quickly, moving downward. Eventually, Cal turns a corner, directing us into a wide concrete room. ¡°Just in here.¡±


    It looks like some kind of storage facility, filled with rows of strange shapes covered in canvas sheets. Some are big, some are small, but all are hidden.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dead end,¡± I protest. There¡¯s no way out but to go the way we came in.


    ¡°Yes, Mare, I brought you to a dead end,¡± he sighs, walking down<span id="page_148" title="148">a particr row. The sheets ripple as he passes, and I glimpse shining metal underneath.


    ¡°More armor?¡± I poke at one of the shapes. ¡°I was going to say, you should probably get some more. Didn¡¯t seem like you had enough upstairs. Actually, you might want to put some on. My brothers are pretty huge and like to beat on people.¡± Though, judging by Cal¡¯s book collection and muscles, he can hold his own.<i>Not to mention the whole controlling-fire thing</i>.


    He just shakes his head. ¡°I think I¡¯ll be fine without it. Besides, I look like a Security officer in that stuff. We don¡¯t want your family getting the wrong idea, do we?¡±


    ¡°What idea do we want them to get? I don¡¯t think I¡¯m exactly allowed to introduce you properly.¡±


    ¡°I work with you, we got a leave pass for the night. Simple,¡± he says, shrugging.<i>Lyinges so easily to these people</i>.


    ¡°So why would youe with me? What¡¯s the story there?¡±


    With a sly grin, Cal gestures to the canvas shape next to him. ¡°I¡¯m your ride.¡±


    He throws back the sheet, revealing a gleaming contraption of metal and ck paint. Two treaded wheels, mirrored chrome, lights, a long leather seat¡ªit¡¯s a transport like I¡¯ve never seen.


    ¡°It¡¯s a cycle,¡± Cal says, running a hand over the silver handlebars like a proud father. He knows and loves every inch of the metal beast. ¡°Fast, agile, and it can go where transports can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°It looks¡ªlike a death trap,¡± I finally say, unable to mask my trepidation.


    Laughing, he pulls a helmet from the back of the seat. I sure hope he doesn¡¯t expect me to wear it, much less ride this thing. ¡°That¡¯s what Father said, and Colonel Macanthos. They won¡¯t mass-produce for the<span id="page_149" title="149">armies yet, but I¡¯ll win them over. Haven¡¯t crashed once since I perfected the wheels.¡±


    ¡°<i>You</i>built it?¡± I say, incredulous, but he shrugs like it¡¯s nothing. ¡°Wow.¡±


    ¡°Just wait until you ride it,¡± he says, holding out the helmet to me. As if on cue, the far wall jolts, its metal mechanisms groaning somewhere, and begins to slide away, revealing the dark night beyond.


    Laughing, I take a step back from the death machine. ¡°That¡¯s not happening.¡±


    But Cal just smirks and swings one leg over the cycle, sinking down into the seat. The engine rumbles to life beneath him, purring and growling with energy. I can sense the battery deep in the machine, powering it on. It begs to be let loose, to consume the long road between here and home.<i>Home</i>.


    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly safe, I promise,¡± he shouts over the engine. The headlight zes on, illuminating the dark night beyond. Cal¡¯s red-gold eyes meet mine and he stretches out a hand. ¡°Mare?¡±


    Despite the horrible sinking in my stomach, I slide the helmet onto my head.


    I¡¯ve never ridden in an airship, but I know this must feel like flying. Like freedom. Cal¡¯s cycle eats up the familiar road in elegant, arcing curves. He¡¯s a good driver, I¡¯ll give him that. The old road is full of bumps and holes, but he dodges each one with ease, even as my heart rises in my throat. Only when we coast to a stop half a mile from town do I realize I¡¯m holding on to him so tightly he has to pry me off. I feel suddenly cold without his warmth, but I push the thought away.


    ¡°Fun, right?¡± he says, powering down the cycle. My legs and back<span id="page_150" title="150">are already sore from the strange, small seat, but he hops off with an extra spring in his step.


    With some difficulty, I slide off as well. My knees wobble a bit, more from the pounding heartbeat still thrumming in my ears, but I think I¡¯m okay.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be my first choice in transportation.¡±


    ¡°Remind me to take you up in an airjet sometime. You¡¯ll stick to cycles after that,¡± he replies as he rolls the cycle off the road, into the cover of the woods. After throwing a few leafy branches over it, he stands back to admire his handiwork. If I didn¡¯t know exactly where to look, I wouldn¡¯t notice the cycle was there at all.


    ¡°You do this a lot, I see.¡±


    Cal turns back to me, one hand in his pocket. ¡°Pces can get . . . stuffy.¡±


    ¡°And crowded bars, Red bars, aren¡¯t?¡± I ask, pushing the topic. But he starts walking toward the vige, setting a fast pace like he can outrun the question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t go out to drink, Mare.¡±


    ¡°So, what, you just catch pickpockets and hand out jobs willy-nilly?¡±


    When he stops short and whirls around, I knock into his chest, feeling for a moment the solid weight behind his frame. Then I realize he¡¯sughing deeply.


    ¡°Did you just say willy-nilly?¡± he says between chuckles.


    My face blushes red beneath my makeup, and I give him a little shove.<i>Very inappropriate</i>, my mind chides. ¡°Just answer the question.¡±


    His smile remains, though theughter fades away. ¡°I don¡¯t do this for myself,¡± he says. ¡°You have to understand, Mare. I don¡¯t¡ªI¡¯m going to be king one day. I don¡¯t have the luxury of being selfish.¡±


    <span id="page_151" title="151">¡°I¡¯d think the king would be the only person<i>with</i>that luxury.¡±


    He shakes his head, his eyes forlorn as they run over me. ¡°I wish that were true.¡±


    Cal¡¯s fist clenches open and closed, and I can almost see the mes on his skin, hot and rising with his anger. But it passes, leaving only an ember of regret in his eyes. When he finally starts walking again, it¡¯s at a more forgiving pace.


    ¡°A king should know his people. That¡¯s why I sneak out,¡± he murmurs. ¡°I do it in the capital too, and at the war front. I like to see how things really are in the kingdom, instead of being told by advisers and diplomats. That¡¯s what a good king would do.¡±


    He acts like he should be ashamed for wanting to be a good leader. Maybe, in the eyes of his father and all those other fools, that¡¯s the way it should be.<i>Strength</i>and<i>power</i>are the words Cal has been raised to know. Not goodness. Not kindness. Not empathy or bravery or equality or anything else that a ruler should strive for.


    ¡°And what do you see, Cal?¡± I ask, gesturing toward the vigeing into view between the trees. My heart jumps in my chest, knowing I¡¯m so close.


    ¡°I see a world on the edge of a de. Without bnce, it will fall,¡± he sighs, knowing it¡¯s not the answer I want to hear. ¡°You don¡¯t know how precarious things are, how close this world is to falling back into ruin. My father does everything he can to keep us all safe, and so will I.¡±


    ¡°My world is already in ruin,¡± I say, kicking at the dirt road beneath us. All around us, the trees seem to open, revealing the muddy ce I call home. Compared to the Hall, it must look like a slum, like a hell.<i>Why can¡¯t he see that?</i>¡°Your father keeps<i>your</i>people safe, not mine.¡±


    ¡°Changing the world has costs, Mare,¡± he says. ¡°Many would die, Reds most of all. And in the end, there wouldn¡¯t be victory, not for<span id="page_152" title="152">you. You don¡¯t know the bigger picture.¡±


    ¡°So tell me.¡± I bristle, hating his words. ¡°Show me the bigger picture.¡±


    ¡°The Laknds, they¡¯re like us, a monarchy, nobles, a Silver elite to rule the rest. And the Piedmont princes, our own allies, would never back a nation where Reds are equal. Prairie and Tiraxes are the same. Even<i>if</i>Norta changed, the rest of the continent would not let itst. We would be invaded, divided, torn apart. More war, more death.¡±


    I remember Julian¡¯s map, the breadth of the greater world beyond our country. All controlled by Silvers with nowhere for us to turn. ¡°What if you¡¯re wrong? What if Norta is the beginning? The change the others need? You don¡¯t know where freedom leads.¡±


    Cal has no answer for that, and we fall into bitter silence. ¡°This is it,¡± I mutter, stopping under the familiar outline of my house.


    My feet are silent on the porch, a far cry from Cal¡¯s heavy, stomping steps that make the wood beams creak. His familiar heat rolls off him, and for a split second I imagine him sending the house up in mes. He senses my unease and puts a warm hand on my shoulder, but that does nothing to settle me.


    ¡°I can wait below if you want,¡± he whispers, taking me by surprise. ¡°We don¡¯t want to chance them recognizing me.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t. Even though my brothers served, they probably wouldn¡¯t know you from a bedpost.¡±<i>Shade would</i>, I thought,<i>but Shade is smart enough to keep his mouth shut</i>. ¡°Besides, you said you want to know what¡¯s not worth fighting for.¡±


    With that I pull open the door, stepping through to the home that is no longer my own. It feels like taking a step back in time.


    The house ripples with a chorus of snores, not just from my father but from the lumpy shape in the sitting area as well. Bree slumps in the<span id="page_153" title="153">overstuffed chair, a pile of muscle and thin nkets. His dark hair is still closely shaved in the army style, and there are scars on his arms and face, testaments to his time fighting. He must¡¯ve lost a bet with Tramy, who tosses and turns up in my cot. Shade is nowhere to be seen, but he¡¯s never been one for sleep. Probably out prowling the vige, looking up old girlfriends.


    ¡°Rise and shine.¡± Iugh, ripping the nket off Bree in a smooth motion.


    He crashes to the floor, probably hurting the floor more than himself, and rolls to a stop at my feet. For half a second, it looks like he might fall back asleep.


    Then he blinks at me, bleary-eyed and confused. In short, his usual self. ¡°Mare?¡±


    ¡°Shut your face, Bree, people are trying to sleep!¡± Tramy groans in the dark.


    ¡°ALL OF YOU, QUIET!¡± Dad roars from his bedroom, making us all jump.


    I never realized how much I missed this. Bree blinks the sleep from his eyes and hugs me to him,ughing deep in his chest. A nearby thunk announces Tramy as he jumps from the upper loft,nding beside us on nimble feet.


    ¡°It¡¯s Mare!¡± he shouts, pulling me up from the floor and into his arms. He¡¯s thinner than Bree but not the weedy string bean I remember. There are hard knots of muscle under my hands; thest few years have not been easy for him.


    ¡°Good to see you, Tramy,¡± I breathe against him, feeling like I might burst.


    The bedroom door bangs open, revealing Mom in a tattered bathrobe. She opens her mouth to scold the boys, but the sight of me kills<span id="page_154" title="154">her words. Instead, she smiles and ps her hands together. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve finallye to visit!¡±


    Dad follows her, wheezing and wheeling his chair into the main room. Gisa is thest to wake up, but she only pokes her head out over the loft ledge, looking down.


    Tramy finally lets me go, putting me back down next to Cal, who¡¯s doing a wonderful job looking awkward and out of ce.


    ¡°Heard you caved and got a job,¡± Tramy teases, poking me in the ribs.


    Bree chuckles, ruffling my hair. ¡°The army wouldn¡¯t want her anyway, she¡¯d rob her legion blind.¡±


    I shove him with a smile. ¡°Seems the army doesn¡¯t want you either. Discharged, eh?¡±


    Dad answers for them, wheeling forward. ¡°Some lottery, the letter said. Won an honorable discharge for the Barrow boys. Full pension too.¡± I can tell he doesn¡¯t believe a word of it, but Dad doesn¡¯t press the subject. Mom, on the other hand, eats it right up.


    ¡°Brilliant, isn¡¯t it? The government finally doing something for us,¡± she says, kissing Bree on the cheek. ¡°And now you, with a job.¡± The pride radiates off her like I¡¯ve never seen¡ªusually she saves all of it for Gisa.<i>She¡¯s proud of a lie</i>. ¡°It¡¯s about time this family came into some luck.¡±


    Up above us, Gisa scoffs. I don¡¯t me her. My luck broke her hand and her future. ¡°Yes, we¡¯re very lucky,¡± she huffs, finally moving to join us.


    Her going is slow, moving down thedder with one hand. When she reaches the floor, I can see her splint is wrapped in colored cloth. With a pang of sadness, I realize it¡¯s a piece of her beautiful embroidery that will never be finished.


    <span id="page_155" title="155">I reach out to hug her, but she pulls away, her eyes on Cal. She seems to be the only one to notice him. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±


    Flushing, I realize I¡¯ve almost forgotten himpletely. ¡°Oh, this is Cal. He¡¯s another servant up at the Hall with me.¡±


    ¡°Hi,¡± he manages, giving a stupid, little wave.


    Mom giggles like a schoolgirl and waves back, her gaze lingering on his muscled arms. But Dad and my brothers aren¡¯t so charmed.


    ¡°You¡¯re not from these parts,¡± Dad growls, staring at Cal like he¡¯s some kind of bug. ¡°I can smell it on you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just the Hall, Dad¡ª,¡± I protest, but Cal cuts me off.


    ¡°I¡¯m from Harbor Bay,¡± he says, making sure to drop his<i>r</i>¡¯s in the usual Harbor ent. ¡°I started serving at Ocean Hill, the royal residence out there, and now I travel with the pack when they move.¡± He nces at me sideways, a knowing look in his eye. ¡°A lot of the servants do that.¡±


    Mom draws a rattled breath and reaches for my arm. ¡°Will you? Do you have to go with those<i>people</i>when they leave?¡±


    I want to tell them that I didn¡¯t choose this, that I¡¯m not walking away willingly. But I have to lie, for their sake. ¡°It was the only position they had. Besides, it¡¯s good money.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve got a pretty good idea what¡¯s going on,¡± Bree growls, face-to-face with Cal. To his credit, Cal barely bats an eye at him.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s going on,¡± he says coolly, meeting Bree¡¯s re with equal fire in his eyes. ¡°Mare chose to work for the pce. She signed a contract for a year of service, and that¡¯s it.¡±


    With a grunt, Bree backs away. ¡°I liked the Warren boy better,¡± he grumbles.


    ¡°Stop being a child, Bree,¡± I snap. My mom flinches at my harsh voice, like she¡¯s forgotten what I sound like after only three weeks.<span id="page_156" title="156">Strangely, her eyes swim with tears.<i>She¡¯s forgetting you</i>.<i>That¡¯s why she wants you to stay. So she doesn¡¯t forget</i>.


    ¡°Mom, don¡¯t cry,¡± I say, stepping forward to hug her. She feels so thin in my arms, thinner than I remember. Or maybe I just never noticed how frail she¡¯s be.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just you, dear, it¡¯s¡ª¡± She looks away from me, to Dad. There¡¯s a pain in her eyes, a pain I don¡¯t understand. The others can¡¯t bear to look at her. Even Dad stares at his useless feet. A grim weight settles on the house.


    And then I realize what¡¯s going on, what they¡¯re trying to protect me from.


    My voice shakes when I speak, asking a question I don¡¯t want to know the answer to. ¡°Where¡¯s Shade?¡±


    Mom crumples in on herself, barely making it to a chair at the kitchen table before she devolves into sobs. Bree and Tramy can¡¯t bear to watch, both turning away. Gisa doesn¡¯t move, staring at the floor like she wants to drown in it. No one speaks, leaving only the sound of my mother¡¯s tears and my father¡¯sbored breathing to fill the hole my brother once upied.<i>My brother, my closest brother</i>.


    I fall backward, almost missing a step in my anguish, but Cal steadies me. I wish he wouldn¡¯t. I want to fall down, to feel something hard and real so the pain in my head won¡¯t hurt so badly. My hand strays to my ear, grazing over the three stones I hold so dearly. The third, Shade¡¯s stone, feels cold against my skin.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t want to tell you in a letter,¡± Gisa whispers, picking at her splint. ¡°He died before the discharge came.¡±


    The urge to electrify something, to pour my rage and sorrow into a single bolt of biting power, has never felt so strong.<i>Control it</i>, I tell myself. I can¡¯t believe I was worried about Cal burning the house<span id="page_157" title="157">down;<i>lightning can destroy as easily as me</i>.


    Gisa fights tears, forcing herself to say the words. ¡°He tried to run away. He was executed. Beheaded.¡±


    My legs give way so quickly even Cal doesn¡¯t have a chance to catch me. I can¡¯t hear, I can¡¯t see, I can only<i>feel</i>. Sorrow, shock, pain, the whole world spinning around me. The lightbulbs buzz with electricity, screaming at me so loudly I think my head might split. The fridge crackles in the corner, its old, bleeding battery pulsing like a dying heart. They taunt me, tease me, trying to make me crack. But I won¡¯t.<i>I won¡¯t</i>.


    ¡°Mare,¡± Cal breathes in my ear, his arms warm around me, but he might as well be talking to me from across an ocean. ¡°Mare!¡±


    I heave a painful gasp, trying to catch my breath. My cheeks feel wet, though I don¡¯t remember crying.<i>Executed</i>. My blood boils under my skin.<i>It¡¯s a lie. He didn¡¯t run. He was in the Guard. And they found out. They killed him for it. They murdered him</i>.


    I have never known anger like this. Not when the boys left, not when Kilorn came to me. Not even when they broke Gisa¡¯s hand.


    An earsplitting whine screeches through the house, as the fridge, the lightbulbs, and the wiring in the walls kick into high gear. Electricity hums, making me feel alive and angry and dangerous. Now I¡¯m creating the energy, pushing my own strength through the house just like Julian taught me.


    Cal yells, shaking me, trying to get through somehow. But he can¡¯t. The power is in me and I don¡¯t want to let go. It feels better than pain.


    ss rains down on us as the lightbulbs explode, popping like corn in a skillet.<i>Pop pop pop</i>. It almost drowns out Mom¡¯s scream.


    Someone pulls me to my feet with rough strength. Their hands go to my face, holding me still as they speak. Not tofort me, not to<span id="page_158" title="158">empathize, but to snap me out of it.<i>I would know that voice anywhere</i>.


    ¡°Mare, pull yourself together!¡±


    I look up to see clear green eyes and a face full of worry.


    ¡°Kilorn.¡±


    ¡°Knew you¡¯d stumble back eventually,¡± he mumbles. ¡°Kept an eye out.¡±


    His hands are rough against my skin, but calming. He brings me back to reality, to a world where my brother is dead. Thest surviving lightbulb swings above us, barely illuminating the room and my stunned family.


    But that¡¯s not the only thing lighting up the darkness.


    Purple-white sparks dance around my hands, growing weaker by the moment, but in as day. My lightning.<i>I won¡¯t be able to lie my way out of this one</i>.


    Kilorn pulls me to a chair, his face a storm cloud of confusion. The others only stare, and with a pang of sadness, I realize they¡¯re afraid. But Kilorn isn¡¯t afraid at all¡ªhe¡¯s angry.


    ¡°What did they do to you?¡± he rumbles, his hands inches from mine. The sparks fade away entirely, leaving just skin and shaking fingers.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t do anything.¡±<i>I wish this was their fault. I wish I could me this on someone else</i>. I look over Kilorn¡¯s head, meeting Cal¡¯s eyes. Something releases in him, and he nods,municating without words.<i>I don¡¯t have to lie about this</i>.


    ¡°This is what I am.¡±


    Kilorn¡¯s frown deepens. ¡°Are you one of<i>them</i>?¡± I¡¯ve never heard so much anger, so much<i>disgust</i>, forced into a single sentence. It makes me feel like dying.<i>¡°Are you?¡±</i>


    Mom recovers first and, without a glimmer of fear, takes my hand. ¡°Mare is my daughter, Kilorn,¡± she says, fixing him with a frightening<span id="page_159" title="159">stare I didn¡¯t know she could muster. ¡°We all know that.¡±


    My family murmurs in agreement, rallying to my side, but Kilorn remains unconvinced. He stares at me like I¡¯m a stranger, like we haven¡¯t known each other all our lives.


    ¡°Give me a knife and I¡¯ll settle this right now,¡± I say, ring back at him. ¡°I¡¯ll show you what color I bleed.¡±


    This calms him a bit and he pulls back. ¡°I just¡ªI don¡¯t understand.¡±


    <i>That makes two of us</i>.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m with Kilorn on this one. We know who you are, Mare, but¡ª¡± Bree stumbles, searching for the right thing to say. He¡¯s never been one for words.<i>¡°How?¡±</i>


    I barely know what to say, but I do my best to exin. Again, I¡¯m painfully aware of Cal¡¯s presence, always listening, so I leave out the Guard and Julian¡¯s findings, toy out thest three weeks as inly as possible. Pretending to be Silver, being betrothed to a prince, learning to control myself¡ªit sounds preposterous, but they listen intently.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know how or why, just that this<i>is</i>,¡± I finish, holding out my other hand. I don¡¯t miss Tramy flinch away. ¡°We might never know what this means.¡±


    Mom¡¯s hand tightens on mine in a disy of support. The smallfort does wonders for me. I¡¯m still angry, still devastatingly sad, but the need to destroy something fades. I¡¯m gaining back some semnce of control, enough to keep myself in check.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a miracle,¡± she murmurs, forcing a smile for my sake. ¡°We¡¯ve always wanted better for you, and now, we¡¯re getting it. Bree and Tramy are safe, Gisa won¡¯t have to worry, we can<i>live</i>happy, and you¡±¡ªher watery eyes meet mine¡ª¡°you, my dear, will be someone special. What more can a mother ask?¡±


    I wish her words were true, but I nod anyway, smiling for my<span id="page_160" title="160">mother and my family. I¡¯m getting better at lying, and they seem to believe me. But not Kilorn. He still seethes, trying to hold back another outburst.


    ¡°What¡¯s he like, the prince?¡± Mom prods. ¡°Maven?¡±


    <i>Dangerous ground</i>. I can feel Cal listening, waiting to hear what I have to say about his younger brother.<i>What can I say? That he¡¯s kind? That I¡¯m beginning to like him? That I still don¡¯t know if I can trust him? Or worse, that I can never trust anyone again?</i>¡°He¡¯s not what I expected.¡±


    Gisa notes my difort and turns toward Cal. ¡°So who¡¯s this, your bodyguard?¡± she says, changing the subject with the slightest wink.


    ¡°I am,¡± Cal says, answering for me. He knows I don¡¯t want to lie to my family, not more than I have to. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry, but we have to be going soon.¡±


    His words are like a twisting knife, but I must obey them. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Mom stands with me, holding on to my hand so tightly I¡¯m afraid it might break. ¡°We won¡¯t say anything, of course.¡±


    ¡°Not a word,¡± Dad agrees. My siblings nod as well, swearing to be silent.


    But Kilorn¡¯s face falls into a dark scowl. For some reason, he¡¯s be so angry and I can¡¯t for the life of me say why.<i>But I¡¯m angry too</i>. Shade¡¯s death still weighs on me like a terrible stone. ¡°Kilorn?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I won¡¯t talk,¡± he spits. Before I can stop him, he gets up from his chair and sweeps out in a whirlwind that spins the air. The door ms behind him, shaking the walls. I¡¯m used to Kilorn¡¯s emotions, his rare moments of despair, but this rage is something new from him. I don¡¯t know how to deal with it.


    My sister¡¯s touch brings me back, reminding me that this is good-bye. ¡°This is a gift,¡± she whispers in my ear. ¡°Don¡¯t waste it.¡±


    <span id="page_161" title="161">¡°You¡¯lle back, won¡¯t you?¡± Bree says, and Gisa pulls away. For the first time since he left for war, I see fear in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re a princess now, you get to make the rules.¡±


    <i>I wish</i>.


    Cal and I exchange nces. I can tell by the tight set of his mouth and the darkness in his eyes what my answer should be.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± I whisper, my voice breaking. One more lie can¡¯t hurt.


    When we reach the edge of the Stilts, Gisa¡¯s good-bye still haunts me. There was no me in her eyes, even though I¡¯ve taken everything from her. Herst words echo on the wind, drowning out everything else.<i>Don¡¯t waste it</i>.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your brother,¡± Cal blurts out. ¡°I didn¡¯t know he¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªwas already dead?¡±<i>Executed for desertion. Another lie</i>. The rage rises again, and I don¡¯t even<i>want</i>to control it. But what can I do about it? What can I do to avenge my brother, or even try to save the others?


    <i>Don¡¯t waste it</i>.


    ¡°I need to make one more stop.¡± Before Cal can protest, I put on my best smile. ¡°It won¡¯t take long at all, I promise.¡±


    To my surprise, he nods slowly in the dark.


    ¡°A job at the Hall, that¡¯s very prestigious.¡± Will chortles as I take a seat inside his wagon. The old blue candle still burns, casting shifting light around us. As I suspected, Farley is long gone.


    When I¡¯m sure the door and windows are shut, I drop my voice. ¡°I¡¯m not working there, Will. They¡ª¡±


    To my surprise, Will waves a hand at me. ¡°Oh, I know all that. Tea?¡±


    ¡°Uh, no.¡± My words shake with shock. ¡°How did you¡ª?¡±


    <span id="page_162" title="162">¡°The royal monkeys chose a queen this past week, of course they had to broadcast it in the Silver cities,¡± a voice says from behind a curtain. The figure steps out, revealing not Farley but what looks like a beanpole in human form. His head scrapes the ceiling, making him duck awkwardly. His crimson hair is long, matching the red sash draped across his body from shoulder to hip. It¡¯s sped with the same sun badge Farley wore in her broadcast. And I don¡¯t miss the gun belt around his waist, full of shiny bullets and a pair of pistols. He¡¯s Scarlet Guard too.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been all over the Silver screens,<i>Lady Titanos</i>.¡± He says my title like a curse. ¡°You and that Samos girl. Tell me, is she as unpleasant as she looks?¡±


    ¡°This is Tristan, one of Farley¡¯s lieutenants,¡± Will pipes in. He turns a chiding eye on him. ¡°Tristan, be gentle.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I scoff. ¡°Evangeline Samos is a bloodthirsty jerk.¡±


    Smiling, Tristan throws a smug look at Will.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t all monkeys,¡± I add quietly, remembering Maven¡¯s kind words earlier today.


    ¡°Are you talking about the prince you¡¯re engaged to or the one waiting in the woods?¡± Will asks calmly, like he¡¯s asking about the price of flour.


    In stark contrast, Tristan erupts, vaulting out of his seat. I beat him to the door, two hands outstretched. Thankfully I keep myself in check. Thest thing I need is to electrify a member of the Scarlet Guard.


    ¡°You brought a Silver here?¡± he hisses down at me. ¡°The<i>prince</i>? Do you know what we could do if we took him in? What we could bargain for?¡±


    Though he towers over me, I don¡¯t back down. ¡°You leave him alone.¡±


    <span id="page_163" title="163">¡°A few weeks in thep of luxury and your blood is as silver as theirs,¡± he spits, looking like he wants to kill me. ¡°You going to electrocute me too?¡±


    That stings, and he knows it. I drop my hands, afraid they might betray me. ¡°I¡¯m not protecting him, I¡¯m protecting<i>you</i>, you stupid fool. Cal is a soldier born and bred, and he could burn this whole vige down if he really wanted to.¡± Not that he would.<i>I hope</i>.


    Tristan¡¯s hand strays to his gun. ¡°I¡¯d like to see him try.¡±


    But Willys a wrinkled hand on his arm. The touch is enough to make the rebel dete. ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± he whispers. ¡°What did youe here for, Mare? Kilorn is safe, and so are your siblings.¡±


    I heave a breath, still staring down Tristan. He just threatened to kidnap Cal and hold him for ransom. And for whatever reason, the thought of such a thing unsettles me to my core.


    ¡°My¡ª¡± One word out and I¡¯m already struggling. ¡°Shade was part of the Guard.¡± It¡¯s not a question anymore, but a truth. Will lowers his gaze, apologetic, and Tristan even hangs his head. ¡°They killed him for it. They killed my brother, and I have to act like it doesn¡¯t bother me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re dead if you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I know that. I¡¯ll say whatever they want when the timees. But¡ª¡± My voice catches a little, on the edge of this new path. ¡°I¡¯m in the pce, the center of their world. I¡¯m quick, I¡¯m quiet, and I can help the cause.¡±


    Tristan sucks in a ragged breath, pulling back to his full height. Despite his anger earlier, there¡¯s now something like pride shining in his eyes. ¡°You want to join up.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Will clenches his jaw, his stare piercing through me. ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯remitting to. This isn¡¯t just my war or Farley¡¯s or<span id="page_164" title="164">the Scarlet Guard¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s yours. Until the very end. And not to avenge your brother but to avenge us all. To fight for the ones before, and to save the ones yet toe.¡±


    His gnarled hand reaches for mine and for the first time, I notice a tattoo around his wrist: a red band. Like the ones they make us wear. Except now he¡¯s wearing his forever. It¡¯s part of him, like the blood in our veins.


    ¡°Are you with us, Mare Barrow?¡± he says, his hand closing over mine.<i>More war, more death</i>, Cal said.<i>But there¡¯s a chance he¡¯s wrong. There¡¯s a chance we can change it</i>.


    My fingers tighten, holding on to Will. I can feel the weight of my action, the importance behind it.


    ¡°I¡¯m with you.¡±Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    ¡°We will rise,¡± he breathes, in unison with Tristan. I remember the words and speak with them. ¡°Red as the dawn.¡±


    In the flickering candlelight, our shadows look like monsters on the walls.


    When I join back up with Cal at the edge of town, I feel lighter somehow, emboldened by my decision and the prospect of what¡¯s toe. Cal walks alongside me, ncing over asionally, but says nothing. Where I would poke and prod and forcibly pull an answer out of someone, Cal is theplete opposite. Maybe it¡¯s a military tactic he picked up in one of his books:<i>let the enemye to you</i>.


    <i>Because that¡¯s what I am now. His enemy</i>.


    He perplexes me, just like his brother. Both of them are kind, even though they know I¡¯m Red, even though they shouldn¡¯t even see me at all. But Cal took me home, and Maven was good to me, wanting to help.<i>They are strange boys</i>.


    <span id="page_165" title="165">When we enter the woods again, Cal¡¯s demeanor changes, hardening to something serious. ¡°I¡¯ll have to talk with the queen about changing your schedule.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You almost exploded in there,¡± he says gently. ¡°You¡¯ll have to go into Training with us, to make sure something like that doesn¡¯t happen again.¡±


    <i>Julian is training me</i>. But even the little voice in my head knows Julian is no substitute for what Cal, Maven, and Evangeline go through. If I learned even<i>half</i>of what they know, who knows what help I could be to the Guard? To Shade¡¯s memory?


    ¡°Well, if it gets me out of Protocol, I won¡¯t say no.¡±


    Suddenly, Cal jumps back from his cycle. His hands are on fire and an equal, zing light burns in his eyes.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s watching us.¡±


    I don¡¯t bother questioning him. Cal¡¯s soldier¡¯s sense is sharp, but what could threaten him here? What could he possibly be afraid of in the woods of a sleepy, poor vige?<i>A vige crawling with rebels</i>, I remind myself.


    But instead of Farley or armed revolutionaries, Kilorn steps out of the leaves. I forgot how sly he is, how easily he can move through darkness.


    Cal¡¯s hands extinguish in a puff of smoke. ¡°Oh, you.¡±


    Kilorn tears his eyes away from me, ring at Cal. He inclines his head in a condescending bow. ¡°Excuse me, Your Highness.¡±


    Instead of trying to deny it, Cal stands a little straighter, looking like the king he was born to be. He doesn¡¯t reply and goes back to freeing his cycle from the leaves. But I feel his eyes on me, watching every second that passes between Kilorn and me.


    <span id="page_166" title="166">¡°You¡¯re really doing this?¡± Kilorn says, looking like a wounded animal. ¡°You¡¯re really leaving? To be one of them?¡±


    The words sting more than a p.<i>This is not a choice</i>, I want to tell him.


    ¡°You saw what happened in there, what I can do. They can<i>help</i>me.¡± Even I¡¯m surprised at how easily the liees. One day I might even be able to lie to myself, to trick my mind into thinking I¡¯m happy. ¡°I¡¯m where I¡¯m supposed to be.¡±


    He shakes his head, one hand grabbing my arm like he can pull me back into the past, where our worries were simple. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be here.¡±


    ¡°Mare.¡± Cal waits patiently, leaning against the seat of the cycle, but his voice is firm, a warning.


    ¡°I have to go.¡± I try to push past Kilorn, to leave him behind, but he won¡¯t let me. He¡¯s always been stronger than me. And as much as I want to let him hold on to me, it just can¡¯t be.


    ¡°Mare, please¡ª¡±


    A wave of heat pulses against us, like a strong beam of sunlight.


    ¡°Let her go,¡± Cal rumbles, standing over me. The heat rolls off him, almost rippling the air. The calm he fights to maintain thins, threatening toe undone.


    Kilorn scoffs in his face, itching for a fight. But he¡¯s like me; we¡¯re thieves, we¡¯re<i>rats</i>. We know when to fight and when to run. Reluctantly, he pulls back, letting his fingers trail along my arm. This might be thest time we see each other.


    The air cools, but Cal doesn¡¯t step back. I¡¯m his brother¡¯s betrothed¡ªhe has to be protective of me.


    ¡°You bargained for me too, to save me from conscription,¡± Kilorn says softly, finally understanding the price I¡¯ve paid. ¡°You have a bad habit of trying to save me.¡±


    <span id="page_167" title="167">I can barely nod, and I have to pull the helmet onto my head to hide the tears welling in my eyes. Numbly, I follow Cal to the cycle and slide onto the seat behind him.


    Kilorn backs away, flinching when the cycle revs up. Then he smirks at me, his features curling into an expression that used to make me want to punch him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell Farley you said hello.¡±


    The cycle growls like a beast, tearing me away from Kilorn and the Stilts and my old life. Fear curls through me like a poison, until I¡¯m scared from head to toe. But not for myself. Not anymore. I¡¯m scared for Kilorn, for the idiotic thing he¡¯s going to do.


    He¡¯s going to find Farley.<i>And he¡¯s going to join her</i>.

 Red Queen: Chapter 15

    <i>The next morning, I</i>open my eyes to see a shaded figure standing by my bedside.<i>This is it. I left, I broke the rules, and they¡¯re going to kill me for it</i>.


    <i>But not without a fight</i>.


    Before the figure gets a chance, I fly out of bed, ready to defend myself. My muscles tense while the delightful buzzinges to life inside me. But instead of an assassin, I¡¯m staring at a red uniform. And I recognize the woman wearing it.


    Walsh looks the same as she did before, though I certainly don¡¯t. She stands next to a metal cart filled with tea and bread and anything else I might want for breakfast. Ever the dutiful servant, she keeps her mouth mped shut, but her eyes scream at me. She stares at my hand, at the now too-familiar sparks creeping around my fingers. I shake them away, brushing off the veins of light until they disappear back into my skin.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± I exim, jumping away from her. Still, she doesn¡¯t speak. ¡°Walsh¡ª¡±


    But she busies herself with the food. Then, to my great surprise, she mouths five words to me. They are words I¡¯m beginning to know like<span id="page_169" title="169">a prayer¡ªor a curse.<i>Rise, Red as the dawn</i>.


    Before I can respond, before my shock can register, Walsh presses a cup of tea into my hand.


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± I reach out for her, but she dodges my hand, sweeping into a low bow.


    ¡°Mydy,¡± she says, sharply ending our conversation.


    I let her go, watching her back out of the room until there¡¯s nothing left but the echo of her unspoken words.


    <i>Walsh is in the Guard too</i>.


    The teacup feels cold in my hand. Strangely cold.


    I look down to find it¡¯s not full of tea but water. And at the bottom of the cup, a piece of paper bleeds ink. The ink swirls as I read the message, the water leeching it away, erasing any trace, until there¡¯s nothing left but cloudy, gray liquid and a nk curl of paper. No evidence of my first act of rebellion.


    The message isn¡¯t hard to remember. It¡¯s only one word.


    <i>Midnight</i>.


    This knowledge that I have a connection to the group so close by shouldfort me, but for some reason, I find myself shivering.<i>Maybe cameras aren¡¯t the only things watching me here</i>.


    And it¡¯s not the only note waiting for me. My new schedule sits on the nightstand, written in the queen¡¯s maddeningly perfect handwriting.


    <i>Your schedule has changed</i>.


    <i>0630¡ªBreakfast / 0700¡ªTraining / 1000¡ªProtocol</i>


    <i>1130¡ªLuncheon / 1300¡ªProtocol / 1400¡ªLessons</i>


    <i>1800¡ªDinner</i>.


    <span id="page_170" title="170"><i>Lucas will escort you to all. Schedule is not negotiable</i>.


    <i>HRH Queen ra</i>.


    ¡°So, they¡¯ve finally bumped you up to Training?¡± Lucas grins at me, a rare bit of pride shining through as he leads me to my first session. ¡°Either you¡¯ve been very good or very bad.¡±


    ¡°A little bit of both.¡±


    <i>More bad</i>, I think, remembering my episodest night at home. I know the new schedule is Cal¡¯s doing, but I didn¡¯t expect him to work so fast. Truthfully, I¡¯m excited for Training. If it¡¯s anything like what I saw Cal and Maven go through, the ability practice in particr, I¡¯ll be hopelessly far behind, but at least I¡¯ll have someone to talk to. And if I¡¯m really lucky, Evangeline will be deathly ill and stuck in bed for the rest of her miserable life.


    Lucas shakes his head, chuckling. ¡°Be prepared. The instructors are famous for being able to break even the strongest soldiers. They won¡¯t take well to your sass.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t take well to being broken,¡± I retort. ¡°What was your Training like?¡±


    ¡°Well, I went straight to the army when I was nine, so my experience was a bit different,¡± he says, eyes darkening at the memory.


    <i>¡°Nine?¡±</i>The thought seems impossible to me. Abilities or not, this can¡¯t be true.


    But Lucas shrugs like it¡¯s nothing. ¡°The front is the best ce for training. Even the princes were trained at the front, for a time.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re here now,¡± I say. My eyes linger on Lucas¡¯s uniform, on the ck and silver of Security. ¡°You¡¯re not a soldier anymore.¡±


    For the first time, Lucas¡¯s dry smile disappearspletely. ¡°It wears<span id="page_171" title="171">on you,¡± he admits, more to himself than to me. ¡°Men are not meant to be at war for long.¡±


    ¡°And what about Reds?¡± I hear myself ask.<i>Bree, Tramy, Shade, Dad, Kilorn¡¯s father. And a thousand others. A million others</i>. ¡°Can they stand war better than Silvers?¡±


    We reach the door to the training hall before Lucas finally answers, looking a little ufortable. ¡°That¡¯s the way the world works. Reds serve, Reds work, Reds fight. It¡¯s what they¡¯re good at. It¡¯s what they¡¯re<i>meant</i>to do.¡± I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from shouting at him. ¡°Not everyone is special.¡±


    Anger boils in me, but I don¡¯t say a word against Lucas. Losing my temper, even with him, won¡¯t be smiled upon. ¡°I can take it from here,¡± I say stiffly.


    He notes my difort, frowning a little. When he speaks, his voice is low and fast, as if he doesn¡¯t want to be overheard. ¡°I don¡¯t have the luxury of questions,¡± he mutters. His ck eyes bore into mine, full of meaning. ¡°And neither do you.¡±


    My heart clenches, terrified by his words and their veiled meaning.<i>Lucas knows there¡¯s more to me than what he¡¯s been told</i>. ¡°Lucas¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my ce to ask questions.¡± He furrows his brow, trying to make me understand, trying to put me at ease. ¡°Lady Titanos.¡± The title sounds firmer than ever, bing my shield as well as the queen¡¯s weapon.


    <i>Lucas will not ask questions</i>. Despite his ck eyes, his Silver blood, his Samos family, he will not pull at the thread that could unravel my existence.


    ¡°Keep to your schedule, mydy.¡± He pulls back, more formal than I¡¯ve ever seen him. With a flick of his head, he gestures to the door where a Red attendant waits. ¡°I¡¯ll collect you after Training.¡±


    <span id="page_172" title="172">¡°Thank you, Lucas,¡± is all I can manage. He¡¯s given me so much more than he knows.


    The attendant hands me a stretchy ck suit with purple and silver stripes. He points me to a tiny room, where I change quickly, slipping out of my usual clothes and into the jumpsuit. It reminds me of my old clothes, the ones I used back in the Stilts. Worn by time and movement, but trim and tight enough not to slow me down.


    When I enter the training hall, I¡¯m painfully aware of everyone staring at me, not to mention the dozens of cameras. The floor feels soft and springy beneath my feet, cushioning each step. An immense skylight rises above us, showing a blue summer sky full of clouds to taunt me. Winding stairs connect the several levels cut into the walls, each at varying heights with different equipment. There are many windows as well, one of which I know opens to Lady Blonos¡¯s ssroom. Where the others go or who might be watching from them, I have no idea.


    I should be nervous about walking into a room full of teen warriors, all of them better trained than me. Instead, I¡¯m thinking about the insufferable icicle of bone and metal known as Evangeline Samos. I barely make it halfway across the floor before her mouth opens, dripping venom.


    ¡°Graduated from Protocol already? Did you finally master the art of sitting with your legs crossed?¡± she sneers, jumping up from a weight-lifting machine. Her silver hair is tied back into aplicated braid I¡¯d very much like to cut off, but the deathly sharp metal des at her waist give me pause. Like me, like everyone else, she wears a jumpsuit emzoned with the colors of her house. In ck and silver, she looks deadly.


    Sonya and ne nk her with matching smirks. Now that they¡¯re not intimidating me, they seem to be sucking up to the future queen herself.


    <span id="page_173" title="173">I do my best to ignore them all and find myself looking for Maven. He sits in a corner, separated from the others.<i>At least we can be alone together</i>. Whispers follow me, as more than a dozen noble teenagers watch me walk toward him. A few bow their heads, trying to be courteous, but most look cautious. The girls are especially on edge; after all, I did take one of their princes away.


    ¡°Took you long enough.¡± Maven chuckles once I sit down next to him. He doesn¡¯t seem to be part of the crowd, nor does he want to be. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say you were trying to stay away from us.¡±


    ¡°Just one person in particr,¡± I reply, casting a nce back to Evangeline. She holds court near the target wall, where she shows off for her cronies in a dazzling disy. Her metal knives sing through the air, digging into the dead center of their targets.


    Maven watches me watch her, his eyes thoughtful. ¡°When we go back to the capital, you won¡¯t have to see her so much,¡± he murmurs. ¡°She and Cal will have their hands full touring the country, fulfilling their duties. And we¡¯ll have ours.¡±


    The prospect of getting far away from Evangeline is exciting, but also reminds me of the steadily ticking clock moving against me. Soon I¡¯ll be forced to leave the Hall, the river valley, and my family far behind.


    ¡°Do you know when you¡ª¡± I stumble, correcting myself. ¡°I mean, when we go back to the capital?¡±


    ¡°After the Parting Ball. You were told about that?¡±


    ¡°Yes, your mother mentioned it¡ªand Lady Blonos is trying to teach me how to dance. . . .¡± I trail off, feeling embarrassed. She tried to teach me a few steps yesterday, but I just ended up falling all over myself. Thieving I can do just fine, but dancing is apparently out of my reach. ¡°Key word,<i>trying</i>.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we won¡¯t have to deal with the worst of it.¡±


    <span id="page_174" title="174">The thought of dancing terrifies me, but I swallow the fear. ¡°Who will?¡±


    ¡°Cal,¡± he says without hesitation. ¡°Big brother has to tolerate too many silly conversations and dance with a lot of annoying girls. I rememberst year . . .¡± He stops tough at the memory. ¡°Sonya Iral spent the entire time following him around, cutting into dances, trying to drag him away for some<i>fun</i>. I had to interfere and suffer through two songs with her to give Cal some respite.¡±


    The thought of the two brothers united against a legion of desperate girls makes meugh, thinking about the lengths they must¡¯ve gone to, to save each other. But as my smirk spreads, Maven¡¯s smile fades.


    ¡°At least this time, he¡¯ll have Samos hanging off his arm. The girls wouldn¡¯t dare cross her.¡±


    I snort, remembering her sharp, biting grip on my arm. ¡°Poor Cal.¡±


    ¡°And how was your visit yesterday?¡± he says, referring to my jaunt home.<i>So Cal didn¡¯t fill him in</i>.


    ¡°Difficult.¡± It¡¯s the only way I know how to describe it. Now my family knows what I am, and Kilorn has thrown himself to the wolves. And of course, Shade is dead. ¡°One of my brothers was executed, just before the release came.¡±


    He shifts next to me, and I expect him to be ufortable. After all, it was his own people who did it. Instead, he puts a hand over mine. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Mare. I¡¯m sure he didn¡¯t deserve it.¡±


    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t,¡± I whisper, remembering why my brother died. Now I¡¯m on the same path.


    Maven stares at me intently, like he¡¯s trying to read the secret in my eyes. For once I¡¯m d for Blonos¡¯s lessons, or else I would assume Maven could read minds as well as the queen. But no, he¡¯s a burner and a burner alone. Few Silvers inherit abilities from their mothers, and<span id="page_175" title="175">no one has ever had more than one ability. So my secret, my new allegiance to the Scarlet Guard, is mine.


    When he extends a hand to help me up, I take it. All around us, the others warm up, mostly stretching or jogging around the room, but a few are more impressive. ne slips in and out of my vision as she bends the light around herself until she disappears altogether. A windweaver boy, Oliver of House Laris, creates a miniature whirlwind between his hands, stirring up tiny bits of dust. Sonyazily trades blows with Andros Eagrie, a short but muscr eighteen-year-old. As a silk, Sonya is brutally skilled and fast and should be able to best him, but Andros matches her blow for blow in a violent dance. The Silvers of House Eagrie are eyes, meaning they can see the immediate future, and Andros is using his abilities to their full extent. Neither one seems to gain the upper hand, ying a game of bnce rather than strength.


    <i>Just imagine what they can really do</i>. So strong, so<i>powerful</i>. And these are only the kids. And just like that, my hope evaporates, shifting into fear.


    ¡°Lines,¡± a voice says, barely a whisper.


    My new instructor enters without a sound, Cal at his side, with a telky from House Provos behind them both. Like a good soldier, Cal walks in step with the instructor, who seems tiny and unassuming next to Cal¡¯s bulk. There are wrinkles in his pale skin, and his hair is as white as his clothing, a testament to his true age and his house.<i>House Arven, the silent house</i>, I remember, thinking back to my lessons. A major house, full of power and strength and all the things the Silvers put their faith in. I even remember him from before I became Mareena Titanos, from when I was a little girl. He would oversee the broadcasted executions in the capital, lording over the Reds and even the Silvers sentenced to die. And now I know why they chose him to do it.


    <span id="page_176" title="176">The Haven girl blinks back into existence, suddenly visible again, while the churning wind dies in Oliver¡¯s hands. Evangeline¡¯s knives drop out of the air, and even I feel a calm nket of nothing fall over me, blotting out my electrical sense.


    He is Rane Arven, the instructor, the executioner, the<i>silence</i>. He can reduce a Silver to what they hate most: a Red. He can turn their abilities<i>off</i>. He can make them<i>normal</i>.


    While I gawk, Maven pulls me into ce behind him, with Cal at the head of our line. Evangeline leads the line next to us, and for once she doesn¡¯t seem concerned with me. Her eyes stay on Cal as he settles in, looking quite at home in his ce of authority.


    Arven doesn¡¯t waste time introducing me. In fact, he barely seems to notice I¡¯ve joined his session.


    ¡°Laps,¡± he says, his voice rough and low.


    <i>Good. Something I can actually do</i>.


    We set off in our lines, circling the room at an easy pace in blissful quiet. I push myself faster, enjoying the exercise I missed so much, until I¡¯m speeding right past Evangeline. Then it¡¯s just Cal next to me, setting the pace for the rest of them. He quirks a smile at me, watching me run. This is something I can do, something I even enjoy.


    My feet feel strange on the cushioned floor, bouncing with every step, but the blood pounding in my ears, the sweat, the pace are all familiar. If I close my eyes, I can pretend I¡¯m back in the vige, with Kilorn or my brothers or just by myself. Just free.


    That is until a section of the wall swings out, catching me in the stomach.


    It knocks me to the floor, sending me sprawling, but it¡¯s my pride that really hurts. The pack of runners pulls away, and Evangeline smirks over her shoulder, watching me fall behind. Only Maven slows<span id="page_177" title="177">his pace, waiting for me to catch up.


    ¡°Wee to training.¡± He chuckles, watching me pry myself off the obstacle.


    All over the room, other parts of the wall shift, forming barriers for the runners. Everyone else takes it in stride; they¡¯re used to this. Cal and Evangeline lead the pack, moving over and under each obstacle as it appears before them. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the Provos telky directing the pieces of wall, making them move. He even seems to be smirking at me.


    I fight back the urge to snap at the telky and push myself back into a jog. Maven runs next to me, never more than a step away, and it¡¯s strangely infuriating. My pace quickens, until I¡¯m sprinting and hurdling to the best of my ability. But Maven isn¡¯t like the Security at home¡ªit¡¯s hard to leave him in the dust.


    By the time we finishps, Cal is the only one who hasn¡¯t broken a sweat. Even Evangeline looks ragged, though she tries her best to hide it. My breathes in heavy pants, but I¡¯m proud of myself. Despite the rough start, I managed to keep up.


    Instructor Arven surveys us for a moment, his eyes lingering on me, before turning to the telky. ¡°Targets please, Theo,¡± he says, again barely a whisper. Like drawing away a curtain to reveal the sun, I feel my abilities rushing back.


    The telky assistant waves a hand, sliding away a section of the floor, revealing the strange gun I saw from the window of Blonos¡¯s ssroom. I realize it¡¯s not a gun at all but a cylinder. Only the telky¡¯s power makes it move, not some greater, strange technology.<i>The abilities are all they have</i>.


    ¡°Lady Titanos,¡± Arven murmurs, making me shudder. ¡°I understand you have an interesting ability.¡±


    <span id="page_178" title="178">He¡¯s thinking of the lightning, the purple-white bolts of destruction, but my mind strays to what Julian said yesterday.<i>I don¡¯t just control, I can create. I am special</i>.


    Every eye turns to me, but I set my jaw, trying to will myself into being strong. ¡°Interesting but not unheard of, Instructor,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m very eager to learn about it, sir.¡±


    ¡°You may start now,¡± the instructor says, and the telky behind him tenses.


    On cue, one of the ball targets flies into the air, faster than I thought possible.


    <i>Control</i>, I tell myself, repeating Julian¡¯s words.<i>Focus</i>.


    This time, I can feel the pull as I suck the electricity from the air¡ªand from somewhere inside myself. It manifests in my hands, shining to life in little sparks. But the ball smacks the floor before I can throw it, its sparks bleeding into the floor and disappearing. Evangeline snickers behind me, but when I turn to re at her, my eyes find Maven instead. He barely nods, urging me to try again. And next to him, Cal crosses his arms, his face dark with an emotion I can¡¯t ce.


    Another target rockets up, turning over in the air. The sparkse sooner now, alive and bright as the target reaches its zenith. Like before in Julian¡¯s ssroom, I ball my fist and, feeling the power rage through me, I throw.


    It arcs in a beautiful disy of destructive light, clipping the side of the falling target. It shatters under my power, smoking and sparking as it hits the floor with a crash.


    I can¡¯t help but grin, pleased with myself. Behind me, Maven and Cal p, as do a few of the other kids. Evangeline and her friends certainly do not¡ªthey look almost insulted by my victory.


    But Instructor Arven doesn¡¯t say anything, not bothering to<span id="page_179" title="179">congratte me. He simply looks over me, to the rest of the unit. ¡°Next.¡±


    The instructor runs the ss ragged, forcing us through round after round of exercises meant to fine-tune our abilities. Of course, I fall behind in all of them, but I can also feel myself improving. By the time the session ends, I¡¯m dripping sweat and sore all over. Julian¡¯s lesson is a blessing, allowing me to sit and recover my strength. But even the session that morning cannot entirely drain me¡ª<i>midnight ising</i>. The faster time passes, the closer to midnight I get. The closer to taking the next step, to taking control of my fate.


    Julian doesn¡¯t notice my unease, probably because he¡¯s elbow-deep in a pile of newly bound books. Each one is about an inch thick and neatlybeled with a year but nothing else. What they could possibly be, I don¡¯t know.


    ¡°What are these?¡± I ask, picking up one. Inside it¡¯s a mess of lists: names, dates, locations¡ªand causes of death. Most just say blood loss, but there¡¯s also disease, suffocation, drowning, and some more specific and gruesome details. My blood runs cold in my veins as I realize exactly what I¡¯m reading. ¡°A death list.¡±


    Julian nods. ¡°Every person who ever died fighting in the Laknder War.¡±


    <i>Shade</i>, I think, feeling my meal churn in my stomach. Something tells me he won¡¯t get his name in one of these. Deserters don¡¯t get the honor of a line of ink. Angry, I let my mind reach out to the deskmp illuminating my reading. The electricity in it calls to me, as familiar as my own pulse. With nothing more than my brain, I turn it on and off, blinking in time with my ragged heartbeat.


    Julian notes the shing light, lips pursed. ¡°Something wrong,<span id="page_180" title="180">Mare?¡± he asks dryly.


    <i>Everything is wrong</i>.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fan of the schedule change,¡± I say instead, letting themp be. It¡¯s not a lie, but it¡¯s not the truth either. ¡°We won¡¯t be able to train.¡±


    He only shrugs, his parchment-colored clothes shifting with the motion. They look dirtier somehow, like he¡¯s turning into the pages of his books. ¡°From what I hear, you need more guidance than I can give you.¡±


    My teeth grind together, chewing on the words before I can spit them out. ¡°Did Cal tell you what happened?¡±


    ¡°He did,¡± Julian replies evenly. ¡°And he¡¯s right. Don¡¯t fault him for it.¡±


    ¡°I can fault him for whatever I want,¡± I snort, remembering the war books and death guides all over his room. ¡°He¡¯s just like all the others.¡±


    Julian opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it at thest moment and turns back to his books. ¡°Mare, I wouldn¡¯t exactly call what we do training. Besides, you looked very good in your session today.¡±


    ¡°You saw that? How?¡±


    ¡°I asked to watch.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ª?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he says, looking straight through me. His voice is suddenly melodic, humming with deep, soothing vibrations. Exhaling, I realize he¡¯s right.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I repeat. Even though he isn¡¯t speaking, the echo of Julian¡¯s voice still hangs in the air like a calming breeze. ¡°So, what are we working on today?¡±


    <span id="page_181" title="181">Julian smirks, amused with himself. ¡°Mare.¡±


    His voice is normal again, simple and familiar. It breaks apart the echoes, wiping them away from me in a lifting cloud. ¡°What¡ªwhat the hell was that?¡±


    ¡°I take it Lady Blonos hasn¡¯t spoken much about House Jacos in Lessons?¡± he says, still smirking. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you never asked.¡±


    Truly, I¡¯ve never wondered about Julian¡¯s ability. I always thought it would be something weak, because he doesn¡¯t seem as pompous as the others¡ªbut it looks like that isn¡¯t true at all. He¡¯s much stronger and more dangerous than I ever realized.


    ¡°You can control people. You¡¯re like<i>her</i>.¡± The thought of Julian, a sympathizer, a good person, being at all like the queen makes me shake.


    He takes the usation in stride, shifting his attention back to his book. ¡°No, I¡¯m not. I have nowhere near her strength. Or her brutality.¡± He heaves a sigh, exining. ¡°We¡¯re called singers. Or at least we would be, if there were any more of us. I¡¯m thest of my house, and thest of, well, my kind. I can¡¯t read minds, I can¡¯t control thoughts, I can¡¯t speak in your head. But I can sing¡ªas long as someone hears me, as long as I can look into their eyes¡ªI can make a person do as I wish.¡±


    Horror bleeds through me.<i>Even Julian</i>.


    Slowly, I lean back, wanting to put some distance between him and myself. He notices, of course, but doesn¡¯t look angry.


    ¡°You¡¯re right not to trust me,¡± he murmurs. ¡°No one does. There¡¯s a reason my only friends are written words. But I don¡¯t do it unless I absolutely need to, and I¡¯ve never done it with malice.¡± Then he snorts,ughing darkly. ¡°If I really wanted, I could talk my way to the throne.¡±


    ¡°But you haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°No. And neither did my sister, no matter what anyone else might say.¡±


    <span id="page_182" title="182"><i>Cal¡¯s mother</i>. ¡°No one seems to say anything about her. Not to me, anyways.¡±


    ¡°People don¡¯t like to talk about dead queens,¡± he snaps, turning away from me in a smooth motion. ¡°But they talked when she was alive. Coriane Jacos, the Singer Queen.¡± I¡¯ve never seen Julian this way, not once. Usually he¡¯s quiet, calm, a little obsessed maybe, but never angry. Never so hurt. ¡°She wasn¡¯t chosen by Queenstrial, you know. Not like ra, or Evangeline, or even you. No, Tibe married my sister because he loved her¡ªand she loved him.¡±


    <i>Tibe</i>. Calling Tiberias Calore the Sixth, King of Norta, me of the North, anything with less than eight sybles seems preposterous. But he was young once too. He was like Cal, a boy born to be a king.


    ¡°They hated her because we were from a low house, because we didn¡¯t have strength or power or any other silly thing those people uphold,¡± Julian rails on, still looking away. His shoulders heave with each breath. ¡°And when my sister became queen, she threatened to change all that. She was kind,passionate, a mother who could raise Cal to be the king this country needed to unite us all. A king who wouldn¡¯t be afraid of change. But that never came to be.¡±


    ¡°I know what it¡¯s like to lose a sibling,¡± I murmur, remembering Shade. It doesn¡¯t seem real, like maybe everyone is just lying and he¡¯s at home now, happy and safe. But I know that isn¡¯t true. And somewhere, my brother¡¯s decapitated body lies as proof of that. ¡°I only found outst night. My brother died at the front.¡±


    Julian finally turns back around, his eyes ssy. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mare. I didn¡¯t realize.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t. The army doesn¡¯t report executions in their little books.¡±


    <span id="page_183" title="183">¡°Executed?¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024.


    ¡°Desertion.¡± The word tastes like blood, like a lie. ¡°Even though he never would.¡±


    After a long moment of silence, Julian puts a hand on my shoulder. ¡°It seems we have more inmon than you think, Mare.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°They killed my sister too. She stood in the way, and she was removed. And¡±¡ªhis voice drops¡ª¡°they¡¯ll do it again, to anyone they have to. Even Cal, even Maven, and especially<i>you</i>.¡±


    <i>Especially me. The little lightning girl</i>.


    ¡°I thought you wanted to change things, Julian.¡±


    ¡°I do indeed. But these things take time, nning, and too much luck to count on.¡± He stares me up and down, like somehow he knows I¡¯ve already taken the first step down a dark path. ¡°I don¡¯t want you getting in over your head.¡±


    <i>Toote</i>.

 Red Queen: Chapter 16

    <i>After a week of</i>staring at my clock, waiting for midnight, I begin to despair. Of course Farley can¡¯t reach us here. Even she is not so talented. But tonight, when the clock ticks, I feel nothing for the first time since Queenstrial. No cameras, no electricity,<i>nothing</i>. The power ispletely out. I¡¯ve been in ckouts before, too many to count, but this is different. This isn¡¯t an ident. This is for me.


    Moving quickly, I slip into my boots, now broken in by weeks of wear, and head for the door. I¡¯m barely out in the hallway before I hear Walsh in my ear, speaking softly and quickly as she pulls me through the forced darkness.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have much time,¡± she murmurs, hustling me into a service stairwell. It¡¯s pitch-ck, but she knows where we¡¯re going, and I trust her to get me there. ¡°They¡¯ll have the power back on in fifteen minutes if we¡¯re lucky.¡±


    ¡°And if we aren¡¯t?¡± I breathe in the darkness.Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    She hustles me down the stairs and shoulders open a door. ¡°Then I hope you¡¯re not too attached to your head.¡±


    <span id="page_185" title="185">The smell of earth and dirt and water hits me first, churning up all my memories of life in the woods. But even though it looks like a forest, with gnarled old trees and hundreds of nts painted blue and ck by the moon, a ss roof rises overhead.<i>The conservatory</i>. Twisting shadows sprawl across the ground, each one worse than the next. I see Security and Sentinels in every dark corner, waiting to capture and kill us like they did my brother. But instead of their horrific ck or me uniforms, there¡¯s nothing but flowers blooming beneath the ss ceiling of stars.


    ¡°Excuse me if I don¡¯t curtsy,¡± a voice says, emerging from a grove of white-spangled magnolia trees. Her blue eyes reflect the moon, glowing in the dark with cold fire.<i>Farley has a real talent for theatrics</i>.


    Like in her broadcast, she wears a red scarf across her face, hiding her features. But it doesn¡¯t hide a ruinous scar that marches down her neck, disappearing beneath the cor of her shirt. It looks new, barely beginning to heal. She¡¯s been busy since Ist saw her. But then, so have I.


    ¡°Farley,¡± I say, tipping my head in greeting.


    She doesn¡¯t nod back, but then, I didn¡¯t expect her to. All business. ¡°And the other one?¡± she murmurs.<i>Other one?</i>


    ¡°Hond¡¯s bringing him. Any second now.¡± Walsh sounds breathless, excited even, about whoever we¡¯re waiting for. Even Farley¡¯s eyes shine.


    ¡°What is it? Who else joined up?¡± They don¡¯t answer me, exchanging nces instead. A few names run through my head, servants and kitchen boys who would support the cause.


    But the person who joins us is no servant. He¡¯s not even Red.


    <i>¡°Maven.¡±</i>


    I don¡¯t know whether to scream or run when I see my betrothed<span id="page_186" title="186">appear from the shadows. He¡¯s a prince, he¡¯s Silver, he¡¯s the enemy, and yet, here he is, standing with one of the leaders of the Scarlet Guard. Hispanion Hond, an aging Red servant with years of service behind him, seems to swell with pride.


    ¡°I told you, you¡¯re not alone, Mare,¡± Maven says, but he doesn¡¯t smile. A hand twitches at his side¡ªhe¡¯s all nerves. Farley<i>scares</i>him.


    And I can see why. She steps toward us, gun in hand, but she¡¯s just as nervous as he is. Still, her voice does not shake. ¡°I want to hear it from your lips, little prince. Tell me what you told him,¡± she says, tipping her head toward Hond.


    Maven sneers at ¡°little prince,¡± his lips curving in distaste, but he doesn¡¯t snap at her. ¡°I want to join the Guard,¡± he says, his voice full of conviction.


    She moves quickly, cocking the pistol and taking aim in the same motion. My heart seems to stop when she presses the barrel to his forehead, but Maven doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Why?¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Because this world is wrong. What my father has done, what my brother will do,<i>is wrong</i>.¡± Even with a gun to his head, he manages to speak calmly, but a bead of sweat trickles down his neck. Farley doesn¡¯t pull away, waiting for a better answer, and I find myself doing the same.


    His eyes shift, moving to mine, and he swallows hard. ¡°When I was twelve, my father sent me to the war front, to toughen me up, to make me more like my brother. Cal is perfect, you see, so why couldn¡¯t I be the same?¡±


    I can¡¯t help but flinch at his words, recognizing the pain in them.<i>I lived in Gisa¡¯s shadow, and he lived in Cal¡¯s. I know what that life is like</i>.


    Farley sniffs, almostughing at him. ¡°I have no use for jealous little boys.¡±


    ¡°I wish it was jealousy that drove me here,¡± Maven murmurs. ¡°I<span id="page_187" title="187">spent three years in the barracks, following Cal and officers and generals, watching soldiers fight and die for a war no one believed in. Where Cal saw honor and loyalty, I saw foolishness. I saw waste. Blood on both sides of the dividing line, and your people gave so much more.¡±


    I remember the books in Cal¡¯s room, the tactics and maneuversid out like a game. The memory makes me cringe, but what Maven says next chills my blood.


    ¡°There was a boy, just seventeen, a Red from the frozen north. He didn¡¯t know me on sight, not like everyone else, but he treated me just fine. He treated me like a<i>person</i>. I think he was my first real friend.¡± Maybe it¡¯s a trick of the moonlight, but something like tears glimmer in his eyes. ¡°His name was Thomas, and I watched him die. I could¡¯ve saved him, but my guards held me back. His life wasn¡¯t worth mine, they said.¡± Then the tears are gone, reced by clenched fists and an iron will. ¡°Cal calls this the bnce, Silver over Red. He¡¯s a good person, and he¡¯ll be a just ruler, but he doesn¡¯t think change is worth the cost,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m trying to tell you that I¡¯m not the same as the rest of them. I think my life is worth yours, and I¡¯ll give it dly, if it means change.¡±


    He is a prince and, worst of all, the queen¡¯s son. I didn¡¯t want to trust him before for this very reason, for the secrets he kept hidden.<i>Or maybe this is what he was hiding all along</i>. . .<i>his own heart</i>.


    Though he tries his best to look grim, to keep his spine straight and his lips from trembling, I can see the boy beneath the mask. Part of me wants to embrace him, tofort him, but Farley would stop me before I could. When she lowers her gun, slowly but surely, I let go of a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding in.


    ¡°The boy speaks true,¡± the manservant Hond says. He shifts to stand next to Maven, strangely protective of his prince. ¡°He¡¯s felt this<span id="page_188" title="188">way for months now, since he returned from the front.¡±


    ¡°And you told him of us after a few tear-filled nights?¡± Farley sneers, turning her fearsome gaze on Hond. But the man holds firm.


    ¡°I¡¯ve known the prince since boyhood. Anyone close to him can see his heart has changed.¡± Hond nces sidelong at Maven, as if remembering the boy he was. ¡°Think what an ally he could be. What a difference he could make.¡±


    <i>Maven is different</i>. I know that firsthand, but something tells me my words won¡¯t sway Farley. Only Maven can do that now.


    ¡°Swear on your colors,¡± she growls at him.


    An ancient oath, ording to Lady Blonos. Like swearing on your life, your family, and your children toe, all at once. And Maven doesn¡¯t hesitate to do it.


    ¡°I swear on my colors,¡± he says, dipping his head. ¡°I pledge myself to the Scarlet Guard.¡± It sounds like his marriage proposal, but this is far more important, and more deadly.


    ¡°Wee to the Scarlet Guard,¡± she finally says, pulling away her scarf.


    I move quietly over the tile floor until I feel his hand in mine. It zes with now familiar heat. ¡°Thank you, Maven,¡± I whisper. ¡°You don¡¯t know what this means to us.¡±<i>To me</i>.


    Any other would smile at the prospect of recruiting a Silver, and a<i>royal</i>at that, but Farley barely reacts at all. ¡°What are you willing to do for us?¡±


    ¡°I can give you information, intelligence, whatever you might need to continue forward with your operation. I sit on tax councils with my father¡ª¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t care about taxes,¡± Farley snaps. She casts an angry nce at me, as if it¡¯s my fault she doesn¡¯t like what he¡¯s offering. ¡°What we<span id="page_189" title="189">need are names, locations,<i>targets</i>. What to hit and when to cause the most damage. Can you give me that?¡±


    Maven shifts, ufortable. ¡°I would prefer a less hostile path,¡± he mutters. ¡°Your violent methods aren¡¯t winning you any friends.¡±


    Farley scoffs, letting the sound echo over the conservatory. ¡°Your people are a thousand times more violent and cruel than mine. We¡¯ve spent thest few centuries under a Silver boot, and we¡¯re not going to get out by being<i>nice</i>.¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± Maven murmurs. I can tell he¡¯s thinking of Thomas, of everyone he watched die. His shoulder brushes mine as he pulls back, retreating into me for protection. Farley doesn¡¯t miss it and almostughs out loud.


    ¡°The little prince and the little lightning girl.¡± Sheughs. ¡°You two suit each other. One, a coward, and you¡±¡ªshe turns to me, her steel-blue eyes burning¡ª¡°thest time we met, you were scrabbling in the mud for a miracle.¡±


    ¡°I found it,¡± I tell her. To cement my point, my hands spark up, casting dancing purple light over us.


    The darkness seems to shift, and members of the Scarlet Guard reveal themselves in menacing order, stepping out from trees and bushes. Their faces are masked with scarves and bandannas, but they don¡¯t hide everything. The tallest one must be Tristan, with his long limbs. I can tell by the way they stand, tense and ready for action, that they¡¯re afraid. But Farley¡¯s face doesn¡¯t change. She knows the people meant to protect her won¡¯t do much against Maven, or even me, but she doesn¡¯t look at all intimidated. To my great surprise, she finally smiles. Her grin is fearsome, full of teeth and a wild hunger.


    ¡°We can bomb and burn every inch of this country down,¡± she murmurs, looking between us with something like pride, ¡°but that<span id="page_190" title="190">will never do the damage you two can do. A Silver prince turning against his crown, a Red girl with abilities. What will people say, when they see you standing with us?¡±


    ¡°I thought you wanted¡ª,¡± Maven starts, but Farley waves the words away.


    ¡°The bombings are just a way to get attention. Once we have it, once every Silver in this forsaken country is watching, we need something to show them.¡± Her gaze turns calcting as she measures us up, weighing us against whatever she has in mind. ¡°I think you¡¯ll do quite nicely.¡±


    My voice trembles, dreading what she might say. ¡°As what?¡±


    ¡°The face of our glorious revolution,¡± she says proudly, tossing her head back. Her golden hair catches the moonlight. For a second, she seems to wear a sparkling crown. ¡°The drop of water to break the dam.¡±


    Maven nods with fervor.


    ¡°So, where do we start?¡±


    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s time we took a page out of Mare¡¯s book of mischief.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± I don¡¯t understand, but Maven follows Farley¡¯s line of thought easily.


    ¡°My father has been covering up other attacks by the Guard,¡± he mutters, exining her n.


    My mind flickers back to Colonel Macanthos and her outburst at luncheon. ¡°The airfield, Delphie, Harbor Bay.¡±


    Maven nods. ¡°He called them idents, training exercises,<i>lies</i>. But when you sparked up at Queenstrial, even my mother couldn¡¯t talk you away. We need something like that, something no one can hide. To show the world the Scarlet Guard is very dangerous and very real.¡±


    <span id="page_191" title="191">¡°But won¡¯t that have consequences?¡± My thoughts sh back to the riot, to the innocent people tortured and killed by a mindless horde. ¡°The Silvers will turn on us, things will get<i>worse</i>.¡±


    Farley looks away, unable to hold my gaze. ¡°And more will join us. More will realize the lives we live are<i>wrong</i>and that something can be done to change it. We¡¯ve stood still for far too long; it¡¯s time to make sacrifices and move forward.¡±


    ¡°Was my brother your sacrifice?¡± I snap, feeling anger re within me. ¡°Was his death worth it to you?¡±


    To her credit, she doesn¡¯t try to lie. ¡°Shade knew what he was getting into.¡±


    ¡°And what about everyone else? What about the kids and the elders and anyone who hasn¡¯t signed up for your ¡®glorious revolution¡¯? What happens when Sentinels start rounding them up for punishment when they can¡¯t find you?¡±


    Maven¡¯s voice is warm and soft in my ear. ¡°Think of your histories, Mare. What has Julian taught you?¡±


    <i>He taught me about death. The before. The wars</i>. But beyond that, in a time when things could still change, there were revolutions. The people rose, the empires fell, and things changed. Liberty moved in arcs, rising and falling with the tide of time.


    ¡°Revolution needs a spark,¡± I murmur, repeating what Julian would say in our lessons. ¡°And even sparks burn.¡±


    Farley smiles. ¡°You should know that better than anyone.¡±


    But I¡¯m still not convinced. The pain of losing Shade, of knowing my parents have lost a child, will only multiply if we do this. How many more Shades will die?


    Strangely it¡¯s Maven, not Farley, who tries to sway me.


    ¡°Cal believes that change is not worth the cost,¡± he says. His voice<span id="page_192" title="192">shakes, quivering with nerves and conviction. ¡°And he¡¯s going to rule one day¡ªdo you want to let him be the future?¡±


    For once, my answer is easy. ¡°No.¡±


    Farley nods, pleased. ¡°Walsh and Hond¡±¡ªshe jerks her head toward them¡ª¡°tell me there¡¯s going to be a little party here.¡±


    ¡°The ball,¡± Maven offers.


    ¡°It¡¯s an impossible target,¡± I snap. ¡°Everyone will have guards; the queen will<i>know</i>if something goes wrong¡ª¡±


    ¡°She will<i>not</i>,¡± Maven breaks in, almost scoffing at the idea. ¡°My mother is not all-powerful, as she would want you to believe. Even she has limits.¡±


    <i>Limits? The queen?</i>Just the thought makes my mind run wild. ¡°How can you say that? You know what she can do¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know that in the middle of a ball, with so many voices and thoughts swirling around her, she¡¯ll be<i>useless</i>. And so long as we stay out of her path, give her no reason to prod, she won¡¯t know a thing. The same goes for the Eagrie eyes. They won¡¯t be looking ahead for trouble, and so they won¡¯t see it.¡± He turns back to Farley, his spine straight as an arrow. ¡°Silvers might be strong, but we are not invincible. It can be done.¡±


    Farley nods smoothly, smiling with her teeth. ¡°We¡¯ll be in contact again, once things are set in motion.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask something in return?¡± I blurt, reaching out to grab her arm. ¡°My friend, the one I came to you about before, wants to join the Guard. But you can¡¯t let him. Just make sure he doesn¡¯t get involved in any of this.¡±


    Gently, she peels my fingers from her arm as regret clouds her eyes.


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mean me.¡±


    To my horror, one of her shadowy guards steps forward. The red rag around his face doesn¡¯t hide the set of his broad shoulders or the<span id="page_193" title="193">ratty shirt I¡¯ve seen a thousand times. But the steely look in his eyes, the determination of a man twice his age, is something I don¡¯t recognize at all. Kilorn looks years away already. Scarlet Guard to the bone, willing to fight and die for the cause.<i>He¡¯s Red as the dawn</i>.


    ¡°No,¡± I whisper, drawing back from Farley. Now I can only see Kilorn running full speed toward his doom. ¡°You know what happened to Shade. You can¡¯t do this.¡±


    He pulls away the rag and reaches out to embrace me, but I step away. His touch feels like a betrayal. ¡°Mare, you don¡¯t have to keep trying to save me.¡±


    ¡°I will as long as you won¡¯t.¡± How can he expect to be anything but a human shield?<i>How can he do this?</i>Far away, something hums at me, growing louder by the second, but I barely notice. I¡¯m more focused on keeping the tears from falling in front of Farley and the Guard and Maven.


    ¡°Kilorn, please.¡±


    He darkens at my words, like they¡¯re an insult rather than a young girl¡¯s plea.


    ¡°You made your choice, and I¡¯m making mine.¡±


    ¡°I made the choice for<i>you</i>, to keep you safe,¡± I snap. It¡¯s amazing how easily we fall back into our old rhythm, bickering like always. But there¡¯s much more on the line now. I can¡¯t just shove him into the mud and walk away. ¡°I bargained for you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re doing what you think will protect me, Mare,¡± he mutters, his voice a low rumble. ¡°So let me do what I can to save you.¡±


    My eyes squeeze shut, letting my heartache take over. I¡¯ve been protecting Kilorn every day since his mother left, since he almost starved to death in my doorway. And now he won¡¯t let me, no matter how dangerous the future has be.


    <span id="page_194" title="194">Slowly, I open my eyes again.


    ¡°Do what you want, Kilorn.¡± My voice is cold and mechanical, like the wires and circuits trying to switch back on. ¡°The power¡¯sing back soon. We should be on the move.¡±


    The others spring into action, disappearing into the conservatory, and Walsh takes me by the arm. Kilorn backs away, following the others into the shadows, but his eyes stay on me.


    ¡°Mare,¡± he calls after me. ¡°At least say good-bye.¡±


    But I¡¯m already walking, Maven by my side, Walsh leading us both. I won¡¯t look back, not now when he¡¯s betrayed all I¡¯ve ever done for him.


    Time moves slowly when you¡¯re waiting for something good, so naturally the days fly by as the dreaded ball approaches. A week passes without any contact, leaving Maven and me in the dark as the hours march on. More Training, more Protocol, more brainless lunches that almost leave me in tears. Every time I have to lie, to praise the Silvers and rip down my own. Only the Guard keeps me strong.


    Lady Blonos scolds me for being distracted in Protocol. I don¡¯t have the heart to tell her that, distracted or not, I¡¯ll never be able to learn the dance steps she¡¯s trying to teach for the Parting Ball. As suited as I might be to sneaking, I¡¯m horrible with rhythmic motion. Meanwhile, the once dreaded Training is an outlet for all my anger and stress, allowing me to run or spark off everything I¡¯m trying to keep inside.


    But just when I¡¯m finally beginning to get the hang of things, the mood of Training shifts drastically. Evangeline and herckeys don¡¯t snipe at me, instead focusing intently on their warm-ups. Even Maven goes through his stretches more carefully, like he¡¯s preparing for something.


    <span id="page_195" title="195">¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I ask him, nodding to the rest of the ss. My eyes linger on Cal, currently doing push-ups in perfect form.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see in a minute,¡± Maven replies, his voice oddly dull.


    When Arven enters with Provos, even he has a strange spring in his step. He doesn¡¯t bark out an order to run and approaches the ss instead.


    ¡°Tirana,¡± Instructor Arven murmurs.


    A girl in a blue-striped suit, the nymph from House Osanos, jumps to attention. She makes her way toward the center of the floor, waiting for something. She looks equal parts excited and terrified.


    Arven turns, searching through us. For a second, his eyes linger on me but thankfully shift to Maven.


    ¡°Prince Maven, if you please.¡± He gestures to where Tirana waits.


    Maven nods and moves to stand beside her. Both of them tense, fingers twitching as they await whatever¡¯sing.


    Suddenly, the training floor moves around them, pushing clear walls up to form something. Again, Provos raises his arms, using his abilities to transform the training hall. As the structure takes shape, my heart hammers, realizing exactly what it is.


    <i>An arena</i>.


    Cal takes Maven¡¯s ce at my side, his movements quick and silent. ¡°They won¡¯t hurt each other,¡± he exins. ¡°Arven stops us before anyone can do real damage, and there are healers on hand.¡±


    ¡°Comforting,¡± I choke out.


    In the center of the quickly forming arena, both Maven and Tirana prepare for their match. Maven¡¯s bracelet sparks, and fire zes in his hands, streaking up his arms, while droplets of moisture leech from the air to swirl around Tirana in a ghostly disy. Both of them look ready for battle.


    <span id="page_196" title="196">Something about my unease sets Cal on edge. ¡°Is Maven the only thing you¡¯re worried about?¡±


    <i>Not even close</i>. ¡°Protocol¡¯s not exactly easy right now.¡± I¡¯m not lying, but on my list of problems, learning to dance is at the very bottom. ¡°It seems I¡¯m even worse at dancing than memorizing court etiquette.¡±


    To my surprise, Calughs loudly. ¡°You must be horrible.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s difficult to learn without a partner,¡± I snap, bristling at him.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Thest two pieces lock together,pleting the training arena and fencing in Maven and his opponent. Now they¡¯re separated from the rest of us by thick ss, trapped together in a miniature version of a battle arena.<i>Thest time I watched Silvers fight, someone almost died</i>.


    ¡°Who has the advantage?¡± Arven says, questioning the ss. Every hand but mine shoots into the air. ¡°ne?¡±


    The Haven girl juts her chin forward, speaking proudly. ¡°Tirana has the advantage. She is older and more experienced.¡± ne says this like it¡¯s the most obvious thing in the world. Maven¡¯s cheeks flush white, though he tries to hide it. ¡°And water defeats fire.¡±


    ¡°Very good.¡± Arven shifts his eyes back to Maven, daring him to argue. But Maven holds his tongue, letting the growing fire speak for him. ¡°Impress me.¡±


    They collide, spitting fire and rain in a duel of the elements. Tirana uses her water like a shield, and to Maven¡¯s fiery attacks, it¡¯s imprable. Every time he gets close to her, swinging with ming fists, hees back with nothing but steam. The battle looks even, but somehow Maven seems to have the edge. He¡¯s on the offensive, backing her into a wall.


    All around us, the ss cheers, goading on the warriors. I used to be<span id="page_197" title="197">disgusted by disys like this, but now I¡¯m having a hard time keeping quiet. Every time Maven attacks, closer to pinning down Tirana, it¡¯s all I can do not to cheer with the others.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap, Mavey,¡± Cal whispers, more to himself than anyone.


    ¡°What is it? What¡¯s she going to do?¡±


    Cal shakes his head. ¡°Just watch. She¡¯s got him.¡±


    But Tirana looks anything but victorious. She¡¯s t against the wall, dueling hard behind her watery shield as she blocks blow after blow.


    I don¡¯t miss the lightning-quick moment as Tirana literally turns the tide on Maven. She grabs his arm and pulls, spinning around so they trade ces in a heartbeat. Now it¡¯s Maven behind her shield, pinned between the water and the wall. But he can¡¯t control the water, and it presses against him, holding him back even as he tries to burn it away. The water only boils, bubbling over his zing skin.


    Tirana stands back, watching him struggle with a smile on her face. ¡°Yield?¡±


    A stream of bubbles escapes Maven¡¯s lips.<i>Yield</i>.


    The water drops from him, vaporizing back into the air to the sound of apuse. Provos waves a hand again, and one of the arena walls slides back. Tirana gives a tiny bow while Maven trudges out of the circle, a soggy, pouting mess.


    ¡°I challenge ne Haven,¡± Sonya Iral says sharply, trying to get the words out before our instructor can pair her with someone else. Arven nods, allowing the challenge, before turning his gaze on ne. To my surprise, she smiles and saunters toward the arena, her long red hair swaying with the movement.


    ¡°I ept your challenge,¡± ne replies, taking a spot in the center of the arena. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve learned some new tricks.¡±


    <span id="page_198" title="198">Sonya follows, eyes dancing. She evenughs. ¡°You think I¡¯d tell you if I did?¡±


    Somehow they manage to giggle and smile right up until ne Haven disappears entirely and grabs Sonya around the throat. She chokes, gasping for air, before twisting in the invisible girl¡¯s arms and slipping away. Their match devolves quickly into a deadly, violent game of cat and invisible mouse.


    Maven doesn¡¯t bother to watch, angry with himself over his performance. ¡°Yes?¡± he says to Cal, and his brotherunches headfirst into a hushed lecture. I get the feeling this is normal.


    ¡°Don¡¯t corner someone better than you, it makes them more dangerous,¡± he says, putting an arm around his brother¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You can¡¯t beat her with ability, so beat her with your head.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± Maven mutters, begrudging the advice but taking it all the same.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting better though,¡± Cal murmurs, patting Maven on the shoulder. He means well butes off as patronizing. I¡¯m surprised Maven doesn¡¯t snap at him¡ªbut he¡¯s used to this, like I was used to Gisa.


    ¡°Thanks, Cal. I think he gets it,¡± I say, speaking for Maven.


    His older brother isn¡¯t stupid and takes the hint with a frown. With nothing but a backward nce at me, Cal leaves us to stand with Evangeline. I wish he wouldn¡¯t, just so I don¡¯t have to watch her smirk and gloat. Not to mention I get this strange twist in my stomach every time he looks at her.


    Once he¡¯s out of earshot, I nudge Maven with my shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s right, you know. You have to outsmart people like that.¡±


    In front of us, Sonya grabs on to what seems like air and ms it against the wall. Silver liquid spatters, and ne flutters back into<span id="page_199" title="199">visibility, a trail of blood streaming from her nose.


    ¡°He¡¯s always right when ites to the arena,¡± he rumbles, strangely upset. ¡°Just wait and see.¡±


    Across the arena, Evangeline smiles at the murderous disy between us. How she can watch her friends bleeding on the floor, I don¡¯t know.<i>Silvers are different</i>, I remind myself.<i>Their scars don¡¯tst. They don¡¯t remember pain</i>. With skin healers waiting in the wings, violence has taken on a new meaning for them. A broken spine, a split stomach, it doesn¡¯t matter. Someone will alwayse to fix you. They don¡¯t know the meaning of danger or fear or pain. It¡¯s only their pride that can be truly hurt.


    <i>You are Silver. You are Mareena Titanos. You enjoy this</i>.


    Cal¡¯s eyes dart between the girls, studying them like a book or a painting rather than a moving mass of blood and bone. Beneath the ck cut of his training suit, his muscles tense, ready for his turn.


    And when ites, I understand what Maven means.


    Instructor Arven pits Cal against two others, the windweaver Oliver and Cyrine Macanthos, a girl who turns her skin to stone. It¡¯s a match in name only. Despite being outnumbered, Cal toys with the other two. He incapacitates them one at a time, trapping Oliver in a swirl of fire while trading blows with Cyrine. She looks like a living statue, made of solid rock rather than flesh, but Cal¡¯s stronger. His blows splinter her rocky skin, sending spider cracks through her body with every punch. This is just practice to him; he almost looks bored. He ends the match when the arena explodes into a churning inferno that even Maven steps back from. By the time the smoke and fire clears, both Oliver and Cyrine have yielded. Their skin cracks in bits of burned flesh, but neither cries out.


    Cal leaves them both behind, not bothering to watch as a skin healer<span id="page_200" title="200">appears to fix them up. He saved me, he brought me home, he broke the rules for me. And he¡¯s a merciless soldier, the heir to a bloody throne.


    Cal¡¯s blood might be silver, but his heart is ck as burned skin.


    When his eyes trail to mine, I force myself to look away. Instead of letting his warmth, his strange kindness confuse me, Imit the inferno to memory.<i>Cal is more dangerous than all of them put together. I cannot forget that</i>.


    ¡°Evangeline, Andros,¡± Arven clips, nodding at the pair of them. Andros detes, almost annoyed at the prospect of fighting¡ªand losing¡ªto Evangeline, but dutifully trudges into the arena. To my surprise, Evangeline doesn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°No,¡± she says boldly, nting her feet.


    When Arven whirls to her, his voice rises above his usual whisper and it cuts like a razor. ¡°I beg your pardon, Lady Samos?¡±


    She turns her ck eyes on me, and her gaze is sharp as any knife.


    ¡°I challenge Mareena Titanos.¡±

 Red Queen: Chapter 17

    <i>¡°Absolutely not,¡± Maven rumbles</i>. ¡°She¡¯s been training for only two weeks; you¡¯ll cut her apart.¡±


    In response, Evangeline just shrugs, letting azy smirk rise to her features. Her fingers dance against her leg, and I can almost feel them like ws across my skin.


    ¡°So what if she does?¡± Sonya breaks in, and I think I see a gleam of her grandmother in her eye. ¡°The healers are here. There¡¯ll be no harm done. Besides, if she¡¯s going to train with us, she might as well do it properly, right?¡±


    <i>No harm done</i>, I scoff in my head.<i>No harm but my blood exposed for all to see</i>. My heartbeat thumps in my head, quickening with every passing second. Overhead, the lights shine brightly, illuminating the ring; my blood will be hard to hide, and they¡¯ll see me for what I am. The Red, the liar, the thief.


    ¡°I¡¯d like some more time observing before I get in the ring, if you don¡¯t mind,¡± I reply, trying my best to sound Silver. Instead, my voice quavers. Evangeline catches it.


    <span id="page_202" title="202">¡°Too scared to fight?¡± she goads,zily flicking a hand. One of her knives, a little thing like a tooth of silver, circles her wrist slowly in open threat. ¡°Poor little lightning girl.¡±


    <i>Yes</i>, I want to scream.<i>Yes, I am scared</i>. But Silvers don¡¯t admit things like that. Silvers have their pride, their strength¡ªand nothing else. ¡°When I fight, I intend to win,¡± I say instead, throwing her words back in her face. ¡°I¡¯m not a fool, Evangeline, and I cannot win yet.¡±


    ¡°Training outside the ring can only get you so far, Mareena,¡± Sonya purrs,tching on to my lie with glee. ¡°Don¡¯t you agree, Instructor? How can she ever expect to win if she doesn¡¯t try?¡±


    Arven knows there¡¯s something different about me, a reason for my ability and my strength. But what that is, he cannot fathom, and there¡¯s a glint of curiosity in his eye. He wants to see me in the ring as well. And my only allies, Cal and Maven, exchange worried nces, wondering how to proceed across such shaky ground.<i>Didn¡¯t they expect this? Didn¡¯t they think it woulde to this?</i>


    <i>Or maybe this is what I¡¯ve been headed for all along. An idental death in Training</i>,<i>another lie for the queen to tell, a fitting death for the girl who doesn¡¯t belong. It¡¯s a trap I willingly stepped into</i>.


    The game will be over. And everyone I love will have lost.


    ¡°Lady Titanos is the daughter of a dead war hero and you can do nothing but tease her,¡± Cal growls, throwing daggered nces at the girls. They barely seem to notice, almostughing at his poor defense. He might be a born fighter, but he¡¯s at a loss when ites to words.


    Sonya is even more incensed, her sly nature taking hold. Whereas Cal is a warrior in the ring, she is a soldier of speech, and twists his words with frightening ease. ¡°A general¡¯s daughter should do well in the ring. If anything, Evangeline should be afraid.¡±


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t raised by a general, don¡¯t be foolish¡ª,¡± Maven sneers.<span id="page_203" title="203">He¡¯s much better at this sort of thing, but I cannot let him win my battles. Not with these girls.


    ¡°I will not fight,¡± I say again. ¡°Challenge someone else.¡±


    When Evangeline smiles, her teeth white and sharp, my old instincts ring in my head like a bell. I barely have time to drop as her knife burns through the air, cutting through the spot where my neck was seconds before.


    ¡°I challenge you,¡± she snaps, and another de flies at my face. More rise from her belt, ready to cut me to ribbons.


    ¡°Evangeline, stop¡ª,¡± Maven shouts, and Cal pulls me to my feet, his eyes alive with worry. My blood sings, coursing with adrenaline, my pulse so loud I almost miss his whispered words.


    ¡°You¡¯re faster. Keep her on the run.<i>Don¡¯t be afraid</i>.¡± Another knife zes by, this time digging into the ground at my feet. ¡°Don¡¯t let her see you bleed.¡±


    Over his shoulder, Evangeline prowls like a predatory cat, a glittering storm of knives in her fist. In that instant, I know nothing and no one will stop her. Not even the princes. And I cannot give her the chance to win.<i>I cannot lose</i>.


    A bolt of lightning escapes me, streaking through the air at mymand. It hits her in the chest and she staggers back, colliding with the outer wall of the arena. But instead of looking angry, Evangeline regards me with glee.


    ¡°This will be quick, little lightning girl,¡± she snarls, wiping away a trickle of silverblood.


    All around, the other students draw back, ncing between the two of us. This could be thest time they see me alive.<i>No</i>, I think again.<i>I cannot lose</i>. My focus intensifies, deepening my sense of power until it¡¯s so strong I hardly notice the walls shifting around us. With a<span id="page_204" title="204">click, Provos re-forms the arena, locking us in together, a Red girl and a smiling Silver monster.


    She grins across at me, and razor-thin pieces of metal peel off the floor, shaped to her will. They curl and shudder and scrape into a living nightmare. Her usual des are gone, tossed aside for a new tactic. The metal things, creatures of her mind, skitter across the floor to stop at her feet. Each one has eight razored legs, sharp and cruel. They quiver as they wait to be released, to cut me apart.<i>Spiders</i>. A horrible crawling sensation prickles my skin, like they¡¯re already upon me.


    Sparkse to life in my hands, dancing between my fingers. The lights flicker as the energy in the room bleeds into me like water soaking into a sponge. Power races through me, driven by my own strength¡ªand by need.<i>I will not die here</i>.


    On the other side of the wall, Maven smiles, but his face is pale, afraid. Next to him, Cal doesn¡¯t move. A soldier doesn¡¯t blink until the battle is won.


    ¡°Who has the advantage?¡± Instructor Arven asks. ¡°Mareena or Evangeline?¡±


    No one raises a hand. Not even Evangeline¡¯s friends. Instead, they stare between us, watching our abilities grow.


    Evangeline¡¯s smile fades into a sneer. She¡¯s used to being favored, to being the one everyone¡¯s afraid of. And now she¡¯s angrier than ever.


    Again, the lights flicker on and off, as my body hums like an overloaded wire. In the shing darkness, her spiders scrabble over the floor, their metal legs nging in terrible harmony.


    And then all I know is fear and power and the surge of energy in my veins.


    Darkness and light explode back and forth, plunging us both into a strange battle of flickering color. My lightning bursts through the<span id="page_205" title="205">darkness, streaking purple and white as it shatters through spiders at every turn. Cal¡¯s advice echoes in my head, and I keep moving, never sticking to one spot on the floor long enough for Evangeline to hurt me. She weaves through her spiders, dodging my sparks as best she can. Jagged metal tears at my arms, but the leather suit holds firm. She¡¯s fast, but I¡¯m faster, even with spiders wing around my legs. For a second, her infuriating silver braid passes through my fingertips, before she¡¯s out of reach again. But I¡¯ve got her on the run.<i>I¡¯m winning</i>.


    I hear Maven through the shriek of metal and cheering ssmates, roaring for me to finish her. The lights sh, making her hard to spot, but for a brief moment, I feel what it¡¯s like to be one of them. To feel strength and power absolutely, to know you can do what millions can¡¯t. Evangeline feels like this every day, and now it¡¯s my turn.<i>I¡¯ll teach you what it¡¯s like to know fear</i>.


    A fist ms against the small of my back, shooting pain through the rest of my body. My knees buckle with the agony, sending me to the ground. Evangeline pauses above me, her smile surrounded by a messy curtain of silver hair.


    ¡°Like I said,¡± she snarls. ¡°Quick.¡±


    My legs move on their own, swinging out in a maneuver I¡¯ve used in the back alleys of the Stilts a hundred times. Even on Kilorn once or twice. My foot connects with her leg, sweeping it out from under her, and she crashes to the floor next to me. I¡¯m on her in a second, despite the exploding pain in my back. My hands crackle with hot energy, even as they collide against her face. Pain sears through my knucklebones but I keep going, wanting to see sweet silverblood.


    ¡°You¡¯ll wish it was quick,¡± I roar, bearing down on her.


    Somehow, through her bruising lips, Evangeline manages tough. The sound melts away, reced by metallic screeching. And all around<span id="page_206" title="206">us, the fallen, electrified spiders twitch to life. Their metal bodies re-form, weaving together at the seams, into a ruinous, smoking beast.


    It skitters with surprising speed, knocking me off her. I¡¯m the one pinned now, looking up at the heaving, twisting shards of metal. The sparks die in my hands, driven away by fear and exhaustion.<i>Even the healers won¡¯t be able to save me after this</i>.


    A razor leg drags across my face, drawing red, hot blood. I hear myself scream, not in pain, but defeat.<i>This is the end</i>.


    And then a zing arm of fire knocks the metal monster off me, burning it into nothing more than a charred ck pile of ash. Strong hands pull me to my feet and then go to my hair, pulling it across my face to hide the red mark that could betray me. I turn in to Maven, letting him walk me from the training room. Every inch of me shakes, but he keeps me steady and moving. A healeres my way, but Cal heads him off, blocking my face from his sight.


    Before the door ms behind us, I hear Evangeline yelling and Cal¡¯s usually calm voice yelling right back, roaring over her like a storm.


    My voice breaks when I finally speak again. ¡°The cameras, the cameras can see.¡±


    ¡°Sentinels sworn to my mother man the cameras, trust me, they aren¡¯t what we should be worrying about,¡± Maven says, almost tripping over his words. He keeps a tight grip on my arm, like he¡¯s afraid I might be pulled away from him. His hand ghosts over my face, wiping away the blood with his sleeve.<i>If anyone sees</i>. . .


    ¡°Take me to Julian.¡±


    ¡°Julian¡¯s a fool,¡± he mutters.


    Figures appear at the far end of the hall, a pair of roaming nobles, and he pushes us down a service passage to avoid them.


    <span id="page_207" title="207">¡°Julian knows who I am,¡± I whisper back, grabbing on to him. As his grip tightens, so does mine. ¡°Julian will know what to do.¡±


    Maven looks down on me, conflicted, but finally nods. By the time we reach Julian¡¯s quarters, the bleeding has stopped, but my face is still a mess.


    He opens the door on the first knock, looking his usual haphazard self. To my surprise, he frowns at Maven.


    ¡°Prince Maven,¡± he says, bending into a stiff, almost insulting bow. Maven doesn¡¯t respond, only pushes me past Julian into the sitting room beyond.


    Julian has a small set of rooms, made smaller by darkness and stale air. The curtains are drawn, blotting out the afternoon sun, and the floor is slippery with loose stacks of paper. A kettle simmers in the corner, on an electric piece of metal meant to rece a stove. No wonder I never see him outside of Lessons; he appears to have everything he needs right here.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asks, waving us to a pair of dusty chairs. Obviously he doesn¡¯t entertain much. I take a seat, but Maven refuses, still standing.


    I draw aside my curtain of hair, revealing the shining red g of my identity. ¡°Evangeline got carried away.¡±


    Julian shifts, ufortable on his own two feet. But it¡¯s not me making him squirm; it¡¯s Maven. The two re at each other, at odds over something I don¡¯t understand. Finally, he turns his gaze back on me. ¡°I¡¯m not a skin healer, Mare. The best I can do is clean you up.¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± Maven says. ¡°He can¡¯t do anything.¡±


    Julian¡¯s lip curls into a snarl. ¡°Find Sara Skonos,¡± he snaps, his jaw tightening as he waits for Maven to move. I¡¯ve never seen Maven this angry, not even with Cal. But then, it¡¯s not anger spilling out from<span id="page_208" title="208">Maven or Julian¡ªit¡¯s<i>hate</i>. They absolutely despise each other.


    ¡°Do it,<i>my prince</i>.¡± The title sounds like a curseing from Julian¡¯s lips.


    Maven finally concedes and slips out the door.


    ¡°What¡¯s that all about?¡± I whisper, gesturing between Julian and the door.


    ¡°Not now,¡± he says, and tosses me a white cloth to clean myself with. It stains a dark red as my blood ruins the fabric.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Sara Skonos?¡±


    Again, Julian hesitates. ¡°A skin healer. She¡¯ll take care of you.¡± He sighs. ¡°And she¡¯s a friend. A discreet friend.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know Julian had friends beyond me and his books, but I don¡¯t question him.


    When Maven slips back into the room a few momentster, I¡¯ve managed to clean my face properly, though it still feels sticky and swollen. I¡¯ll have a few bruises to hide tomorrow, and I don¡¯t even want to know what my back looks like now. Gingerly, I touch the growing lump where Evangeline punched me.


    ¡°Sara¡¯s not . . .¡± Maven pauses, mulling over the words. ¡°She¡¯s not who I would have chosen for this.¡±


    Before I can ask why, the door opens, revealing the woman I assume is Sara. She enters silently, barely raising her eyes. Unlike the others, the Blonos blood healers, her age is disyed proudly on her face, in every wrinkle and her sunken, hollow cheeks. She looks to be about Julian¡¯s age, but her shoulders droop in a way that tells me her life has felt far longer than his.


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Lady Skonos.¡± My voice is calm, like I¡¯m asking about the weather. It seems my Protocol lessons might be sinking in after all.


    <span id="page_209" title="209">But Sara doesn¡¯t respond. Instead, she drops to her knees in front of my chair and takes my face in her rough hands. Her touch is cool, like water on a sunburn, and her fingers trail over the gash on my cheek with surprising gentleness. She works diligently, healing over the other bruises on my face. Before I can mention my back, she slips a hand down to the injury, and something like soothing ice bleeds through the pain. It¡¯s all over in a few moments, and I feel like I did when I first came here. Better, in fact. My old aches and bruises arepletely gone.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, but again, I get no response.


    ¡°Thank you, Sara,¡± Julian breathes, and her eyes dart to his in a sh of gray color. Her head bows slightly, in the tiniest nod. He reaches forward, a hand brushing her arm as he helps her to her feet. The two of them move like partners in a dance, listening to music no one else can hear.


    Maven¡¯s voice shatters their silence. ¡°That will be all, Skonos.¡±


    Sara¡¯s quiet calm melts into barely concealed anger as she spins out of Julian¡¯s grip, scrambling for the door like a wounded animal. The door shuts behind her with a m, shaking the framed maps in their ss prisons. Even Julian¡¯s hands shake, trembling long after she¡¯s gone, like he can still feel her.


    He tries to hide it, but not well: Julian was in love with her once, and maybe even still is. He looks at the door like a man haunted, waiting for her toe back.


    ¡°Julian?¡±


    ¡°The longer you¡¯re gone, the more people will start to talk,¡± he mutters, gesturing for us to leave.


    ¡°I agree.¡± Maven moves to the door, ready to open it and shove me back out.


    <span id="page_210" title="210">¡°Are you sure no one saw?¡± My hand moves to my cheek, now smooth and clean.


    Maven pauses, thinking. ¡°No one who would say anything.¡±


    ¡°Secrets don¡¯t stay secrets here,¡± Julian mutters. His voice quivers with rare anger. ¡°You know that, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°<i>You</i>should know the difference between secrets,¡± Maven snaps, ¡°and lies.¡±


    His hand closes around my wrist, pulling me back out into the hall before I can bother to ask what¡¯s going on. We don¡¯t make it far before a familiar figure stops us.


    ¡°Trouble, dear?¡±


    Queen ra, a vision in silk, addresses Maven. Strangely, she¡¯s alone, with no Sentinels to guard her. Her eyes linger on his hand still in mine. For once, I don¡¯t feel her try to push her way into my thoughts.<i>She¡¯s in Maven¡¯s head right now, not mine</i>.


    ¡°Nothing I can¡¯t handle,¡± Maven says, tightening his grip on me like I¡¯m some kind of anchor.


    She raises an eyebrow, not believing a word he says, but doesn¡¯t question him. I doubt she really questions anyone;<i>she knows all the answers</i>.


    ¡°Best hurry up, Lady Mareena, or you¡¯ll bete for luncheon,¡± she purrs, finally turning her ghostly eyes on me. And then it¡¯s my turn to hold on to Maven. ¡°And take a little more care in your Training sessions. Red blood is just so hard to clean up.¡±


    ¡°You would know,¡± I snap, remembering Shade. ¡°Because no matter how hard you try to hide it, I see it all over your hands.¡±


    Her eyes widen, surprised at my outburst. I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s ever spoken to her this way, and it makes me feel like a conqueror. But it doesn¡¯tst long.


    <span id="page_211" title="211">Suddenly my body twitches backward, throwing itself into the passage wall with a resounding smack. She makes me dance like a puppet on violent strings. Every bone rattles and my neck cracks, mming my head back until I see icy blue stars.


    <i>No, not stars. Eyes. Her eyes</i>.


    ¡°Mother!¡± Maven shouts, but his voice sounds far away. ¡°Mother, stop!¡±


    A hand closes around my throat, holding me in ce as control of my own body ebbs away. Her breath is sweet on my face, too sweet to stand.


    ¡°You will not speak to me like that again,¡± ra says, too angry to bother whispering in my head. Her grip tightens, and I couldn¡¯t even agree with her if I wanted to.


    <i>Why doesn¡¯t she just kill me?</i>I wonder as I gasp for breath.<i>If I¡¯m such a burden, such a problem, why doesn¡¯t she just kill me?</i>


    ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± Maven roars, the heat of his anger pulsing through the passage. Even through the hazy darkness eating at my vision, I see him pull her off me with surprising strength and boldness.


    Her ability¡¯s hold on me breaks, letting me slump against the wall. ra almost stumbles herself, reeling with shock. Now her re turns on Maven, on her own son standing against her.


    ¡°Return to your schedule, Mare.¡± He seethes, not breaking eye contact with his mother. I don¡¯t doubt she¡¯s screaming in his head, scolding him for protecting me. ¡°Go!¡±


    Heat crackles all around, radiating off his skin, and for a moment I¡¯m reminded of Cal¡¯s guarded temper. It seems Maven hides a fire as well, an even stronger one, and I don¡¯t want to be around when it explodes.


    As I scramble away, trying to put as much distance as I can between<span id="page_212" title="212">myself and the queen, I can¡¯t help but look back at them. They stare at each other, two pieces squaring off in a game I don¡¯t understand.


    Back in my room, the maids wait silently, another gilded dressid across their arms. While one slips me into the spectacle of silk and purple gemstones, the others fix my hair and makeup. As usual, they don¡¯t say a word, even though I look frantic and harried after such a morning.


    Lunch is a mixed affair. Usually the women eat together to discuss the uing weddings and all the silly things richdies talk about, but today is different. We¡¯re back on the terrace overlooking the river, the red uniforms of servants floating through the crowd, but there are far more military uniforms than ever before. It seems like we¡¯re dining with a full legion.


    Cal and Maven are there as well, both glittering in their medals, and they smile through pleasant conversation while the king himself shakes hands with the soldiers. All the soldiers are young, in gray uniforms cut with silver insignia. Nothing like the ratty red fatigues my brothers and any other Reds get when they¡¯re conscripted. These Silvers are going to war, yes, but not to the real fighting. They¡¯re the sons and daughters of important people, and to them, the war is just another ce to visit. Another step in their training. To us, to me once, it is a dead end. It is doom.


    But I still have to do my duty, to smile and shake their hands and thank them for their brave service. Each word tastes bitter, until I have to duck away from the crowd to an alcove half hidden by nts. The noise of the crowd still rises with the midday sun, but I can breathe again. For a second, at least.


    ¡°Everything okay?¡±


    Cal stands over me, looking worried but strangely rxed. He likes<span id="page_213" title="213">being around soldiers; I suppose it¡¯s his natural habitat.


    Even though I want to disappear, my spine straightens. ¡°I¡¯m not a fan of beauty pageants.¡±


    He frowns. ¡°Mare, they¡¯re going to the front. I¡¯d think you of all people would want to give them a proper send-off.¡±


    Theugh escapes me like gunfire. ¡°What part of my life makes you think I¡¯d<i>care</i>about these brats going off to war like it¡¯s some kind of vacation?¡±


    ¡°Just because they¡¯ve chosen to go doesn¡¯t make them any less brave.¡±


    ¡°Well, I hope they enjoy their barracks and supplies and reprieves and all the things my brothers were never given.¡± I doubt these willing soldiers will ever want for so much as a button.


    Even though he looks like he wants to yell at me, Cal swallows the urge. Now that I know what his temper is capable of, I¡¯m surprised he can keep himself in check at all.


    ¡°This is the firstpletely Silver legion going into the trenches,¡± he says evenly. ¡°They¡¯re going to fight with the Reds, dressed as Reds, serving with Reds. The Laknders won¡¯t know who they are when they get to the Choke. And when the bombs fall, when the enemy tries to break the line, they¡¯re going to get more than they bargained for. The Shadow Legion will take them all.¡±


    Suddenly I feel hot and cold at the same time. ¡°Original.¡±


    But Cal doesn¡¯t gloat. Instead, he looks sad. ¡°You gave me the idea.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°When you fell into Queenstrial, no one knew what to do. I¡¯m sure the Laknders will feel the same.¡±


    Though I try to speak, no soundes out. I¡¯ve never been a point of inspiration for anything, let alonebat maneuvers. Cal stares at<span id="page_214" title="214">me like he wants to say more, but he doesn¡¯t speak. Neither of us knows what to say.


    A boy from our training, the windweaver Oliver, ps a hand on Cal¡¯s shoulder while the other clutches a sloshing drink. He wears a uniform too.<i>He¡¯s going to fight</i>.


    ¡°What¡¯s with the hiding, Cal?¡± He chuckles, gesturing to the crowd around us. ¡°Next to the Laknders, this bunch will be easy!¡±


    Cal meets my eyes, a silver blush tingeing his cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ll take the Laknders any day,¡± he replies, his eyes never leaving mine.


    ¡°You¡¯re going with them?¡±


    Oliver answers for Cal, smiling much too wide for a boy going off to war. ¡°Going?¡± he says. ¡°Cal¡¯s leading us! His own legion, all the way to the front.¡±


    Slowly, Cal shifts out of Oliver¡¯s grip. The drunk windweaver doesn¡¯t seem to notice and keeps babbling. ¡°He¡¯ll be the youngest general in history and the first prince to fight on the lines.¡±


    <i>And the first to die</i>, a morose voice in my head whispers. Against my better instincts, I reach out to Cal. He doesn¡¯t pull away from me, allowing me to hold his arm. Now he doesn¡¯t look like a prince or a general or even a Silver, but that boy at the bar, the one who wanted to save me.


    My voice is small but strong. ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°When you leave for the capital, after the ball. You¡¯ll go south,¡± he murmurs, ¡°and I¡¯ll go north.¡±


    A cold shock of fear ripples through me, like when Kilorn first told me he was going to fight. But Kilorn is a fisher boy, a thief, someone who knows how to survive, how to slip through the cracks; not like Cal. He¡¯s a soldier. He¡¯ll die if he has to. He¡¯ll bleed for his war. And why this frightens me, I don¡¯t know. Why I care, I can¡¯t say.


    ¡°With Cal on the lines, this war will finally be over. With Cal, we<span id="page_215" title="215">can win,¡± Oliver says, grinning like a fool. Again, he takes Cal by the shoulder, but this time he steers him away, back toward the party¡ªleaving me behind.


    Someone presses a cold drink into my hand, and I down it in a single gulp.


    ¡°Easy there,¡± Maven mutters. ¡°Still thinking about this morning? No one saw your face, I checked with the Sentinels.¡±


    But that¡¯s the farthest thing from my mind as I watch Cal shake hands with his father. He pastes a magnificent smile on his face, donning a mask only I can see through.


    Maven follows my gaze and my thoughts. ¡°He wanted to do this. It was his choice.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean we have to like it.¡±This content ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°My son the general!¡± King Tiberias booms, his proud voice cutting through the din of the party. For a second, when he pulls Cal close, putting an arm around his son, I forget he¡¯s a king. I almost understand Cal¡¯s need to please him.


    <i>What would I give to see my mother look at me like that, back when I was nothing but a thief? What would I give now?</i>


    This world is Silver, but it is also gray. There is no ck-and-white.


    When someone knocks at my door that night, long after dinner, I¡¯m expecting Walsh and another cup of secret-message tea, but Cal stands there instead. Without his uniform or armor, he looks like the boy he is.<i>Barely neen, on the edge of doom or greatness or both</i>.


    I shrink in my pajamas, wishing very much for a robe. ¡°Cal? What do you need?¡±


    He shrugs, smirking a little bit. ¡°Evangeline almost killed you in the ring today.¡±


    <span id="page_216" title="216">¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So I don¡¯t want her to kill you on the dance floor.¡±


    ¡°Did I miss something? Are we going to be fighting at the ball?¡±


    Heughs, leaning against the doorframe. But his feet never enter my room, like he can¡¯t. Or he shouldn¡¯t.<i>You¡¯re going to be his brother¡¯s wife. And he¡¯s going to war</i>.


    ¡°If you know how to dance properly, you won¡¯t have to.¡±


    I remember mentioning how I can¡¯t dance for my life, let alone under Blonos¡¯s terrible direction, but how can Cal help me here? And why would he want to?


    ¡°I¡¯m a surprisingly good teacher,¡± he adds, smiling crookedly. When he stretches out a hand to me, my body shivers.


    I know I shouldn¡¯t. I know I should shut the door and not go down this road.


    <i>But he¡¯s leaving to fight, maybe to die</i>.


    Shaking, I put my hand in his and let him pull me out of my room.

 Red Queen: Chapter 18

    <i>Moonlight falls on the</i>floor, bright enough for us to see by. In the silvery light, the red blush in my skin is barely visible¡ªI look the same as a Silver. Chairs scrape along the wood floor as Cal rearranges the sitting room, clearing space for us to practice. The chamber is secluded, but the hum of cameras is never far away. ra¡¯s men are watching, but no onees to stop us. Or rather, to stop Cal.


    He pulls a strange device, a little box, out of his jacket and sets it in the middle of the floor. He stares at it expectantly, waiting for something.


    ¡°Can that thing teach me how to dance?¡±


    He shakes his head, still smiling. ¡°No, but it¡¯ll help.¡±


    Suddenly, a pulsing beat explodes from the box, and I realize it¡¯s a speaker, like the ones in the arena back home. Only this is for music, not battle. Life, not death.


    The melody is light and quick, like a heartbeat. Across from me, Cal smiles wider, and his foot taps in time. I can¡¯t resist, my own toes wiggling with the music. It¡¯s so bouncy and upbeat, not at all like the<span id="page_218" title="218">cold, metallic music of Blonos¡¯s ssroom or the sorrowful songs of home. My feet slide along, trying to remember the steps Lady Blonos taught me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that, just keep moving.¡± Calughs. A drumbeat trills over the music, and he spins, humming along. For the first time, he looks like he doesn¡¯t have the weight of a throne on his shoulders.


    I feel it too as my fears and worries lift, if only for a few minutes. This is a different kind of freedom, like flying along on Cal¡¯s cycle.


    Cal¡¯s much better at this than me, but he still looks like a fool; I can only imagine how idiotic I must appear. Still, I¡¯m sad when the song ends. As the notes fade away into the air, it feels like I¡¯m falling back to reality. Cold understanding creeps through me;<i>I shouldn¡¯t be here</i>.


    ¡°This probably isn¡¯t the best idea, Cal.¡±


    He cocks his head, pleasantly confused. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    <i>He¡¯s really going to make me say it</i>. ¡°I¡¯m not even supposed to be alone with Maven.¡± I stumble over the words, feeling myself flush. ¡°I don¡¯t know if dancing with you in a dark room is exactly okay.¡±


    Instead of arguing, Cal justughs and shrugs. Another song, slower with a haunting tune, fills the room. ¡°The way I see it, I¡¯m doing my brother a favor.¡± Then he grins crookedly. ¡°Unless you want to step on his feet all night?¡±


    ¡°I have<i>excellent</i>footing, thank you very much,¡± I say, crossing my arms.


    Slowly, softly, he takes my hand. ¡°Maybe in the ring,¡± he says. ¡°The dance floor, not so much.¡± I look down to watch his feet, moving in time with the music. He pulls me along, forcing me to follow, and, despite my best efforts, I stumble against him.


    He smiles, happy to prove me wrong. He¡¯s a soldier at heart, and<span id="page_219" title="219">soldiers like to win. ¡°This is the same timing as most of the songs you¡¯ll hear at the ball. It¡¯s a simple dance, easy to learn.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find some way to mess it up,¡± I grumble, allowing him to push me around the floor. Our feet trace a rough box, and I try not to think about his closeness, or the calluses of his hands. To my surprise, they feel like mine: rough with years of work.


    ¡°You might,¡± he murmurs, all hisughter gone.


    I¡¯m used to Cal being taller than me, but he seems smaller tonight. Maybe it¡¯s the darkness, or maybe it¡¯s the dance. He seems like he did when I first met him; not a prince but a person.


    His eyes linger on my face, tracing over where my wound was. ¡°Maven fixed you up nicely.¡± There¡¯s an odd bitterness to his voice.


    ¡°It was Julian. Julian and Sara Skonos.¡± Though Cal doesn¡¯t react as strongly as Maven did, his jaw tightens all the same. ¡°Why don¡¯t you two like her?¡±


    ¡°Maven has his reasons, good reasons,¡± he mumbles. ¡°But it¡¯s not my story to tell. And I don¡¯t<i>dislike</i>Sara. I just don¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t like thinking about her.¡±


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s she done to you?¡±


    ¡°Not to me,¡± he sighs. ¡°She grew up with Julian, and my mother.¡± His voice drops at the mention of his mom. ¡°She was her best friend. And when she died, Sara didn¡¯t know how to grieve. Julian was a wreck, but Sara . . .¡± He trails off, wondering how to continue. Our steps slow until we stop, frozen as the music echoes around us.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember my mother,¡± he says sharply, trying to exin himself. ¡°I wasn¡¯t even a year old when she died. I only know what my father tells me, and Julian. And neither of them like to talk about her at all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Sara could tell you about her, if they were best friends.¡±


    <span id="page_220" title="220">¡°Sara Skonos can¡¯t speak, Mare.¡±


    ¡°At all?¡±


    Cal continues slowly, in the level, calm voice his father uses. ¡°She said things she shouldn¡¯t have, terrible lies, and she was punished for it.¡±


    Horror bleeds through me.<i>Can¡¯t speak</i>. ¡°What did she say?¡±


    In a single heartbeat, Cal goes cold under my fingers. He draws back, stepping out of my arms as the music finally dies. With quick motions, he pockets the speaker, and there is nothing but our beating hearts to fill the silence.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about her anymore.¡± He breathes heavily. His eyes seem oddly bright, flickering between me and the windows full of moonlight.


    Something twists in my heart; the pain in his voice hurts me. ¡°Okay.¡±


    With quick, deliberate steps, he moves toward the door like he¡¯s trying very hard not to run. But when he turns back around and faces me across the room, he looks the same as usual¡ªcalm, collected, detached.


    ¡°Practice your steps,¡± he says, sounding very much like Lady Blonos. ¡°Same time tomorrow.¡± And then he¡¯s gone, leaving me alone in a room full of echoes.


    ¡°What the hell am I doing?¡± I mutter to no one but myself.


    I¡¯m halfway to my bed before I realize something is very wrong with my room: the cameras are off. Not a single one hums at me, seeing with electric eyes, recording everything I do. But unlike the outage before, everything else around me still buzzes along. Electricity still pulses through the walls, to every room but mine.


    <i>Farley</i>.


    But instead of the revolutionary, Maven steps out of the darkness.<span id="page_221" title="221">He throws aside the curtains, letting in enough moonlight to see by.


    ¡°Late-night walk?¡± he says with a bitter smile.


    My mouth falls open, struggling for words. ¡°You know you¡¯re not supposed to be in here.¡± I force a smile, hoping to calm myself. ¡°Lady Blonos will be scandalized. She¡¯ll punish us both.¡±N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    ¡°Mother¡¯s men owe me a favor or two,¡± he says, pointing to where the cameras are hidden. ¡°Blonos won¡¯t have evidence to convict.¡±


    Somehow that doesn¡¯tfort me. Instead, I feel shivers run over my skin. Not in fear though, but anticipation. The shivers deepen, electrifying my nerves like my lightning as Maven takes measured steps toward me.


    He watches me blush with what looks like satisfaction. ¡°Sometimes I forget,¡± he murmurs, letting a hand touch my cheek. It lingers, like he can feel the color that pulses in my veins. ¡°I wish they wouldn¡¯t have to paint you up every day.¡±


    My skin buzzes under his fingers, but I try to ignore it. ¡°That makes two of us.¡±


    His lips twist, trying to form a smile, but it just won¡¯te.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Farley made contact again.¡± He draws back, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide trembling fingers. ¡°You weren¡¯t here.¡±


    <i>Just my luck</i>. ¡°What did she say?¡±


    Maven shrugs. He walks to the window, staring out at the night sky. ¡°She spent most of her time asking questions.¡±


    <i>Targets</i>. She must¡¯ve pressed him again, asking for information Maven didn¡¯t want to give. I can tell by the droop of his shoulders, the tremor in his voice, that he said more than he wanted to.<i>A lot more</i>.


    ¡°Who?¡± My mind flies to the many Silvers I¡¯ve met here, the ones who have been kind to me, in their own way. Would any of them be a<span id="page_222" title="222">sacrifice to her revolution? Who would be marked?


    ¡°Maven, who did you give up?¡±


    He spins around, a ferocity I¡¯ve never seen shing in his eyes. For a second, I¡¯m afraid he might burst into mes. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to do it, but she¡¯s right. We can¡¯t sit still; we have to<i>act</i>. And if that means I¡¯m going to give her people, I¡¯m going to do it. I won¡¯t like it, but I will. And I have.¡±


    Like Cal, he draws a shaky breath in an attempt to calm himself. ¡°I sit on councils with my father, for taxes and security and defense. I know who will be missed by my¡ªby the Silvers. I gave her four names.¡±


    <i>¡°Who?¡±</i>


    ¡°Reynald Iral. Ptolemus Samos. Ellyn Macanthos. Belicos Lern.¡±


    A sigh escapes me, before I feel myself nod. These deaths will not be hidden. Evangeline¡¯s brother, the colonel¡ª<i>they will be missed indeed</i>. ¡°Colonel Macanthos knew your mother was lying. She knows about the other attacks¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shemands a half legion and heads the war council. Without her, the front will be a mess for months.¡±


    ¡°The front?¡±<i>Cal. His legion</i>.


    Maven nods. ¡°My father will not send his heir to war after this. An attack so close to home, I doubt he¡¯ll even let him out of sight of the capital.¡±


    So her death will save Cal. And help the Guard.


    <i>Shade died for this. His cause is mine now</i>.


    ¡°Two birds with one stone,¡± I breathe, feeling hot tears threaten to fall. As difficult as this might be, I¡¯ll trade her life for Cal¡¯s. I¡¯ll do it a thousand times.


    <span id="page_223" title="223">¡°Your friend¡¯s part of this too.¡±


    My knees shake, but I manage to keep myself upright. I alternate between anger and fear as Maven exins the n with a heavy, hardened heart.


    ¡°And what if we fail?¡± I ask when he finishes, finally speaking aloud the words he¡¯s been skirting around.


    He barely shakes his head. ¡°That won¡¯t happen.¡±


    ¡°But what if we do?¡± I¡¯m not a prince, my life has not been charming. I know to expect the worst out of everything and everyone. ¡°What happens if we<i>fail</i>, Maven?¡±


    His breath rattles in his chest as he inhales, fighting to remain calm. ¡°Then we¡¯ll be traitors, both of us. Tried for treason, convicted¡ªand killed.¡±


    During my next lesson with Julian, I can¡¯t concentrate. I can¡¯t focus on anything but what¡¯sing. So much can go wrong, and so much is at stake. My life, Kilorn¡¯s, Maven¡¯s¡ªwe¡¯re all putting our necks on the line for this.


    ¡°It¡¯s really not my business, but,¡± Julian begins, his voice startling me, ¡°you seem, well, very<i>attached</i>to Prince Maven.¡±


    I almostugh in relief, but I can¡¯t help but feel stung at the same time. Maven¡¯s thest person I should be wary of in this pit of snakes. Just the suggestion makes me bristle. ¡°I am engaged to him,¡± I reply, trying my best not to snap.


    But instead of letting it drop, Julian leans forward. His cid demeanor usually soothes me, but today it¡¯s nothing but frustrating. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help you. Maven is his mother¡¯s son.¡±


    This time I really do snap. ¡°You don¡¯t know a thing about him.¡±<i>Maven¡¯s my friend. Maven¡¯s risking more than me</i>. ¡°Judging him by his<span id="page_224" title="224">parents is like judging me for my blood. Just because you hate the king and queen doesn¡¯t mean you can hate him too.¡±


    Julian stares at me, his gaze level and full of fire. When he speaks, his voice sounds more like a growl. ¡°I hate the king because he couldn¡¯t save my sister, because he reced her with that viper. I hate the queen because she ruined Sara Skonos, because she took the girl I loved and broke her apart. Because she cut Sara¡¯s<i>tongue</i>out.¡± And then lower, ament, ¡°She had such a beautiful voice.¡±


    A wave of nausea washes over me. Suddenly Sara¡¯s painful silence, her sunken cheeks make sense. No wonder Julian had her heal me; she couldn¡¯t tell anyone the truth.


    ¡°But¡±¡ªmy words are small and hoarse, like it¡¯s my voice being taken away¡ª¡°she¡¯s a healer.¡±


    ¡°Skin healers can¡¯t heal themselves. And no one would cross the queen¡¯s punishment. So Sara has to live like that, shamed, forever.¡± His voice echoes with memories, each one worse than thest. ¡°Silvers don¡¯t mind pain, but we are proud. Pride, dignity, honor¡ªthose are things no ability can rece.¡±


    As terrible as I feel for Sara, I can¡¯t help but fear for myself.<i>They cut her tongue out for something she</i>said.<i>What will they possibly do to me?</i>


    ¡°You forget yourself, little lightning girl.¡±


    The nickname feels like a p in the face, shocking me back to reality.


    ¡°This world is not your own. Learning to curtsy has not changed that. You don¡¯t<i>understand</i>the game we¡¯re ying.¡±


    ¡°Because this isn¡¯t a game, Julian.¡± I push his book of records toward him, shoving the list of dead names into hisp. ¡°This is life and death. I¡¯m not ying for a throne or a crown or a prince. I¡¯m not ying at all. I¡¯m<i>different</i>.¡±


    <span id="page_225" title="225">¡°You are,¡± he murmurs, running a finger over the pages. ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re in danger, from everyone. Even Maven. Even me.<i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>.¡±


    His mind drifts, and his eyes cloud over. In this light he looks old and gray, a bitter man haunted by a dead sister, in love with a broken woman, doomed to teach a girl who can do nothing but lie. Over his shoulder, I glimpse the map of what was, of before.<i>This whole world is haunted</i>.


    And then, the worst thought I¡¯ve ever hades.<i>Shade is already my ghost. Who else will join him?</i>


    ¡°Make no mistake, my girl,¡± he finally breathes. ¡°You are ying the game as someone¡¯s pawn.¡±


    I don¡¯t have the heart to argue.<i>Think what you want, Julian. I¡¯m no one¡¯s fool</i>.


    <i>Ptolemus Samos. Colonel Macanthos</i>. Their faces dance in my head as Cal and I spin across the floor of the sitting room. Tonight the moon is shrinking, fading away, but my hope has never been stronger. The ball is tomorrow, and afterward, well, I¡¯m not sure where that path might go. But it will be a different path, a new road to lead us toward a better future. There will be coteral damage, injuries and deaths we can¡¯t avoid, as Maven put it. But we know the risks. If all goes to n, the Scarlet Guard will have raised its g where everyone can see. Farley will broadcast another video after the attack, detailing our demands.<i>Equality, liberty, freedom</i>. Next to all-out rebellion, it sounds like a good deal.


    My body dips, moving toward the floor in a slow arc that makes me yelp. Cal¡¯s strong arms close around me, pulling me back up in an easy second.


    <span id="page_226" title="226">¡°Sorry,¡± he says, half embarrassed. ¡°Thought you were ready for it.¡±


    <i>I¡¯m not ready. I¡¯m scared</i>. I force myself tough, to hide what I can¡¯t show him. ¡°No, my fault. Mind wandered off again.¡±


    He isn¡¯t easy to chase off and dips his head a little, looking me in the eyes. ¡°Still worried about the ball?¡±


    ¡°More than you know.¡±


    ¡°One step at a time, that¡¯s the best you can do.¡± Then heughs at himself, moving us back into simpler steps. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard to believe, but I wasn¡¯t always the best dancer either.¡±


    ¡°How shocking,¡± I answer, matching his smile. ¡°I thought princes were born with the ability to dance and make idle conversation.¡±


    He chuckles again, quickening our pace with the movement. ¡°Not me. If I had my way, I¡¯d be in the garage or the barracks, building and training. Not like Maven. He¡¯s twice the prince I¡¯ll ever be.¡±


    I think of Maven, of his kind words, perfect manners, impable knowledge of court¡ªall the things he pretends to be to hide his true heart.<i>Twice the prince indeed</i>. ¡°But he¡¯ll only ever be a prince,¡± I mutter, almostmenting at the thought. ¡°And you¡¯ll be king.¡±


    His voice drops to meet my own, and something dark shadows his gaze. There¡¯s a sadness in him, growing stronger every day.<i>Maybe he doesn¡¯t like war as much as I think</i>. ¡°Sometimes I wish it didn¡¯t have to be that way.¡±


    He speaks softly, but his voice fills my head. Though the ball looms on tomorrow¡¯s horizon, I find myself thinking more about him and his hands and the faint smell of wood smoke that seems to follow Cal wherever he goes. It makes me think of warmth, of autumn, of home.


    I me my rapidly beating heart on the melody, the music that brims with so much life. Somehow this night reminds me of Julian¡¯s<span id="page_227" title="227">lessons, his histories of the world before our own. That was a world of empires, of corruption, of war¡ªand more freedom than I¡¯ve ever known. But the people of that time are gone, their dreams in ruin, existing only in smoke and ash.


    <i>It¡¯s our nature</i>, Julian would say.<i>We destroy. It¡¯s the constant of our kind. No matter the color of blood, man will always fall</i>.


    I didn¡¯t understand that lesson a few days ago, but now, with Cal¡¯s hands in mine, guiding me with the lightest touch, I¡¯m beginning to see what he meant.


    I can feel myself falling.


    ¡°Are you really going to go with the legion?¡± Even the words make me afraid.


    He barely nods. ¡°A general¡¯s ce is with his men.¡±


    ¡°A prince¡¯s ce is with his princess. With Evangeline,¡± I add hastily.<i>Good one, Mare</i>, my mind screams.


    The air around us thickens with heat, though Cal doesn¡¯t move at all. ¡°She¡¯ll be all right, I think. She¡¯s not exactly attached to me. I won¡¯t miss her either.¡±


    Unable to meet his gaze, I focus on what¡¯s right in front of me. Unfortunately, that happens to be his chest and a much-too-thin shirt. Above me, he takes a ragged breath.


    Then his fingers are under my chin, tipping my head up to meet his gaze. Gold me flickers in his eyes, reflecting the heat beneath. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you, Mare.¡±


    As much as I want to stand still, to stop time and let this momentst forever, I know it¡¯s not possible. Whatever I might feel or think, Cal is not the prince I¡¯m promised to. More important, he¡¯s on the wrong side. He¡¯s my enemy. Cal is forbidden.


    So with hesitant, reluctant steps, I back away, out of his grasp and<span id="page_228" title="228">out of the circle of warmth I¡¯ve gotten so used to.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± is all I can manage, though I know my eyes betray me. Even now I can feel tears of anger and regret, tears I swore not to cry.


    But maybe the prospect of going off to war has made Cal bold and reckless, things he never was before. He takes me by the hand, pulling me to him. He¡¯s betraying his only brother. I¡¯m betraying my cause, Maven, and myself, but I don¡¯t want to stop.


    <i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>.


    His lips are on mine, hard and warm and pressing. The touch is electrifying, but not like I¡¯m used to. This isn¡¯t a spark of destruction but a spark of life.


    As much as I want to pull away, I just can¡¯t do it. Cal is a cliff, and I throw myself over the edge, not bothering to think of what it could do to us both. One day he¡¯ll realize I¡¯m his enemy, and all this will be a far-gone memory. But not yet.

 Red Queen: Chapter 19

    <i>It takes hours to</i>paint and polish me into the girl I¡¯m supposed to be, but it seems like just a few minutes. When the maids stand me up in front of the mirror, silently asking for my approval, I can only nod at the girl staring back at me from the ss. She looks beautiful and terrified by what¡¯s toe, wrapped in shimmering silk chains. I have to hide her, the scared girl; I have to smile and dance and look like one of them. With great effort, I push my fear away.<i>Fear will get me killed</i>.


    Maven waits for me at the end of the hall, a shadow in his dress uniform. The charcoal ck makes his eyes stand out, vibrantly blue against pale white skin. He doesn¡¯t look scared at all, but then, he¡¯s a prince. He¡¯s Silver. He won¡¯t flinch.


    He extends an arm toward me, and I dly take it. I expect him to make me feel safe or strong or both, but his touch reminds me of Cal and our betrayal. Last nightes into sharper focus, until every breath stands out in my head. For once, Maven doesn¡¯t notice my unease. He¡¯s thinking about more important things.


    ¡°You look beautiful,¡± he says quietly, nodding down at my dress.


    <span id="page_230" title="230">I don¡¯t agree with him. It¡¯s a silly, overdone thing, aplication of purple jewels that sparkle whenever I turn, making me look like a glittery bug. Still, I¡¯m supposed to be ady tonight, a future princess, so I nod and smile gratefully. I can¡¯t help but remember that my lips, now smiling for Maven, were kissing his brotherst night.


    ¡°I just want this to be over.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t end tonight, Mare. This won¡¯t be over for a long time. You know that, right?¡± He speaks like someone much older, much wiser, not like a seventeen-year-old boy. When I hesitate, truly not knowing how to feel, his jaw tightens. ¡°Mare?¡± he prods, and I can hear the tremors in his voice.


    ¡°Are you afraid, Maven?¡± My words are weak, a whisper. ¡°I am.¡±


    His eyes harden, shifting into blue steel. ¡°I¡¯m afraid of failing. I¡¯m afraid of letting this opportunity pass us by. And I¡¯m afraid of what happens if nothing in this world ever changes.¡± He turns hot under my touch, driven by an inner resolve. ¡°That scares me more than dying.¡±


    It¡¯s hard not to be swept away by his words, and I nod along with him. How can I back out?<i>I will not flinch</i>.


    ¡°Rise,¡± he murmurs, so low I barely hear him.<i>Red as the dawn</i>.


    His grip tightens on me as wee to the hall in front of the lifts. A troop of Sentinels guards the king and queen, both waiting for us. Cal and Evangeline are nowhere to be found, and I hope they stay away. The longer I don¡¯t have to look at them together, the happier I¡¯ll be.


    Queen ra wears a sparkling monstrosity of red, ck, white, and blue, disying the colors of her house and her husband¡¯s. She forces a smile, staring right through me to her son.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± Maven says, letting go of my hand to stand at his mother¡¯s side. My skin feels strangely cold without him.


    <span id="page_231" title="231">¡°So how long do I have to be here?¡± He forces a whine into his voice, ying his part well. The more he can keep her distracted, the better our chances. One poke into the wrong head and everything will go up in smoke.<i>And get us all killed for good measure</i>.


    ¡°Maven, you can¡¯t juste and go as you please. You have duties, and you¡¯ll stay as long as you¡¯re needed.¡± She fusses over him, adjusting his cor, his medals, his sleeves, and for a moment, it takes me off guard. This is a woman who invaded my thoughts, who took me away from my life, who I<i>hate</i>, and still there¡¯s something good. She loves her son. And for all her faults, Maven loves her.


    King Tiberias, on the other hand, doesn¡¯t seem bothered by Maven at all. He barely nces his way. ¡°The boy¡¯s just bored. Not enough excitement in his day, not like back at the front,¡± he says, running a hand over his trimmed beard. ¡°You need a cause, Mavey.¡±


    For a brief moment, Maven¡¯s annoyed mask drops.<i>I have one</i>, his eyes scream, but he keeps his mouth shut.


    ¡°Cal¡¯s got his legion, he knows what he¡¯s doing, what he<i>wants</i>. You need to figure out what you¡¯re going to do with yourself, eh?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father,¡± Maven says. Though he tries to hide it, a shadow crosses his face.


    I know that look very well. I used to wear it myself, when my parents would hint at me to be more like Gisa, even though that was impossible. I went to sleep hating myself, wishing I could change, wishing I could be quiet and talented and pretty like her. There¡¯s nothing that hurts more than that feeling. But the king doesn¡¯t notice Maven¡¯s pain, just like my parents never noticed mine.


    ¡°I think helping me fit in here is cause enough for Maven,¡± I say, hoping to draw the king¡¯s disapproving eye away. When Tiberias turns to me, Maven sighs and shoots me a grateful smile.


    <span id="page_232" title="232">¡°And what a job he¡¯s done,¡± the king replies, looking me over. I know he¡¯s remembering the poor Red girl who refused to bow to him. ¡°From what I hear, you¡¯re close to a properdy now.¡±


    But the smile he forces doesn¡¯t reach his eyes, and there¡¯s no mistaking the suspicion there. He wanted to kill me back in the throne room, to protect his crown and the bnce of his country, and I don¡¯t think the urge will ever fade away. I¡¯m a threat, but I¡¯m also an investment. He¡¯ll use me when he wants and kill me when he must.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had good help, my king.¡± I bow, pretending to be ttered, even though I don¡¯t care what he thinks. His opinion isn¡¯t worth the rust on my father¡¯s wheelchair.


    ¡°Are we just about ready?¡± Cal¡¯s voice says, shattering my thoughts.


    My body reacts, spinning around to see him enter the hall. My stomach churns, but not with excitement or nerves or any of the things silly girls talk about. I feel sick with myself, with what I let happen¡ªwith what I<i>wanted</i>to happen. Though he tries to hold my gaze, I tear my eyes away, to Evangeline hanging off his arm. She¡¯s wearing metal again, and she manages to smirk without moving her lips.


    ¡°Your Majesties,¡± she murmurs, dipping into a maddeningly perfect curtsy.


    Tiberias smiles at her, his son¡¯s bride, before pping a hand down on Cal¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Just waiting on you, son,¡± he chortles.


    When they stand next to each other, the family resemnce is undeniable¡ªsame hair, same red-gold eyes, even the same posture. Maven watches, his blue eyes soft and thoughtful, while his mother keeps her grip on his arm. With Evangeline on one side and his father on the other, Cal can¡¯t do much more than meet my eyes. He nods slightly, and I know it¡¯s the only greeting I deserve.


    <span id="page_233" title="233">Despite the decorations, the ballroom looks the same as it did more than a month ago, when the queen first pulled me into this strange world, when my name and identity were officially stripped away. They struck a blow against me here, and now it¡¯s my turn to strike back.


    <i>Blood will spill tonight</i>.


    But I can¡¯t think of that now. I have to stand with the others, to speak with the hundred members of court lined up to trade words with royalty and one jumped-up Red liar. My eyes flit down the line, looking for the marked ones¡ªMaven¡¯s targets given to the Guard, the sparks to light a fire.<i>Reynald, the colonel, Belicos¡ªand Ptolemus</i>. The silver-haired, dark-eyed brother of Evangeline.


    He is one of the first to greet us, standing just behind his severe father, who hurries along to his daughter. When Ptolemus approaches me, I fight the urge to be sick. Never have I done anything so difficult as looking into the eyes of a dead man walking.


    ¡°My congrattions,¡± he says, his voice hard as rock. The hand he extends is just as firm. He doesn¡¯t wear a military uniform but a suit of ck metal that fits together in smooth, gleaming scales. He¡¯s a warrior but not a soldier. Like his father before him, Ptolemus leads the Archeon city guard, protecting the capital with his own army of officers.<i>The head of a snake</i>, Maven called him before.<i>Cut him down and the rest will die</i>. His hawkish eyes are on his sister, even while he holds my hand. He lets me go in a hurry, quickly passing by Maven and Cal before embracing Evangeline in a rare disy of affection. I¡¯m surprised their stupid outfits don¡¯t get stuck together.


    <i>If all goes to n, he¡¯ll never hug his sister again</i>. Evangeline will have lost a brother, just like me. Even though I know that pain firsthand, I can¡¯t bring myself to feel sorry for her. Especially not with the way she holds on to Cal. They look likeplete opposites, he in his simple<span id="page_234" title="234">uniform while she glitters like a star in a dress of razor spikes. I want to kill her, I want to<i>be</i>her. But there¡¯s nothing I can do about that. Evangeline and Cal are not my problem tonight.


    As Ptolemus disappears and more people pass with cold smiles and sharp words, it gets easier to forget myself. House Iral greets us next, led by the lithe,nguid movements of Ara, the Panther. To my surprise, she bows lowly to me, smiling as she does so. But there¡¯s something strange about it, something that tells me she knows more than she lets on. She passes without a word, sparing me from another interrogation.


    Sonya follows her grandmother, arm in arm with another target: Reynald Iral, her cousin. Maven told me he¡¯s a financial adviser, a genius who keeps the army funded with taxes and trade schemes. If he dies, so does the money, and so will the war. I¡¯m willing to trade one tax collector for that. When he takes my hand, I can¡¯t help but notice his eyes are frozen and his hands are soft. Those hands will never touch mine again.


    It¡¯s not as easy to dismiss Colonel Macanthos when she approaches. The scar on her face stands out sharply, especially tonight when everyone seems so polished. She might not care for the Guard, but she didn¡¯t believe the queen either. She wasn¡¯t ready to swallow the lies being spoon-fed to the rest of us.


    Her grip is strong as she shakes my hand; for once someone isn¡¯t afraid I¡¯ll break like ss. ¡°Every happiness to you, Lady Mareena. I can see this one suits you.¡± She jerks her head toward Maven. ¡°Not like fancy Samos,¡± she adds in a yful whisper. ¡°She¡¯ll make a sad queen, and you a happy princess, mark my words.¡±


    ¡°Marked,¡± I breathe. I manage to smile, even though the colonel¡¯s life will soon be at an end. No matter how many kind words she says, her minutes are numbered.


    <span id="page_235" title="235">When she moves on to Maven, shaking his hand and inviting him to inspect troops with her in a week or so, I can tell he¡¯s just as affected. After she¡¯s gone, his hand drops to mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I know he regrets naming her, but like Reynald, like Ptolemus, her death will serve a purpose. Her life will be worth it all, in the end.


    The next targetes from much farther down the line, from a lower house. Belicos Lern has a jolly grin, chestnut hair, and sunset-colored clothes to match his house colors. Unlike the others I¡¯ve greeted tonight, he seems warm and kind. The smile behind his eyes is as real as his handshake.


    ¡°A pleasure, Lady Mareena.¡± He inclines his head in greeting, polite to a fault. ¡°I look forward to many years in your service.¡±


    I smile for him, pretending that there will be many years toe, but the facade bes harder to hold as the seconds drag on. When his wife appears, leading a pair of twin boys, I want to scream. Barely four years old and yowling like puppies, they mber around their father¡¯s legs. He smiles softly, a private smile just for them.


    A diplomat, Maven called him, an ambassador to our allies in Piedmont, far to the south. Without him, our ties to that country and their army would be cut off, forcing Norta to stand alone against our Red dawn. He¡¯s another sacrifice we must make, another name to throw away. And he¡¯s a father.<i>He¡¯s a father and we¡¯re going to kill him</i>.


    ¡°Thank you, Belicos,¡± Maven says, holding out his hand for him to shake, trying to draw the Lerns away before I break.


    I try to speak, but I can only think about the father I¡¯m about to steal from such young children. In the back of my mind, I remember Kilorn crying after his father died.<i>He was young too</i>.


    ¡°Excuse us a minute, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Maven¡¯s voice sounds far away<span id="page_236" title="236">as he speaks. ¡°Mareena¡¯s still getting used to the excitement of court.¡±


    Before I can nce back at the doomed father, Maven hurries me away. A few people gawk at us, and I can feel Cal¡¯s eyes following us out. I almost stumble, but Maven keeps me upright as he pushes me out onto a balcony. Normally the fresh air would cheer me up, but I doubt anything can help now.


    ¡°Children.¡± The words rip out of me. ¡°He¡¯s a<i>father</i>.¡±


    Maven lets me go, and I slump against the balcony rail, but he doesn¡¯t step away. In the moonlight his eyes look like ice, glowing and ring into me. He puts one hand on either side of my shoulders, trapping me in, forcing me to listen.


    ¡°Reynald is a father, too. The Colonel has children of her own. Ptolemus is now engaged to the Haven girl. They all have people; they<i>all</i>have someone who will mourn them.¡± He forces out the words; he¡¯s just as torn as I. ¡°We can¡¯t pick and choose how to help the cause, Mare. We must do what we can, whatever the cost.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do this to them.¡±


    ¡°You think I want to do this?¡± he breathes, his face inches from mine. ¡°I know them all, and it hurts me to betray them, but<i>it must be done</i>. Think what their lives will buy, what their deaths will aplish. How many of your people could be saved? I thought you understood this!¡±


    He stops himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he collects himself, he raises a hand to my face, tracing the outline of my cheek with shaking fingers. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just¡ª¡± His voice falters. ¡°You might not be able to see where tonight will lead, but I can. And I know this will change things.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± I whisper, reaching up to hold his hand in my own. ¡°I just wish it didn¡¯t have to be this way.¡±


    <span id="page_237" title="237">Over his shoulder, back in the ballroom, the receiving line dwindles. The handshakes and pleasantries are over. The night has truly begun.


    ¡°But it does, Mare. I promise you, this is what we<i>must</i>do.¡±


    As much as it hurts, as much as my heart twists and bleeds, I nod. ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°You two all right out here?¡±


    For a second, Cal¡¯s voice sounds strange and high, but he clears his throat as he pokes out onto the balcony. His eyes linger on my face. ¡°You ready for this, Mare?¡±


    Maven answers for me. ¡°She¡¯s ready.¡±


    Together, we walk away from the railing and the night and thest bit of quiet we might ever have. As we pass through the archway, I feel the ghost of a touch on my arm:<i>Cal</i>. I look back to see him still staring, fingers outstretched. His eyes are darker than ever, boiling with some emotion I can¡¯t ce. But before he can speak, Evangeline appears at his side. When he takes her by the hand, I have to tear my eyes away.


    Maven leads us to the cleared spot in the center of the ballroom. ¡°This is the hard part,¡± he says, trying to calm me.N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    It works a little bit, and the shivers running through me ebb away.


    We dance first, the two princes and their brides, in front of everyone. Another disy of strength and power, showing off the two girls who won in front of all the families who lost. Right now it¡¯s thest thing I want to do, but it¡¯s for the cause. As the electronic music I hate tters to life, I realize it¡¯s at least a dance I recognize.


    Maven looks shocked when my feet move into ce. ¡°You¡¯ve been practicing?¡±


    <i>With your brother</i>. ¡°A bit.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just full of surprises.¡± He chuckles, finding the will to smile.


    <span id="page_238" title="238">Next to us, Cal twirls Evangeline into ce. They look like a king and queen should, regal and cold and beautiful. When Cal¡¯s eyes meet mine at the exact moment his hands close around her fingers, I feel a thousand things at once, none of them pleasant. But instead of wallowing, I move closer to Maven. He nces down at me, blue eyes wide, as the music takes hold. A few feet away, Cal takes his steps, leading Evangeline in the same dance he taught me. She¡¯s much better at it, all grace and sharp beauty. Again I feel like falling.


    We spin across the floor in time with the music, surrounded by cold onlookers. I recognize the faces now. I know the houses, the colors, the abilities, the histories. Who to fear, who to pity. They watch us with hungry eyes, and I know why. They think we¡¯re the future, Cal and Maven and Evangeline and even me. They think they¡¯re watching a king and queen, a prince and princess. But that¡¯s a future I don¡¯t intend to let happen.


    In my perfect world, Maven won¡¯t have to hide his heart and I won¡¯t have to hide who I truly am. Cal will have no crown to wear, no throne to protect. These people will have no more walls to hide behind.


    <i>The dawn ising for you all</i>.


    We dance through two more songs, and other couples join us on the floor. The swirl of color blocks out any glimpse of Cal and Evangeline, until it feels like Maven and I are spinning alone. For a moment, Cal¡¯s face floats in front of me, recing his brother¡¯s, and I think I¡¯m back in the room full of moonlight.


    But Maven is not Cal, no matter how much his father might want him to be. He isn¡¯t a soldier, he won¡¯t be a king, but he¡¯s braver. And he¡¯s willing to do what¡¯s right.


    ¡°Thank you, Maven,¡± I whisper, barely audible over the horrible music.


    <span id="page_239" title="239">He doesn¡¯t have to ask what I¡¯m talking about. ¡°You don¡¯t ever have to thank me.¡± His voice is strangely deep, almost breaking as his eyes darken. ¡°Not for anything.¡±


    This is the closest I¡¯ve ever been to him, my nose inches away from his neck. I can feel his heart beat beneath my hands, hammering in time with my own.<i>Maven is his mother¡¯s son</i>, Julian said once. He couldn¡¯t be more wrong.


    Maven maneuvers us to the edge of the dance floor, now crowded with swirling lords anddies. No one will notice we¡¯ve stepped away.


    ¡°Some refreshments?¡± a servant murmurs, holding out a tray of the fizzy golden drink. I start to wave him off before I recognize his bottle-green eyes.


    I have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting his name aloud.<i>Kilorn</i>.


    Strangely, the red uniform suits him and for once he managed to clean the dirt off his face. It seems the fisher boy I knew is entirely gone.


    ¡°This thing itches,¡± he grumbles under his breath.<i>Maybe not entirely</i>.


    ¡°Well, you won¡¯t be in it much longer,¡± Maven says. ¡°Is everything in ce?¡±


    Kilorn nods, his eyes darting through the crowd. ¡°They¡¯re ready upstairs.¡±


    Above us, Sentinels crowd a wraparoundnding, lining the walls. But above them, in the carved window alcoves and little balconies near the ceiling, the shadows are not Sentinels at all.


    ¡°You just have to give the signal.¡± He holds out the tray and the innocent ss of gold.


    Maven straightens next to me, his shoulder against mine in support. ¡°Mare?¡±


    <span id="page_240" title="240"><i>My turn now</i>. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I murmur, remembering the n Maven whispered to me a few nights ago. Shivering, I let the familiar buzz of electricity flow through me, until I can feel every light and camera ze through my head. I lift the ss, and drink deeply.


    Kilorn is quick to take the ss back. ¡°One minute.¡± His voice sounds so final.


    He disappears with a swish of his tray, moving through the crowd until I can¡¯t see him anymore.<i>Run</i>, I pray, hoping he¡¯s fast enough. Maven goes as well, leaving me to carry out his own task at his mother¡¯s side.


    I head toward the center of the crowd even as the feel of electricity threatens to overtake me. But I can¡¯t let it go yet. Not until they start.<i>Thirty seconds</i>.


    King Tiberias looms ahead of me,ughing away with his favorite son. He looks to be on his third ss of wine, and his cheeks are flushed silver, while Cal sips politely at water. Somewhere to my left, I hear Evangeline¡¯s cuttingughter, probably with her brother. All over the room, four people take theirst breaths.


    I let my heart count out thosest seconds, beating away the moments. Cal spots me through the crowd, grinning that smile I love, and starts toe toward me. But he will never reach me, not before the deed is done. The world slows until all I know is the shocking strength within the walls. Like in Training, like with Julian, I¡¯m learning to control it.


    Four shots ring out, paired with four bright shes from the guns high above.


    The screamse next.

 Red Queen: Chapter 20

    <i>I scream with them</i>, and the lights sh, then flicker, then fail.


    One minute of darkness. That¡¯s what I need to give them. The screams, the yelling, the stampede of feet almost break my concentration, but I force myself to focus. The lights sh horribly, then die, making it almost impossible to move.<i>Making it possible for my friends to slip away</i>.


    ¡°In the alcoves!¡± a voice roars, yelling over the chaos. ¡°They¡¯re running!¡± More voices join the call, though none are familiar. But in this madness, everyone sounds different. ¡°Find them!¡± ¡°Stop them!¡± ¡°Kill them!¡±


    The Sentinels on thending have their guns aimed while more blur along, barely shadows as they give chase.<i>Walsh is with them</i>, I remind myself. If Walsh and other servants could sneak Farley and Kilorn in before, they can sneak them out again. They can hide. They can escape. They¡¯ll be fine.


    <i>My darkness will save them</i>.


    A ze of fire erupts from the crowd, curling through the air like a<span id="page_242" title="242">ming snake. It roars overhead, illuminating the dim ballroom. Flickering shadows paint the walls and the upturned faces, transforming the ballroom into a nightmare of red light and gunpowder. Sonya screams nearby, bent over the body of Reynald. The spry old Ara wrestles her off the corpse, pulling her away from the chaos. Reynald¡¯s eyes stare ssily up at the ceiling, reflecting the red light.


    Still I hold on, every muscle inside me hard and tense.


    Somewhere near the fire, I recognize the king¡¯s guards hurrying him from the room. He tries to fight them, shouting and yelling to stay, but for once they don¡¯t follow his orders. ra is close behind, pushed on by Maven as they run from danger. Many more follow, eager to be free of this ce.


    Security officers run against the tide, flooding the room with shouts and stamping boots. Lords anddies press by me in an attempt to escape, but I can only stand in ce, holding on as best I can. No one tries to pull me away; no one notices me at all.<i>They are afraid</i>. For all their strength, all their power, they still know the meaning of fear. And a few bullets are all it takes to bring terror out in them.


    A weeping woman bumps into me, knocking me over. Ind face-to-face with a corpse, staring at Colonel Macanthos¡¯s scar. Silver blood trickles down her face, from her forehead to the floor. The bullet hole is strange, surrounded by gray, rocky flesh.<i>She was a stoneskin</i>. She was alive long enough to try and stop it, to shield herself. But the bullet couldn¡¯t be stopped. She still died.


    I push back from the murdered woman, but my hands slide through a mixture of silverblood and wine. A scream escapes me in a terrifyingbination of frustration and grief. The blood clings to my hands, like it knows what I¡¯ve done. It¡¯s sticky and cold and everywhere, trying to drown me.


    <span id="page_243" title="243">¡°MARE!¡±


    Strong arms pull me along the floor, dragging me away from the woman I let die. ¡°Mare, please¡ª,¡± the voice pleads, but for what, I don¡¯t know.


    With a roar of frustration, I lose the battle. The lights return, revealing a war zone of silk and death. When I try to scramble to my feet, to make sure the job is really done, a hand pushes me back down.


    I say the words I must, ying my own part in all this. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªthe lights¡ªI can¡¯t¡ª¡± Overhead, the lights flicker again.


    Cal barely hears me and drops to his knees next to me. ¡°Where are you hit?¡± he roars, checking me in the way I know he¡¯s been trained. His fingers feel down my arms and legs, looking for a wound, for the source of so much blood.


    My voice sounds strange. Soft. Broken. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± He doesn¡¯t hear me again. ¡°Cal, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Relief floods his face, and for a second I think he might kiss me again. But his senses return quicker than mine. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    Gingerly, I raise a silver-stained sleeve. ¡°How can this be mine?¡±


    <i>My blood is not this color. You know that</i>.


    He nods. ¡°Of course,¡± he whispers. ¡°I just¡ªI saw you on the ground and I thought . . .¡± His words trail away, reced by a terrible sadness in his eyes. But it fades quickly, shifting to determination. ¡°Lucas! Get her out of here!¡±


    My personal guard charges through the fray, his gun at the ready. Though he looks the same in his boots and uniform, this is not the Lucas I know. His ck eyes,<i>Samos eyes</i>, are dark as night. ¡°I¡¯ll take her to the others,¡± he growls, hoisting me up.


    Though I know better than anyone the danger is gone, I can¡¯t help but reach out to Cal. ¡°What about you?¡±


    <span id="page_244" title="244">He shrugs out of my grasp with shocking ease. ¡°I¡¯m not running.¡±


    And then he turns, his shoulders squared to a group of Sentinels. He steps over the corpses, head inclined to the ceiling. A Sentinel tosses him a handgun, and he catches it deftly, putting a finger to the trigger. His other hand zes to life, crackling with dark and deadly me. Silhouetted against the Sentinels and the bodies on the floor, he looks like another person entirely.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go hunting,¡± he growls, and charges up the stairs. Sentinels and Security follow, like a cloud of red-and-ck smoke trailing behind his me. They leave a a blood-spattered ballroom, hazy with dust and screams.


    In the center of it all lies Belicos Lern, pierced not by a bullet but a silvernce.<i>Shot from a spear gun, like the ones used to fish</i>. A tattered scarlet sash falls from the shaft, barely stirring in the whirlwind. There¡¯s a symbol stamped on it¡ªthe torn sun.


    Then the ballroom is gone, swallowed up by the dark walls of a service passage. The ground rumbles beneath our feet and Lucas throws me to the wall, shielding me. A sound like thunder reverberates and the ceiling shakes, dropping pieces of stone down on us. The door behind us explodes inward, destroyed by me. Beyond, the ballroom is ck with smoke.<i>An explosion</i>.


    ¡°Cal¡ª¡± I try to squirm away from Lucas, to run back the way we came, but he throws me back. ¡°Lucas, we have to help him!¡±


    ¡°Trust me, a bomb won¡¯t bother the prince,¡± he growls, moving me forward.


    ¡°A bomb?¡±<i>That wasn¡¯t part of the n</i>. ¡°Was that a bomb?¡±


    Lucas draws back from me, positively shaking in anger. ¡°You saw that bloody red scarf. This is the Scarlet Guard and<i>that</i>¡±¡ªhe points back to the ballroom, still dark and burning¡ª¡°that is who they are.¡±


    <span id="page_245" title="245">¡°This doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± I murmur to myself, trying to remember every facet of the n. Maven never told me about a bomb.<i>Never</i>. And Kilorn wouldn¡¯t let me do this, not if he knew I would be in danger.<i>They wouldn¡¯t do this to me</i>.


    Lucas holsters his gun, his voice a growl. ¡°Killers don¡¯t have to make sense.¡±


    My breath catches in my throat. How many were left back there? How many children, how many needless deaths?


    Lucas takes my silence for shock, but he¡¯s wrong. What I feel now is anger.


    <i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>.


    Lucas leads me underground, through no less than three doors, each one a foot thick and made of steel. They have no locks, but he opens them with a flick of his hand. It reminds me of the first time I met him, when he waved apart the bars of my cell.


    I hear the others before I see them, their voices echoing off the metal walls as they speak to one another. The king rails, his words sending shivers through me. His presence seems to fill the bunker as he paces up and down, his cloak pping out behind him.


    ¡°I want them found. I want them in front of me with a de at their backs, and I want them to sing like the cowardly birds they are!¡± He addresses a Sentinel, but the masked woman doesn¡¯t even flinch. ¡°I want to know what¡¯s<i>going on</i>!¡±


    ra sits in a chair, one hand over her heart, the other clutching tightly to Maven.


    He starts at the sight of me. ¡°Are you all right?¡± he breathes, pulling me into a quick embrace.


    ¡°Just shaken,¡± I manage to say, trying tomunicate as much as<span id="page_246" title="246">I can. But with ra so close, I can barely allow myself to think, let alone speak. ¡°There was an explosion after the shots. A bomb.¡±


    Maven furrows his brow, confused, but he quickly masks it with rage. ¡°Bastards.¡±


    ¡°Savages,¡± King Tiberias hisses through gritted teeth. ¡°And what about my son?¡±


    My gaze trails to Maven, before I realize the king doesn¡¯t mean Maven at all. Maven takes it in stride. He¡¯s used to being overlooked.


    ¡°Cal went after the shooters. He took a band of Sentinels with him.¡± The memory of him, dark and angry as a me, frightens me. ¡°And then the ballroom exploded. I don¡¯t know how many were still¡ªstill in there.¡±


    ¡°Was there anything else, dear?¡± Coming from ra, the term of endearment feels like an electric shock. She looks paler than ever, her breathing in shallow pants.<i>She¡¯s afraid</i>. ¡°Anything you remember?¡±


    ¡°There was a banner, attached to a spear. The Scarlet Guard did this.¡±


    ¡°Did they?¡± she says, raising a single eyebrow. I fight the urge to back away, to run from her and her whispers. At any moment I expect to feel her slither into my head, to pull out the truth.


    But instead, ra rips her eyes away and turns on the king. ¡°You see what you¡¯ve done?¡± Her lip curls over her teeth. In the light, they look like glittering fangs.


    ¡°Me?<i>You</i>called the Guard small and weak, you lied to our people,¡± Tiberias snarls back at her. ¡°Your actions have weakened us against the danger, not mine.¡±


    ¡°And if you took care of this when you had the chance, when they<i>were</i>small and weak, this would have never happened!¡±


    <span id="page_247" title="247">They rip at each other like starved dogs, each one trying to take a bigger bite.


    ¡°ra, they were not terrorists then. I could not waste my soldiers and officers on hunting down a few Reds writing pamphlets. They did no harm.¡±


    Slowly, ra points to the ceiling. ¡°Does that seem like no harm to you?¡± He has no answer for her, and she smirks, delighting in winning the argument. ¡°One day you men will learn to pay attention and all the world will tremble. They are a disease, one you allowed to take hold. And it¡¯s time to kill this disease where it grows.¡±


    She stands from her chair, collecting herself. ¡°They are Red devils, and they must have allies inside our own walls.¡± I do my best to keep still, my eyes fixed on the floor. ¡°I think I¡¯ll have a<i>word</i>with the servants. Officer Samos, if you would?¡±


    He jumps to attention, opening the vault door for her. She sweeps out, two Sentinels in tow, like a hurricane of rage. Lucas goes with her, opening the heavy doors in session, each one nging farther and farther away. I don¡¯t want to know what the queen will do to the servants, but I know it will hurt and I know what she will find¡ªnothing. Walsh and Hond fled with Farley, ording to our n. They knew it would be too dangerous for them after the ball¡ªand they were right.


    The thick metal closes for a few moments, only to swing open again. Another maron directs it:<i>Evangeline</i>. She looks like hell in a party dress, her jewelry mangled and teeth on edge. Worst of all are her eyes, wild and wet and streaming with ck makeup.<i>Ptolemus. She weeps for her dead brother</i>. Even though I tell myself I don¡¯t care, I have to resist the urge to reach out andfort her. But it passes as soon as herpanion enters the bunker behind her.


    There¡¯s smoke and soot on his skin, dirtying his once clean uniform.<span id="page_248" title="248">Normally I¡¯d be concerned at the ragged, hateful look in Cal¡¯s eyes, but something else strikes fear into my bones. Blood stains his ck uniform and drips over his hands. It is not silver.<i>Red. The blood is red</i>.


    ¡°Mare,¡± he says to me, but all his warmth is gone. ¡°Come with me. Now.¡±


    His words are directed at me, but everyone follows, pushing through the passages as he leads us to the cells. My heart hammers in my chest, threatening to explode out of me.<i>Not Kilorn. Anyone but him</i>. Maven keeps a hand on my shoulder, holding me close. At first I think he¡¯sforting me, but then he tugs me back: he¡¯s trying to keep me from running ahead.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve killed him where he stood,¡± Evangeline says to Cal. Her fingers pluck at the red blood on his shirt. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t leave the Red devil alive.¡±


    <i>Him</i>. My teeth bite my lips, holding my mouth closed so I don¡¯t say something stupid. Maven¡¯s hand tightens like a w on my shoulder and I can feel his pulse quicken. For all we know, this might be the end of our game. ra wille back and shatter their brains, picking through the wreckage to discover how deep their plot goes.


    The steps to the cells are the same but seem longer, stretching down into the deepest parts of the Hall. The dungeon rises to greet us, and no less than six Sentinels stand guard. An icy chill runs through my bones, but I don¡¯t shiver. I can barely move.


    Four figures stand in the cell, each one bloody and bruised. Despite the dim light, I know them all. Walsh¡¯s eye is swollen shut, but she seems all right. Not like Tristan, leaning against the wall to take pressure off a leg wet with blood. There¡¯s a hasty bandage around the wound, torn from Kilorn¡¯s shirt by the looks of it. For his part, Kilorn looks unscathed, to my great relief. He supports Farley with an arm, letting<span id="page_249" title="249">her stand against him. Her shoulder is dislocated, one arm hanging at a strange angle. But that doesn¡¯t stop her from sneering at us. She even spits through the bars, a mix of blood and saliva thatnds at Evangeline¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Take her tongue for that,¡± Evangeline snarls, rushing at the bars. She stops short, one hand mming against the metal. Though she could tear it away with a thought, ripping apart the cell and the people inside, she restrains herself.


    Farley holds her gaze, barely blinking at the outburst. If this is her end, she¡¯s certainly going to go with her head high. ¡°A little violent for a princess.¡±


    Before Evangeline can lose her temper, Cal pulls her back from the bars. Slowly, he raises a hand, pointing. ¡°You.¡±


    With a horrific lurch, I realize he¡¯s pointing at Kilorn. A muscle twitches in Kilorn¡¯s cheek, but he keeps his eyes on the floor.


    <i>Cal remembers him. From the night he brought me home</i>.


    ¡°Mare, exin this.¡±


    I open my mouth, hoping some fantastic lie will fall out, but nothinges.


    Cal¡¯s gaze darkens. ¡°He¡¯s your friend.<i>Exin this</i>.¡±


    Evangeline gasps and turns her wrath on me. ¡°You brought him here!¡± she screeches, jumping at me. ¡°You did this?!¡±


    ¡°I did n-nothing,¡± I stammer, feeling all the eyes in the room on me. ¡°I mean, I did get him a job here. He was at the lumberyards and it¡¯s hard work, deadly work¡ª¡± The lies tumble from me, each one quicker than thest. ¡°He¡¯s¡ªhe was my friend, back in the vige. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I got him the job as a servant, just like¡ª¡± My eyes trail to Cal. Both of us remember the night we first met, and the day that followed. ¡°I thought I was helping him.¡±


    <span id="page_250" title="250">Maven takes a step toward the cell, looking at our friends like it¡¯s the first time he¡¯s ever seen them. He gestures to their red uniforms. ¡°They seem to be only servants.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say the same, except we found them trying to escape through a drainpipe,¡± Cal snaps. ¡°Took us a while to drag them out.¡±


    ¡°Is this all of them?¡± King Tiberias says, peering through the cell bars.


    Cal shakes his head. ¡°There were more ahead, but they got to the river. How many, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s find out,¡± Evangeline says, her eyebrows raised. ¡°Call for the queen. And in the meantime . . .¡± She faces the king. Beneath his beard, he grins a little and nods.


    I don¡¯t have to ask to know what they¡¯re thinking about.<i>Torture</i>.


    The four prisoners stand strong, not even flinching. Maven¡¯s jaw works furiously as he tries to think of a way out of this, but he knows there isn¡¯t one. If anything, this might be more than we could hope for. If they manage to lie.<i>But how can we ask them to? How can we watch them scream while we stand tall?</i>


    Kilorn seems to have an answer for me. Even in this awful ce, his green eyes manage to shine.<i>I will lie for you</i>.


    ¡°Cal, I leave the honor to you,¡± the king says, resting a hand on his son¡¯s shoulder. I can only stare, pleading with wide eyes, praying Cal will not do as his father asks.


    He nces at me once, like somehow that counts as an apology. Then he turns to a Sentinel, shorter than the others. Her eyes sparkle gray-white behind her mask.


    ¡°Sentinel Gliacon, I find myself in need of some ice.¡±


    What that means, I have no idea, but Evangeline giggles. ¡°Good choice.¡±


    <span id="page_251" title="251">¡°You don¡¯t need to see this,¡± Maven mutters, trying to pull me away. But I can¡¯t leave Kilorn. Not now. I angrily shrug him off, my eyes still on my friend.


    ¡°Let her stay,¡± Evangeline crows, taking pleasure in my difort. ¡°This will teach her to treat Reds as friends.¡± She turns back to the cell, waving open the bars. With one white finger, she points. ¡°Start with her. She needs to be broken.¡±


    The Sentinel nods and seizes Farley by the wrist, pulling her out of the cell. The bars slide back into ce behind her, trapping the rest in. Walsh and Kilorn rush to the bars, both of them the picture of fear.


    The Sentinel forces Farley to her knees, waiting for her next order. ¡°Sir?¡±


    Cal moves to stand over her, breathing heavily. He hesitates before speaking, but his voice is strong. ¡°How many more of you are there?¡±


    Farley¡¯s jaw locks in ce, her teeth together. She¡¯ll die before she talks.


    ¡°Start with the arm.¡±


    The Sentinel is not gentle, wrenching out Farley¡¯s wounded arm. Farley yelps in pain but still says nothing. It takes everything I have not to strike the Sentinel.


    ¡°And you call us the savages,¡± Kilorn spits, forehead against the bars.


    Slowly, the Sentinel peels away Farley¡¯s blood-soaked sleeve and sets pale, cruel hands to her skin. Farley screams at the touch, but why, I can¡¯t say.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± Cal questions, kneeling to look her in the eyes. For a moment she falls quiet, drawing a ragged breath. He leans in, patiently waiting for her to break.


    Instead, Farley snaps forward, head butting him with all her<span id="page_252" title="252">strength. ¡°We are everywhere.¡± Sheughs, but screams again as the Sentinel resumes her torture.


    Cal recovers neatly, one hand to his now broken nose. Another person might strike back, but he doesn¡¯t.


    Red pinpricks appear on Farley¡¯s arm, around the Sentinel¡¯s hand. They grow with each passing second, sharp and shiny red points sticking straight out of now bluish skin.<i>Sentinel Gliacon. House Gliacon</i>. My mind flies back to Protocol, to the house lessons.<i>Shivers</i>.


    With a lurch, I understand and I have to look away.


    ¡°That¡¯s blood,¡± I whisper, unable to look back. ¡°She¡¯s freezing her blood.¡± Maven only nods, his eyes grave and full of sorrow.


    Behind us, the Sentinel continues to work, moving up Farley¡¯s arm. Red icicles sharp as razors pierce through her flesh, slicing every nerve in a pain I can¡¯t imagine. Farley¡¯s breath whistles through gritted teeth. Still she says nothing. My heart races as the seconds tick by, wondering when the queen will return, wondering when our y will be truly over.


    Finally, Cal jumps to his feet. ¡°Enough.¡±


    Another Sentinel, a Skonos skin healer, drops down next to Farley. She all but copses, staring nkly at her arm, now jagged with knives of frozen blood. The new Sentinel heals her quickly, hands moving in a practiced fashion.


    Farley chuckles darkly as the warmth returns to her arm. ¡°All to do it again, eh?¡±


    Cal folds his arms behind his back. He shares a nce with his father, who nods. ¡°Indeed,¡± Cal sighs, looking back to the shiver. But she doesn¡¯t get a chance to continue.


    ¡°WHERE IS SHE?¡± a terrible voice screams, echoing down the stairs to us below.


    <span id="page_253" title="253">Evangeline whirls at the noise, rushing to the bottom of the stairs. ¡°I¡¯m here!¡± she shouts back.


    When Ptolemus Samos steps down to embrace his sister, I have to dig my nails into my palm to keep from reacting. There he stands, alive and breathing and terribly angry. On the floor, Farley curses to herself.


    He only lingers for a moment and sidesteps Evangeline, a terrifying fury in his eyes. His armored suit is mangled at the shoulder, pulverized by a bullet. But the skin beneath is unbroken.<i>Healed</i>. He prowls toward the cell, hands flexing. The metal bars quiver in their sockets, screeching against concrete.


    ¡°Ptolemus, not yet¡ª,¡± Cal growls, grabbing for him, but Ptolemus shoves the prince off. Despite Cal¡¯s size and strength, he stumbles backward.


    Evangeline runs at her brother, pulling his hand. ¡°No, we need them to talk!¡± With one shrug of his arm he breaks her grip¡ªnot even she can stop him.


    The bars crack, shrieking with his power as the cell opens to him. Not even the Sentinels can stop him as he strides forward, moving quickly with practiced motions. Kilorn and Walsh scramble, jumping back against the stone walls, but Ptolemus is a predator, and predators attack the weak. With his broken leg, barely able to move, Tristan doesn¡¯t stand a chance.


    ¡°You will not threaten my sister again,¡± Ptolemus roars, directing the metal bars of the cell. One spears right through Tristan¡¯s chest. He gasps, choking on his own blood,<i>dying</i>. And Ptolemus actually smiles.This content ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    When he turns on Kilorn, murder in his heart, I snap.


    Sparks ze to life in my skin. When my hand closes around Ptolemus¡¯s muscled neck, I let the sparks go. They shock into him, lightning dancing through his veins, and he seizes under my touch. The metal of<span id="page_254" title="254">his uniform vibrates and smokes, almost cooking him alive. And then he drops to the concrete floor, his body still shaking with sparks.


    ¡°Ptolemus!¡± Evangeline scrambles to his side, reaching for his face. A shock jumps to her fingers, forcing her to fall back with a scowl. She rounds on me in a ze of anger. ¡°How<i>dare</i>you¡ª!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine.¡± I didn¡¯t hit him with enough to do any real damage. ¡°Like you said, we need them to talk. They can¡¯t do that if they¡¯re dead.¡±


    The others stare at me with a strange mix of emotions, their eyes wide¡ªand afraid. Cal, the boy I kissed, the soldier, the brute, can¡¯t hold my gaze at all. I recognize the expression on his face: shame. But because he hurt Farley, or because he couldn¡¯t make her talk, I don¡¯t know. At least Maven has the good sense to look sad, his stare resting on Tristan¡¯s still bleeding body.


    ¡°Mother can attend to the prisonerster,¡± he says, addressing the king. ¡°But the people upstairs will want to see their king and know he is safe. So many have died. You shouldfort them, Father. And you as well, Cal.¡±


    <i>He¡¯s ying for time</i>. Brilliant Maven is trying to buy us a chance.


    Even though it makes my skin crawl, I reach out to touch Cal¡¯s shoulder. He kissed me once. He might still listen when I speak. ¡°He¡¯s right, Cal. This can wait.¡±


    Still on the floor, Evangeline bares her teeth. ¡°The court will want answers, not embraces! This must be done now! Your Majesty, rip the truth from them¡ª¡±


    But even Tiberias sees the wisdom of Maven¡¯s words. ¡°They will keep,¡± he echoes. ¡°And tomorrow the truth will be known.¡±


    My grip tightens on Cal¡¯s arm, feeling the tense muscles beneath. He rxes into my touch, looking like a great weight has fallen off him.


    <span id="page_255" title="255">The Sentinels jump to attention and pull Farley back into the broken cell. Her eyes stay on me, wondering what the hell I have in mind.<i>I wish I knew</i>.


    Evangeline half drags Ptolemus out, letting the bars knit together behind her. ¡°You are weak, my prince,¡± she hisses into Cal¡¯s ear.


    I resist the urge to look back at Kilorn, as his words echo in my head.<i>Stop trying to protect me</i>.


    <i>I will not</i>.


    Blood drips from my sleeve, leaving a spotted silver trail in my wake as we march to the throne room. Sentinels and Security guard the immense door, their guns raised and aimed at the passageway. They don¡¯t move as we pass, frozen in ce. Their orders are to kill, should the need arise. Beyond, the grand chamber echoes with anger and sorrow. I want to feel some shred of victory, but the memory of Kilorn behind bars dampens any happiness I might have. Even the colonel¡¯s ssy eyes haunt me.


    I move to Cal¡¯s side. He barely notices, his eyes burning at the floor. ¡°How many dead?¡±


    ¡°Ten so far,¡± he mutters. ¡°Three in the shooting, eight in the explosion. Fifteen more wounded.¡± It sounds like he¡¯s listing groceries, not people. ¡°But they¡¯ll all heal.¡±


    He jerks his thumb, gesturing to the healers running among the injured. I count two children among them. And beyond the wounded are the bodies of the dead,id out before the king¡¯s throne. Belicos Lern¡¯s twin sons lie next to him, with their weeping mother holding vigil over the bodies.


    I have to put a hand to my mouth to keep from gasping.<i>I never wanted this</i>.


    <span id="page_256" title="256">Maven¡¯s warm hands take mine, pulling me past the gruesome scene to our ce by the throne. Cal stands close by, trying in vain to wipe the red blood off his hands.


    ¡°The time for tears is over,¡± Tiberias thunders, fists clenching at his sides. Inplete unison, the sobs and sniffles through the chamber die out. ¡°Now we honor the dead, heal the wounded, and<i>avenge our fallen</i>. I am the king. I do not forget. I do not forgive. I have been lenient in the past, allowing our Red brothers a good life full of prosperity, of dignity. But they spit upon us, they reject our mercy, and they have brought upon themselves the worst kind of doom.¡±


    With a snarl, he throws down the silver spear and red rag. It tters across the floor with a sound like a funeral bell. The torn sun stares at us all.


    ¡°These fools, these terrorists, these<i>murderers</i>, will be brought to justice. And they will die. I swear on my crown, on my throne, on my sons,<i>they will die</i>.¡±


    A rumbling murmur goes through the crowd as each Silver stirs. They stand as one, wounded or not. The metallic smell of blood is almost overpowering.


    ¡°Strength,¡± the court screams. ¡°Power!<i>Death!</i>¡±


    Maven nces at me, his eyes wide and afraid. I know what he¡¯s thinking, because I think it too.


    <i>What have we done?</i>

 Red Queen: Chapter 21

    <i>Back in my room</i>, I rip the ruined dress off, letting the silk fall to the floor. The king¡¯s words rey in my head, peppered with shes of this terrible night. Kilorn¡¯s eyes stand out through it all, a green fire burning me up<i>. I must protect him, but how?</i>If only I could trade myself for him again, my freedom for his. If only things were that simple anymore. Julian¡¯s lessons have never felt so sharp in my mind:<i>the past is so much greater than this future</i>.


    Julian.<i>Julian</i>.


    The residence halls crawl with Sentinels and Security, every one of them on edge. But I¡¯ve long perfected the art of slipping by unnoticed, and Julian¡¯s door is not far away. Despite the hour, he¡¯s awake, poring over books. Everything looks the same, like nothing¡¯s happened. Maybe he doesn¡¯t know. But then I notice the bottle of brown liquor on the table, upying a spot usually reserved for tea.<i>Of course he knows</i>.


    ¡°In light of recent events, I would think our lessons have been canceled for the time being,¡± he says over the pages of his book. Still, he<span id="page_258" title="258">shuts it with a snap, turning his full attention on me. ¡°Not to mention it¡¯s quitete.¡±


    ¡°I need you, Julian.¡±


    ¡°Does this have anything to do with the Sun Shooting? Yes, they¡¯ve already thought up a clever name.¡± He points to the dark video screen in the corner. ¡°It¡¯s been on the news for hours now. The king¡¯s addressing the country in the morning.¡±


    I remember the fluffy blond newswoman reporting the capital bombing more than a month ago. There were few injuries then, and still the marketce rioted. What will they do now? How many innocent Reds will pay?


    ¡°Or is this about the four terrorists currently locked in the cells of this structure?¡± Julian presses on, measuring my response. ¡°Excuse me, I mean three. Ptolemus Samos certainly lives up to his reputation.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not terrorists,¡± I reply calmly, trying to keep myself in check.


    ¡°Shall I show you the definition of<i>terrorism</i>, Mare?¡± His tone stings. ¡°Their cause might be just, but their methods . . . besides, what<i>you</i>say doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He gestures to the video screen again. ¡°They have their own version of the truth, and that¡¯s the only one people will hear.¡±


    My teeth grind together painfully, bone on bone. ¡°Are you going to help or not?¡±


    ¡°I am a teacher and somewhat of an outcast, in case you haven¡¯t noticed. What can I possibly do?¡±


    ¡°Julian, please.¡± I can feel myst chance slipping through my fingers. ¡°You¡¯re a singer, you can tell the guards¡ª<i>make</i>them do anything you want. You can set the prisoners free.¡±


    But he remains still, sipping peacefully at his drink. He doesn¡¯t<span id="page_259" title="259">grimace like men normally do. The bite of alcohol is familiar to him.


    ¡°Tomorrow they¡¯ll be interrogated. And no matter how strong they are, no matter how long they hold out, the truth will be found.¡± Slowly, I take Julian¡¯s hand, holding fingers worn rough by paper. ¡°This was my n. I¡¯m one of them.¡± He doesn¡¯t need to know about Maven. It will only make him angrier.


    The half lie does its job well. I can see it in Julian¡¯s eyes.N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    ¡°<i>You?</i>You did this?¡± he stammers. ¡°The shooting, the bombing¡ª?¡±


    ¡°The bomb was . . . unexpected.¡±<i>The bomb was a horror</i>.


    He narrows his eyes, and I can see the cogs turning in his mind. Then he snaps entirely. ¡°I told you, I told you not to get in over your head!¡± He ms a fist down on the table, looking angrier than I¡¯ve ever seen him before. ¡°And now,¡± he breathes, staring at me with so much sorrow it makes my heart hurt, ¡°now I must watch you drown?¡±


    ¡°If they escape . . .¡±


    He throws back the rest of his drink with a gulp. With a snap of his wrist, he smashes the ss on the floor, making me jump. ¡°And what about me? Even if I take away the cameras, the guards¡¯ memories, anything that could implicate either of us, the queen will know.¡± Shaking his head, he sighs. ¡°She¡¯ll take my eyes for this.¡±


    <i>And Julian will never read again. How can I ask for that?</i>


    ¡°Then let me die.¡± The words stick in my throat. ¡°I deserve it as much as they do.¡±


    <i>He can¡¯t let me die. He won¡¯t. I am the little lightning girl, and I am going to make the world change</i>.


    When he speaks again, he sounds hollow.


    ¡°They called my sister¡¯s death a suicide.¡± Slowly, he traces his fingers across his wrist, dwelling on a long-ago memory. ¡°That was a lie, and I knew it. She was a sad woman, but she never would have<span id="page_260" title="260">done such a thing. Not when she had Cal, and Tibe. She was murdered, and I said nothing. I was afraid, and I let her die in shame. And since that day, I¡¯ve been working to fix that, waiting in the shadows of this monstrous world, waiting for my time to avenge her.¡± He raises his eyes to me. They sparkle with tears. ¡°I suppose this will be a good ce to start.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t take long for Julian to figure out a n. All we need is a maron and some blind cameras, and luckily, I can provide both.


    Lucas knocks on my bedroom door not two minutes after I summon him.


    ¡°What can I do for you, Mare?¡± he says, jumpier than usual. I know his time overseeing the queen¡¯s interrogation of servants must not have been easy. At least he¡¯ll be too distracted to notice I¡¯m shaking.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡± The rehearsed wordse easier than they should. ¡°You know, dinner never happened, so I was wondering¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do I look like a cook? You should¡¯ve called the kitchens, that¡¯s their job.¡±


    ¡°I just, well, I don¡¯t think now¡¯s a good time for the servants to be roaming around. People are still pretty on edge, and I don¡¯t want anyone getting hurt because I didn¡¯t get dinner. You¡¯d just have to escort me, that¡¯s all. And who knows, you might get a cookie out of it.¡±


    Sighing like an annoyed teenager, Lucas holds out an arm. As I take it, I nce at the cameras in the hall, making them die off.<i>Here we go</i>.


    I should feel wrong about using Lucas, knowing firsthand what it¡¯s like to have your mind toyed with, but this is for Kilorn¡¯s life. Lucas is still chattering when we turn the corner, running smack into Julian.


    ¡°Lord Jacos¡ª,¡± Lucas begins, moving to bow his head, but Julian takes him by the chin, moving quicker than I ever thought he could.<span id="page_261" title="261">Before Lucas can respond, Julian res into his eyes and the struggle dies before it even begins.


    His honeyed words, smooth as butter and strong as iron, fall on open ears. ¡°Take us to the cells. Use the service halls. Keep us away from patrols. Do not remember this.¡±


    Lucas, usually all smiles and jokes, falls into a strange, half-hypnotized state. His eyes ze over and he doesn¡¯t notice when Julian reaches down to take his gun. But he marches all the same, leading us through the maze of the Hall. At each turn I wait for the feel of electric eyes, shutting off everything in our path. Julian does the same to the guards, forcing them not to remember us as we pass. Together, we make an unbeatable team, and it¡¯s not long before we stand at the top of the dungeon stairs. There will be Sentinels down there, too many for Julian to take care of on his own.


    ¡°Speak not a word,¡± Julian hisses to Lucas, who nods in understanding.


    Now it¡¯s my turn to lead us. I expect to be afraid, but the dim light and thete hour feel familiar. This is where I belong, sneaking and lying and stealing.


    ¡°Who is it? State your name and business!¡± one of the Sentinels shouts up at us. I recognize her voice¡ªGliacon, the shiver who tortured Farley.<i>Perhaps I can convince Julian to sing her off a cliff</i>.


    I draw myself up to my full height, though it¡¯s my voice and tone that matter most. ¡°My name is Lady Mareena Titanos, betrothed of the prince Maven,¡± I snap, moving down the steps with as much grace as I can. My voice is cold and sharp, mirroring ra¡¯s and Evangeline¡¯s.<i>I have strength and power too</i>. ¡°And I don¡¯t share my business with Sentinels.¡±


    At the sight of me, the four Sentinels exchange nces, questioning one another. One, arge man with pig eyes, even looks me up and<span id="page_262" title="262">down in a rude manner. Behind the bars, Kilorn and Walsh jump to attention. Farley doesn¡¯t move from her corner, arms curled around her knees. For a second I think she might be sleeping, until she moves and her blue eyes reflect the light.


    ¡°I need to know, mydy,¡± Gliacon says, sounding apologetic. She nods to Julian and Lucas, who follow me down. ¡°Goes for you two as well.¡±


    ¡°I would like a private audience with these¡±¡ªI throw as much disgust into my voice as I can; it¡¯s not hard, with the pig-eyed Sentinel standing so close¡ª¡°creatures. We have questions that must be answered and wrongs to repay. Don¡¯t we, Julian?¡±


    Julian sneers, putting on a good show. ¡°It¡¯ll be easy to make them sing.¡±


    ¡°Not possible, mdy,¡± Pig-Eyes snorts. His ent is hard and rough, from Harbor Bay. ¡°Our orders are to stay right here, all night. We move for no one.¡±


    Once, a boy in the Stilts called me a rotten flirt for charming him out of a good pair of boots. ¡°You understand my position, don¡¯t you? I will be a princess soon, and the favor of a princess is a<i>very</i>valuable thing. Besides, the Red rats must be taught a lesson. A painful one.¡±


    Pig-Eyes blinks sluggishly at me, thinking it over. Julian hovers at my shoulder, ready with his sweet words if I need them. Two heartbeats pass before Pig-Eyes nods, waving to the others. ¡°We can give you five minutes.¡±


    My face hurts from smiling so widely, but I don¡¯t care. ¡°Thank you so much. I am in your debt, all of you.¡±


    They tromp away in a single file, their boots scuffing. As soon as they reach the topnding, I allow myself to hope.<i>Five minutes will be more than enough</i>.


    <span id="page_263" title="263">Kilorn almost jumps at the bars, eager to be free of his cell, and Walsh pulls Farley to her feet. But I don¡¯t move at all. I don¡¯t intend to free them, not yet.


    ¡°Mare¡ª,¡± Kilorn whispers, puzzled at my hesitation, but I silence him with a look.


    ¡°The bomb.¡± Smoke and fire cloud my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment the ballroom exploded. ¡°Tell me about the bomb.¡±


    I expect them to fall over themselves in apologies, to beg my forgiveness, but instead, the three exchange nk looks. Farley leans against the bars, her eyes on fire.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about that,¡± she hisses, barely audible. ¡°I never authorized such a thing. It was supposed to be organized, with special targets. We do not kill at random, without purpose.¡±


    ¡°The capital, the other bombings¡ª?¡±


    ¡°You know those buildings were empty. No one died there, not because of us,¡± she says evenly. ¡°I swear to you, Mare, this was not our doing.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think we¡¯d try to blow up our greatest hope?¡± Kilorn adds. I don¡¯t need to ask to know he means me.


    Finally, I nod over my shoulder to Julian.


    ¡°Open the cell. Quietly,¡± Julian murmurs, his hands on Lucas¡¯s face.


    The maronplies, forcing the bars into an open O wide enough to step through. Walshes out first, her eyes wide in amazement. Kilorn is next, helping Farley fit through the bars. Her arm still dangles helplessly¡ªthe healer missed a spot.


    I gesture to the wall, and they move soundlessly, mice on stone. Walsh¡¯s eyes touch on Tristan¡¯s body, still lifeless in the cell, but she stays put beside Farley. Julian shoves Lucas in next to them before taking his spot next to the foot of the stairs, across from the freed prisoners.


    <span id="page_264" title="264">I take the other side, pressing myself in next to Kilorn. Even though he¡¯s spent the night in the cells, with a dead body forpany, he still smells like home.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯de,¡± he whispers in my ear. ¡°I knew it.¡±


    But there¡¯s no time for pleasantries or celebrations. Not until they¡¯re away safely.


    Across the open gap of stairwell, Julian nods at me. He¡¯s ready.


    ¡°Sentinel Gliacon, may I have a word?¡± I shout up the stairs,ying the bait for our next trap. The shuffle of feet tells me she¡¯s taken it.


    ¡°What is it, mydy?¡±


    When she reaches the floor, her eyes fly straight to the open cell and she gasps behind her mask. But Julian is too quick, even for a Sentinel.


    ¡°You went for a walk. You returned to find this. You do not remember us. Call down<i>one</i>of the others,¡± he murmurs, his voice a terrible song.


    ¡°Sentinel Tyros, you are needed,¡± she says tly.


    ¡°Now you will sleep.¡±


    She drops almost before thest word leaves his lips, but Julian catches her around the middle andys her gently down behind him. Kilorn exhales in surprise, impressed by Julian, who allows himself a small, pleased smile.


    Tyroses down the stairs next, confused, but eager to serve. Julian does it again, singing his orders in a few whispered seconds. I didn¡¯t expect Sentinels to be so stupid, but it makes sense. They¡¯re trained from childhood in the art ofbat; logic and intelligence are not their highest priorities.


    But thest two, Pig-Eyes and the healer, are notplete fools. When Tyros calls out, ordering the skin healer Sentinel toe down, they mutter to each other.


    <span id="page_265" title="265">¡°About finished, Lady Titanos?¡± Pig-Eyes calls, his voice wary.


    Thinking quickly, I shout back to them. ¡°Yes, we¡¯re finished. Yourpanions have returned to their posts, I want to make sure you do as well.¡±


    ¡°Oh, have they? Is that right, Tyros?¡±


    With blinding speed, Julian kneels over the fainted Tyros. He pries his eyes open, holding the lids. ¡°Say you¡¯ve returned to your post. Say thedy has finished.¡±


    ¡°Returned to my post,¡± Tyros drones. Hopefully the long stairwell and stone walls will distort his voice. ¡°Thedy has finished.¡±


    Pig-Eyes grunts to himself. ¡°Very well.¡±


    Their boots stamp against the steps, bothing down together.<i>Two. Julian cannot handle two alone</i>. I feel Kilorn tense at my back, his fist clenching as he prepares for anything. With one hand I push him back against the wall, while the other grows white with sparks.


    The footsteps stop, just beyond the opening. I can¡¯t see them and neither can Julian, but Pig-Eyes breathes like a dog. The healer is there as well, waiting just beyond our reach. In total silence, it¡¯s hard not to hear the click of a gun.


    Julian¡¯s eyes widen, but he stands firm, one hand closing around his stolen weapon. I don¡¯t even want to breathe, knowing the edge we¡¯re all standing on. The walls seem to shrink, boxing us into a stone coffin with no escape.


    I feel very calm when I slide out in front of the steps, my sparking hand behind my back. I expect to feel bullets at any minute, but the pain neveres. They won¡¯t shoot me, not until I give them a good reason.


    ¡°Is there some problem, Sentinels?¡± I sneer, quirking an eyebrow like I¡¯ve seen Evangeline do a hundred times. Slowly, I take a step up,<span id="page_266" title="266">bringing the pair of them into view. They stand side by side, fingers itching on twin triggers. ¡°I¡¯d prefer it if you wouldn¡¯t point your guns at me.¡±


    Pig-Eyes res at me outright, but it does nothing to faze me.<i>You are ady. Act like it. Act for your life</i>. ¡°Where¡¯s your friend?¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯sing along. One of the prisoners has a mouth on her. She needed some<i>extra</i>attention.¡± The liees so easily. Practice really does make perfect.


    Grinning, Pig-Eyes lowers his gun a bit. ¡°The scarred bitch? Had to show her the back of my hand myself.¡± He chuckles. Iugh with him and dream about what lightning could do to his fleshy, pale eyes.


    As I move closer, the skin healer puts one hand on the metal rail, blocking my way. I do the same. It feels cold in my hand, and solid.<i>Easy does it</i>, I tell myself, pushing just enough energy into my sparks. Not enough to burn, not enough to scar, but enough to take care of them both. It¡¯s like threading a needle, and for once, I¡¯m the sewing expert.


    Above me, the healer doesn¡¯tugh with his friend. His eyes are bright silver, and, with the mask and fiery cloak, he looks like a demon from a nightmare.


    ¡°What¡¯s behind your back?¡± he hisses through the mask.


    I shrug, allowing myself one more step. ¡°Nothing, Sentinel Skonos.¡±


    The next words are ragged. ¡°You lie.¡±


    We react in the same second, sting into action. The bullet hits me in the stomach, but my lightning zes up the metal rail, through his skin and into the healer¡¯s brain. Pig-Eyes shouts, firing his own gun. The bullet digs into the wall, missing me by inches. But I don¡¯t miss him,shing with the ball of sparks behind my back. They slide past<span id="page_267" title="267">me, both unconscious, their muscles twitching with shocks.


    And then I¡¯m falling.


    I briefly wonder if the stone floor will smash my skull. I suppose that¡¯s easier than bleeding to death. Instead, long arms catch me.


    ¡°Mare, you¡¯ll be fine,¡± Kilorn whispers. His hand covers my stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. His eyes are green as grass. They stand out in a world fading to darkness. ¡°It¡¯s nothing at all.¡±


    ¡°Put those on,¡± Julian snaps to the others. Farley and Walsh rush past me to pull on the fire-red cloaks and masks. ¡°You too!¡±


    He yanks Kilorn off me, almost throwing him across the room in his haste.


    ¡°Julian¡ª,¡± I choke out, trying to grab him.<i>I must thank him</i>.


    But he¡¯s beyond my reach, kneeling over the healer. He rips open the Sentinel¡¯s eyelids and sings, ordering him to wake up. The next thing I know, the healer stares down at me, his hands on my wound. It only takes a second before the world shifts back to normal. In the corner, Kilorn breathes a sigh of relief and pulls a cloak over his head.


    ¡°Her as well.¡± I point to Farley. Julian nods and directs the healer over to her. With an audible<i>pop</i>, her shoulder snaps back into ce.


    ¡°Much obliged,¡± she says, pulling the mask over her face.


    Walsh stands over us all, her mask forgotten in her hand. She stares at the fallen Sentinels, jaw agape. ¡°Are they dead?¡± she asks, whispering like a frightened child.


    Julian looks up from Pig-Eyes, finished singing to him. ¡°Hardly. This lot will be awake in a few hours, and if you¡¯re lucky, no one will know you¡¯re gone until then.¡±


    ¡°I can work with a few hours.¡± Farley smacks at Walsh, snapping her back to reality. ¡°Get your head on straight, girl, we¡¯ve got a lot of running to do tonight.¡±


    <span id="page_268" title="268">It doesn¡¯t take long to slip them through thest few passages. Even so, my fear grows with each passing heartbeat, until we find ourselves in the middle of Cal¡¯s garage. The ck-jawed Lucas tears a hole in the metal door like he¡¯s ripping paper, revealing the night beyond.


    Walsh hugs me, taking me by surprise. ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± she mutters, ¡°but I hope you be queen one day. Imagine what you could do then? The Red queen.¡±


    I have to smile at the impossible thought. ¡°Go, before your nonsense rubs off on me.¡±


    Farley isn¡¯t one for hugs, but she does pat me on the shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll meet again, and soon.¡±


    ¡°Not like this, I hope.¡±


    Her face splits into a rare, toothy smile. Despite the scar, I realize she¡¯s very pretty.


    ¡°Not like this,¡± she echoes, before slipping out into the night with Walsh.


    ¡°I know I can¡¯t ask you toe with me,¡± Kilorn mutters, moving to follow them. He stares at his hands, examining scars I know better than my own mind.<i>Look at me, you idiot</i>.


    Sighing, I force myself to shove him toward freedom. ¡°The cause needs me here. You need me here too.¡±


    ¡°What I need and what I want are two very different things.¡±


    I try tough, but I can¡¯t find the strength.


    ¡°This is not our end, Mare,¡± Kilorn murmurs, embracing me. Heughs to himself, the noise vibrating in his chest. ¡°Red queen. Has a nice ring to it.¡±


    ¡°Get on, you fool.¡± Never have I smiled so brightly and still felt so sad.


    He spares me onest nce and nods to Julian, before stepping out<span id="page_269" title="269">into the darkness. The metal knits back together behind him, blocking my friends from sight. Where they¡¯re going, I don¡¯t want to know.


    Julian has to pull me away, but he doesn¡¯t scold me for my long good-bye. I think he¡¯s more preupied with Lucas, who, in his dazed state, has begun to drool.

 Red Queen: Chapter 22

    <i>That night I dream</i>of my brother Shadeing to visit me in the darkness. He smells like gunpowder. But when I blink, he disappears and my mind screams what I already know.<i>Shade is dead</i>.


    When morninges, a series of shuffles and ms makes me bolt awake, sitting up in my bed. I expect to see Sentinels, Cal, or a murderous Ptolemus ready to rip me apart for what I¡¯ve done, but it¡¯s just the maids bustling in my closet. They look more harried than usual and pull down my clothes with abandon.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    In the closet, the girls freeze. They bow, hands full of silk and linen. As Ie closer, I realize they¡¯re standing over a set of leather trunks. ¡°Are we going somewhere?¡±


    ¡°Orders, mydy,¡± one says, her eyes lowered. ¡°We only know what we¡¯re told.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Well, I¡¯m just going to get dressed then.¡± I reach for the nearest outfit, intending to do something for myself for once, but the maids beat me to it.


    <span id="page_271" title="271">Five minutester, they have me painted and ready, dressed in odd leather pants and a flouncy shirt. I¡¯d much prefer my training suit over everything else, but it¡¯s apparently not ¡°proper¡± to wear the thing outside of sessions.


    ¡°Lucas?¡± I ask the empty hallway, half expecting him to pop out from an alcove.


    But Lucas is nowhere to be found, and I head off to Protocol, expecting him to cross my path. When he doesn¡¯t, a trill of fear ripples through me. Julian made him forgetst night, but maybe something slipped through the cracks. Maybe he¡¯s being questioned, punished, for the night he can¡¯t remember and what we forced him to do.


    But I¡¯m not alone for long. Maven steps into my path, his lips quirked into an amused smile.


    ¡°You¡¯re up early.¡± Then he leans in, speaking in a low whisper. ¡°Especially for having such ate night.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡± I try for an innocent tone.


    ¡°The prisoners are gone. All three of them, disappeared into thin air.¡±


    I put a hand to my heart, letting myself look shocked for the cameras. ¡°By my colors! A few Reds, escaped from us? That seems impossible.¡±


    ¡°It does indeed.¡± Though the smile remains, his eyes darken slightly. ¡°Of course, that brings everything into question. The power outages, the failing security system, not to mention a troop of Sentinels with nk spots across their memories.¡± He stares pointedly at me.


    I return his sharp nce, letting him see my unease. ¡°Your mother . . . interrogated them.¡±


    ¡°She did.¡±


    ¡°And will she be talking to¡±¡ªI choose my words very carefully¡ª¡°anyone else regarding the escape? Officers, guards¡ª?¡±


    <span id="page_272" title="272">Maven shakes his head. ¡°Whoever did this did it well. I helped her with the questioning and<i>directed</i>her to anyone of suspicion.¡±<i>Directed. Directed away from me</i>. I breathe a small sigh of relief and squeeze his arm, thanking him for his protection. ¡°Besides, we may never find who did it. People have been fleeing sincest night. They think the Hall is no longer safe.¡±


    ¡°Afterst night, they¡¯re probably right.¡± I slip my arm into his, drawing him closer. ¡°What did your mother learn of the bomb?¡±


    His voice drops to a whisper. ¡°There was no bomb.¡±<i>What?</i>¡°It was an explosion, but it was also an ident. A bullet punctured a gas line in the floor, and when Cal¡¯s fire hit it . . .¡± He trails off, letting his hands do the talking. ¡°It was Mother¡¯s idea to use that to our, ah, advantage.¡±


    <i>We don¡¯t kill without purpose</i>. ¡°She¡¯s turning the Guard into monsters.¡±


    He nods gravely. ¡°No one will want to stand with them. Not even Reds.¡±


    My blood seems to boil.<i>More lies</i>. She¡¯s beating us without firing a shot or drawing a de. Words are all she needs. And now I¡¯m being sent deeper into her world, to Archeon.


    <i>You won¡¯t see your family again. Gisa will grow, until you don¡¯t recognize her anymore. Bree and Tramy will marry, have children, and forget you. Dad will die slowly, suffocated by his wounds, and when he¡¯s gone, Mom will slip away too</i>.


    Maven lets me think, his eyes thoughtful as he watches the emotions rise in my face. He always lets me think. Sometimes his silence is better than anyone else¡¯s words.


    ¡°How long do we have left here?¡±


    ¡°We go this afternoon. Most of the court is leaving before that, but we have to take the boat. Keep some tradition in all this madness.¡±


    <span id="page_273" title="273">When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my porch and watch the pretty boats pass, heading downriver to the capital. Shade wouldugh at me for wanting to catch a glimpse of the king. I didn¡¯t realize then it was just part of the pageant, another disy just like the arena fights, to show exactly how low we were in the grand scheme of the world. Now I¡¯m going to be part of it again, this time standing on the other side.


    ¡°At least you¡¯ll get to see your home again, if only for a little while,¡± he adds, trying to be gentle.<i>Yes, Maven, that¡¯s just what I want. To stand and watch my home and my old life pass by</i>.


    But that¡¯s the price I must pay. Freeing Kilorn and the others means losing myst few days in the valley, and it¡¯s a trade I¡¯m happy to make.


    We¡¯re interrupted by a loud crash from a nearby passage, the one leading to Cal¡¯s room. Maven reacts first, moving to the edge of the hall before I can, like he¡¯s trying to protect me from something.


    ¡°Bad dreams, brother?¡± he calls out, worried by what he sees.


    In response, Cal steps out into the hallway, his fists clenched, like he¡¯s trying to keep his own hands in check. Gone is the bloodstained uniform, reced by what looks like Ptolemus¡¯s armor, though Cal¡¯s has a reddish tint.


    I want to p him, to w at him and scream for what he did to Farley and Tristan and Kilorn and Walsh. The sparks dance inside me, begging to be loosed. But after all, what did I expect? I know what he is and what he believes in¡ªReds are not worth saving. So I speak as civilly as I can.


    ¡°Will you be leaving with your legion?¡± I know he isn¡¯t, judging by the livid anger in his eyes. Once, I feared he would go, and now I wish he would.<i>I can¡¯t believe I cared about saving him. I can¡¯t believe that was ever a thought in my head</i>.


    Cal heaves a breath. ¡°The Shadow Legion isn¡¯t going anywhere.<span id="page_274" title="274">Father will not allow it. Not now. It¡¯s too dangerous, and I¡¯m too<i>valuable</i>.¡±


    ¡°You know he¡¯s right.¡± Maven puts a hand on his brother¡¯s shoulder, trying to calm him. I remember watching Cal do the same thing to Maven, but now the crown is on a different head. ¡°You are the heir. He can¡¯t afford to lose you too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a soldier,¡± Cal spits, shrugging away from his brother¡¯s touch. ¡°I can¡¯t just sit by and let others fight for me. I won¡¯t do it.¡±


    He sounds like a child whining for a toy¡ªhe must enjoy killing. It makes me sick. I don¡¯t speak, letting the diplomatic Maven talk for me. He always knows what to say.


    ¡°Find another cause. Build another cycle, double your training, drill your men,<i>prepare</i>yourself for when the danger passes. Cal, you can do a thousand other things, and none of them end with you being killed in some kind of ambush!¡± he says, ring up at his brother. Then he smirks, trying to lighten the mood. ¡°You never change, Cal. You just can¡¯t sit still.¡±


    After a moment of harsh silence, Cal breaks into a weak smile. ¡°Never.¡± His eyes flick to me, but I won¡¯t get caught in his bronze stare, not again.


    I turn my head, pretending to examine a painting on the wall. ¡°Nice armor,¡± I sneer. ¡°It will go well with your collection.¡±


    He looks stung, even confused, but quickly recovers. His smile is gone now, reced by narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He taps at his armor; it sounds like ws on stone. ¡°This was a gift from Ptolemus. I seem to share amon cause with my betrothed¡¯s brother.¡±<i>My betrothed</i>. Like that¡¯s supposed to make me jealous or something.


    Maven eyes the armor warily. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Ptolemusmands the officers in the capital. Together with me<span id="page_275" title="275">and my legion, we might be able to do something of use, even within the city.¡±


    Cold fear steals into my heart again, brushing away whatever hope and happinessst night¡¯s sess brought me. ¡°And what is that, exactly?¡± I hear myself breathe.


    ¡°I¡¯m a good hunter. He¡¯s a good killer.¡± Cal takes a step backward, walking away from us.


    I can feel him slipping down not just the hall but a dark and twisted path. It makes me afraid for the boy who taught me how to dance.<i>No, not for him</i>. Of<i>him</i>. And that is worse than all my other terrors and nightmares.


    ¡°Between the two of us, we¡¯ll root out the Scarlet Guard. We¡¯ll end this rebellion once and for all.¡±


    There¡¯s no schedule for today, as everyone is too busy leaving to teach or train.<i>Fleeing</i>might be a better word, because that¡¯s certainly what this looks like from my vantage point in the entrance hall. I used to think the Silvers were untouchable gods who were never threatened, never scared. Now I know the opposite is true. They¡¯ve spent so long at the top, protected and isted, that they¡¯ve forgotten they can fall. Their strength has be their weakness.


    Once, I was afraid of these walls, frightened by such beauty. But I see the cracks now. It¡¯s like the day of the bombing, when I realized Silvers were not invincible. Then it was an explosion¡ªnow a few bullets have shattered diamondss, revealing fear and paranoia beneath. Silvers fleeing from Reds¡ªlions running from mice. The king and queen oppose each other, the court has their own alliances, and Cal¡ªthe perfect prince, the good soldier¡ªis a torturous, terrible enemy.<i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>.


    <span id="page_276" title="276">Cal and Maven bid everyone good-bye, doing their duty despite the organized chaos. The airships wait not far off, the whir of their engines audible even inside. I want to see the great machines up close, but moving would mean braving the crowd, and I can¡¯t stomach the stares of the grief-stricken. All together, twelve diedst night, but I refuse to learn their names. I can¡¯t have them weighing on me, not when I need my wits more than ever.


    When I can¡¯t watch any longer, my feet take me where they will, wandering through now familiar passages. Chambers close as I pass, being shut up for the season, until the court returns.<i>I won¡¯t</i>, I know. Servants pull white sheets over the furniture and paintings and statues, until the whole ce looks haunted by ghosts.


    It¡¯s not long before I find myself standing in the doorway of Julian¡¯s old ssroom, and the sight shocks me. The stacks of books, the desk, even the maps are gone. The room looksrger but feels smaller. It once held whole worlds but now holds only dust and crumpled paper. My eyes linger on the wall where the huge map used to be. Once I couldn¡¯t understand it; now I remember it like an old friend.


    <i>Norta, the Laknds, Piedmont, Prairie, Tiraxes, Montfort, Ciron, and all the disputednds in between</i>. Other countries, other peoples, all torn along the lines of blood just like us.<i>If we change, will they? Or will they try to destroy us too?</i>


    ¡°I hope you¡¯ll remember your lessons.¡± Julian¡¯s voice draws me out of my thoughts, back to the empty room. He stands behind me, following my gaze to the map wall. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t teach you more.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have plenty of time for Lessons in Archeon.¡±


    His smile is bittersweet and almost painful to look at. With a jolt I realize I can feel cameras watching us for the very first time. ¡°Julian?¡±


    ¡°The archivists in Delphie have offered me a position restoring some<span id="page_277" title="277">old texts.¡± The lie is as in as the nose on his face. ¡°Seems they¡¯ve been digging through the Wash and came on some storage bunkers. Mountains to go through, apparently.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll like that very much.¡± My voice catches in my throat.<i>You knew he would have to leave. You forced him into thisst night, when you put his life in danger for Kilorn¡¯s</i>. ¡°Will you visit, when you can?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡± Another lie. ra will figure out his role soon enough, and then he¡¯ll be on the run. It only makes sense to get a head start. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten you something.¡±


    I¡¯d rather have Julian than any gift, but I try to look thankful anyways. ¡°Is it good advice?¡±


    He shakes his head, smiling. ¡°You¡¯ll see when you get to the capital.¡± Then he stretches out his arms, beckoning to me. ¡°I have to go, so send me off properly.¡±


    Hugging him is like hugging my father or the brothers I¡¯ll never see again. I don¡¯t want to let him go, but the danger is too great for him to stay and we both know it.


    ¡°Thank you, Mare,¡± he whispers in my ear. ¡°You remind me so much of her.¡± I don¡¯t need to ask to know he¡¯s talking about Coriane, about the sister he lost so long ago. ¡°I¡¯ll miss you, little lightning girl.¡±


    Right now, the nickname doesn¡¯t sound so bad.


    I don¡¯t have the strength to marvel at the boat, driven through the water by electric engines. ck, silver, and red gs p from every pole, marking this as the king¡¯s ship. When I was a girl, I use to wonder why the kingid im to our color. It was just so beneath him. Now I realize the gs are red like his me, like the destruction¡ªand the people¡ªhe controls.


    ¡°The Sentinels fromst night have been<i>reassigned</i>,¡± Maven mutters<span id="page_278" title="278">as we walk along a deck.


    <i>Reassigned</i>is just a fancy word for<i>punished</i>. Remembering Pig-Eyes and the way he looked at me, I¡¯m not sorry at all. ¡°Where did they go?¡±


    ¡°The front, of course. They¡¯ll be attached to some rabble group, to captain injured, incapable, or bad-tempered soldiers. Those are usually the first to be sent in a trench push.¡± By the shadows behind his eyes, I can tell Maven knows this firsthand.


    ¡°The first to die.¡±


    He nods solemnly.


    ¡°And Lucas? I haven¡¯t seen him since yesterday¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s all right. Traveling with House Samos, regrouping with family. The shooting has everyone on their heels, even the High Houses.¡±


    Relief washes over me, as well as sadness. I miss Lucas already, but it¡¯s good to know he¡¯s safe and far from ra¡¯s prying.


    Maven bites his lip, looking subdued. ¡°But not for long. Answers areing.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    ¡°They found blood down in the cells. Red blood.¡±


    My gunshot wound is gone, but the memory of the pain has not faded. ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So whichever friend of yours had the misfortune to be wounded won¡¯t be a secret much longer, if the bloodbase does its job.¡±


    ¡°Bloodbase?¡±


    ¡°The blood database. Any Red born within a hundred miles of civilization gets sampled at birth. Started out as a project to understand exactly what the difference is between us, but it ended up just another way to put a cor on your people. In the bigger cities, Reds don¡¯t use ID cards but blood tags. They¡¯re sampled at every gate,ing and going. Tracked like animals.¡±


    <span id="page_279" title="279">Briefly, I think of the old documents the king threw at me that day in the throne room. My name, my photograph, and a smear of blood were in there.


    <i>My blood. They have my blood</i>.


    ¡°And they¡ªthey can figure out whose blood it is, just like that?¡±


    ¡°It takes some time, a week or so, but yes, that¡¯s how it¡¯s supposed to work.¡± His eyes fall to my shaking hands, and he covers them with his own, letting warmth bleed into my suddenly cold skin. ¡°Mare?¡±


    ¡°He shot me,¡± I whisper. ¡°The Sentinel shot me. It¡¯s my blood they found.¡±


    And then his hands are just as cold as mine.


    For all his clever ideas, Maven has nothing to say to this. He just stares, his breathing in tiny, scared puffs. I know the look on his face; I wear it every time I¡¯m forced to say good-bye to someone.


    ¡°It¡¯s too bad we didn¡¯t stay longer,¡± I murmur, looking out at the river. ¡°I would have liked to die close to home.¡±


    Another breeze sends a curtain of my hair across my face, but Maven brushes it away and pulls me close with startling ferocity.


    <i>Oh</i>.


    His kiss is not at all like his brother¡¯s. Maven is more desperate, surprising himself as much as me. He knows I¡¯m sinking fast, a stone dropping through the river.<i>And he wants to drown with me</i>.


    ¡°I will fix this,¡± he murmurs against my lips. I have never seen his eyes so bright and sharp. ¡°I won¡¯t let them hurt you. You have my word.¡±


    Part of me wants to believe him. ¡°Maven, you can¡¯t fix everything.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,<i>I</i>can¡¯t,¡± he replies, an edge to his voice. ¡°But I can convince someone with more power than me.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    <span id="page_280" title="280">When the temperature around us rises, Maven pulls back, his jaw tense and clenched. The way his eyes sh, I half expect him to attack whoever interrupted us. I don¡¯t turn around, mostly because I can¡¯t feel my limbs. I¡¯ve gone numb, though my lips still tingle with memory. What this means, I don¡¯t know. What I feel, I can¡¯t begin to understand.


    ¡°The queen requests your presence on the viewing deck.¡± Cal¡¯s voice grinds like stone. He sounds almost angry, but his bronze eyes look sad, defeated even. ¡°Passing the Stilts, Mare.¡±


    Yes, the shoreline is already familiar to me. I know that mangled tree, that stretch of bank, and the echo of saws and falling trees is unmistakable.<i>This is home</i>. With great pain, I force myself away from the rail to face Cal, who seems to be having a silent conversation with his brother.


    ¡°Thank you, Cal,¡± I murmur, still trying to process Maven¡¯s kiss and, of course, my own impending doom.


    Cal walks away, his usually straight back bowed. Each footfall sends a pang of guilt through me, making me remember our dance and our own kiss.<i>I hurt everyone, especially myself</i>.


    Maven stares after his fleeing brother. ¡°He does not like to lose. And¡±¡ªhe lowers his voice, now so close to me I can see the tiny flecks of silver in his eyes¡ª¡°neither do I. I won¡¯t lose you, Mare.<i>I won¡¯t</i>.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never lose me.¡±


    Another lie, and we both know it.


    The viewing deck dominates the front of the ship, enclosed by ss stretching from side to side. Brown shapes take form on the riverbank, and the old hill with the arena appears out of the trees. We¡¯re too far from the bank to see anyone properly, but I know my house in an instant. The old g still flutters on the porch, still embroidered with<span id="page_281" title="281">three red stars. One has a ck stripe through it, in honor of Shade.<i>Shade was executed. You¡¯re supposed to rip a star off after that</i>. But they didn¡¯t. They held on to him in their own little rebellion.


    I want to point my home out to Maven, to tell him about the vige. I¡¯ve seen his life, and now I want to show him mine. But the viewing deck is silent, all of us staring at the vige as wee closer and closer.<i>The vigers don¡¯t care about you</i>, I want to scream.<i>Only fools will stop to watch. Only the fools will waste a moment on you</i>.


    As the boat continues on, I begin to think the whole vige might be made of fools. All two thousand of them seem crowded onto the bank. Some stand ankle-deep in the river. From this distance, they all look the same. Fading hair and worn clothes, blotchy skinned, tired, hungry¡ªall the things I used to be.


    And<i>angry</i>. Even from the boat, I can feel their anger. They don¡¯t cheer or call out our names. No one waves. No one even smiles.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I breathe, expecting no one to answer.


    But the queen does, with great relish. ¡°Such a waste, parading down the river when no one will watch. It seems we¡¯ve fixed that.¡±


    Something tells me this is another mandatory event, like the fights, like the broadcasts. Officers tore sick elders from their beds and exhausted workers from the floor, forcing them to watch us.


    A whip cracks somewhere on the bank, followed closely by a woman¡¯s scream. ¡°Stay in line!¡± echoes over the crowd. Their eyes never falter, staring straight ahead, so still that I can¡¯t even see where the disruption was.<i>What happened to make them so lenient? What has already been done?</i>


    Tears prick at my eyes as I watch. There are more cracks and a few babies wail, but no one on the bank protests. Suddenly I¡¯m at the edge of the deck, wanting to burst through the ss with every inch of myself.


    <span id="page_282" title="282">¡°Going somewhere, Mareena?¡± ra purrs from her ce next to the king. She sips cidly at a drink, surveying me over the rim of her ss.


    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡±


    Arms crossed over her magnificent gown, Evangeline eyes me with a sneer. ¡°Why do you care?¡± But her words fall on deaf ears.


    ¡°They know what happened at the Hall, they might even agree with it, so they need to see that we aren¡¯t defeated,¡± Cal murmurs, his eyes on the riverbank. He can¡¯t even look at me, the coward. ¡°We aren¡¯t even bleeding.¡±


    Another whip cracks and I flinch, almost feeling thesh on my skin. ¡°Did you order them to be beaten as well?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t rise to my challenge, jaw firmly clenched shut. But when another viger cries out, protesting against the officers, he lets his eyes close.


    ¡°Stand back, Lady Titanos.¡± The king¡¯s voice rumbles like faraway thunder, an order if there ever was one. I can almost feel his smug smile when I step away, moving back to Maven. ¡°This is a Red vige, you know that better than us all. They harbor these terrorists, feed them, protect them,<i>be</i>them. They are children who have done wrong. And they must learn.¡±


    I open my mouth to argue, but the queen bares her teeth. ¡°Perhaps you know of a few who should be made an example of?¡± she says calmly, gesturing to the shoreline.


    The words die in my throat, chased away by her threat. ¡°No, Your Majesty, I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then stand back and be silent.¡± Then she grins. ¡°For your time to speak wille.¡±


    <i>This is what they need me for. A moment like this, when the scales could tip<span id="page_283" title="283">out of their favor</i>. But I can¡¯t protest. I can only do as shemands and watch as my home fades out of sight. Forever.


    The closer we get to the capital, therger the viges be. Soon thendscape fades from lumber and farmingmunities to proper towns. They center around massive mills, with brick homes and dormitories to house the Redborers. Like the other viges, their inhabitants stand in the streets to watch us pass. Officers bark, whips crack, and I never get used to it. I flinch every time.


    Then the towns are reced by sprawling estates and mansions, pces like the Hall. Made of stone and ss and swirling marble, each one seems more magnificent than thest. Theirwns slope to the river, decorated with greenwarden gardens and beautiful fountains. The houses themselves look like the work of gods, each one a different kind of beautiful. But the windows are dark, the doors closed. Where the viges and towns were full of people, these seem devoid of life. Only the gs flying high, one over each structure, let me know someone lives there at all. Blue for House Osanos, silver for Samos, brown for Rhambos, and so on. Now I know the colors by heart, putting faces to each silent home.<i>I even killed the owners of a few</i>.


    ¡°River Row,¡± Maven exins. ¡°The country residences, should a lord ordy wish to escape the city.¡±


    My gaze lingers on the Iral home, a columned wonder of ck marble. Stone panthers guard the porch, snarling up at the sky. Even the statues put a chill in me, making me remember Ara Iral and her pressing questions.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one here.¡±


    ¡°The houses are empty most of the year, and no one would dare leave the city now, not with this Guard business.¡± He offers me a small,<span id="page_284" title="284">bitter smile. ¡°They would rather hide behind their diamond walls and let my brother do their fighting for them.¡±


    ¡°If only no one had to fight at all.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°It does no good to dream.¡±


    We watch in silence as River Row falls behind us and another forest rises up on the banks. The trees are strange, very tall with ck bark and dark red leaves. It is deathly quiet, as no forest should be. Not even birdsong breaks the silence, and overhead, the sky darkens, but not from the waning afternoon light. ck clouds gather, hovering over the trees like a thick nket.


    ¡°And what¡¯s this?¡± Even my voice sounds muffled, and I¡¯m suddenly d for the ss casing over the deck. To my surprise the others have gone, leaving us alone to watch the gloom settle.


    Maven nces at the forest, face pulled in distaste. ¡°Barrier trees. They keep the pollution from traveling farther upriver. The Welle greenwardens made them years ago.¡±


    Choppy brown waves foam against the boat, leaving a film of ck grime on the gleaming steel hull. The world takes on a strange tint, like I¡¯m looking through dirty ss. The low-lying clouds aren¡¯t clouds at all but smoke pouring from a thousand chimneys, obscuring the sky. Gone are the trees and the grass¡ªthis is and of ash and decay.


    ¡°Gray Town,¡± Maven murmurs.


    Factories stretch out as far as I can see, dirty and massive and humming with electricity. It hits me like a fist, almost knocking me off my feet. My heart tries to keep up with the unearthly pulse and I have to sit down, feeling my blood race.


    I thought my world was wrong, that my life was unfair. But I could never even dream of a ce like Gray Town.


    Power stations glow in the gloom, pulsing electric blue and sickly<span id="page_285" title="285">green into the spider-work of wires in the air. Transports piled high with cargo move along the raised roads, shuttling goods from one factory to another. They scream at one another in a noisy mess of tangled traffic, moving like sluggish ck blood in gray veins. Worst of all, little houses surround each factory in an ordered square, one on top of the other, with narrow streets in between.<i>Slums</i>.


    Beneath such a smoky sky, I doubt the workers ever see daylight. They walk between the factories and their homes, flooding the streets during a shift change. There are no officers, no cracking whips, no nk stares. No one is making them watch us pass.<i>The king doesn¡¯t need to show off here</i>, I realize<i>. They are broken from birth</i>.


    ¡°These are the techies,¡± I whisper hoarsely, remembering the name the Silvers so blithely toss around. ¡°They make the lights, the cameras, the video screens¡ª¡±


    ¡°The guns, the bullets, the bombs, the ships, the transports,¡± Maven adds. ¡°They keep the power running. They keep our water clean. They do everything for us.¡±


    <i>And they receive nothing but smoke in return</i>.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they leave?¡±


    He just shrugs. ¡°This is the only life they know. Most techies will never leave their own alley. They can¡¯t even conscript.¡±


    <i>Can¡¯t even conscript</i>. Their lives are so terrible that the war is a better alternative, and they¡¯re not even allowed to go.


    Like everything else on the river, the factories fade away, but the image stays with me.<i>I must not forget this</i>, something tells me.<i>I must not forget them</i>.


    Stars wait for us beyond another forest of barrier trees, and beneath them: Archeon. At first I don¡¯t see the capital at all, mistaking its lights for zing stars. As we sail closer and closer, my jaw drops.


    <span id="page_286" title="286">A tripleyered bridge runs across the wide river, linking the two cities on either side. It¡¯s thousands of feet long and thriving, alive with light and electricity. There are shops and market squares, all built into the Bridge itself a hundred feet above the river. I can just picture the Silvers up there, drinking and eating and looking down on the world from their ce on high. Transports ze along the lowest tier of the Bridge, their heamps like red and whiteets cutting through the night.


    Both ends of the Bridge are gated, and the city sectors on either side are walled in. On the east bank, great metal towers stab out of the ground like swords to pierce the sky, all crowned with gleaming giant birds of prey. More transports and people popte the paved streets that climb up the hilly riverbanks, connecting the buildings to the Bridge and the outer gates.


    The walls are diamondss, like back at the Hall, but set with floodlit metal towers and other structures. There are patrols on the walls, but their uniforms are not the ming red of Sentinels or the stark ck of Security. They wear uniforms of clouded silver and white, almost blending into the cityscape.<i>They are soldiers, and not the kind who dance withdies. This is a fortress</i>.


    Archeon was built to endure war, not peace.


    On the western bank, I recognize the Royal Court and the Treasury Hall from the bombing footage. Both are made from gleaming white marble and fully repaired, even though they were attacked barely more than a month ago.<i>It feels like a lifetime</i>. They nk Whitefire Pce, a building even I know on sight. My old teacher used to say it was carved from the hillside itself, a living piece of the white stone. mes made of gold and pearl sh atop the surrounding walls.


    I try to take it in, my eyes darting between both ends of the Bridge,<span id="page_287" title="287">but my mind just can¡¯t fathom this ce. Overhead, airships move slowly through the night sky, while airjets fly even higher, as fast as shooting stars. I thought the Hall of the Sun was a wonder; apparently I never knew the meaning of the word.


    But I can¡¯t find anything beautiful here, not when the smoky, dark factories are only a few miles back. The contrast between the Silver city and the Red slum sets my teeth on edge. This is the world I¡¯m trying to bring down, the world trying to kill me and everything I care about. Now I truly see what I¡¯m fighting against and how difficult, how impossible, it will be to win. I¡¯ve never felt smaller than I do now, with the great bridge looming above us. It looks ready to swallow me whole.


    But I have to try. If only for Gray Town, for the ones who have never seen the sun.

 Red Queen: Chapter 23

    <i>By the time the</i>boat docks at the western bank and we¡¯re back onnd, night has fallen. At home, this meant shutting down the power and going to sleep, but not in Archeon. If anything, the city seems to brighten while the rest of the world goes dark. Fireworks crackle overhead, raining light down on the Bridge, and atop Whitefire, a red-and-ck g rises.<i>The king is back on this throne</i>.


    Thankfully there are no more pageants to suffer through; we are greeted by armored transports to take us up from the docks. To my delight, Maven and I have a transport to ourselves, joined by only two Sentinels. He points outndmarks as we pass, exining what seems like every statue and street corner. He even mentions his favorite bakery, though it sits on the other side of the river.


    ¡°The Bridge and East Archeon are for civilians, themon Silvers, though many are richer than some nobles.¡±


    ¡°<i>Common</i>Silvers?¡± I almost have tough. ¡°There¡¯s such a thing?¡±


    Maven just shrugs. ¡°Of course. They¡¯re merchants, businessmen, soldiers, officers, shop owners, politicians,nd barons, artists, and<span id="page_289" title="289">intellectuals. Some marry into High Houses, some rise above their station, but they don¡¯t have noble blood, and their abilities aren¡¯t as, well,<i>powerful</i>.¡±


    <i>Not everyone is special</i>. Lucas told me that once. I didn¡¯t know he meant Silvers too.


    ¡°Meanwhile, West Archeon is for the court of the king,¡± Maven continues. We pass a street lined with lovely stone houses and pruned, flowering trees. ¡°All the High Houses keep residences here, to be close to the king and government. In fact, the entire country can be controlled from this cliff, if the need should arise.¡±


    That exins the location. The western bank is sharply sloped, with the pce and the other government buildings sitting at the crest of a hill overlooking the Bridge. Another wall surrounds the hilltop, fencing in the heart of the country. I try not to gawk when we pass through the gate, revealing a tiled square the size of an arena. Maven calls it Caesar¡¯s Square, after the first king of his dynasty. Julian mentioned King Caesar before, but fleetingly; our lessons never got much further than the First Divide, when red and silver became much more than colors.


    Whitefire Pce upies the southern side of the Square, while the courts, treasury, and administrative centers take up the rest. There¡¯s even a military barracks, judging by the troops drilling in the walled yard. They are Cal¡¯s Shadow Legion, who traveled ahead of us to the city.<i>Afort to the nobles</i>, Maven called them. Soldiers within the walls, to protect us if another attack shoulde.


    Despite the hour, the Square bustles with activity as people rush toward a severe-looking structure next to the barracks. Red-and-ck gs, emzoned with the sword symbol of the army, hang from its columns. I can just see a little stage set up in front of the building, with<span id="page_290" title="290">a podium surrounded by bright spotlights and a growing crowd.


    Suddenly the gaze of cameras, heavier than I¡¯m used to,nds on our transport, following us as the line of vehicles passes by the stage. Luckily we keep driving, moving through an archway to a small courtyard, but then we pull to a stop.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I whisper, grabbing on to Maven. Until now, I¡¯ve kept my fear in check, but between the lights and the cameras and the crowd, my wall begins to crumble.


    Maven sighs heavily, more annoyed than anything. ¡°Father must be giving a speech. Just some saber rattling to keep the masses happy. The people love nothing more than a leader promising victory.¡±


    Maven steps out, pulling me along with him. Despite my makeup and my clothes, I feel suddenly very bare.<i>This is for a broadcast. Thousands, millions, will see this</i>.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we just have to stand and look stern,¡± he mutters in my ear.


    ¡°I think Cal has that covered.¡± I nod to where the prince broods, still attached at the hip to Evangeline.


    Maven snickers to himself. ¡°He thinks speeches are a waste of time. Cal likes action, not words.¡±


    <i>That makes two of us</i>, but I don¡¯t want to admit I have anything inmon with Maven¡¯s older brother. Maybe once, I thought so, but not now. Not ever again.


    A bustling secretary beckons us. His clothes are blue and gray, the colors of House Macanthos. Maybe he knew the colonel; maybe he was her brother, her cousin.<i>Don¡¯t, Mare. This is thest ce to lose your nerve</i>. He doesn¡¯t spare a nce at us when we fall into ce, standing behind Cal and Evangeline, with the king and queen at the head. Strangely, Evangeline is not her usual cool self; I can see her hands shaking.<i>She¡¯s<span id="page_291" title="291">afraid. She wanted the spotlight, she wanted to be Cal¡¯s bride, and yet she¡¯s scared of it. How can that be?</i>


    And then we¡¯re moving, walking into a building with too many Sentinels and attendants to count. Inside, the structure is built for function, with maps and offices and council rooms instead of paintings or salons. People in gray uniforms busy themselves in the hall, though they stop to let us pass. Most of the doors are closed, but I manage to catch a glimpse inside a few. Officers and soldiers look down at maps of the war front, arguing over the cement of legions. Another room spilling with thunderous energy seems to hold a hundred video screens, each one operated by a soldier in battle uniform. They speak into headsets, barking orders to faraway people and ces. The words differ, but the meaning is the same.


    <i>¡°Hold the line.¡±</i>


    Cal lingers before the door to the video room, craning his neck to get a better look, but it suddenly ms in his face. He bristles but doesn¡¯t protest, falling back into line with Evangeline. She mutters to him quietly, but he shakes her off, to my delight.


    But my smile fades as we step back out into blinding lights on the front steps of the structure. A bronze que next to the door reads<i>War Command</i>. This ce is the heart of the military¡ªevery soldier, every army, every gun is controlled from within. My stomach rolls at the power here, but I can¡¯t lose my nerve, not in front of so many. Cameras sh, blinding my sight. When I flinch, I hear a voice inside my head.


    The secretary presses a paper in my hand. One nce at it, and I almost scream. Now I know what I was saved for.


    <i>Earn your keep</i>, ra¡¯s voice whispers in my head. She nces at me from Maven¡¯s other side, doing her best not to grin.


    Maven follows her wretched gaze and notes the paper in my shaking hand. Slowly, he winds his fingers around my own, as if he could<span id="page_292" title="292">pour his strength into me. I want nothing more than to rip the paper in two, but he holds me steady.


    ¡°You must,¡± is all he says, whispering so low I can barely hear him. ¡°You must.¡±


    ¡°My heart grieves for the lives lost, but know that they were not lost in vain. Their blood will fuel our resolve and drive us to ovee the difficulties ahead. We are a nation at war, we have been for nearly a century, and we are not unustomed to obstacles in the path to victory. These people will be found, these people will be punished, and this disease they call rebellion will never take hold in my country.¡±


    The video screen in my new bedroom is about as useful as a bottomless boat, ying the king¡¯s speech fromst night in a nauseating loop. By now I can recite the whole thing word for word, but I can¡¯t stop watching. Because I know whoes next.


    My face looks strange on the screen, too pale, too cold. I still can¡¯t believe I kept a straight face while I read the words. When I step up to the podium, taking the king¡¯s ce, I don¡¯t even tremble.


    ¡°I was raised by Reds. I believed I was one. And I saw firsthand the grace of His Majesty the king, the just ways of our Silver lords, and the great privilege they gave us. The right to work, to serve our country, to live and live well.¡± On-screen, Maven puts a hand on my arm. He nods along with my speech. ¡°Now I know I am Silver born, ady of House Titanos, and one day, a princess of Norta. My eyes have been opened. A world I never dreamed of exists, and it is invincible. It is merciful. And these terrorists, murderers of the most evil kind, are trying to destroy the bedrock of our nation. This we cannot allow.¡±


    In the safety of my room, I heave a ragged breath. The worst ising.


    <span id="page_293" title="293">¡°In his wisdom, King Tiberias has drafted the Measures, to root out this sickness of rebellion, and to protect the good citizens of our nation. They are as follows: As of today, a sunset curfew is in effect for all Reds. Security will be doubled in every Red vige and town. New outposts will be built on the roads and manned to full capacity. All Red crimes, including breaking of the curfew, will be punished by execution. And¡±¡ªat this, my voice falters for the first time¡ª¡°conscription age has been<i>lowered</i>, to the age of fifteen. Anyone who provides information leading to capture of Scarlet Guard operatives or the prevention of Scarlet Guard actions will be awarded conscription waivers, releasing up to five members of the same family from military service.¡±


    It¡¯s a brilliant, and terrible, maneuver. Reds will tear each other apart for such waivers.


    ¡°The Measures are to be upheld at all costs until the disease known as the Scarlet Guard is destroyed.¡± I stare into my own eyes on-screen, watching as I stop myself from choking on my speech. My eyes are wide, hoping my people know what I¡¯m trying to say.<i>Words can lie</i>. ¡°Long live the king.¡±


    Anger ripples through me, and the screen shorts out, recing my face with a ck void. But I can still see each new order in my mind. More officers patrolling, more bodies hanging from the gallows, and more mothers weeping for their stolen children.<i>We killed a dozen of theirs, and they kill a thousand of ours</i>. Part of me knows these blows will drive some Reds to the side of the Guard, but many more will side with the king. For their lives, for their<i>children¡¯s</i>lives, they will give up what little freedom they had left.


    I thought being their puppet would be easypared to everything else. I was so wrong. But I cannot let them break me, not now. Not even when my own doom lingers on the horizon. I must do everything<span id="page_294" title="294">I can until my blood is matched and my game is over. Until they drag me away and kill me.


    At least my window faces the river, looking south toward the sea. When I stare at the water, I can ignore my fading future. My eyes trail from the swiftly moving current to the dark smudge on the horizon. While the rest of the sky is clear, dark clouds hover in the south, never moving from the forbiddennd at the coast.<i>The Ruined City</i>. Radiation and fire consumed the city once and never let it go. Now it¡¯s nothing but a ck ghost sitting just out of reach, a relic of the old world.


    Part of me wishes Lucas would rap on my door and hurry me along to a new schedule, but he has not returned yet. I suppose he¡¯s better off without me risking his life.


    Julian¡¯s gift sits against the wall, a firm reminder of another friend lost. It¡¯s a piece of the giant map, framed and gleaming behind ss. When I pick it up, something thumps to the ground, falling from the back of the frame.


    <i>I knew it</i>.


    My heart races, beating wildly as I drop to my knees, hoping to find some secret note from Julian. But instead, there¡¯s nothing more than a book.


    Despite my disappointment, I can¡¯t help smiling. Of course Julian would leave me another story, another collection of words tofort me when he no longer can.


    I flip open the cover, expecting to find some new histories, but instead, handwritten words stare up at me from the title page.<i>Red and silver</i>. It¡¯s in Julian¡¯s unmistakable swirling scrawl.


    The sight line of my room¡¯s cameras beat into my back, reminding me I am not alone. Julian knew that too.<i>Brilliant Julian</i>.


    The book looks normal, a dull study of relics found in Delphie,<span id="page_295" title="295">but hidden among the words, in the same type, is a secret worth telling. It takes me many minutes to find every added line and I¡¯m quietly grateful I woke up so early. Finally I have them all, and I seem to have forgotten how to breathe.


    <i>Dane Davidson, Red soldier, Storm Legion, killed on routine patrol, body never recovered. August 1, 296 NE. Jane Barbaro, Red soldier, Storm Legion, killed by friendly fire, body cremated. November 19, 297 NE. Pace Gardner, Red soldier, Storm Legion, executed for insubordination, body misced. June 4, 300 NE</i>. There are more names, stretching over thest twenty years, all of them cremated or their bodies lost or ¡°misced.¡± How anyone can misce an executed man, I don¡¯t know. The name at the end of the list makes my eyes water.<i>Shade Barrow, Red soldier, Storm Legion, executed for desertion, body cremated. July 27, 320 NE</i>.


    Julian¡¯s own words follow my brother¡¯s name, and I feel like he¡¯s next to me again, slowly and calmly teaching his lesson.


    <i>ording to militaryw, all Red soldiers are to be buried in the cemeteries of the Choke. Executed soldiers have no burials and lie in mass graves. Cremation is notmon. Misced bodies are nonexistent. And yet I found 27 names, 27 soldiers, your brother included, who suffered these fates</i>.


    <i>All died on patrol, killed by Laknders or their own units, if not executed for charges without base. All were transferred to the Storm Legion weeks before dying. And all of their bodies were destroyed or lost in some way. Why? The Storm Legion is not a death squad¡ªhundreds of Reds serve under General Eagrie without dying strangely. So why kill these 27?</i>


    <i>For once, I was d for the bloodbase. Even though they are long ¡°dead,¡± their blood samples still remain. And now I must apologize,<span id="page_296" title="296">Mare, for I have not been entirely honest with you. You trusted me to train you, to help you, and I did, but I was also helping myself. I am a curious man, and you are the most curious thing I have ever seen. I couldn¡¯t help myself. Ipared your blood sample to theirs, only to find an identical marker in them, different from all others</i>.


    <i>I¡¯m not surprised no one noticed, because they were not looking for it. But now that I knew, it was easy to find. Your blood is red, but it is not the same. There is something new in you, something no one has seen before. And it was in 27 others. A mutation, a change that may be the key to everything you are</i>.


    <i>You are not the only one, Mare. You are not alone. You are simply the first protected by the eyes of a thousand, the first they could not kill and hide away. Like the others, you are Red and Silver, and stronger than both</i>.


    <i>I think you are the future. I think you are the new dawn</i>.


    <i>And if there were 27 before, there must be others. There must be more</i>.


    I feel frozen; I feel numb; I feel everything and nothing.<i>Others like me</i>.


    <i>Using the mutations in your blood, I searched the rest of the bloodbase, finding the same in other samples. I have included them all here, for you to pass on</i>.


    <i>I know I don¡¯t need to tell you the importance of this list, of what it could mean to you and the rest of this world. Pass it on to someone you trust, find the others, protect them, train them, for it is only a matter of time before someone less friendly discovers what I have¡ªand hunts them down</i>.


    <span id="page_297" title="297">His words end there, followed by a list that makes my fingers tremble. There are names and locations, so many of them, all waiting to be found. All waiting to fight.


    My mind feels like it¡¯s on fire.<i>Others. More</i>. Julian¡¯s words swim across my eyes, searing into my soul.


    <i>Stronger than both</i>.


    The little book sits snugly in my jacket, tucked in next to my heart. But before I can go to Maven, to show him Julian¡¯s discovery, Cal finds me. He corners me in a sitting room quite like the one we danced in, though the moon and the music are long gone. Once I wanted everything he could give me, and now the sight of him turns my stomach. He can see the revulsion in my face, as much as I try to hide it.


    ¡°You¡¯re angry with me,¡± he says. It¡¯s not a question.


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±This content ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie,¡± he growls, eyes suddenly on fire.<i>I¡¯ve been lying since the day we met</i>. ¡°Three days ago you kissed me, and now you can¡¯t even look at me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m betrothed to your brother,¡± I tell him, pulling away.


    He dismisses the point with the wave of a hand. ¡°That didn¡¯t stop you before. What¡¯s changed?¡±


    <i>I¡¯ve seen who you really are</i>, I want to scream.<i>You¡¯re not the gentle warrior, the perfect prince, or even the confused boy you pretend to be. As much as you try to fight it, you¡¯re just like all of them</i>.


    ¡°Is this about the terrorists?¡±


    My teeth grit together painfully. ¡°Rebels.¡±


    ¡°They murdered people, children,<i>innocents</i>.¡±


    ¡°You and I both know that wasn¡¯t<i>their</i>fault,¡± I spit back, not<span id="page_298" title="298">bothering to care how cruel the words are. Cal flinches, stunned for a moment. He almost looks sick as he remembers the Sun Shooting¡ªand the idental explosion that followed. But it passes, slowly reced by anger.


    ¡°But they caused it all the same,¡± he growls. ¡°What I ordered the Sentinel to do, was for the dead, for justice.¡±


    ¡°And what did torture get you? Do you know their names, how many there are? Do you even know what they<i>want</i>? Have you even bothered to listen?¡±


    He heaves a sigh, trying to salvage the conversation. ¡°I know you have your own reasons for¡ªfor<i>sympathizing</i>, but their methods cannot be¡ª¡±


    ¡°Their methods are your own fault. You make us work, you make us bleed, you make us die for your wars and factories and the littleforts you don¡¯t even notice, all because we are<i>different</i>. How can you expect us to let that stand?¡±


    Cal fidgets, a muscle in his cheek twitching. He has no answer to that.


    ¡°The only reason I¡¯m not dead in a trench somewhere is because you pitied me. The only reason you¡¯re even listening to me now is because, by some insane miracle, I happen to be another kind of different.¡±


    Lazily, my sparks rise in my hands. I can¡¯t imagine going back to life before my body hummed with power, but I can certainly remember it.


    ¡°You can stop this, Cal. You will be king, and you can stop this war, you can save thousands,<i>millions</i>, from generations of glorified very, if you say<i>enough</i>.¡±


    Something breaks in Cal, quenching the fire he tries so hard to hide. He crosses to the window, hands sped behind his back. With the rising sun on his face and shadow on his back, he seems torn between two<span id="page_299" title="299">worlds. In my heart, I know he is. The little part of me that still cares about him wants to close the distance between us, but I am not that foolish. I¡¯m not a little lovesick girl.


    ¡°I thought that once,¡± he mutters. ¡°But it would lead to rebellion on both sides, and I will<i>not</i>be the king who ruins this country. This is my legacy, my father¡¯s legacy, and I have a duty to it.¡± A slow heat rumbles from him, steaming the ss window. ¡°Would you trade a million deaths for what they want?¡±


    <i>A million deaths</i>. My mind shes back to Belicos Lern¡¯s corpse, with his dead children at his side. And then other faces join the dead¡ªShade, Kilorn¡¯s father, every Red soldier who died for their war.


    ¡°The Guard won¡¯t stop,¡± I say softly, but I know he¡¯s barely listening anymore. ¡°And while they are certainly to me, you are as well. There is blood on your hands, Prince.¡±<i>And Maven¡¯s. And mine</i>.


    I leave him standing there, hoping I¡¯ve changed him but knowing those odds are slim at best. He is his father¡¯s son.


    ¡°Julian¡¯s disappeared, hasn¡¯t he?¡± he calls out to me, stopping me in my tracks.


    I turn slowly, mulling over what I can possibly say. I decide to y dumb. ¡°Disappeared?¡±


    ¡°The escape left holes in the memories of many Sentinels, as well as the video logs. My uncle does not use his abilities often, but I know the signs.¡±


    ¡°You think he helped them escape?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± he says painfully, looking at his hands. ¡°That¡¯s why I gave him enough time to slip away.¡±


    ¡°You did what?¡± I can¡¯t believe my ears. Cal, the soldier, the one who always follows orders, breaking the rules for Julian.


    ¡°He¡¯s my uncle, I did what I could for him. How heartless do you<span id="page_300" title="300">think I am?¡± He smirks sadly at me, not waiting for an answer. It makes me ache. ¡°I dyed the arrest as long as I could, but everyone leaves tracks, and the queen will find him,¡± he sighs, putting a hand against the ss. ¡°And he¡¯ll be executed.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d do that to your uncle?¡± I don¡¯t bother to hide my disgust, or the fear beneath.<i>If he¡¯ll kill Julian, even after letting him go, what will he do to me when I¡¯m found out?</i>


    Cal¡¯s shoulders tighten as he straightens, morphing back into the soldier. He will hear no more of Julian or the Scarlet Guard.


    ¡°Maven had an interesting proposition.¡±


    <i>That was unexpected</i>. ¡°Oh?¡±


    He nods, oddly annoyed at the thought of his brother. ¡°Mavey¡¯s always been a quick thinker. He got that from his mother.¡±


    ¡°Is that supposed to scare me?¡± I know better than any that Maven is nothing like his mother, or any other damned Silver. ¡°What are you trying to say, Cal?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in the open now,¡± he blurts out. ¡°After your speech, the entire country knows your name and face. And so more will wonder who and what you are.¡±


    I can only scowl and shrug. ¡°Maybe you should¡¯ve thought of that before you made me read that disgusting speech.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a soldier, not a politician. You know I had nothing to do with the Measures.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ll follow them. You¡¯ll follow them without question.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t argue that. For all his faults, Cal won¡¯t lie to me. Not now. ¡°All records of you have been removed. Officers, archivists,<i>no one</i>will ever find proof you were born Red,¡± he murmurs, eyes on the floor. ¡°That is what Maven proposed.¡±


    Despite my anger, I gasp aloud.<i>The bloodbase. The records</i>. ¡°What<span id="page_301" title="301">does that mean?¡± I don¡¯t have the strength to keep my voice from shaking.


    ¡°Your school record, birth certificate, blood prints, even your ID card have been destroyed.¡± I barely hear him over the sound of my hammering heartbeat.


    Once, I would have hugged him outright. But I must remain still. I must not let Cal know he has saved me again.<i>No, not Cal</i>. This was Maven¡¯s doing. This was the shadow controlling the me.


    ¡°That sounds like the right thing to do,¡± I say aloud, trying to sound uninterested.


    But my act can onlyst so long. After one stiff bow in Cal¡¯s direction, I hurry from the room, hiding my wild grin.

 Red Queen: Chapter 24

    <i>I spend much of</i>the next day exploring, though my mind is somewhere else. Whitefire is older than the Hall, its walls made of stone and carved wood rather than diamondss. I doubt I¡¯ll ever learn theyout of the whole thing, as it holds not just the royal residence but many administrative offices and chambers, ballrooms, a full training court, and other things I don¡¯t understand. I guess that¡¯s why it takes the secretary nearly a half hour to find me, wandering through a gallery of statues. But I won¡¯t have more time to explore. I have duties to fulfill.


    Duties, ording to the king¡¯s chatting secretary, that apply to a whole range of evils beyond just reading the Measures. As a future princess, I must meet the people in arranged outings, making speeches and shaking hands and standing by Maven¡¯s side. Thest part doesn¡¯t really bother me, but being put on parade like a goat at auction isn¡¯t exactly exciting.


    I join Maven in a transport, headed for the first appearance. I¡¯m itching to tell him about the list and thank him for the bloodbase, but there are too many eyes and ears.


    <span id="page_303" title="303">The majority of the day speeds by in a blur of noise and color as we tour different parts of the capital. The Bridge Market reminds me of Grand Garden, though it¡¯s three times the size. In the single hour we spend greeting children and shopkeepers, I see the Silvers assault or aggravate dozens of Red servants, all trying to do their jobs. Security keeps them from all-out abuse, but the words they sling are almost as hurtful.<i>Child killers, animals, devils</i>. Maven keeps his grip tight on my hand, squeezing every time a Red is knocked to the ground. When we reach our next stop, an art gallery, I¡¯m d to be out of the public eye, until I see the paintings. The Silver artist uses two colors, silver and red, in a horrifying collection that makes me sick. Each painting is worse than thest, depicting Silver strength and Red weakness in every brushstroke. Thest one depicts a gray-and-silver figure, quite like a ghost, and the crown on his brow bleeds crimson. It makes me want to put my head through a wall.


    The za outside the gallery is noisy, bustling with city life. Many stop to stare, gawking at us as we head for our transport. Maven waves with a practiced smile, causing the crowd to cheer his name. He¡¯s good at this; after all, these people are his birthright. When he stoops to speak with a few children, his smile brightens.<i>Cal might be born to rule, but Maven was meant for it. And Maven is willing to change the world for us, for the Reds he was raised to spit on</i>.


    I surreptitiously touch the list in my pocket, thinking of the ones who can help Maven and me change the world. Are they like me, or are they as varied as the Silvers?<i>Shade was like you. They knew about Shade and had to kill him, like they could not kill you</i>. My heart aches for my fallen brother, for the conversations we might have had.<i>For the future we might have forged</i>.


    But Shade is dead, and there are others who need my help.


    <span id="page_304" title="304">¡°We need to find Farley,¡± I whisper in Maven¡¯s ear, barely audible to myself. But he hears me and raises an eyebrow in silent question. ¡°I have to give her something.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt she¡¯ll find us,¡± he mutters back, ¡°if she isn¡¯t watching already.¡±


    ¡°How¡ª?¡±


    Farley, spying on<i>us</i>? Inside a city that wants her torn apart? It seems impossible. But then I notice the Silver crowd pressing in, and the Red servants beyond. A few linger to watch us, their arms banded with red. Any one of them could work for Farley.<i>They all could</i>. Even with the Sentinels and Security all around, she¡¯s still with us.


    Now the question bes finding the<i>right</i>Red, saying the<i>right</i>thing, finding the<i>right</i>ce, and doing it all without anyone noticing the prince and his future princessmunicating with a wanted terrorist.


    This isn¡¯t like the crowds at home, the ones I could move through so easily. Now I stand out, a future princess surrounded by guards, with a rebellion resting on her shoulders.<i>And maybe even something more important</i>, I think, remembering the list of names in my jacket.


    When the crowd pushes in, craning to look at us, I take my chance and slip away. The Sentinels bunch around Maven, still not used to guarding me as well, and with a few quick turns, I¡¯m out of the circle of guards and onlookers. They continue across the za without me, and if Maven notices I¡¯m gone, he doesn¡¯t stop them.


    The Red servants don¡¯t acknowledge me, their heads down as they buzz between shops. They keep to alleys and shadows, trying to stay out of sight. I¡¯m so busy searching the Red faces that I don¡¯t notice the one at my elbow.


    ¡°Mydy, you dropped this,¡± the little boy says. He¡¯s probably ten<span id="page_305" title="305">years old, with one arm banded with red. ¡°Mydy?¡±


    Then I notice the scrap he holds out. It¡¯s nothing, just a twisted bit of paper I don¡¯t remember having. Still, I smile for the boy and take it from him. ¡°Thank you very much.¡±


    He grins at me, smiling as only a child can, before bounding away into an alley. He bounces with every step. Life has not dragged him down yet.


    ¡°This way, Lady Titanos.¡± A Sentinel stands over me, watching with t eyes.<i>So much for that n</i>. I let him lead me back to the transport, feeling suddenly dejected. I can¡¯t even sneak away like I used to.<i>I¡¯m getting soft</i>.


    ¡°What was that all about?¡± Maven wonders as I slide back into the transport.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± I sigh, casting a nce out the window as we pull away from the za. ¡°Thought I saw someone.¡±


    We¡¯re around a bend in the street before I even think to look at the little paper. I unfold it in myp, hiding the scrap in the folds of my sleeve. There are words scrawled across the slip, so small I can barely read them.


    <i>Hexaprin Theater. Afternoon y. The best seats</i>.


    It takes me a moment to realize I only understand half those words, but that doesn¡¯t matter at all. Smiling, I press the message into Maven¡¯s hand.


    Maven¡¯s request is all it takes to get us into the theater. It¡¯s small but very grand, with a green domed roof crowned by a ck swan. It¡¯s a ce of entertainment, showing ys or concerts or even some archive films on special asions. A y, as Maven tells me, is when people,<span id="page_306" title="306"><i>actors</i>, perform a story on a stage. Back home we didn¡¯t have time for bedtime fairy tales, let alone stages and actors and costumes.


    Before I know it, we¡¯re sitting on a closed balcony above the stage. The seats below us teem with people, many of them children, all of them Silver. A few Reds rove between the rows and aisles, serving drinks or taking tickets, but none sit down. This is not a luxury they can afford. Meanwhile, we sit on velvet chairs with the best view, with the secretary and the Sentinels standing just beyond our curtained door.


    When the theater darkens, Maven throws an arm across my shoulders, pulling me so close I can feel his heartbeat. He smirks at the secretary, now peeking between the curtains. ¡°Don¡¯t disturb us,¡± he drawls, and he pulls my face to his.


    The door clicks behind us, locking shut, but neither of us pulls away. A minute or an hour passes, which I don¡¯t know, until voices onstage bring me back to reality. ¡°Sorry,¡± I mutter to Maven, standing up out of my chair in an effort to put some distance between us. There¡¯s no time for kissing now, no matter how much I might want to. He only smirks, watching me instead of the y. I do my best to look elsewhere, but something always draws my eyes back to him.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡±


    Heughs to himself, eyes glinting mischievously.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± But I can¡¯t help but smirk with him.


    ¡°Cal cornered me earlier.¡±


    Maven¡¯s lips purse, tightening at the thought. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°It seems I¡¯ve been saved.¡±


    His resulting grin could light the world entire, and I¡¯m seized by the need to kiss him again. ¡°I told you I would,¡± he says, his voice oddly rough. When his hand reaches for mine, I take it without question.


    Before we can continue, the ceiling panel above us scrapes away.<span id="page_307" title="307">Maven jumps to his feet, more startled than I am, and peers into the ck space above us. Not even a whisper filters down, but all the same, I know what to do. Training has made me stronger, and I pull myself up with ease, disappearing into the dark and cold. I can¡¯t see anything or anyone, but I¡¯m not afraid. Excitement rules me now, and with a smile, I reach down a hand to help Maven. He scrambles up into the darkness and tries to get his bearings. Before our eyes adjust, the ceiling panel slides back into ce, shutting out the light and the y and the people beyond.


    ¡°Be quick and quiet. I¡¯ll take you from here.¡±


    It¡¯s not the voice I recognize but the smell: an overpowering mixture of tea, old spices, and a familiar blue candle.


    ¡°Will?¡± My voice almost cracks. ¡°Will Whistle?¡±


    Slowly but surely, the darkness bes easier to manage. His white beard, tangled as ever,es into dim focus. There¡¯s no mistaking it now.


    ¡°No time for reunions, little Barrow,¡± he says. ¡°We have work to do.¡±


    How Will came to be here, traveling all the way from the Stilts, I don¡¯t know, but his intimate knowledge of the theater is even more peculiar. He leads us through the ceiling, downdders and steps and little trapdoors, all with the y echoing overhead. It¡¯s not long before we¡¯re belowground, with brick supports and metal beams stretching high above us.


    ¡°You people sure like to be dramatic,¡± Maven mutters, eyeing the gloom around us. It looks like a crypt, dark and damp, where every shadow holds a horror.


    Will barelyughs as he shoulders open a metal door. ¡°Just you wait.¡±


    <span id="page_308" title="308">We tramp through the narrow passage, sloping downward even farther. The air smells faintly of sewage. To my surprise, the path ends in a small tform, lit by only a burning torch. It casts strange shadows on a crumbling wall set with broken tiles. There are ck markings on them, letters, but not from anynguage I can read.


    Before I can ask about them, a great screeching sound shakes the walls around us. Ites from a round hole in the wall, rumbling up from even greater darkness. Maven grabs my hand, startled by the sound, and I¡¯m just as frightened as him. Metal scrapes on metal, an earsplitting noise. Bright lights stream out of the tunnel and I can feel somethinging, something big and electric and powerful.


    A metal worm appears, coasting to a stop in front of us. The sides are raw metal, welded and bolted together, with slit-like windows. A door slides open on shrieking tracks, spilling a warm glow onto the tform.


    Farley smiles to us from a seat inside the door. She waves a hand, gesturing for us to join her. ¡°All aboard.¡±


    ¡°The techies call it the Undertrain,¡± she says as we shakily take our seats. ¡°Remarkably fast, and it runs on the ancient tracks the Silvers never bothered to look for.¡±


    Will shuts the door behind us, mming us into what feels like nothing more than a long tin can. If I weren¡¯t so worried about the under-thing crashing, I¡¯d be impressed. Instead, I tighten my grip on the seat below me.


    ¡°Where did you build this?¡± Maven wonders aloud, his eyes sweeping over the wretched cage. ¡°Gray Town is controlled, the techies work for¡ª¡±


    ¡°We have techies and tech towns of our own, little prince,¡± Farley says, looking very proud of herself. ¡°What you Silvers know about<span id="page_309" title="309">the Guard couldn¡¯t fill a teacup.¡±


    The train lurches beneath us, almost tossing me from my seat, but no one else even bats an eye. It slides along until it reaches a speed that smacks my stomach into my spine. The others continue chattering, mostly Maven asking questions about the Undertrain and the Guard. I¡¯m d no one asks me to speak, because I¡¯ll certainly throw up or pass out if I do much more than sit still. But not Maven. Nothing gets by him.


    He nces out the window, gleaning something from the rock blurring past. ¡°We¡¯re heading south.¡±


    Farley sits back in her seat, nodding. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The south is radiated,¡± he barks, staring down at her.


    She barely shrugs.


    ¡°Where are you taking us?¡± I murmur, finally finding my voice.


    Maven doesn¡¯t waste any time, moving for the closed door. No one stops him because there¡¯s nowhere for him to go.<i>No escape</i>.


    ¡°You know what it does? Radiation?¡± He sounds truly afraid.


    Farley begins to tick off the symptoms on her fingers, a maddening smile still on her face. ¡°Nausea, vomiting, headache, seizures, cancerous diseases, and, oh yes, death. A very unpleasant death.¡±


    Suddenly I feel very sick. ¡°Why are you doing this? We¡¯re here to help you.¡±


    ¡°Mare, stop the train, you can stop the train.¡± Maven drops in front of me, grabbing me by the shoulders. ¡°Stop the train!¡±


    To my surprise, the tin can squeals around us,ing to a very sharp and sudden stop. Maven and I tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs, hitting the hard metal deck with a painful thunk. Lights beam down at us from the open door, revealing another tform lit by torches. It¡¯s muchrger and leads far back out of sight.


    <span id="page_310" title="310">Farley steps over the pair of us without so much as a nce and trots onto the tform. ¡°Aren¡¯t youing?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t move, Mare. This ce will kill us!¡±


    Something whines in my ears, almost drowning out Farley¡¯s coldugh. As I sit up, I can see she¡¯s waiting patiently for both of us.


    ¡°How do you<i>know</i>the south, the Ruins, are still radiated?¡± she asks with a mad smile.


    Maven trips over the words. ¡°We have machines, detectors, they tell us¡ª¡±


    Farley nods. ¡°And who<i>built</i>those machines?¡±Text property ? N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org.


    ¡°Techies,¡± Maven croaks, ¡°Reds.¡± Finally, he understands what she¡¯s getting at. ¡°The detectors lie.¡±


    Grinning, Farley nods and extends a hand, helping him off the floor. He keeps his eyes on her, still wary, but allows her to lead us out onto the tform and up an iron set of stairs. Sunlight streams in from above, and fresh air swirls down to mix with the murky vapors of the underground.


    Then we¡¯re blinking in the open air, staring up at low-lying fog. Walls rise all around, supporting a ceiling that no longer exists. Only pieces of it remain, little bits of aquamarine and gold. As my eyes adjust, I can see tall shadows in the sky, their tops disappearing into the haze. The streets, wide ck rivers of asphalt, are cracked and sprouting gray weeds a hundred years old. Trees and bushes grow over concrete, reiming little pockets and corners, but even more have been cleared away. Shattered ss crunches under my feet and clouds of dust drift in the wind, but somehow this ce, the picture of neglect, doesn¡¯t feel abandoned. I know this ce from the histories, from the books and old maps.


    Farley puts an arm around my shoulders, her smile wide and white.


    <span id="page_311" title="311">¡°Wee to the City of Ruins, to Naercey,¡± she says, using the old name forgotten long ago.


    The ruined ind contains special markers around the borders, to trick the radiation detectors the Silvers use to survey the old battlefields. This is how they protect it, the home of the Scarlet Guard.<i>In Norta, at least</i>. That¡¯s what Farley said, hinting at more bases across the country. And soon, it will be the sanctuary of every Red refugee fleeing the king¡¯s new punishments.


    Every building we pass looks decrepit, coated in ash and weeds, but upon closer inspection, there¡¯s something much more. Footprints in the dust, a light in a window, the smell of cooking wafting up from a drain. People,<i>Reds</i>, have a city of their own right here, hiding in in sight. Electricity is scarce but smiles are not.


    The half-copsed building Farley leads us to must¡¯ve been some kind of caf¨¦ once, judging by the rust-eaten tables and ripped-up booth seats. The windows have long since disappeared, but the floor is clean. A woman sweeps dust out the door, into neat piles on the broken sidewalk. I would be daunted by such a task, knowing that there is so much left to sweep away, but she carries on with a smile, humming to herself.


    Farley nods at the cleaning woman, and she hurries away, leaving us in peace. To my delight, the booth closest to us holds a familiar face.


    Kilorn, safe and whole. He even has the audacity to wink. ¡°Long time no see.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no time to get cute,¡± Farley growls, taking a seat next to him. She gestures for us to follow and we do, sliding into the squeaky booth. ¡°I take it you saw the viges on your cruise down the river?¡±


    My smile quickly fades, as does Kilorn¡¯s. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And the newws? I know<i>you¡¯ve</i>heard about them.¡± Her eyes<span id="page_312" title="312">harden, like it¡¯s my fault I was forced to read the Measures.


    ¡°This is what happens when you threaten a beast,¡± Maven mutters, jumping to my defense.


    ¡°But now they know our name.¡±


    ¡°Now they¡¯re<i>hunting</i>you,¡± Maven snaps, bringing a fist down on the table. It shakes the thinyer of dust, sending floating clouds into the air. ¡°You waved a red g in front of a bull but didn¡¯t do much more than poke at him.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re frightened though,¡± I pipe in. ¡°They¡¯ve learned to fear you. That has to count for something.¡±


    ¡°It counts for nothing if you slink back into your hidden city and let them regroup. You¡¯re giving the king and the<i>army</i>time. My brother is already on your trail, and it won¡¯t be long until he tracks you down.¡± Maven stares at his hands, strangely angry. ¡°Soon staying one step ahead won¡¯t be enough. It won¡¯t even be possible.¡±


    Farley¡¯s eyes glimmer in the light as she surveys us both, thinking. Kilorn is content to draw circles in dust, seemingly unmoved. I fight the urge to kick him under the table to make him pay attention.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less about my own safety, Prince,¡± Farley says. ¡°It¡¯s the people in the viges, the workers and the soldiers, who I care about. They¡¯re the ones being punished right now, and harshly.¡±


    My thoughts fly to my family and the Stilts, remembering the dull look in a thousand eyes as we passed. ¡°What have you heard?¡±


    ¡°Nothing good.¡±


    Kilorn¡¯s head jerks up, though his fingers still swirl on the table. ¡°Double work shifts, Sunday hangings, mass graves. It¡¯s not pretty for the ones who can¡¯t keep up the pace.¡± He¡¯s remembering our vige, just like I am. ¡°Our people at the war front say it isn¡¯t much different up there either. The fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds are being put into their<span id="page_313" title="313">own legion. They won¡¯t survive for long.¡±


    His fingers draw an X in the dust, angrily marking what he feels.


    ¡°I can stall that, maybe,¡± Maven says, brainstorming out loud. ¡°If I convince the war council to hold them back, put them through extra training.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough.¡± My voice is small but firm. The list seems to burn against my skin, begging to be let free. I turn to Farley. ¡°You have people all over, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I don¡¯t miss the shadow of satisfaction cross her face. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Then give them these names.¡± I pull Julian¡¯s book from my jacket, opening to the beginning of the list. ¡°And find them.¡±


    Maven gently takes the book, his eyes scanning over it. ¡°There must be hundreds,¡± he mutters, not looking away from the page. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re like me. Red and Silver, and stronger than both.¡±


    It¡¯s my turn to feel smug. Even Maven¡¯s jaw drops. Farley snaps her fingers, and he hands it over without a thought, still staring at the little book that holds such a powerful secret.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be long until the wrong person figures this out, though,¡± I add. ¡°Farley, you<i>must</i>find them first.¡±


    Kilorn res at the names like they offer him some kind of insult. ¡°This could take months,<i>years</i>.¡±


    Maven huffs. ¡°We don¡¯t have that kind of time.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Kilorn agrees. ¡°We need to act<i>now</i>.¡±


    I shake my head. Revolutions cannot be rushed. ¡°But if you wait, if you find as many as you can¡ªyou could have an army.¡±


    Suddenly, Maven ps the table, causing us all to jump. ¡°But we do have one.¡±


    ¡°I have many under mymand here, but not<i>that</i>many,¡± Farley<span id="page_314" title="314">argues, looking at Maven like he¡¯s gone mad.


    But he grins, alive with some hidden fire. ¡°If I can get an army, a legion in Archeon, what could you do?¡±


    She just shrugs. ¡°Very little, actually. The other legions would crush them on the field.¡±


    It hits me like a thunderbolt, and I finally realize what Maven is getting at. ¡°But they won¡¯t fight on the field,¡± I breathe. He turns to me, smiling like a crazed loon. ¡°You¡¯re talking about a coup.¡±


    Farley frowns. ¡°A coo?¡±


    ¡°A coup, a coup d¡¯¨¦tat. It¡¯s a history thing, a before thing,¡± I exin, trying to wave off their confusion. ¡°It¡¯s when a small group quickly overthrows arge government. Sound familiar?¡±


    Farley and Kilorn exchange nces, eyes narrowed. ¡°Go on,¡± she says.


    ¡°You know the way Archeon¡¯s built, with the Bridge, the West side, and the East side.¡± My fingers race along with my words, drawing a rough map of the city in the dust. ¡°Now, the West side has the pce,mand, the treasury, the courts, the entire<i>government</i>. And if somehow we can get in there, cut it off, get to the king, and<i>make</i>him agree to our terms¡ªit¡¯s all over. You said it yourself, Maven, you can run the whole country from Caesar¡¯s Square. All we have to do is take it.¡±


    Under the table, Maven pats me on the knee. He¡¯s buzzing with pride. Farley¡¯s usual suspicious look is gone, reced by real hope. She runs a hand over her lips, mouthing words to herself as she eyes the dust-drawn n.


    ¡°This might just be me,¡± Kilorn begins, falling back to his usual snide tone, ¡°but I¡¯m not exactly sure how you n to get enough Reds in there to fight Silvers. You need ten of us to bring down one of them. Not to mention there¡¯s the five thousand<i>Silver</i>soldiers loyal to your<span id="page_315" title="315"><i>brother</i>¡±¡ªhe nces at Maven¡ª¡°all trained to kill, all trying to hunt us down as we speak.¡±


    I dete, falling back against the seat. ¡°That could be difficult.¡±<i>Impossible</i>.


    Maven brushes a hand over my dust map, wiping away West Archeon with a few strokes of his fingers. ¡°Legions are loyal to their generals. And I happen to know a girl who knows a general very well.¡±


    When his eyes meet mine, all his fire is gone, reced now by bitter cold. He smiles tightly.


    ¡°You¡¯re talking about Cal.¡±<i>The soldier. The general. The prince. His father¡¯s son</i>. Again I think of Julian, of the uncle Cal would kill for his twisted version of justice.<i>Cal would never betray his country, not for anything</i>.


    When Maven answers, it¡¯s matter-of-fact. ¡°We give him a hard choice.¡±


    I can feel Kilorn¡¯s eyes on my face, weighing my reaction, and it¡¯s almost too much pressure to bear. ¡°Cal will never turn his back on his crown, on your<i>father</i>.¡±


    ¡°I know my brother. If ites down to it, to saving your life or saving his crown, we both know what he will choose,¡± Maven fires back.


    ¡°He would<i>never</i>choose me.¡±


    My skin burns under Maven¡¯s gaze, with the memory of one stolen kiss. It was him who saved me from Evangeline. Cal who saved me from escaping and bringing more pain upon myself. Cal who saved me from conscription. I¡¯ve been too busy trying to save others to notice how much Cal saves me. How much he<i>loves</i>me.


    Suddenly it¡¯s very hard to breathe.


    Maven shakes his head. ¡°He will always choose you.¡±


    <span id="page_316" title="316">Farley scoffs. ¡°You want me to pin my entire operation, the entire<i>revolution</i>, on some teenaged love story? I can¡¯t believe this.¡±


    Across the table, a strange look crosses Kilorn¡¯s face. When Farley turns to him, looking for some kind of support, she finds none.


    ¡°I can,¡± he whispers, his eyes never leaving my face.

 Red Queen: Chapter 25

    <i>As Maven and I</i>are driven across the Bridge, heading back to the pce after our long day of handshakes and secret ns, I wish the dawn would begin tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I¡¯m intensely aware of the rumble around us while we pass through the city. Everything pulses with energy, from the transports on the streets to the lights woven into steel and concrete. It reminds me of the moment in Grand Garden long ago, when I watched the nymphs y in a fountain or the greenys attend their flowers. In that instant, I found their world beautiful. I understand now why they want to keep it, to maintain their rule over all the rest, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll let them.


    There¡¯s usually a feast to celebrate the king¡¯s return to his city, but in light of recent events, Caesar¡¯s Square is much quieter than it should be. Maven pretends toment theck of spectacle, if only to fill the silence.


    ¡°The banquet hall is twice the size of the one at the Hall,¡± he says as we enter the great gates. I can see part of Cal¡¯s legion drilling at the barracks, a thousand of them marching in time. Their steps beat like a drum. ¡°We used to dance until dawn¡ªat least, Cal did. Girls didn¡¯t ask<span id="page_318" title="318">me to dance much, not unless Cal made them.¡±


    ¡°I would ask you to dance,¡± I murmur back to him, my eyes still on the barracks.<i>Will they be ours tomorrow?</i>


    Maven doesn¡¯t answer, shifting in his seat as we coast to a stop.<i>He will always choose you</i>.


    ¡°I feel nothing for Cal,¡± I whisper in his ear as we mber out of the transport.


    He smiles, his hand closing around mine, and I tell myself it¡¯s not a lie.


    When the doors to the pce open to us, a wretched scream twists through the long marbled passages. Maven and I exchange nces, startled. Our guards bristle, hands straying to their guns, but they aren¡¯t enough to stop me from bolting. Maven keeps up as best he can, trying to match my pace. The scream sounds again, apanied by a dozen marching feet and the familiar nk of armor.


    I break into a dead sprint, Maven right behind me. We burst into a round chamber, a council hall of polished marble and dark wood. There¡¯s already a crowd and I almost collide with Lord Samos himself, but my feet stop me just in time. Maven ms into my back, nearly knocking us over.


    Samos sneers at both of us, his ck eyes cold and hard.


    ¡°Mydy, Prince Maven,¡± he says, barely inclining his head to either of us. ¡°Have youe to see the show?¡±


    <i>The show</i>. There are other lords anddies around us, along with the king and queen, all staring straight ahead. I push through them, not knowing what I¡¯ll find on the other side, but I know it won¡¯t be good. Maven follows, his hand never leaving my elbow. When we reach the front of the crowd, I¡¯m d for his warm hand, afort to keep me quiet¡ªand to pull me back.


    <span id="page_319" title="319">No less than sixteen soldiers stand in the center of the chamber, their booted feet tracking dirt over the great crown seal. Their armor is the same, scaled ck metal, except for one with a reddish glint.<i>Cal</i>.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024.


    Evangeline stands with him, her hair pulled back into a braid. She breathes heavily, winded, but looks proud of herself.<i>And where there¡¯s Evangeline, her brother cannot be far behind</i>.


    Ptolemus appears from the back of the pack, dragging a screaming body by her hair. Cal turns away and meets my eyes the moment I recognize her. I can see regret there, but he does nothing to save her.


    Ptolemus tosses Walsh to the polished floor, her face smashing against the rock. She barely spares a nce at me before turning her pained eyes on the king. I remember the yful, smiling servant who first introduced me to this world; that person is gone.


    ¡°The rats crawl in the old tunnels,¡± Ptolemus snarls, turning her over with his foot. She scrambles away from his touch, surprisingly quick for her many injuries. ¡°We found this one trailing<i>us</i>near the river holes.¡±


    <i>Trailing them? How could she be so stupid?</i>But Walsh isn¡¯t stupid.<i>No, this was an order</i>, I realize with growing horror. She was watching the train tunnels, making sure the way was clear for us to get back from Naercey. And while we made it through safely, she did not.


    Maven¡¯s grip on my arm tightens, pulling me into him until his chest lies flush to my back. He knows I want to run to her, to save her, to help her.<i>And I know we can¡¯t do anything at all</i>.


    ¡°We went as far as the radiation detectors would allow,¡± Cal adds, trying his best to ignore Walsh coughing up blood. ¡°The tunnel system is huge, muchrger than we originally thought. There must be dozens of miles in the area and the Scarlet Guard know them better than any of us.¡±


    <span id="page_320" title="320">King Tiberias scowls beneath his beard. He gestures at Walsh, waving her forward. Cal seizes her by the arm, pulling her toward the king. A thousand different tortures fill my head, each one worse than thest. Fire, metal, water, even my own lightning, could be used to make her talk.


    ¡°I will not make the same mistake again,¡± the king growls into her face. ¡°ra, make her sing. Right now.¡±


    ¡°With pleasure,¡± the queen replies, freeing her hands from her trailing sleeves.


    <i>This is worse</i>. Walsh will talk, she¡¯ll implicate us all, she¡¯ll ruin us.<i>And then they¡¯ll kill her slowly. They¡¯ll kill us all slowly</i>.


    An Eagrie in the crowd of soldiers, an eye with the ability of foresight, suddenly jumps forward. ¡°Stop her! Hold her arms!¡±


    But Walsh is faster than his vision. ¡°For Tristan,¡± she says, before mming a hand to her mouth. She bites down on something and swallows, knocking her head back.


    ¡°A healer!¡± Cal snaps, grabbing her throat, trying to stop her. But her mouth foams white and her limbs twitch¡ªshe¡¯s choking. ¡°A healer, now!¡±


    She seizes violently, twisting out of his grip with thest of her strength. When she hits the floor, her eyes are wide-open, staring but not seeing.<i>Dead</i>.


    <i>For Tristan</i>.


    I can¡¯t even mourn her.


    ¡°A suicide pill.¡±


    Cal¡¯s voice is gentle, like he¡¯s exining this to a child. But I suppose I am a child when ites to war and death. ¡°We give them to officers on the line, and our spies. If they¡¯re captured¡ª¡±


    <span id="page_321" title="321">¡°They won¡¯t talk,¡± I spit back at him.


    <i>Careful</i>, I warn myself. As much as his presence makes my skin crawl, I have to endure it. After all, I let him find me here on the balcony.<i>I must give him hope. I must let him think he has a chance with me</i>. That part was Maven¡¯s idea, as much as it hurt him to say so. As for me, it¡¯s hard to walk the narrow line between a lie and the truth, especially with Cal. I hate him, I know that, but something in his eyes and his voice reminds me that my feelings aren¡¯t so simple.


    He keeps his distance, standing an arm¡¯s length away. ¡°It¡¯s a better death than she would get from us.¡±


    ¡°Would she be frozen? Or maybe burned for a change of pace?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°She would go to the Bowl of Bones.¡± He raises his eyes from the barracks, looking across the river. On the far side, nestled among the high-rises, is a massive oval arena with spikes around the rim in a violent crown.<i>The Bowl of Bones</i>. ¡°She¡¯d be executed in a broadcast, as a message to all the rest.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t do that anymore. I haven¡¯t seen one in over a decade.¡± I barely remember those broadcasts from when I was a little girl, years ago.


    ¡°Exceptions can be made. The arena fights haven¡¯t stopped the Guard from taking hold, maybe something else will.¡±


    ¡°You knew her,¡± I whisper, trying to find just one shred of regret in him. ¡°You sent her to me after we first met.¡±


    He crosses his arms, like that can somehow protect him from the memory. ¡°I knew she came from your vige. I thought that might help you adjust a little.¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t know why you cared. You didn¡¯t even know I was different.¡±


    A moment passes in silence, broken only by the bark of lieutenants<span id="page_322" title="322">far below, still drilling even as the sun sets.


    ¡°You were different to me,¡± he finally murmurs.


    ¡°I wonder what could have been, if all this¡±¡ªI gesture to the pce and the Square beyond¡ª¡°wasn¡¯t between us.¡±


    <i>Let him chew on that</i>.


    He puts a hand on my arm, his fingers hot through the fabric of my sleeve.


    ¡°But that can never be, Cal.¡±


    I force as much longing as I can into my eyes, relying on the memory of my family, Maven, Kilorn, all the things we¡¯re trying to do. Maybe Cal will mistake my feelings.<i>Give him hope where none should be</i>. It¡¯s the cruelest thing I can do, but for the cause, for my friends, for my life, I will.


    ¡°Mare,¡± he breathes, dipping his head toward me.


    I turn away, leaving him on the balcony to think on my words and, hopefully, drown in them.


    ¡°I wish things were different,¡± he whispers, but I can still hear him.


    The words take me back to my home and my father when he said the same thing so long ago. To think that Cal and my father, a broken Red man, can share the same thoughts makes me pause. I can¡¯t help looking back, watching the sun dip behind his silhouette. He stares down at the training army before looking back to me, torn between his duty and whatever he feels for the little lightning girl.


    ¡°Julian says you¡¯re like her,¡± he says quietly, eyes thoughtful. ¡°Like she used to be.¡±


    <i>Coriane. His mother</i>. The thought of the dead queen, a person I never knew, somehow makes me sad. She was taken too soon from those she loved, and she left a hole they¡¯re trying to make me fill.


    <span id="page_323" title="323">And as much as I hate to admit it, I can¡¯t me Cal for feeling caught between two worlds. After all, so am I.


    Before the ball I was anxious, a bundle of nerves dreading the night toe. Now I can¡¯t wait for dawn. If we win in the morning, the sun will set on a new world. The king will throw down his crown, passing his power to me, Maven, and Farley. The shift will be bloodless, a peaceful transition from one government to the next. If we fail, the Bowl of Bones is all I can hope for. But we will not fail. Cal will not let me die, and neither will Maven. They are my shields.


    When I lie down in my bed, I find myself staring at Julian¡¯s map. It¡¯s an old thing, practically useless, but stillforting.<i>It¡¯s proof the world can change</i>.


    With that thought in my head, I drift into a restless, light sleep. My brother visits me in my dreams. He stands by the window, looking at the city with a strange sorrow, before turning back to me. ¡°There are others,¡± he says. ¡°You must find them.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± I murmur back to him, my voice heavy with sleep.


    Then it¡¯s four o¡¯clock in the morning and I have no more time for dreams.


    The cameras fall like trees before the ax, each little eye clicking off as I walk to Maven¡¯s room. I jump at every shadow, expecting an officer or a Sentinel to step out into the hall, but no one does. They protect Cal and the king, not me, not the second prince. We don¡¯t matter.<i>But we will</i>.


    Maven opens his door a second after I jiggle the handle, his face pale in the darkness. There are circles beneath his eyes, like he hasn¡¯t slept at all, but he looks sharp as ever. I expect him to take my arm, to envelop me in his warmth, but there¡¯s nothing but cold dripping off him.<i>He¡¯s afraid</i>, I realize.


    <span id="page_324" title="324">We¡¯re outside in a few agonizing minutes, walking in the shadows behind War Command to wait at our ce between the structure and the outer wall. Our spot is perfect; we¡¯re able to see the Square and the Bridge, with most of War Command¡¯s gilded roof blocking us from the patrols. I don¡¯t need a clock to know we¡¯re right on time.


    Above us, the night fades, giving way to dark blue.<i>The dawn ising</i>.


    At this hour, the city is quieter than I ever thought possible. Even the patrol guards are drowsy, slowly moving from post to post. Excitement trills through me, making my legs shake. Somehow, Maven keeps still, barely even blinking. He stares through the diamondss wall, always watching the Bridge. His focus is staggering.


    ¡°They¡¯rete,¡± he whispers, never moving.


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d think Farley was a shadow, able to shift in and out of visibility. She seems to melt out of the semidarkness, pulling herself up from a drain.


    I offer her my hand, but she pushes herself to her feet alone. ¡°Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°Waiting.¡± She gestures to the ground below.


    If I squint, I can just see them, crowded into the drain system, about to retake the surface. I want to climb into the tunnel with them, to stand with Kilorn and my kind, but my ce is here, next to Maven.


    ¡°Are they armed?¡± Maven¡¯s lips barely move. ¡°Are they ready to fight?¡±


    Farley nods. ¡°Always. But I¡¯m not calling them out until you¡¯re sure the Square is ours. I don¡¯t put much faith in Lady Barrow¡¯s ability to charm.¡±


    Neither do I, but I can¡¯t say that out loud.<i>He will always choose you</i>.<span id="page_325" title="325">I¡¯ve never wanted anything to be right and yet wrong at the same time.


    ¡°Kilorn wanted you to have this,¡± she adds, holding out her hand. In it is a tiny green stone, the color of his eyes.<i>An earring</i>. ¡°He said you¡¯d know what it means.¡±


    I choke on my words, feeling a great surge of emotion. Nodding, I take the earring from her and raise it to the others.<i>Bree, Tramy, Shade</i>¡ªI know each stone and what they mean.<i>Kilorn is a warrior now. And he wants me to remember him as he was</i>. Laughing, teasing me, sniffing around like a lost puppy. I will never forget that.


    The sharp metal stings, drawing blood. When I pull my hand back from my ear, I can see the crimson stain on my fingers.<i>This is who you are</i>.


    I look back to the tunnel, hoping to see his green eyes, but the darkness seems to swallow the tunnel whole, hiding him and all the others.


    ¡°Are you ready for this?¡± Farley breathes, looking between us both.


    Maven answers for me, his voice firm. ¡°We are.¡±


    But Farley isn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°Mare?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    The revolutionary takes a calming breath before tapping her foot against the side of the drain. Once, twice, three times. Together, we turn to the Bridge, waiting for the world to change.


    There¡¯s no traffic at this hour, not even the whisper of a transport. The shops are closed, the zas empty. With any luck, the only thing lost tonight will be concrete and steel. Thest section of the Bridge, the one connecting West Archeon to the rest of the city, seems serene.


    And then it explodes in bright plumes of orange and red, a sun to split the silver darkness. Heat surges, but not from the bombs¡ªit¡¯s<i>Maven</i>. The explosion sparks something in him, lighting his me.


    The sound rumbles, almost knocking me off my feet, and the river<span id="page_326" title="326">below churns as the end section of the Bridge copses. It groans and shudders like a dying beast, crumbling in on itself as it detaches from the bank and the rest of the structure. Concrete pirs and steel wire crack and snap, sshing into the water or against the bank. A cloud of dust and smoke rises, cutting off the rest of Archeon from view. Before the Bridge even hits the water, rms sound over the Square.


    Above us, patrols run along the wall, eager to get a good look at the destruction. They shout to one another, not knowing what to make of this. Most can only stare. In the barracks, lights switch on and soldiers stir, all five thousand of them jumping out of bed.<i>Cal¡¯s soldiers. Cal¡¯s legion</i>. And with any luck, ours.


    I can¡¯t tear my eyes away from the me and smoke, but Maven does it for me. ¡°There he is,¡± he hisses, pointing to some dark shapes running from the pce.


    He has his own guards, but Cal outstrips them all, sprinting for the barracks. He¡¯s still in his nightclothes, but he¡¯s never looked so fearsome. As soldiers and officers spill out into the Square, he barks orders, somehow making himself heard over the growing crowd. ¡°Guns on the gates! Put nymphs on the other side, we don¡¯t want the fire spreading!¡±


    His men carry out the orders with speed, jumping at his every word.<i>Legions obey their generals</i>.


    Behind us, Farley presses herself back against the wall, inching closer to her drain. She¡¯ll turn and run at the first sign of trouble, disappearing to fight another day.<i>That won¡¯t happen. This will work</i>.


    Maven moves to go first, to wave down his brother, but I push him back.


    ¡°I have to do it,¡± I whisper, feeling a strange sort of calme over me.<i>He will always choose you</i>.


    <span id="page_327" title="327">I¡¯m past the point of no return when I step into the Square, into full view of the legion and the patrols and Cal. Spotlights ze to life on the tops of the walls, some pointed at the Bridge, others down on us. One seems to go right through me, and I have to raise a hand to shield my eyes.


    ¡°Cal!¡± I scream over the deafening sound of five thousand soldiers. Somehow, he hears me, his head snapping in my direction. We lock eyes through the mass of soldiers falling into their practiced lines and regiments.


    When he moves toward me, pushing through the sea, I think I might faint. Suddenly all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears, drowning out the rms and the screams. I am afraid. So very afraid.<i>This is just Cal</i>, I tell myself.<i>The boy who loves music and cycles. Not the soldier, not the general, not the prince. The boy. He will always choose you</i>.


    ¡°Go back inside, now!¡± He towers over me, using the stern, regal voice that could make a mountain bow. ¡°Mare, it¡¯s not safe¡ª!¡±


    With strength I never knew I had, I grab on to the cor of his shirt and somehow it keeps him still. ¡°What if that was the cost?¡± I toss a nce back to the broken Bridge, now shrouded in smoke and ash. ¡°Nothing but a few tons of concrete. What if I told you that right here, right now, you could fix everything. You could save<i>us</i>.¡±


    By the flicker in his eyes, I can see I have his attention. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he protests weakly, one hand grabbing mine. There¡¯s fear in his eyes, more fear than I¡¯ve ever seen.


    ¡°You said you believed in us once, in freedom. In equality.<i>You</i>can make that real, with one word. There won¡¯t be a war. No one will die.¡± He seems frozen by my words, not daring to breathe. I can¡¯t tell what he¡¯s thinking, but I press on.<i>I must make him understand</i>. ¡°You hold the power right now. This army is yours, this whole ce is yours to take<span id="page_328" title="328">and¡ªand to free! March into the pce, make your father kneel, and do what you know is right.<i>Please</i>, Cal!¡±


    I can feel him beneath my hands, his breathing in quick pants, and nothing has ever felt so real or so important. I know what he¡¯s thinking about¡ªhis kingdom, his duty, his father. And me, the little lightning girl, asking him to throw it all away. Something deep down tells me he will.


    Shaking, I press a kiss to his lips.<i>He will choose me</i>. His skin feels cold under mine, like a corpse.


    ¡°Choose me,¡± I breathe against him. ¡°Choose a new world.<i>Make</i>a better world. The soldiers will obey you. Your<i>father</i>will obey you.¡± My heart clenches, and every muscle tightens, waiting for his answer. The spotlight on us flickers under my strength, switching on and off with every heartbeat. ¡°It was my blood in the cells. I helped the Guard escape. And soon everyone will know¡ªand they will kill me. Don¡¯t let them.<i>Save me</i>.¡±


    The words stir him, and his grip on my wrist tightens.


    ¡°It was always you.¡±


    <i>He will always choose you</i>.


    ¡°Greet the new dawn, Cal. With me. With<i>us</i>.¡±


    His eyes shift to Maven now walking toward us. The brothers lock eyes, speaking in a way I don¡¯t understand.<i>He will choose us</i>.


    ¡°It was always you,¡± he says again, ragged and ruined this time. His voice carries the pain of a thousand deaths, a thousand betrayals.<i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>, I remember. ¡°The escape, the shooting, the power outages. It all started with you.¡±


    I try to exin, still pulling back. But he has no intention of letting me go.


    ¡°How many people have you killed with your dawn? How many<span id="page_329" title="329">children, how many innocents?¡± His hand grows hot, hot enough to burn. ¡°How many people have you betrayed?¡±


    My knees buckle, dropping out from under me, but Cal doesn¡¯t let go. Dimly, I hear Maven yelling somewhere, the prince charging in to save his princess.<i>But I¡¯m not a princess. I¡¯m not the girl who gets saved</i>. As the fire rises in Cal, ming behind his eyes, the lightning streaks through me, fed by anger. It shocks between us, throwing me back from Cal. My mind buzzes, clouded by sorrow and anger and electricity.


    Behind me, Maven yells. I turn just in time to see him shouting back at Farley, gesturing wildly with his hands. ¡°Run!<i>Run!</i>¡±


    Cal jumps to his feet faster than me, shouting something to his soldiers. His eyes follow Maven¡¯s call, connecting the dots as only a general can. ¡°The drains!¡± he roars, still staring at me. ¡°They¡¯re in the drains.¡±


    Farley¡¯s shadow disappears, trying to escape while gunfire follows her. Soldiers dart over the Square, ripping away grates and drains and pipes, exposing the system beneath. They pour into the tunnels like a terrible flood. I want to cover my ears, to block out the screams and bullets and blood.


    <i>Kilorn</i>. His name flutters weakly in my thoughts, no more than a whisper. I can¡¯t think about him long; Cal still stands over me, his whole body shaking. But he doesn¡¯t frighten me. I don¡¯t think anything can scare me now.<i>The worst has happened already. We have lost</i>.


    ¡°How many?¡± I scream back at him, finding the strength to face him. ¡°How many starved? How many murdered? How many children taken away to die? How many,<i>my prince</i>?¡±


    I thought I knew hate before today.<i>I was wrong. About myself, about Cal, about everything</i>. The pain makes my head spin, but somehow I keep my feet, somehow I keep myself from falling.<i>He will never choose me</i>.


    <span id="page_330" title="330">¡°My brother, Kilorn¡¯s father, Tristan, Walsh!¡± What feels like a hundred names explode from me, rattling off all the lost ones. They mean nothing to Cal but everything to me. And I know there are thousands, millions more. A million forgotten wrongs.


    Cal doesn¡¯t answer, and I expect to see the rage I feel reflected in his eyes. Instead, I see nothing but sadness. He whispers again, and the words make me want to fall down and never get up again.


    ¡°I wish things were different.¡±


    I expect the sparks, I expect lightning, but it neveres. When I feel cold hands on my neck and metal shackles on my wrists, I know why. Instructor Arven, the silence, the one who can make us human, stands behind me, pushing down all my strength until I¡¯m nothing but a weeping girl again. He¡¯s taken it all away, all the strength and all the power I thought I had.<i>I have lost</i>. When my knees give out this time, there¡¯s no one to hold me up. Dimly, I hear Maven cry out before he too is pushed to the ground.


    ¡°Brother!¡± he roars, trying to make Cal see what he¡¯s doing. ¡°They¡¯ll kill her! They¡¯ll kill<i>me</i>!¡± But Cal is no longer listening to us. He speaks to one of his captains, and I don¡¯t bother to listen to the words. I couldn¡¯t even if I wanted to.


    The ground beneath me seems to shake with every round of gunfire deep below. How much blood will stain the tunnels tonight?


    My head is too heavy, my body too weak, and I let myself slump against the tiled ground. It feels cold under my cheek, soothing and smooth. Maven pitches forward, his headnding next to me.<i>I remember a moment like this</i>. Gisa¡¯s scream and the shattering of bones echo faintly, a ghost inside my head.


    ¡°Take them inside, to the king. He will judge them both.¡±


    I don¡¯t recognize Cal¡¯s voice anymore. I¡¯ve turned him into a<span id="page_331" title="331">monster. I forced his hand. I made him choose. I was eager, I was stupid. I let myself hope.


    <i>I am a fool</i>.


    The sun begins to rise behind Cal¡¯s head, framing him against the dawn. It¡¯s too bright, too sharp, and too soon; I have to shut my eyes.

 Red Queen: Chapter 26

    <i>I can barely keep</i>up the pace, but the soldier at my back, holding my shackled arms, keeps shoving. Another does the same to Maven, forcing him along with me. Arven follows us, making sure we can¡¯t escape. His presence is a dark weight, dulling my senses. I can still see the passage around us, empty and far from the prying eyes of the court, but I don¡¯t have the strength to care. Cal leads the pack, his shoulders tense and tight as he fights the urge to look back.


    The sound of gunfire and screams and blood in the tunnels rumbles in my mind.<i>They are dead. We are dead. It is over</i>.


    I expect us to descend, to march down to the darkest cell in the world. Instead, Cal leads us up, to a room with no windows and no Sentinels. Our footfalls don¡¯t even echo as we enter¡ªsoundproof. No one can hear us. And that frightens me more than the guns or the fire or the pure rage rippling off the king.


    He stands in the center of the room, dressed in his own gilded armor with the crown on his head. His ceremonial sword hangs at his side again, along with a pistol he¡¯s probably never used.<i>All part of the<span id="page_333" title="333">pageant. At least he looks the part</i>.


    The queen is here as well, waiting for us in nothing but a thin white gown. The moment we enter, her eyes meet mine and she forces her way into my thoughts like a knife through flesh. I yelp, trying to clutch my head, but the shackles hold firm.


    It all shes before my eyes again, from the beginning to the end. Will¡¯s wagon. The Guard. Kilorn. The riots, the meetings, the secret messages. Maven¡¯s face swirls in the memories, making him stand out against the fray, but ra pushes him away.<i>She doesn¡¯t want to see what I remember about him</i>. My brain screams at the onught, jumping from thought to thought until my whole life, every kiss and every secret, isid bare before her.


    When she stops, I feel dead. I want to<i>be</i>dead.<i>At least I won¡¯t have long to wait</i>.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± ra says, her voice cutting and sharp. The soldiers wait, looking to Cal. When he nods, they take their leave, departing in a din of clicking boots. But Arven stays behind, his influence still pressing down on me. When the march of boots fades away, the king allows himself to exhale.


    ¡°Son?¡± He looks at Cal, and I can see the slightest quiver in his fingers. But what he could possibly fear, I do not know. ¡°I want to hear this from you.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve been part of this for a long time,¡± Cal mutters, barely able to say the words. ¡°Since she came here.¡±


    ¡°Both?¡± Tiberias turns away from Cal, to his forgotten son. He looks almost sad, his face pulling into a pained frown. His eyes waver, reluctant to hold his gaze, but Maven stares right back.<i>He will not flinch</i>. ¡°You knew about this, my boy?¡±


    Maven nods. ¡°I helped n it.¡±


    <span id="page_334" title="334">Tiberias stumbles, like his words are a physical blow. ¡°And the shooting?¡±


    ¡°I chose the targets.¡± Cal squeezes his eyes shut, like he can block this all out.


    Maven¡¯s eyes slide past his father, to ra, who stands close by. They hold each other¡¯s gaze, and for a moment, I think she¡¯s looking into his thoughts. With a jolt, I realize she won¡¯t.<i>She can¡¯t let herself look</i>.


    ¡°You told me to find a cause, Father. And I did. Are you proud of me?¡±


    But Tiberias rounds on me instead, snarling like a bear. ¡°You did this! You poisoned him, you poisoned my boy!¡± When tears spring to his eyes, I know the king¡¯s heart, no matter how small or cold, has been broken.<i>He loves Maven, in his own way. But it¡¯s toote for that</i>. ¡°You¡¯ve taken my son from me!¡±


    ¡°You have done that yourself,¡± I say through gritted teeth. ¡°Maven has his own heart, and he believes in a different world as much as I do. If anything, your son changed me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. You have tricked him somehow.¡±


    ¡°She does not lie.¡±


    Hearing ra agree with me rips my breath away.


    ¡°Our son has always thirsted for change.¡± Her eyes linger on her son. She sounds<i>afraid</i>. ¡°He is just a boy, Tiberias.¡±


    <i>Save him</i>, I scream out in my head. She must hear me.<i>She must</i>.


    Next to me, Maven sucks in a breath, waiting for what could be our doom.


    Tiberias looks at his feet, knowing thews better than anyone else, but Cal is strong enough to meet his brother¡¯s gaze. I can see him remembering their life together.<i>me and shadow. One cannot exist without the other</i>.


    <span id="page_335" title="335">After a long moment of hot, stifling silence, the king puts a hand on Cal¡¯s shoulder. His head shakes back and forth, and tears track down his cheeks into his beard.


    ¡°A boy or not, Maven has killed. Together with this¡ªthis snake¡±¡ªhe points a shaking finger at me¡ª¡°he hasmitted grave crimes against his own. Against<i>me</i>, and against you. Against our throne.¡±


    ¡°Father¡ª¡± Cal moves quickly, putting himself between the king and us. ¡°He is your son. There must be another way.¡±


    Tiberias stills, putting aside the father to be king again. He wipes away his tears with a brush of the hand. ¡°When you wear my crown, you will understand.¡±


    The queen¡¯s eyes narrow into blue slits.<i>Her eyes, they¡¯re the same as Maven¡¯s</i>.


    ¡°Fortunately, that will never happen,¡± she says inly.


    ¡°What?¡± Tiberias turns to her but stops halfway, his body frozen in ce.


    I¡¯ve seen this before. In the arena, long ago, when the whisper beat the strongarm. ra even did it to me, turning me into a puppet. Again, she holds the strings.


    ¡°ra, what are you doing?¡± he hisses through gritted teeth.


    She replies with words I cannot hear, speaking into the king¡¯s head. He doesn¡¯t like her answer at all. ¡°No!¡± he yells as she forces him to his knees with her whispers.


    Cal bristles, his fists exploding into me, but ra holds a hand out, stopping him in his tracks.<i>She has them both</i>.


    Tiberias struggles, his teeth clenched, but can¡¯t move an inch. He can barely even speak. ¡°ra. Arven¡ª!¡±


    But my old instructor doesn¡¯t move. Instead, he stands quietly, content to watch. It seems his loyalties lie not with the king but with the queen.


    <span id="page_336" title="336"><i>She¡¯s saving us. For her son¡¯s life, she¡¯s going to save us</i>. We bet on Cal loving me enough to change the world; we should¡¯ve looked to the queen instead. I want tough, to smile, but something in Cal¡¯s face keeps my relief at bay.


    ¡°Julian warned me,¡± Cal growls, still trying to break her hold. ¡°I thought he was lying about you, about my mother, about what you did to her.¡±


    On his knees, the king howls. It is a wretched sound, one I never want to hear again. ¡°Coriane,¡± he moans, staring at the floor. ¡°Julian knew. Sara knew. You punished her for the truth.¡±


    Sweat beads on ra¡¯s forehead. She cannot hold the king and the prince for much longer.


    ¡°ra, you have to get Maven out of here,¡± I tell her. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, just keep him safe.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you fret, little lightning girl,¡± she sneers. ¡°I don¡¯t think about you at all. Though your loyalty to my son is quite inspiring. Isn¡¯t it, Maven?¡± She tosses a nce over her shoulder to her son, still shackled.


    In response, his arms snap out, pulling apart the metal shackles with shocking ease. They melt off his wrists in globs of hot iron, burning holes in the floor. When he rises to his feet, I expect him to defend me, to save me like I¡¯m trying to save him. Then I realize Arven still has hold of me, and the familiar feel of sparks, of electricity, has not returned. He¡¯s still holding me back, even though he let Maven go.


    When Cal¡¯s eyes meet mine, I know he understands much better than I do.<i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>echoes louder and louder, until it howls in my ears like the winds of a hurricane.


    ¡°Maven?¡± I have to look up to see his face, and for a second, I don¡¯t recognize him. He¡¯s still the same boy, the one whoforted me,<span id="page_337" title="337">kissed me, kept me strong. My friend.<i>More than my friend</i>. But something is wrong in him. Something has changed. ¡°Maven, help me up.¡±


    He rolls his shoulders, cracking the bones to chase away an ache. His motions are sluggish and strange, and when he settles back on his feet, hands on his hips, I feel like I¡¯m seeing him for the first time.<i>His eyes are so cold</i>.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I hear my voice like it¡¯sing from someone else. I sound like a little girl.<i>I am just a little girl</i>.


    Maven doesn¡¯t answer but holds my gaze. The boy I know is still there, hiding, flickering behind his eyes.<i>If I can just reach him¡ª</i>but Maven moves faster than me, pushing me away when I reach out.


    ¡°CAPTAIN TYROS!¡± Cal roars, still able to speak. ra has not taken that from him yet. But no onees running. No one can hear us. ¡°CAPTAIN TYROS!¡± he yells again, pleading with no one. ¡°EVANGELINE! PTOLEMUS, SOMEONE, HELP!¡±


    ra is content to let him shout, enjoying the sound, but Maven flinches. ¡°Do we have to listen to this?¡± he asks.


    ¡°No, I suppose we don¡¯t,¡± she sighs, tipping her head. Cal¡¯s body moves with her thoughts, shifting to face his father.


    Cal panics, his eyes growing wide. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Beneath him, the king¡¯s face darkens. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡±


    <i>I don¡¯t understand at all. I don¡¯t belong here. Julian was right. This is a game I don¡¯t understand, a game I don¡¯t know how to y</i>. I wish Julian were here now, to exin, to help, to save me. But no one ising.


    ¡°Maven, please,¡± I plead, trying to make him look at me. But he turns his back, focusing on his mother and his betrayed blood.<i>He is his mother¡¯s son</i>.


    She didn¡¯t care that he was in my memories. She didn¡¯t care that he<span id="page_338" title="338">was part of all this. She didn¡¯t even look surprised. The answer is frighteningly simple.<i>Because she already knew. Because he is her son. Because this was her n all along</i>. The thought stings like knives running along skin, but the pain only makes it more real.


    ¡°You used me.¡±


    Finally, Maven condescends to look back at me. ¡°Catching on, are you?¡±


    ¡°You chose the targets. The colonel, Reynald, Belicos, even Ptolemus¡ªthey weren¡¯t the Guard¡¯s enemies, they were yours.¡± I want to tear him apart, lightning or not. I want to make him hurt.


    I am finally learning my lesson.<i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>.


    ¡°And this, this was just another plot. You pushed me into this, even though it was impossible, even though you knew Cal would never betray his father! You made me believe it. You made all of us believe it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault you were stupid enough to y along,¡± he replies. ¡°Now the Guard is finished.¡±


    It feels like a kick in the teeth. ¡°They were your friends. They<i>trusted</i>you.¡±


    ¡°They were a threat to my kingdom, and they were stupid,¡± he fires back. He stoops, bending over me with his twisted smile.<i>¡°Were.¡±</i>


    raughs at his cruel joke. ¡°It was too easy to slip you into their midst. One sentimental servant was all it took. How such fools became a danger, I¡¯ll never know.¡±


    ¡°You made me believe,¡± I whisper again, remembering every lie he ever told me. ¡°I thought you wanted to help us.¡± Ites out a whimper. For a split second, his pale features soften. But it doesn¡¯tst.


    ¡°Foolish girl,¡± ra says. ¡°Your idiocy was almost our ruin. Using your own guard in the escape, causing all the outages¡ªdo you really think I was so stupid as to miss your tracks?¡±


    <span id="page_339" title="339">Numb, I shake my head. ¡°You let me do it. You knew about it all.¡±


    ¡°Of course I knew. How else do you think you came so far?<i>I</i>had to cover your tracks,<i>I</i>had to protect you from anyone with enough sense to see the signs,¡± she snarls, growling like a beast. ¡°You do not know the lengths I went to keep you from harm.¡± She flushes with pleasure, enjoying every second of this. ¡°But you are Red, and like all the others, you were doomed to fail.¡±


    It breaks against me, memories falling into ce. I should¡¯ve known, deep down, not to trust Maven.<i>He was too perfect, too brave, too kind. He turned his back on his own to join the Guard. He pushed me at Cal. He gave me exactly what I wanted, and it made me blind</i>.


    Wanting to scream, wanting to weep, I let my eyes trail to ra. ¡°You told him exactly what to say,¡± I whisper. She doesn¡¯t have to nod, but I know I¡¯m right. ¡°You know who I am in here, and you knew¡±¡ªmy head aches, remembering how she yed inside my mind¡ª¡°you knew exactly how to win me over.¡±


    Nothing hurts more deeply than the hollow look on Maven¡¯s face.


    ¡°Was anything true?¡±


    When he shakes his head, I know that is also a lie.


    ¡°Even Thomas?¡±


    The boy at the war front, the boy who died fighting someone else¡¯s war.<i>His name was Thomas and I saw him die</i>.


    The name punches through his mask, cracking the facade of cool indifference, but isn¡¯t enough. He shrugs off the name and the pain it causes him. ¡°Another dead boy. He makes no difference.¡±


    ¡°He makes all the difference,¡± I whisper to myself.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s time to say your good-byes, Maven,¡± ra cuts in, putting a white hand on her son¡¯s shoulder. I¡¯ve struck too close to his weak spot, and she won¡¯t let me push further.


    <span id="page_340" title="340">¡°I have none,¡± he whispers, turning back to his father. His blue eyes waver, looking at the crown, the sword, the armor, anywhere but his father¡¯s face. ¡°You never looked at me. You never saw me. Not when you had<i>him</i>.¡± He jerks his head toward Cal.


    ¡°You know that¡¯s not true, Maven. You are<i>my son</i>. Nothing will change that. Not even her,¡± Tiberias says, casting a nce at ra. ¡°Not even what she¡¯s about to do.¡±


    ¡°Dearest, I¡¯m not doing anything,¡± she chirps back. ¡°But your beloved boy¡±¡ªshe ps Cal across the face¡ª¡°the perfect heir¡±¡ªshe ps him again, harder this time¡ª¡°Coriane¡¯s son.¡± Another p draws blood, splitting his lip. ¡°I cannot speak for him.¡±


    Thick silverblood drips down Cal¡¯s chin. Maven¡¯s eyes linger on the blood, and the slightest frown pulls at his features.


    ¡°We had a son too, Tibe,¡± ra whispers, her voice ragged with rage as she turns back to the king. ¡°No matter how you felt about me, you were supposed to love him.¡±


    ¡°I<i>did</i>!¡± he shouts, straining against her mental hold. ¡°I do.¡±


    I know what it¡¯s like to be cast aside, to stand in another¡¯s shadow. But this kind of anger, this murderous, destructive, terrible scene is beyond myprehension. Maven loves his father, his brother¡ªhow can he let her do this? How can he<i>want</i>this?


    But he stands still, watching, and I can¡¯t find the words to make him move.


    Nothing prepares me for whates next, for what ra forces her puppets to do. Cal¡¯s hand shakes, reaching forward, pushed along by her will. He tries to resist, struggling with every ounce of strength he has, but it¡¯s no use. This is a battle he does not know how to fight. When his hand closes around the gilded sword, pulling it from the sheath at his father¡¯s waist, thest piece of the puzzle slips into ce.<span id="page_341" title="341">Tears course down his face, steaming against burning-hot skin.


    ¡°It¡¯s not you,¡± Tiberias says, his eyes on Cal¡¯s wretched face. He doesn¡¯t bother pleading for his life. ¡°I know it¡¯s not you, son. This is not your fault.¡±


    No one deserves this.<i>No one</i>. In my head, I reach for the lightning, and ites. I st away ra and Maven, saving the prince and the king. But even that fantasy is tainted. Farley is dead. Kilorn is dead. The revolution is over. Even in my imaginings, I cannot fix that.


    The sword rises in the air, shaking in Cal¡¯s trembling fingers. The de is ceremonial at best, but the edge gleams, sharp as a razor. The steel reddens, warming under Cal¡¯s fiery touch, and bits of the gilded hilt melt between his fingers. Gold and silver and iron, dripping from his hands like tears.


    Maven watches the de closely, carefully, because he is too afraid to watch his father in hisst moments.<i>I thought you were brave. I was so wrong</i>.


    ¡°Please,¡± is all Cal can say, forcing the words out. ¡°Please.¡±


    There is no regret in ra¡¯s eyes and no remorse. This moment has beening for a long time. When the sword shes, arcing through air and flesh and bone, she doesn¡¯t blink.


    The king¡¯s corpsends with a thud, his head rolling to a stop a few feet away. Silverblood sshes across the floor in a mirrored puddle,pping at Cal¡¯s toes. He drops the melting sword, letting it ng against stone, before falling to his knees, his head in his hands. The crown tters across the floor, circling through the blood, until it stops to rest at Maven¡¯s feet, sharp points bright with liquid silver.


    When ra screams, wailing and thrashing over the king¡¯s body, I almostugh aloud at the absurdity of it all.<i>Has she changed her mind? Has she lost it entirely?</i>Then I hear the click of cameras switching on,ing<span id="page_342" title="342">back to life. They poke out of the walls, pointing straight down at the king¡¯s body and what looks like a queen mourning her fallen husband. Maven yells at her side, one hand on his mother¡¯s shoulder.This content ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    ¡°You killed him! You killed the king! You killed our father!¡± he screams in Cal¡¯s face. Only a hint of a smirk remains, and somehow Cal resists the urge to rip his brother¡¯s head off. He¡¯s in shock, not understanding, not<i>wanting</i>to understand. But for once, I certainly do.


    <i>The truth doesn¡¯t matter. It only matters what the people believe</i>. Julian tried to teach me that lesson before, and now I understand it.<i>They will believe this little scene, this pretty y of actors and lies. And no army, no country will follow a man who murdered his father for the crown</i>.


    ¡°Run, Cal!¡± I scream, trying to snap him back to life. ¡°You have to run!¡±


    Arven has let me go, and the electric pulse returns, surging through my veins like fire through ice. It¡¯s nothing at all to shock the metal, burning it with sparks until the shackles fall off my wrists. I know this feeling. I know the instinct rising in me now.<i>Run. Run. Run</i>.


    I grab Cal¡¯s shoulders, trying to pull him up, but the big oaf doesn¡¯t budge. I give him a little shock, just enough to catch his attention, before screaming again. ¡°RUN!¡±


    It¡¯s enough, and he struggles to his feet, almost slipping in the pool of blood.


    I expect ra to fight me, to make me kill myself or Cal, but she continues screaming, acting for the cameras. Maven stands over her, arms aze, ready to protect his mother. He doesn¡¯t even try to stop us.


    ¡°There¡¯s nowhere for you to go!¡± he shouts, but I¡¯m already running, dragging Cal along behind me. ¡°You are murderers, traitors, and you will face justice!¡±


    His voice, a voice I used to know so well, seems to chase us through<span id="page_343" title="343">the doors and down the hall. The voices in my head scream with him.


    <i>Stupid girl. Foolish girl. Look what your hope has done</i>.


    And then it¡¯s Cal dragging me along, forcing me to keep up. Hot tears of anger and rage and sorrow drown my eyes, until I can¡¯t see anything but my hand in his. Where he leads, I don¡¯t know. I can only follow.


    Feet pound behind us, the familiar sound of boots. Officers, Sentinels, soldiers, they¡¯re all chasing,ing for us.


    The floor beneath us steadily changes from the polished wood of back hallways to swirling marble¡ªthe banquet hall. Long tables set with fine china block the way, but Cal throws them aside with a st of fire. The smoke triggers an rm system, and water rains down on us, fighting the ze. It turns to steam on Cal¡¯s skin, shrouding him in a raging white cloud. He looks like a ghost, haunted by a life suddenly torn away, and I don¡¯t know how tofort him.


    The world slows for me as the far end of the banquet hall darkens with gray uniforms and ck guns. There¡¯s nowhere for me to run anymore. I must fight.


    Lightning zes in my skin, begging to be loosed.


    ¡°No.¡± Cal¡¯s voice is hollow, broken. He lowers his own hands, letting the mes disappear. ¡°We can¡¯t win this.¡±


    <i>He¡¯s right</i>.


    They close in from the many doors and arches, and even the windows crowd with uniforms. Hundreds of Silvers, armed to the teeth, ready to kill.<i>We are trapped</i>.


    Cal searches the faces, his eyes lingering on the soldiers.<i>His own men</i>. By the way they stare back, ring at him, I know they¡¯ve already seen the horror ra created. Their loyalties are broken, just like their general. One of them, a captain, trembles at the sight of Cal. To my<span id="page_344" title="344">surprise, he keeps his gun at his side as he steps forward.


    ¡°Submit to arrest,¡± he says, his hands shaking.


    Cal locks eyes with his old friend and nods. ¡°We submit to arrest, Captain Tyros.¡±


    <i>Run</i>, every inch of me screams. But for once, I cannot. Next to me, Cal looks just as affected, his eyes reflecting a pain I can¡¯t even imagine. His wounds are soul-deep.


    He has learned his lesson as well.

 Red Queen: Chapter 27

    Maven has betrayed me.<i>No, he was never on my side at all</i>.


    My eyes adjust, seeing bars through the dim light. The ceiling is low and heavy, like the underground air. I¡¯ve never been here before, but I know it all the same.


    ¡°The Bowl of Bones,¡± I whisper aloud, expecting no one to hear me.


    Instead, someoneughs.


    The darkness continues to lift, revealing more of the cell. A lumpy shape sits against the bars next to me, shifting with every peal ofughter.


    ¡°I was four years old the first time I came here, and Maven was barely two. He hid behind his mother¡¯s skirts, afraid of the darkness and the empty cells.¡± Cal chuckles, every word sharp as a knife. ¡°I guess he¡¯s not afraid of the dark anymore.¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s not.¡±


    <i>I¡¯m the shadow of the me</i>. I believed Maven when he said those words, when he told me how much he hated this world. Now I know<span id="page_346" title="346">it was all a trick, a masterful trick. Every word, every touch, every<i>look</i>was a lie.<i>And I thought I was the liar</i>.


    Instinctively I reach out with my abilities, feeling for any pulse of electricity, something to give me a spark of energy. But there¡¯s nothing. Nothing but a nk, t absence, a hollow sensation that makes me shiver.


    ¡°Is Arven nearby?¡± I wonder, remembering how he shut off my abilities, forcing me to watch as Maven and his mother destroyed their family. ¡°I can¡¯t feel a thing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the cells,¡± Cal says dully. His hands draw shapes in the dirty floor¡ª<i>mes</i>. ¡°Made of Silent Stone. Don¡¯t ask me to exin it, because I can¡¯t, and I don¡¯t feel like trying.¡±


    He looks up, eyes ring through the darkness at the unending line of cells. I should be afraid, but I have nothing left to fear. The worst has already happened.


    ¡°Before the matches, back when we still had to execute our own, the Bowl of Bones hosted everything nightmares are made of. The Great Greco, who used to tear men in half and eat their livers. The Poison Bride. She was an animos of House Viper and sent snakes into my great-great-uncle¡¯s bed on their wedding night. They say his blood turned to venom, he was bitten so many times.¡± Cal lists them off, the criminals of his world. They sound likes stories invented to make children behave. ¡°Now, us. The Traitor Prince, they¡¯ll call me. ¡®He killed his father for the crown. He just couldn¡¯t wait.¡¯¡±


    I can¡¯t help but add to the tale. ¡°¡®The bitch made him do it,¡¯ they¡¯ll gossip to each other.¡± I can see it in my head, shouted on every street corner, from every video screen. ¡°They¡¯ll me me, the little lightning girl. I filled your thoughts with poison, I corrupted you. I made you do it.¡±


    <span id="page_347" title="347">¡°You almost did,¡± he murmurs back. ¡°I almost chose you this morning.¡±


    <i>Was it just this morning? That cannot be true</i>. I push myself up against the bars, leaning just inches away from Cal.


    ¡°They¡¯re going to kill us.¡±


    Cal nods,ughing again. I¡¯ve heard himugh before, at me every time I tried to dance, but this sound is not the same. His warmth is gone, leaving nothing behind.


    ¡°The king will see to it. We will be executed.¡±


    <i>Execution</i>. I¡¯m not surprised, not in the least.


    ¡°How will they do it?¡± I can barely remember thest execution. Only images remain: silverblood on sand, the roar of a crowd. And I remember the gallows at home, rope swinging in a harsh wind.


    Cal¡¯s shoulders tense. ¡°There are many ways. Together, one at a time, with swords or guns or abilities or all three.¡± He heaves a sigh, already resigned to his fate. ¡°They¡¯ll make it hurt. It will not be quick.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll bleed all over the ce. That¡¯ll give the rest of the world something to think about.¡± The bleak thought makes me smile. When I die, I¡¯ll be nting my own red g, sshing it across the sands of the massive arena. ¡°He won¡¯t be able to hide me then. Everyone will know what I really am.¡±


    ¡°You think that will change anything?¡±


    <i>It must. Farley has the list, Farley will find the others</i>. . . but Farley is dead. I can only hope she passed the message on, to someone still alive. The others are still out there, and they must be found. They must carry on, because I no longer can.


    ¡°I think it won¡¯t,¡± Cal continues, his voice filling the silence. ¡°I think he¡¯ll use it as an excuse. There will be more conscriptions, more<span id="page_348" title="348"></spanws, morebor camps. His mother will invent another marvelous lie, and the world will keep on turning, the same as before.¡±


    <i>No. Never the same again</i>.


    ¡°He¡¯ll look for more like me,¡± I realize aloud. I¡¯ve already fallen, I¡¯ve already lost, I¡¯m already dead. And this is thest nail in the coffin. My head drops into my hands, feeling my sharp, clever fingers curl into my hair.


    Cal shifts against the bars, his weight sending vibrations through the metal. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°There are others. Julian figured it out. He told me how to find them, and¡ª¡± My voice breaks, not wanting to continue. ¡°And I told him.¡± I feel like screaming. ¡°He used me so perfectly.¡±


    Through the bars, Cal turns to look at me. Even though his abilities are far away, suppressed by these wretched walls, an inferno rages in his eyes. ¡°How does it feel?¡± he growls, almost nose to nose with me. ¡°How does it feel to be used, Mare Barrow?¡±


    Once, I would¡¯ve given anything to hear him say my real name, but now it stings like a burn.<i>I thought I was using them both, Maven and Cal. How stupid I was</i>.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I force out. I despise those words, but they¡¯re all I can give. ¡°I¡¯m not Maven, Cal. I didn¡¯t do this to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.¡± And softer, barely audible, ¡°It wasn¡¯t all a lie.¡±


    His head thunks back against the bars, so loud it must hurt, but Cal doesn¡¯t seem to notice. Like me, he¡¯s lost the ability to feel pain or fear. Too much has happened.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll kill my parents?¡±<i>My sister, my brothers</i>. For once, I¡¯m happy Shade is dead and out of Maven¡¯s reach.


    I feel surprising warmth bleed against me, settling into my shivering bones. Cal has moved again, leaning against the bars right behind<span id="page_349" title="349">me. His heat is gentle, natural¡ªnot driven by anger or ability. It¡¯s<i>human</i>. I can feel him breathing, his heart beating. It hammers like a drum as he finds the strength to lie to me. ¡°I think he has more important things to think about.¡±


    I know he can feel me crying, my shoulders shaking with every sob, but he doesn¡¯t say anything. There are no words for this. But he stays right there, myst bit of warmth in a world turning to dust. I weep for them all. Farley, Tristan, Walsh, Will. Shade, Bree, Tramy, Gisa, Mom, and Dad.<i>Fighters, all of them</i>. And Kilorn. I couldn¡¯t save him, no matter how hard I tried. I can¡¯t even save myself.


    <i>At least I have my earrings</i>. The little specks, sharp in my skin, will stay with me until the end.<i>I die with them, and they with me</i>.


    We stay like that for what must be hours, though nothing changes to mark the passing time. I even doze off once, before a familiar voice makes me jerk awake.


    ¡°In another life, I might be jealous.¡±


    Maven¡¯s words send shivers down my spine and not in a good way.


    Cal jumps to his feet quicker than I thought possible and throws himself at the bars, making the metal sing. But the bars hold firm, and Maven, cunning, disgusting, awful Maven, is just out of reach. To my delight, he still flinches away.


    ¡°Save your strength, brother,¡± he says, teeth clicking together with every word. ¡°You will need it soon.¡±


    Though he wears no crown, Maven already stands with the air of a terrible king. His dress uniform is crowded with new medals. They were his father¡¯s once; I¡¯m surprised they aren¡¯t still covered in blood. He looks even paler than before, though the dark circles under his eyes are gone. Murder helps him sleep.


    ¡°Will it be you in the arena?¡± Cal snarls through the bars, his hands<span id="page_350" title="350">tight on the iron. ¡°Will you do it yourself? Do you even have the nerve?¡±


    I can¡¯t find the strength to stand, as much as I want to rush the bars, to tear away metal with my bare hands until the only thing I feel is Maven¡¯s throat. I can only watch.


    Heughs dully at his brother¡¯s words. ¡°We both know I could never beat you with ability,¡± he says, throwing back Cal¡¯s own advice from so long ago. ¡°So I beat you with my head, dear brother.¡±


    Once, he told me Cal hated to lose. Now I realize the one ying to win was always Maven. Every breath, every word was in service to this bloody victory.


    Cal growls low under his breath. ¡°Mavey,¡± he says, but the nickname holds no love anymore. ¡°How could you do this to Father? To me? To her?¡±


    ¡°A murdered king, a traitorous prince. So much blood,¡± he sneers, dancing at the edge of Cal¡¯s reach. ¡°They weep in the streets for our father. Or at least, they pretend to,¡± he adds with a disinterested shrug. ¡°The foolish wolves wait for me to stumble, and the smart ones know I will not. House Samos, House Iral, they¡¯ve been sharpening their ws for years, waiting for a weak king, apassionate king. You know they drooled at the sight of you? Think about it, Cal. Decades from now, Father would die slowly, peacefully, and you would ascend. Married to Evangeline, a daughter of steel and knives, with her brother at your side. You wouldn¡¯t survive the coronation night. She would do what Mother did and supnt you with her own child.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you did this to protect a dynasty,¡± Cal scoffs, shaking his head. ¡°You did this for yourself.¡±


    Again, Maven shrugs. He grins to himself with a pointed, cruel smile. ¡°Are you really so surprised? Poor Mavey, the second prince.<span id="page_351" title="351">The shadow of his brother¡¯s me. A weak thing, a little thing, doomed to stand to the side and kneel.¡±


    He shifts, prowling from Cal¡¯s cell to stand in front of mine. I can only stare at him from the ground, not trusting myself to move.<i>He even smells cold</i>.


    ¡°Betrothed to a girl with eyes for another, for the brother, the prince no one could ever ignore.¡± His words take on a feral edge, heavy with a wild anger. But there is truth in them, a harsh truth I¡¯ve tried so hard to forget. It makes my skin crawl. ¡°You took everything that should have been mine, Cal.<i>Everything</i>.¡±


    Suddenly I¡¯m standing, shaking violently, but still standing. He¡¯s lied to us for so long, but I cannot let him lie now.


    ¡°I was never yours, and you were<i>never</i>mine, Maven,¡± I snarl. ¡°And not because of<i>him</i>, either. I thought you were perfect, I thought you were strong and brave and<i>good</i>. I thought you were<i>better than him</i>.¡±


    <i>Better than Cal</i>. Those are words Maven thought no one would ever say. He flinches, and for a second, I can see the boy I used to know. A boy that doesn¡¯t exist.


    He reaches out a hand, grabbing at me between the bars. When his fingers close over the bare skin of my wrist, I feel nothing but repulsion. He holds me tight, like I¡¯m some kind of lifeline. Something has snapped in him, revealing a desperate child, a pathetic, hopeless thing trying to hold on to his favorite toy.


    ¡°I can save you.¡±


    The words make my skin scrawl.


    ¡°Your father loved you, Maven. You didn¡¯t see it, but he did.¡±


    ¡°A lie.¡±


    ¡°He loved you, and you killed him!¡± The wordse faster, spilling like blood from a vein. ¡°Your brother loved you, and you made<span id="page_352" title="352">him a murderer. I¡ªI loved you. I trusted you. I needed you. And now I¡¯m going to die for it.¡±


    ¡°I am<i>king</i>. You will live if I want you to. I will make it so.¡±


    ¡°You mean if you lie? One day your lies will strangle you, King Maven. My only regret is I won¡¯t be alive to see it.¡± And then it¡¯s my turn to grab him. I pull with all my strength, making him stumble against the bars. My knuckles connect with his cheek, and he yelps away like a kicked dog. ¡°I will never make the mistake of loving you ever again.¡±


    To my dismay, he recovers quickly and smoothes his hair. ¡°So you choose him?¡±


    <i>That¡¯s all this ever was. Jealousy. Rivalry. All so shadow could defeat the me</i>.


    I have to throw my head back andugh, feeling the eyes of the brothers on me. ¡°Cal betrayed me, and I betrayed him. And you betrayed us both, in a thousand different ways.¡± The words are heavy as stone but right.<i>So right</i>. ¡°I choose no one.¡±


    For once, I feel like I control fire and Maven has been burned by it. He stumbles back from my cell, somehow defeated by the little girl without her lightning, the prisoner in chains, the human before a god.


    ¡°What will you tell them when I bleed?¡± I hiss after him. ¡°The truth?¡±


    Heughs deep in his chest. The little boy disappears, reced by the king killer again. ¡°The truth is what I make it. I could set this world on fire and call it rain.¡±


    <i>And some will believe. The fools. But others will not. Red and Silver, high and low, some will see the truth</i>.


    His voice bes a snarl, his face a shadow of a beast. ¡°Anyone<span id="page_353" title="353">who knows that we hid you,<i>anyone</i>with even a hint of suspicion, will be dealt with.¡±


    My mind buzzes, flying to everyone who knew something about me was strange. Maven beats me there, seeming to enjoy listing off the many deaths. ¡°Lady Blonos had to go, of course. Decapitation deals nicely with skin healers.¡±


    <i>She was an old crow, an annoyance¡ªand she didn¡¯t deserve this</i>.


    ¡°The maids were easier. Pretty girls, sisters from Oldshire. Mother did them in herself.¡±


    <i>I never even learned their names</i>.


    My knees hit the ground heavily, but I barely feel it. ¡°They didn¡¯t know anything.¡± But my begging is no use now.


    ¡°Lucas will go as well,¡± he says, smirking with teeth bright in the darkness. ¡°You¡¯ll get to see that for yourself.¡±


    I feel like retching. ¡°You told me he was safe, with his family¡ª!¡±


    Heughs long and hard. ¡°When are you going to realize that every word out of my mouth was a<i>lie</i>?¡±


    ¡°We forced him, Julian and I. He did nothing wrong.¡± Begging feels so awful, but it¡¯s all I can think to do. ¡°He¡¯s of House Samos. You can¡¯t kill one of them.¡±


    ¡°Mare, haven¡¯t you been paying attention? I can do<i>anything</i>,¡± he growls. ¡°It¡¯s a pity we couldn¡¯t get Julian back here in time. I would¡¯ve liked to make him watch you die.¡±


    I do my best to choke back a sob, pressing a hand to my mouth. Next to me, Cal growls deep in his throat, thinking of his uncle. ¡°You found him?¡±


    ¡°Of course we did. We captured Julian and Sara both.¡± Mavenughs. ¡°I¡¯ll settle for killing Skonos first, finishing the job my mother began. You know the story there now, don¡¯t you, Cal? You know what<span id="page_354" title="354">my mother did, whispering her way into Coriane¡¯s head, making her brain crawl.¡± He draws closer, eyes wild and frightening. ¡°Sara knew. And your father, even you, refused to believe her. You let my mother win. And you¡¯ve done it again.¡±


    Cal doesn¡¯t respond, resting his head against the bars. Satisfied he¡¯s destroyed his brother, Maven turns on me, pacing just beyond my cell.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make the others scream for you, Mare, everyst one. Not just your parents. Not just your siblings. But every single one like you. I¡¯m going to find them, and they will die with you in their thoughts, knowing this is the fate you have brought them. I am the king and you could¡¯ve been my Red queen. Now you are<i>nothing</i>.¡±


    I don¡¯t bother to brush away the tears coursing down my cheeks. It¡¯s no use anymore. Maven enjoys the sight of me broken and sucks on his teeth like he wants to taste me.


    ¡°Good-bye, Maven.¡± I wish there was more I could say, but there are no words for his evil. He knows what he is, and, worst of all, he likes it.


    He dips his head, almost bowing to the pair of us. Cal doesn¡¯t bother to look and grips the bars instead, wearing at the metal like it¡¯s Maven¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Good-bye, Mare.¡± The smirk is gone, and, to my surprise, his eyes look wet. He hesitates, not wanting to go. It¡¯s like he¡¯s suddenly understood what he¡¯s done and what¡¯s about to happen to all of us. ¡°I told you to hide your heart once. You should have listened.¡±


    <i>How dare he</i>.


    I have three older brothers, so when I spit at Maven, my aim is perfect, hitting him square in the eye.


    He turns quickly, almost running from the pair of us. Cal stares after him for a long time, unable to speak. I can only sit down, letting<span id="page_355" title="355">my rage seep away again. When Cal settles back against me, there are no more words left to say.


    Many things led to this day, for all of us. A forgotten son, a vengeful mother, a brother with a long shadow, a strange mutation. Together, they¡¯ve written a tragedy.


    In the stories, the old fairy tales, a heroes. But all my heroes are gone or dead. No one ising for me.


    It must be the next morning when the Sentinels arrive, led by Arven himself. With the suffocating walls, his presence makes it difficult to stand, but they force me up.


    ¡°Sentinel Provos, Sentinel Viper.¡± Cal nods at the Sentinels when they open his cell. They pull him roughly to his feet. Even now, facing death, Cal is calm.


    He greets every guard we pass, addressing them by name. They stare back, angry or bewildered or both. A king killer should not be so kind. The soldiers are even worse. He wants to stop to say good-bye to them properly, but his own men grow hard and cold at the sight of him. And I think that hurts him almost as much as everything else. After a while, he goes quiet, losing thest bit of will he has left. As we climb out of the darkness, the noise of a crowd grows steadily nearer. Faint at first, but then a dull roar right above us. The arena is full, and they¡¯re ready for a show.


    This started when I fell into the Spiral Garden, a body made of sparks, and now it ends at the Bowl of Bones. I¡¯ll leave as a corpse.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024.


    Arena attendants, all dull-eyed Silvers, descend on us like a flock of pigeons. They pull me behind a curtain, preparing me for what¡¯s toe with brisk movements and hard hands. I barely feel them, pushing and pulling, shoving me into a cheaper version of a training suit. This<span id="page_356" title="356">is meant to be an insult, making me wear something so simple to die in, but I prefer the scratch of fabric to the whisper of silk. I think dimly of my maids. They painted me every day; they knew I had something to hide. And they died for it. No one paints me now or even bothers to brush away the dirt from a night spent in a cell.<i>More pageantry</i>. Once, I wore silk and jewels and pretty smiles, but that doesn¡¯t fit Maven¡¯s lie. A Red girl in rags is easier for them to understand, and to kill.


    When they pull me back out again, I can see they¡¯ve done the same for Cal. There will be no medals, no armor for him. But he has his me-maker bracelet again. The fire burns still, smoldering in the broken soldier. He has resigned himself to die, but not before taking someone with him.


    We hold each other¡¯s gaze, simply because there¡¯s nowhere else to look.


    ¡°What are we walking into?¡± Cal finally says, tearing his eyes away from mine to face Arven.


    The old man, white as paper, looks back on his former students without a flicker of remorse.<i>What did they promise him, for his help?</i>But I can already see. The badge over his heart, the crown made of jet, diamond, and ruby, was Cal¡¯s once. I don¡¯t doubt he was given much more.


    ¡°You were a prince and a general. In his wisdom, the merciful king has decided you are to at least die with glory.¡± He smiles as he speaks, showing sharp little teeth.<i>Rat¡¯s teeth</i>. ¡°A good death, the kind a traitor doesn¡¯t deserve.


    ¡°As for the Red girl, the trickster.¡± He turns his fearsome gaze on me, focusing harder. The stifling weight of his power threatens to drag me down. ¡°She will have no weapons at all and die like the devil she is.¡±


    I open my mouth to protest, but Arven leers over me, his breath reeking of poison. ¡°King¡¯s orders.¡±


    <span id="page_357" title="357"><i>No weapons</i>. I feel like screaming.<i>No lightning</i>. Arven won¡¯t let me go, even to die. Maven¡¯s words echo sharply in my head.<i>Now you are nothing</i>. I¡¯ll die as nothing. They don¡¯t need to hide my blood if they can im my powers were faked somehow.


    Down in the cells, I was almost eager to step out onto the sand, to send my sparks into the sky and my blood into the earth. Now I shake and shiver, wanting to run away, but my wretched pride, the only thing I have left, won¡¯t even allow that.


    Cal takes my hand. He quivers like I do, afraid to die.<i>At least he¡¯ll have a chance to fight</i>.


    ¡°I¡¯ll protect you as long as I can,¡± he whispers. I almost don¡¯t hear him over the tramp of feet and the pathetic beat of my heart.


    ¡°I don¡¯t deserve it,¡± I mutter back, but I squeeze his hand in thanks all the same.<i>I betrayed him, I ruined his life, and this is how he repays me</i>.


    The next room is thest. It¡¯s a sloping passage, leading up a gentle incline to a steel gate. Sunlight dances through, bleeding down to us along with all the noise of a full arena. The walls distort the sounds, transforming cheers and shouts into the howls of a nightmare. I suppose that¡¯s not far from the truth.


    As we enter, I see we¡¯re not the only ones waiting to die.


    ¡°Lucas!¡±


    A guard holds his arm, but Lucas still manages to nce over his shoulder. His face is full of bruises and he looks paler than before, like he hasn¡¯t seen the sun in days.<i>It¡¯s probably true</i>.


    ¡°Mare.¡± Just the way he says my name makes me cringe. He¡¯s another one I¡¯ve betrayed, using him like I used Cal, Julian, the colonel, like I tried to use Maven. ¡°I was wondering when I¡¯d see you again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±<i>I go to my grave apologizing, and it still won¡¯t be enough</i>. ¡°They told me you were with your family, that you were safe, or else¡ª¡±


    <span id="page_358" title="358">¡°Or else what?¡± he asks slowly. ¡°I¡¯m nothing to you. Just something to be used and cast aside.¡±


    The usation cuts like a knife. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but it had to be done.¡±


    ¡°The queen made me remember.¡±<i>Made</i>. There¡¯s pain in his voice. ¡°Don¡¯t apologize, because you don¡¯t mean it.¡±


    I want to embrace him, to show this was not what I wanted. ¡°I do; I swear, Lucas.¡±


    ¡°His Majesty, Maven of House Calore and House Merandus, the King of Norta, me of the North.¡± The cry rings out in the arena, echoing down to us through the gate. The apanying cheers make me cringe, and Lucas flinches. His end is near.


    ¡°Would you do it again?¡± The words sting sharply. ¡°Would you risk me for your terrorist friends again?¡±<i>I would</i>. I don¡¯t say it out loud, but Lucas sees my answer in my eyes. ¡°I kept your secret.¡±


    It¡¯s worse than any insult he could throw at me. The knowledge that he protected me, even though I didn¡¯t deserve it, gnaws at my core.


    ¡°But now I know you¡¯re not different, not anymore,¡± he continues, almost spitting. ¡°You¡¯re the same as all the rest. Heartless, selfish, cold¡ªjust like us. They taught you well.¡±


    Then he turns, facing the gate again. He wants no more words from me. I want to go to him, to try and exin, but a guard holds me back. There¡¯s nothing more for me to do but stand tall and wait for our doom.


    ¡°My citizens.¡± Maven¡¯s voice filters through the gate with the daylight. He sounds like his father, like Cal, but there¡¯s something sharper in his voice.<i>He¡¯s only seventeen and already a monster</i>. ¡°My people, my children.¡±


    Cal scoffs next to me. But out in the arena, a dead, haunting silence settles. He has them in the palm of his hand.


    ¡°Some would call this a cruelty,¡± Maven continues. I don¡¯t doubt<span id="page_359" title="359">he memorized a stirring speech, probably written by his witch of a mother. ¡°My father¡¯s body is barely cold, his blood still stains the floor, and I have been forced to take his ce, to begin my reign in such a violent shadow. We have not executed our own for ten years, and it pains me to begin that awful tradition again. But for my father, for my crown, for<i>you</i>, I must. I am young, but I am not weak. Such crimes, such<i>evil</i>will be punished.¡±


    Up above us, high in the arena, jeers ring out, cheering for death.


    ¡°Lucas of House Samos, for crimes against the crown, for collusion with the terrorist organization known as the Scarlet Guard, I dere you guilty. I sentence you to die. Submit to execution.¡±


    And then Lucas is walking up the incline, to his own death. He doesn¡¯t spare a nce for me. Not that I deserve one. He¡¯s dying, not just because of what we made him do but for what I am. Like the others, he knew there was something strange about me. And like the others, he will die. When he disappears through the far gate, I have to turn away and stare at the wall. The gunshots are hard to ignore. The crowd roars, pleased by the violent disy.


    <i>Lucas was only the beginning, the opening act. We are the show</i>.


    ¡°Walk,¡± Arven says, prodding us on. He follows as we begin the slow climb.


    I cannot let go of Cal¡¯s hand, in case I stumble. Every muscle in him tenses, ready for the fight of his life. I reach out for my lightning in onest attempt, but nothinges. There¡¯s not even a tremor left in me. Arven¡ªand Maven¡ªhave taken it away.


    Through the gate, I watch Lucas¡¯s body be dragged away, leaving a streak of silverblood across the sand. A wave of sickness passes over me, and I have to bite my lip.


    With a great groan, the steel gate shudders and rises up. The sunlight<span id="page_360" title="360">blinds me for a second, freezing me to the spot, but Cal pulls me forward into the arena.


    White sand, fine as powder, slides beneath my feet. As my eyes adjust, I almost forget to breathe. The arena is enormous, a wide gray mouth of steel and stonework, filled with thousands of angry faces. They stare down on us in deafening silence, pouring their hate into my skin. I can¡¯t see any Reds at all, but I don¡¯t expect to. This is what the Silvers call entertainment, another y for them tough at, and they won¡¯t share it.


    Video screens dot the arena, reflecting my own face back at me. Of course they must record this, to broadcast it across the nation. To show the world another Red brought so low. The sight gives me pause; I look like myself again. Ratty, tangled hair, simple clothing, dirt falling off me in little clouds. My skin blushes with the blood I¡¯ve tried so long to hide. If death weren¡¯t waiting for me, I would probably smile.


    To my surprise, the screens flicker, switching from the image of Cal and me to something grainy¡ªsecurity footage, from all the cameras, all the electric eyes. With a shaky breath, I realize exactly how deep Maven¡¯s n really went.


    The screens y it all back, every stolen moment. Sneaking out of the Hall with Cal, dancing together, our whispered conversations, our<i>kiss</i>. And then the king¡¯s murder in its full, terrible glory. Taken together as one, it¡¯s not hard to believe Maven¡¯s story. All of it connects together, the tale of the Red devil who seduced a prince, who made him kill a king. The crowd gasps and murmurs, eating up the perfect lie. Even my own parents would have a hard time denying this.


    ¡°Mare Molly Barrow.¡±


    Maven¡¯s voice booms out behind me, and we spin to see the royal fool staring down at us. His own box of seats drips with ck-and-red<span id="page_361" title="361">gs, filled to the brim with lords anddies I recognize. They all wear ck, forgetting their house colors in honor of a murdered king. Sonya, ne, and all the other High House children stare down on me with disgust. Lord Samos stands on Maven¡¯s left, with the queen on his right. ra hides behind a mourning veil, probably to mask her wicked smile. I expect Evangeline to be hovering nearby, content to marry the next king. After all, she only wanted the crown. But she¡¯s nowhere to be seen. Maven himself looks like a dark ghost, his pale skin sharp against the ck gleam of dress armor. He even wears the sword they killed the king with, and his father¡¯s crown nestles against his hair, gleaming in the sun.


    ¡°Once we believed you to be the lost Mareena Titanos, another murdered citizen of my crown. With the help of your Red brethren, you deceived us with technological tricks and ruses, infiltrating my own family.¡±<i>Technological tricks</i>. The screens show me back in the Spiral Garden, rippling with electricity. In the footage, it seems unnatural. ¡°We gave you an education, status, power, strength¡ªand even our love. For that, you repaid us with treachery, turning my own brother against his blood with your deceit.


    ¡°We know now that you are an operative of the defeated Scarlet Guard and are directly responsible for the loss of countless lives.¡± The images flicker to the night of the Sun Shooting, to the ballroom full of blood and death. Farley¡¯s g, the fluttering red rag and the torn sun, stands out against the chaos.


    ¡°Together with my brother, Prince Tiberias the Seventh, of House Calore and House Jacos, you are used of many violent and deplorable offenses against the crown, including deception, treason, terrorism, and murder.¡±<i>Your hands are no cleaner than mine, Maven</i>. ¡°You killed the king, my father, bewitching his own son to do the deed. You are a Red<span id="page_362" title="362">devil¡±¡ªhe sweeps his eyes to Cal, now almost igniting in anger¡ª¡°and you are a weak man. A traitor to your crown, your blood, and your colors.¡± The death of the king ys again, cementing Maven¡¯s twisted words.


    ¡°I pronounce you both guilty of your crimes. Submit to execution.¡± A great jeer goes up over the arena. It sounds like pigs screaming, howling for blood.


    The video screens flip back to Cal and me, expecting us to weep or plead for our lives. Neither of us moves an inch.<i>They will not get that from us</i>.


    Maven stares over the side of his box, leering, waiting for one of us to snap.


    Instead, Cal salutes, two fingers to his brow. It¡¯s better than punching Maven in the face, and he draws back, disappointed. He looks away from us, to the far side of the arena. When I turn, I expect to see the gunmen who killed Lucas, but I¡¯m greeted by a very different sight.


    I don¡¯t know where they came from or when but five figures appear in the dust.


    ¡°That¡¯s not too bad,¡± I murmur, squeezing Cal¡¯s hand.<i>He¡¯s a warrior, a soldier. Five on one might even be fair for him</i>.


    But Cal furrows his brow, his attention on our executioners. Theye into sharper focus and fear rolls through me. I know their names and abilities, some much better than others. All of them ripple with strength, in armor and uniforms meant for war.


    <i>A strongarm Rhambos to tear me apart, the Haven son who will disappear and choke me like a shadowed ghost, and Lord Osanos himself to drown Cal¡¯s fire. Arven as well</i>, I remind myself. He stands at the gate, his eyes never leaving my body.


    <i>Don¡¯t forget the other two. The marons</i>.


    <span id="page_363" title="363">It¡¯s almost poetic, really. In matching armor, with matching scowls, Evangeline and Ptolemus stare us down, their fists bristling with long, cruel knives.


    Somewhere in my head, a clock ticks, counting down.<i>Not much time left</i>.


    Above us, Maven¡¯s voice croaks out.


    ¡°Let them die.¡±

 Red Queen: Chapter 28

    <i>The shield explodes to</i>life above us, a giant purple dome of veined ss like the one in the Spiral Garden. Not to protect us¡ªbut to protect the crowd. Sparks of lightning pulse through the monstrous ceiling, teasing me. Without Arven, the lightning would be mine and I could fight. I could show this world who I am. But that is not to be.


    Cal shifts, putting out his arm. The air ripples around him, distorted by the waves of heat rolling off his body. He angles himself toward the others, protecting me.


    ¡°Stay behind me as long as you can,¡± he says, letting his own heat push me back. The me maker sparks, and fire crackles between his fingers, growing up his arms. Something in his shirt keeps it from burning, and the fabric doesn¡¯t smoke away. ¡°When they break through the wall, you¡¯ll have to run. Evangeline¡¯s weakest, but the strongarm¡¯s slow. You can outrun him. They¡¯ll try to drag this out, to make it a show.¡± Then softly, ¡°They won¡¯t let us die quickly.¡±


    ¡°What about you? Osanos will¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let me worry about Osanos.¡±


    <span id="page_365" title="365">The executioners move steadily, like wolves stalking prey. They spread out across the middle of the arena, each one ready to advance. Somewhere, metal scrapes and a piece of the arena floor slides away, revealing a sloshing pool of water at Lord Osanos¡¯s feet. He smiles, drawing the water up to him in a menacing shield. I remember his daughter Tirana dueling Maven in Training. She destroyed him.


    All around, the crowd jeers. Ptolemus roars with them, letting his famed temper take over. He smacks at his armor, ringing it like a bell. At his side, Evangeline spins her knives, sliding them over her knuckles with a grin.


    ¡°This won¡¯t be like before, Red,¡± she crows. ¡°No tricks can save you now.¡±


    <i>Tricks</i>. Evangeline knows my abilities better than most; she knows they weren¡¯t tricks.<i>But she believes. She ignores the truth for something easier to understand</i>.


    The Haven son, Stralian, grins to himself. Like his sister ne, he is a shadow. When he flickers out of being, disappearing in the bright sunlight, Cal moves faster than I thought possible, swinging out his arm in a wide arc like he¡¯s throwing a haymaker punch.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024.


    A roar of me follows his arm, burning up the sand, separating us from them. But the fire is surprisingly weak.<i>The sand will barely burn</i>.


    I can¡¯t stop myself from ncing back at Maven, wanting to scream at him, only to find he¡¯s still staring at me with that insufferable crooked smirk. Not only has he taken away my abilities, but he¡¯s limiting Cal as much as he can.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± I curse under my breath. ¡°The sand¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Cal snaps, igniting more bits of the ground with a wave of his hand.


    Directly across from us, the line of me separates for a second,<span id="page_366" title="366">followed closely by a bitter scream of pain. On the other side of the dying fire, Stralian fades back into sight, batting mes from his arms. Osanos douses him with azy gesture, putting out the fire with a wave of water. Then he turns his startling blue eyes on us, on Cal¡¯s wall, and in a single motion, draws water across the weak fire like apping wave. The water hisses and spits, sh-boiling into thick clouds of steam. Trapped by the ss dome, the steam settles through the arena, shrouding us in a ghostly white fog. It swirls and spins, enveloping us in a white world where every shadow could be our doom.


    ¡°Be ready!¡± Cal shouts, a hand reaching for me, but Ptolemus charges out of the steam in a roar of flesh and steel.


    He hits Cal around the middle, knocking him to the ground, but Cal doesn¡¯t stay down long enough for Ptolemus to stab out with his knives. The des dig into the ground seconds after Cal leaps, his hands on Ptolemus¡¯s armor. The steel melts beneath his touch, drawing a scream from the berserker. I can only run as Cal tries to cook a man in his own armor.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill you, Ptolemus,¡± Cal says through the screams of pain. Every knife, every shard of metal Ptolemus raises to stab Cal melts away from his intense heat. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this.¡±


    Three sparkling des cut through the steam, barely shing blurs.<i>Too fast to melt in midair</i>. They hit Cal¡¯s back, stinging through his shirt before melting away. He yells in pain, losing focus for a second as three spots of silverblood stain his shirt. The knives were too small to cut deep, but they weaken him still. Ptolemus takes his chance and in the blink of an eye, his knives meld into a single monstrous sword. He shes, meaning to slice Cal in two, but he dodges in time, earning a scratch across the belly.


    Still alive.<i>But not for long</i>.


    <span id="page_367" title="367">Evangeline appears through the steam, knives swirling around in a glinting disy. Cal dips and dodges her des, throwing sts of fire to knock her off course. He duels them both, hitting an insane rhythm that allows him to fight off two marons, despite their strength and power. But blood stains his clothes and new wounds appear with every passing second. Ptolemus¡¯s weapon shifts, from a sword to an ax to a razor-thin metal whip, while Evangeline¡¯s jagged stars keep biting.<i>They¡¯re wearing him down. Slowly but surely</i>.


    <i>My lightning</i>, I think mournfully, looking back to Arven at our gate. He¡¯s still there, a ck presence to haunt me. A gun hangs at his waist; I can¡¯t even try to fight him.<i>I can¡¯t do anything</i>.


    When a massive chunk of concrete sails out of the steam, heading directly for me, I barely have time to dodge. It shatters against the sand where I stood seconds ago, but before I have time to think, anotheres hunting, howling through the air. The sky is raining concrete down on me. Like Cal, I find my rhythm, scurrying through the sand like a rat, until something stops me short.


    <i>A hand. An invisible hand</i>.


    Stralian¡¯s grip closes on my throat, choking me. I can hear him breathing in my ear, though I can¡¯t see him. ¡°Red and dead,¡± he growls, tightening his hand.


    My arm swings out, digging an elbow into what I suppose are his ribs, but he holds firm. I can¡¯t breathe and ck spots dot my vision, threatening to spread, but I keep fighting. Through the haze, I can see the Rhambos strongarm prowling, his eyes locked on me.<i>He¡¯ll pull me apart</i>.


    Cal still fights the Samos siblings, doing his best not to get stabbed. I can¡¯t scream for him even if I wanted to, but somehow he manages to throw a fireball my way. Rhambos has to jump back, stumbling on his<span id="page_368" title="368">massive feet, buying me a few more seconds. Gasping, choking, I dig my nails back, reaching for a head I cannot see. It¡¯s a miracle when I feel his face and then his eyes. With a gasping scream, I dig in, thumbs to his eye sockets, blinding him. Stralian roars, letting go of me. He falls to his knees, flickering back into being. Silverblood trails from his eyes like mirrored tears.


    ¡°You were supposed to be mine!¡± a voice screams, and I turn to see Evangeline standing over Cal, her de raised. Ptolemus has wrestled Cal to the ground, the two of them rolling through the sand with Evangeline haunting over them, her knives peppering the ground around him.<i>¡°Mine!¡±</i>


    It doesn¡¯t ur to me that running headfirst into a maron might not be a good idea until I collide into her. We fall together, my face scraping along her armor. It smarts and stings and<i>bleeds</i>, dripping red for all to see. Though I can¡¯t see the screens, I know every one broadcasts the image of my blood through the country.


    Evangeline shrieks,shing out with her dancing des. Behind us, Cal fights to his feet, sting Ptolemus away with a ze of fire. The maron collides with his sister, knocking her away seconds before her knives slice through me.


    ¡°Duck!¡± Cal shouts, throwing me to the sand as another b of concrete flies over us, shattering against the far wall.


    <i>We can¡¯t keep this up</i>. ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea.¡±


    Cal spits at the sand, and I think I see a few teeth mixed in with the blood. ¡°Good, because I ran out of them five minutes ago.¡±


    Another block sails by, forcing us to jump apart, and just in time. Evangeline and Ptolemus return with a vengeance, locking Cal into a chaotic dance of knives and shrapnel. Their powers shake the arena around us, calling up more metal from down deep, forcing Cal to<span id="page_369" title="369">watch his footing along with everything else. Shards of pipes and wires poke up through the sand, creating a deadly obstacle course of metal.


    One of them stabs Stralian where he kneels, still screaming over his eyes. The pipe goes straight through him, popping out through his mouth to silence his cries for good. Through the wreckage, I hear the arena crowd scream and gasp at the sight. For all their violent ways, all their power, they¡¯re still cowards.


    My feet pound through the sand as I circle Rhambos, daring him to attack me. Cal¡¯s right,<i>I¡¯m faster</i>, and though Rhambos is a monster of muscle, he trips over his own feet trying to chase me. He rips the jagged pipes from the ground, throwing them at me like spears, but they¡¯re easy to dodge and he roars in frustration.<i>I¡¯m Red, I¡¯m nothing, and I can still make you fall</i>.


    The sound of rushing water brings me back, making me remember the fifth executioner.<i>The nymph</i>.


    I turn just in time to see Lord Osanos part the steam like a curtain, clearing the arena floor. And ten yards away, still dueling hard, is Cal. Smoke and fire explode from him, beating back the marons. But as Osanos advances, the water trailing in a swirling cloak, Cal¡¯s mes recede. Here is the true executioner. Here is the end of the show.


    ¡°Cal!¡± I scream, but there¡¯s nothing I can do for him.<i>Nothing</i>.


    Another pipe sails past my cheek, so close I feel the cold sting, so close it makes me spin and fall. The gate is only yards away, with Arven still standing in its mouth, half-shrouded by darkness.


    Cal sends a st of fire at Osanos, but he smothers it quickly. Steam screams from the sh of water and fire, but water is winning.


    Rhambos advances, pushing me back toward the gate.<i>Cornered. I let him corner me</i>. Rocks and metal break against the wall behind me, enough to shatter my bones.<i>Lightning</i>, my head screams.<i>LIGHTNING</i>.


    <span id="page_370" title="370">But there¡¯s nothing. Just the dark smother of dead senses, suffocating me.


    All around us, the crowd jumps to their feet, sensing the end. I can hear Maven above me, cheering with all the rest.


    ¡°Finish them off!¡± he yells. It still surprises me to hear such malice in his voice. But when I look up, his eyes meeting mine through the shield and steam, there¡¯s nothing but anger and rage and evil.


    Rhambos takes aim, a long, jagged pipe in hand.<i>Death hase</i>.


    Over the din, I hear a roar of triumph: Ptolemus. He and Evangeline step back from a swirling orb of water, and the cloudy figure deep within.<i>Cal</i>. The water boils, and his body strains, trying to break free, but it¡¯s no use.<i>He¡¯s going to drown</i>.


    Behind me, almost in my ear, Arvenughs to himself. ¡°Who has the advantage?¡± he sneers to himself, repeating his words from Training.


    My muscles ache and twitch, begging for it to be over. I just want to lie down, to admit defeat, to die. They called me a liar, a trickster, and<i>they were right</i>.


    I have one more trick left up my sleeve.


    Rhambos takes aim, setting his feet in the sand, and I know what I must do. He hurls his spear with such strength it seems to burn the air. I drop, throwing myself to the sand.


    A sickening squelch tells me my n has worked and the scream of electricity surging back to life tells me I might win.


    Behind me, Arven copses, a pipe speared through his middle.


    ¡°I have the advantage,¡± I tell his corpse.


    When I get back to my feet, thunder and lightning and sparks and shocks and everything I can possibly control spits from my body. The crowd screams aloud, Maven above them all.


    <span id="page_371" title="371">¡°Kill her! KILL HER!¡± he roars, pointing down at me through the dome. ¡°SHOOT HER!¡±


    Bullets dig into the dome, sparking and splintering against the electric shield, but it holds firm. It was supposed to protect them, but it is electric, it is lightning, it is<i>mine</i>, and the shield protects<i>me</i>now.


    The crowd gasps, not believing their eyes. Red blood drips from my wounds, and lightning trembles in my skin, dering what I am for everyone. Overhead, the video screens go dark. But I¡¯ve already been seen. They can¡¯t stop what¡¯s already happened.


    Rhambos takes a quivering step back, his breath catching in his throat. I don¡¯t give him a chance to take another.


    <i>Silver and Red, and stronger than both</i>.


    My lightning streaks through him, boiling his blood, frying his nerves, until he copses in a twitching pile of meat.


    Osanos drops next as my sparks run over him. The liquid orb sshes to the ground, and Cal copses to the sand, spitting up water with hacking coughs.


    Despite the jagged metal spikes punching up through the sand, trying to run me through, I break into a sprint, dodging and vaulting over every obstacle.<i>They trained me for this. It¡¯s their own fault. They helped make their own doom</i>.


    Evangeline waves a hand, sending a steel beam flying at my head. I slide beneath it, knees skimming across the ground, beforeing up beside her, daggered bolts of lightning in my hands.


    She calls up a sword from the swirling metal, forging a de. My lightning breaks against it, shocking through the iron, but still she duels. The metal shifts and splits all around us, trying to fight me. Even her spiders return to tear me down, but they aren¡¯t enough.<i>She</i>isn¡¯t enough.


    <span id="page_372" title="372">Another st of lightning knocks her des away and sends her sprawling, trying to escape my wrath.<i>She won¡¯t</i>.


    ¡°Not a trick,¡± she breathes, taken off guard. Her eyes fly between my hands as she backs away, bits of metal floating between us in a hasty shield. ¡°Not a lie.¡±


    I can taste red blood in my mouth, sharp and metallic and strangely wonderful. I spit it out for all to see. Overhead, the blue sky darkens through the shielded dome. ck clouds gather, heavy and full with rain.<i>The storm ising</i>.


    ¡°You said you¡¯d kill me if I ever got in your way.¡± It feels so good to throw her words back in her face. ¡°Here¡¯s your chance.¡±


    Her chest rises and falls, heaving with each breath. She¡¯s tired. She¡¯s wounded. And the steel behind her eyes is almost gone, giving way to fear.


    She lunges, and I move to block her attack, but it neveres. Instead, she<i>runs</i>. She runs from<i>me</i>, sprinting at the closest gate she can find. I pound after her, running to hunt her down, but Cal¡¯s roar of frustration stops me in my tracks.


    Osanos is on his feet again, dueling with renewed strength, while Ptolemus dances around them, looking for his opening.<i>Cal is no good against nymphs, not with his fire</i>. I remember how easily bested Maven was in his own training so long ago.


    My hand closes around the nymph¡¯s wrist, shocking him through his skin, forcing him to turn his anger on me. The water feels like a hammer, knocking me backward into the sand. It crashes and crashes, making it impossible to breathe. For the first time since I entered the arena, the cold hand of fear clenches around my heart. Now that we have a chance of winning, of living, I¡¯m so afraid to lose. My lungs scream for air and I can¡¯t help but open my mouth, letting the water<span id="page_373" title="373">choke me. It stings like fire, like death.


    The tiniest spark runs through me, and it¡¯s enough, shocking through the water and up into Osanos. He yelps, jumping back long enough to let me scramble free, slipping through the wet sand. Air sears my lungs as I gasp for breath, but there¡¯s no time to enjoy it. Osanos is on me again; this time his hands are around my neck, holding me under the swirling foot of water.


    But I¡¯m ready for him. The fool is stupid enough to touch me, to put his skin against mine. When I let the lightning go, shocking through flesh and water, he screams like a boiling teakettle and flops backward. As the water falls away, draining into the sand, I know he¡¯s truly dead.


    When I rise, soaking wet, shaking with adrenaline, fear,<i>strength</i>, my eyes fly to Cal. He¡¯s shed and bruised, bleeding all over, but his arms rage with bright red fire, and Ptolemus cowers at his feet. He raises his hands in defeat, begging for mercy.


    ¡°Kill him, Cal,¡± I snarl, wanting to see him bleed. Above us, the lightning shield pulses again, surging with my anger. If only it was Evangeline. If only I could do it myself. ¡°He tried to kill<i>us</i>. Kill him.¡±


    Cal doesn¡¯t move, breathing hard through his teeth. He looks so torn, eager for vengeance, consumed by the thrill of battle, but also steadily fading back to the calm, thoughtful man he used to be. The man he<i>can¡¯t</i>be anymore.


    But a man¡¯s nature is not so easily changed. He steps back, mes fading away.


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    The silence presses down, a wonderful change from the screaming, jeering crowd who wanted us dead moments ago. But when I look up, I realize they aren¡¯t staring. They aren¡¯t seeing Cal¡¯s mercy or my ability. They aren¡¯t even there at all. The great arena has emptied, leaving no<span id="page_374" title="374">witnesses to our victory. The king sent them away, to hide the truth of what we have done so he can supnt it with his own lies.


    From his box, Maven begins to p.


    ¡°Well done,¡± he shouts, moving to the edge of the arena. He peers at us through the shield, his mother close at his shoulder.


    The sound hurts more than any knife, making me cringe. It echoes over the empty structure, until marching feet, boots on stone and sand, drown him out.


    Security, Sentinels, soldiers, all of them pour onto the sand from every gate. There are hundreds, thousands, too many to fight. Too many to run from. We won the battle, but we lost the war.


    Ptolemus scrambles away, disappearing into the crowd of soldiers. Now we¡¯re alone in a steadily closing circle, with nothing and no one left.


    <i>It¡¯s not fair. We won. We showed them. It¡¯s</i>not<i>fair</i>. I want to scream, to shock and rage and fight, but the bullets will get me first. Hot tears of anger well in my eyes, but I will not cry. Not in thesest moments.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I did this to you,¡± I whisper to Cal. No matter how I feel about his beliefs, he¡¯s the one truly losing here. I knew the risks, but he was just a pawn, torn between so many ying an invisible game.


    He clenches his jaw, twisting and turning as he looks for some way out of this. But there isn¡¯t one. I don¡¯t expect him to forgive me, and I don¡¯t deserve it either. But his hand closes over mine, holding on to thest person on his side.


    Slowly, he starts to hum. I recognize the tune as the sad song, the one we kissed to in a room full of moonlight.


    Thunder rumbles in the clouds, threatening to burst. Raindrops pitter on the dome above us. It shocks and sizzles the rain, but the water keepsing in a steady downpour.<i>Even the sky weeps for our loss</i>.


    <span id="page_375" title="375">At the edge of his box, Maven stares down at us. The sparking shield distorts his face, making him look like the monster he truly is. Water drips down his nose, but he doesn¡¯t notice. His mother whispers something in his ear and he jolts, brought back to reality.


    ¡°Good-bye, little lightning girl.¡±


    When he raises his hand, I think he might be shaking.


    Like the little girl I am, I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting to feel the blinding pain of a hundred bullets ripping me apart. My thoughts turn inward, to days long past. To Kilorn, my parents, my brothers, my sister.<i>Will I see them all soon?</i>My heart tells me yes. They¡¯re waiting for me, somewhere, somehow. And like I did that day in the Spiral Garden, when I thought I was falling to my death, I feel cold eptance.<i>I will die</i>. I feel life leaving, and I let go.


    The storm overhead explodes with a deafening p of thunder, so strong it shakes the air. The ground rumbles beneath my feet and, even behind closed eyelids, I see the blinding sh of light. Purple and white and strong, the strongest thing I¡¯ve ever felt. Weakly, I wonder what will happen if it hits me. Will I die or will I survive? Will it forge me like a sword, into something terrible and sharp and new?


    I never find out.


    Cal seizes me by the shoulders, throwing us both out of the way as a giant bolt of lightning streaks down out of the sky. It shatters through the shield, sending purple shards down on us like falling snow. It sizzles against my skin in a delightful sensation, an invigorating pulse of power to bring me back to life.


    All around us, the gunmen cower, ducking or running away, trying to escape the sparking storm. Cal tries to drag me, but I¡¯m barely aware of him. Instead, my senses buzz with the storm, feeling it churning above me.<i>It¡¯s mine</i>.


    <span id="page_376" title="376">Another bolt strikes down, pounding into the sand, and the Security officers scatter, running for the gates. But the Sentinels and the soldiers are not so easily frightened, and theye to their senses quickly. Even though Cal pulls me back, trying to save us both, they pursue¡ªand there is no escape.


    As good as the storm feels, it drains me, leeching my energy away. Controlling a lightning storm is just too much. My knees buckle, and my heart beats like a drum, so fast I think it might burst.<i>One more bolt, one more</i>.<i>We might have a chance</i>.


    When my feet stumble backward, heels jutting out over the empty chasm that once held Osanos¡¯s water weapon, I know it¡¯s over. There¡¯s nowhere else to run.


    Cal holds me tight, pulling me back from the edge in case I might fall. There¡¯s nothing but ckness down there, and the echo of churning water deep down. Nothing but pipes and plumbing and ck nothing. And ahead of us, the practiced, brutal ranks of soldiers. They take aim mechanically, raising their guns in unison.


    The shield is broken, the storm is dying, and we have lost. Maven can smell my defeat and grins from his box, his lips pulled into a terrifying smile. Even from such a distance, I can see the glinting points of his crown. Rainwater runs into his eyes, but he doesn¡¯t blink. He doesn¡¯t want to miss my death.


    The guns rise, and this time they won¡¯t wait for Maven¡¯s order.


    The shooting thunders like my storm, ringing out across the empty arena. But I feel nothing. When the first line of gunmen falls, their chests peppered with bullet holes, I don¡¯t understand.


    I blink down at my feet, only to see a line of strange guns poking out over the edge of the chasm. Each barrel smokes and jumps, still shooting, mowing down all the soldiers in front of us.


    <span id="page_377" title="377">Before I can understand, someone grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me down to fall through the ck air. Wend in water far below, but the arms never let go.


    The water takes me, down into darkness.

 Red Queen: Epilogue

    <i>The ck void of</i>sleep ebbs away, giving way to life again. My body rocks with motion, and I can sense an engine somewhere. Metal shrieks against metal, scraping at high speed in a noise I vaguely recognize.<i>The Undertrain</i>.


    The seat beneath my cheek feels oddly soft, but also tense. Not leather or cloth or concrete, I realize, but warm<i>flesh</i>. It shifts beneath me, adjusting as I move, and my eyes open. What I see is enough to make me think I¡¯m still dreaming.


    Cal sits across the train, his posture stiff and tense, fists clenched in hisp. He stares straight ahead, to the person cradling me, and in his eyes is the fire I know so well. The train fascinates him, and his gaze flickers now and then, ncing at the lights and the windows and the wires. He¡¯s itching to examine it, but the person at his side keeps him from moving at all.


    <i>Farley</i>.N?velDrama.Org ? content.


    The revolutionary, all scars and tension, stands over him. Somehow she survived the ughter under the Square. I want to smile, to call out<span id="page_379" title="379">to her, but weakness bleeds through me, keeping me still. I remember the storm, the battle of the arena, and all the horrors that came before.<i>Maven</i>. His name makes my heart clench, twisting in anguish and shame.<i>Anyone can betray anyone</i>.


    Her gun hangs across her chest, ready to fire on Cal. There are more like her, tensely guarding him. They are broken, wounded, and so few, but they still look menacing. Their eyes never stray from the fallen prince, watching him as a mouse would a cat. And then I see his wrists are bound, shackled in iron that he could easily melt away. But he doesn¡¯t. He just sits there quietly, waiting for something.


    When he feels my gaze, his eyes snap to mine. Life sparks in him again.


    ¡°Mare,¡± he murmurs, and some of the hot anger breaks.<i>Some</i>.


    My head spins when I try to sit up, but aforting hand pushes me back down again. ¡°Lie still,¡± a voice says, a voice I vaguely recognize.


    ¡°Kilorn,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    To my confusion, the old fisher boy pushes his way through the Guardsmen behind Farley. He has scars of his own now, with dirty bandages on his arm, but he stands tall. And he is<i>alive</i>. Just the sight of him sends a flood of relief through me.


    But if Kilorn is standing there, with the rest of the Guard, then . . .


    My neck turns sharply, moving to look up at the person above me. ¡°Who¡ª?¡±


    The face is familiar, a face I know so well. If I were not already lying down, I would certainly fall. The shock is too much for me to bear.


    ¡°Am I dead? Are we dead?¡±


    <span id="page_380" title="380"><i>He¡¯se to take me away. I died in the arena. This was a hallucination, a dream, a wish, ast thought before dying. We are all dead</i>.


    But my brother shakes his head slowly, staring at me with familiar honey-colored eyes. Shade was always the handsome one, and death has not changed that.


    ¡°You¡¯re not dead, Mare,¡± he says, his voice as smooth as I remember. ¡°Neither am I.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± is all I can manage, sitting back to examine my brother fully. He looks the same as I remember, without the usual scars of a soldier. Even his brown hair is growing out again, shaking off the military cut. I run my fingers through it, to convince myself he¡¯s real.


    <i>But he is not the same. Just like you are not the same</i>.


    ¡°The mutation,¡± I say, letting my hand graze his arm. ¡°They killed you for it.¡±


    His eyes seem to dance. ¡°They tried.¡±


    I don¡¯t blink, time doesn¡¯t pass, but he¡¯s moved at a speed beyond my sight, beyond even that of a swift. Now he sits across from me, next to the still-shackled Cal. It¡¯s like he¡¯s shifting through space, jumping from one spot to another in no time at all.


    ¡°And failed,¡± he finishes from his new seat. His grin is wide now, pleasantly amused by my openmouthed stare. ¡°They said they killed me, they told the captains I was dead and my body burned.¡± Another split second and he¡¯s sitting next to me again, appearing out of thin air.<i>Teleporting</i>. ¡°But they weren¡¯t fast enough. No one is.¡±


    I try to nod, I try to understand his ability, his simple<i>existence</i>, but I can¡¯tprehend much more than the circle of his arms around me.<i>Shade. Alive and like me</i>.


    ¡°What about the others? Mom, Dad¡ª¡± But Shade stills me with a smile.


    <span id="page_381" title="381">¡°They¡¯re safe and waiting,¡± he says. His voice breaks a little, ovee with emotion. ¡°We¡¯ll see them soon.¡±


    My heart swells at the thought. But like all my happiness, all my joy and all my hope, it doesn¡¯tst long. My eyes fall on the Guard bristling with weapons, on Kilorn¡¯s scars, on Farley¡¯s tense face and Cal¡¯s bound hands. Cal, who has suffered so much, escaping one prison for another.


    ¡°Let him go.¡± I owe him my life,<i>more</i>than my life. Surely I can give him somefort here. But no one budges at my words, not even Cal.


    To my surprise, he answers before Farley. ¡°They won¡¯t. And they shouldn¡¯t. In fact, you should probably blindfold me, if you really want to be thorough.¡±


    Even though he¡¯s been cast down, thrown out of his own life, Cal can¡¯t change who he is. The soldier is in him still. ¡°Cal, shut up. You¡¯re not a danger to anyone.¡±


    With a scoff, Cal tips his head, gesturing at the train of armed rebels. ¡°They seem to think otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Not to us, I mean,¡± I add, shrinking back against my seat. ¡°He saved me up there, even after what I did. And after what Maven did to you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say his name.¡± His growl is frightful, putting a chill in me, and I don¡¯t miss Farley¡¯s hand tightening around her gun.


    Her words slide out between clenched teeth. ¡°No matter what he did for you, the prince is not on our side. And I won¡¯t risk what¡¯s left of us for your little romance.¡±


    <i>Romance</i>. We flinch at the word.<i>There is no such thing between us anymore. Not after what we did to each other, and what was done to us. No matter how much we might want there to be</i>.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to keep fighting, Mare, but Silvers have betrayed us<span id="page_382" title="382">before. We won¡¯t trust them again.¡± Kilorn¡¯s words are softer, a balm to try to help me understand. But his eyes spark at Cal. Obviously he remembers the torture down in the cells and the terrible sight of frozen blood. ¡°He might be a valuable prisoner.¡±


    They don¡¯t know Cal like I do. They don¡¯t know he could destroy them all, that he could escape in a heartbeat if he really wanted. So why does he stay? When he meets my eyes, somehow he answers my question without speaking. The hurt I see radiating from him is enough to break my heart.<i>He is tired. He is broken. And he doesn¡¯t want to fight anymore</i>.


    Part of me doesn¡¯t either. Part of me wishes I could submit to chains, to captivity and silence. But I have lived that life already, in the mud, in the shadows, in a cell, in a silk dress. I will never submit again. I will never stop fighting.


    Neither will Kilorn. Neither will Farley. We will never stop.


    ¡°The others like us . . .¡± My voice shakes, but I have never felt so strong. ¡°The others like me and Shade.¡±


    Farley nods and pats a hand to her pocket. ¡°I still have the list. I know the names.¡±


    ¡°And so does Maven,¡± I reply smoothly. Cal twitches at the name. ¡°He¡¯ll use the bloodbase to trace them, and hunt them down.¡±


    Even though the train sways and shakes, twisting over dark tracks, I force myself to my feet. Shade tries to steady me, but I brush his hand away. I must stand on my own.


    ¡°He can¡¯t find them before we do.¡± I raise my chin, feeling the pulse of the train. It electrifies me. ¡°He can¡¯t.¡±


    When Kilorn steps toward me, his face set and determined, his bruises and scars and bandages seem to fade. I think I see the dawn in his eyes.


    <span id="page_383" title="383">¡°He won¡¯t.¡±


    A strange warmth falls over me, a warmth like the sun though we are deep underground. It¡¯s as familiar to me as my own lightning, reaching out to envelop me in an embrace we can¡¯t have. Even though they call Cal my enemy, even though they fear him, I let his warmth fall on my skin, and I let his eyes burn into mine.


    Our shared memories sh before me, parading every second of our time together. But now our friendship is gone, reced by the one thing we still have inmon.


    Our hatred for Maven.


    I don¡¯t need to be a whisper to know we share a thought.


    <i>I will kill him</i>.


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