فصل نهم

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

—Captain, return to orders. COMMAND won’t stand for this. —RAM— THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, COMMAND CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 29 of Operation SHIELDWALL, Stage 2.

Operative: Colonel REDACTED.

Designation: RAM.

Origin: REDACTED.

Destination: DRUMMER at REDACTED.

-No contact from LAMB in 2 days.

-Request permission to intercept.

-SHIELDWALL ahead of schedule. Island 3 operational but transit problematic. More boats needed than previously thought.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: General REDACTED.

Designation: DRUMMER.

Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED.

-Permission to intercept granted, will relay further info re. her location.

-Use force if necessary. She was your suggestion and your mistake if things continue.

-Get RED WEB to Stage 2. Collab with other teams to begin removal.

-Will explore other transit options for 3.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

—LAMB get your ass in line, or it’s your head. —RAM— Another message to the fire.

“Charming,” I mutter, watching the Colonel’s words burn up.

This time, Cara doesn’t bother to ask. But her lips purse into a thin line, holding back a torrent of questions. Five days now since I’ve responded to any messages, official or otherwise. She obviously knows something is afoot.

“Cara—,” I begin, but she holds up a hand.

“I don’t have clearance,” she replies. Her eyes meet mine with startling ferocity. “And I don’t care to know what path you’re leading us down, so long as you think it’s the right one.” A warmth fills my insides. I do my best to keep it from showing, but a bit of a smile bleeds out anyways. My hand finds her shoulder, offering her the smallest touch of thanks.

“Don’t get sappy on me now, Captain.” She chuckles, tucking away the broadcaster.

“Will do.” I straighten, turning around to face the rest of my team. They cluster at the edge of the steaming alley, a respectful distance away to allow for my private correspondences. To hide our presence, Tristan and Rasha sit on the alley curb, facing the street beyond. They keep their hands out and their hoods up, begging for food or money. Everyone slides past, looking elsewhere.

“Tye, Big Coop.” The pair in question steps forward. Tye tips her head, pointing her good ear at me, while Big Coop lives up to the nickname. With a chest like a barrel and almost seven feet of heavy muscle, he’s nearly twice the size of his brother, Little Coop. “Stay with Cara, keep the second radio ready.” She extends a hand, all but itching to get hold of our newest prize. One of three top-of-the-line, techie-made, long-range secure radios, all swiped from the Corvium stores by Barrow’s light fingers. I pass along the radio, though I keep the second tucked close. Barrow kept the third. Should he need to get in touch. Not that he’s used it yet. Not that I’m keeping tally of his communications. Usually Barrow just shows up when he wants to trade information, always without warning, slipping past every spotter I put around the farmhouse. But today we’re beyond even his sly reach. Twenty-five miles east, in the middle of Rocasta.

“As for the rest. Cristobel, Little Coop, you’re on over watch. Get high, get hidden. Usual signals.” Cris grins, showing a mouth of missing teeth. Punishment for “smirking” at her Silver master, back when she was a twelve-year-old serving girl in a Trial mansion. Little Coop is just as eager. His size and mousy demeanor, not to mention his brick wall of a brother, hide a skilled operative with a steel spine. Needing nothing more, they set to their work. Little Coop picks a drain pipe, scrabbling up the brick walls of the alley, while Cris scrambles to a fence, using it to boost herself onto a narrow window ledge. Both disappear in moments, to follow us from the Rocastan rooftops.

“The rest of you, track your marks. Keep your ears open. Memorize movements. I want to know everything from birthdays to shoe sizes. Gather whatever you can in the time we can.” The words are familiar. Everyone knows why I called for this scout. But it serves as a rallying cry, one last thread drawing us together. Tying them to your disobedience, you mean.

My fist curls, nails digging into my palm where no one can see. The sting erases the thought quite nicely. As does the breeze sweeping through the alley. It stinks of garbage, but it’s cool at least, blowing off Lake Eris to the north.

“The more we know about the Corvium supply convoy, the easier it’ll be to infiltrate.” As good a reason as any to be here, to stay when all the Colonel does is tell me to leave. “Gates close at sundown. Return to rally point within the hour. Understood?” Their heads bob in taut unison, their eyes alive, bright, and eager.

A few blocks away, a clock tower chimes nine times. I move without thought, stepping through my Guardsmen as they fall in line behind me. Tristan and Rasha are the last to stand. My lieutenant looks bare without his rifle, but I know there’s a pistol on him somewhere, probably collecting sweat at the base of his back.

We head into the street, a main avenue through the Red sector of the city. Safe for now, surrounded by nothing more than Red homes and businesses, with few if any Silver officers to watch us pass. As in Harbor Bay, Rocasta maintains its own Red Watch, to protect what Silvers won’t. Though we’re heading for the same place, my team splits into their pairs, putting space between us. Can’t exactly rove into the city center looking like a jumped-up assault squad, let alone a gang. Tristan keeps close again, letting me lead us to our destination—the Iron Road. As in Corvium, the Road bisects Rocasta, driving right through its heart like river through valley. As we get closer to the main thoroughfare, traffic picks up. Late servants hurrying to the homes of their masters, volunteer watchmen returning from their night posts, parents hustling their children to ramshackle schools.

And of course, more officers with every passing street. Their uniforms, black with silver trim, are severe in the harsh sun of late spring, as are the gleaming guns and clubs at their waists. Funny, they feel the need to wear uniforms, as if they’re at risk of being mistaken for Red. One of us. Not a chance. Their skin, undershot with blue and gray, leached of everything alive, is distinguishing enough. There is no Red on earth so cold as a Silver.

Ten yards ahead of us, Rasha stops so quickly her partner, Martenson, almost trips over her. No mean feat, considering she has about six inches on the graying Little Papa. Next to me, Tristan tenses, but doesn’t break formation. He knows the rules. Nothing is above the Guard, not even affection.

The Silver legionnaires drag a boy by the arms. His feet kick at open air. He’s small, looking young for eighteen. I doubt he needs to shave. I do my best to block out the sound of his begging, but his mother’s wail cannot be ignored. She follows, two more children on her heels, with a solemn father trailing behind. Her hands clutch at her son’s shirt, offering one last bout of resistance to his conscription.

The street seems to hold its breath as one, watching the familiar tragedy.

A crack echoes and she falls backward, clutching a bruising cheek. The legionnaire didn’t even lift a finger or even look up from his grim work. He must be a telkie and used his abilities to swat the woman away.

“You want worse?” he snaps when she moves to stand.

“Don’t!” the boy says, using his last free words to beg.

This will not last. This will not continue. This is why I’m here.

Even so, it makes me sick to know I cannot do anything for this boy and his mother. Our plans are falling into place, but not fast enough for him. Perhaps he will survive, I tell myself. But one look at his thin arms and the eyeglasses trampled beneath a legionnaire’s foot says otherwise. The boy will die like so many others. In a trench or in a wasteland, alone at the very end.

“I can’t watch this,” I mutter, and turn down another alley.

After a long moment of strange hesitation, Tristan follows.

I can only hope Rasha stays the course as well as he does. But I understand. She lost two sisters to Lakelander conscriptions, and fled her home before meeting the same fate.

Rocasta is not a walled city, and has no gates to choke the ends of the Iron Road. An easy place to enter, but it makes our task a bit more difficult. The main body of the returning supply convoy comes along the Road, but a few of the walking escorts peel off, taking different shortcuts to the same destination. On another day, my team would spend hours tracking them all to their homes, only to watch them sleep off the long journey. Not so now. Because it’s First Friday. Today is the Feat of July.

A ridiculous Nortan tradition, albeit an effective one, if the intelligence is to be believed. Arenas in almost every town and city, casting long shadows and spitting blood once a month. Reds are required to attend, to sit and watch Silver champions exchange blows and abilities with the glee of stage performers. We have no such thing in the Lakelands. Silvers don’t feel the need to show off against us, and the storied threat of Norta is enough to keep everyone terrified.

“They do it in Piedmont too,” Tristan mutters. He leans against the poured concrete fence edging the promenade around the arena’s entrance. Our gazes flick in unison, one of us always watching our marks, another always watching the band of officers directing people into the gaping maw of Arena Rocasta.

“Call them Acts, not Feats. And we didn’t just have to watch. Sometimes, they made Reds fight too.” I hear the tremor of rage in his voice, even above the organized chaos of today’s spectacle.

I nudge his shoulder as gently as I can. “Fight each other?” Kill Reds, or be killed by Silvers? I don’t know which is worse.

“Targets are moving,” he simply growls.

One more glance at the officers, now occupied with a band of mangy kids halting foot traffic. “Let’s go.” And let that wound fester with the rest.

I push off the wall next to him and slip into the crowd, eyes trained on the four red uniforms up ahead. It isn’t easy. This close to Corvium, there’s a lot of Red military, either marching through to take their places in the Choke or attached to different convoys like the one we’re tailing. But the four men, three bronze, one dark skinned, all bone tired, keep close to each other. We haunt their footsteps. They manned a horse cart for the convoy, carrying what, I’m not sure. It was empty when they returned with the rest. But judging by the lack of Security and Silvers, I know their supply train isn’t for weaponry or ammunition. The three bronze men are brothers, I assume, judging by their similar faces and mannerisms. It’s almost comical to watch them spit and scratch their behinds in staggered unison. The fourth, a burly fellow with vividly blue eyes, is subdued in his itching, though he smiles more than the rest put together. Crance, I think his name is, based on my eavesdropping.

We enter the arches of the arena entrance like prowling cats, close enough to hear our marks but not be noticed. Overhead, harsh electric lights flicker, illuminating the high-ceilinged chamber connecting the outer promenade to the interior. The crowd thickens to our left, where a variety of Reds wait to place their bets on the ensuing match. Above it, the boards announce the Silvers to fight, and their odds of victory.

Flora Lerolan, Oblivion, 3/1

Maddux Thany, Stoneskin, 10/1

“Hang on a second,” Crance says, halting the rest by the betting boards. With a grin, one of the bronze men joins him. The pair dig in their pockets for something to gamble.

Under the pretense of doing the same, Tristan and I stop no more than a few feet away, hidden in the swelling crowd. The betting boards are popular among the Reds of Rocasta, where a thriving military economy keeps most from going hungry. There are several well-to-do among the crowd—merchants and business owners in proudly clean clothes. They make their bets and hand over dull coppers, even a few silver tetrarchs. I bet the till of Arena Rocasta is nothing to sneer at, and make a note to pass on such information to Command. If they’ll still listen to me.

“Come on, look at the odds—it’s easy money!” Still smiling infectiously, Crance points between the boards and the betting windows. The other two tailing along don’t look so convinced.

“You know something about stoneskins we don’t?” the tallest says. “He’ll get blown to pebbles by the oblivion.” “Suit yourself, Horner. But I didn’t trudge all the way from Corvium to sit bored in the stands.” Bills in hand, Crance slips away with his friend on his heels, leaving Horner and the other man to wait. Somehow, despite Crance’s size, he’s surprisingly good at cutting through a crowd. Too good.

“Watch them,” I murmur with a touch to Tristan’s elbow. And then I’m weaving too, careful to keep my head angled at the ground. There are cameras here, enough to be wary of. Should the next few weeks go as planned, I might want to start hiding my face.

I see it as Crance passes his paper through the window. His sleeve lifts as it scrapes the betting ledge, pulling back to reveal a tattoo. It almost blends into his umber skin, but the shape is unmistakable. I’ve seen it before. Blue anchor. Red rope.

We’re not the only crew working this convoy. The Mariners already have a man inside.

This is good. We can work with this. My mind fires as I fight my way back. Pay for their information. Less Guard involvement, but the same outcome. And odds are the Mariner is alone, working the job solo. We could try to turn him, get our own eyes inside the Mariners. Start pulling strings, absorb the gang into the Guard.

Tristan stands a head above the crowd, still watching the other two marks. I fight the urge to sprint to his side and divulge everything.

But an obstacle sprouts between us. A bald man and a familiar sheen of sweat across his brow. Lakelander. Before I can run or shout, a hand closes around my throat from behind. Tight enough to keep me quiet, loose enough to let me breathe, and certainly enough to drag me through the crowd with Baldy keeping close.

Another might thrash or fight, but I know better. Silver officers are everywhere here, and their “help” is not anything I want to risk. Instead I put my trust in myself, and in Tristan. He must keep watch, and I must get free.

The crowd takes us in its current, and still I cannot see who it is marching me through. Baldy’s bulk hides most of me, as does the scarf my captor tosses around my neck. Funny, it’s scarlet. And then we climb. Up the steps, high above the arena floor, to long slab seats that are mostly abandoned.

Only then am I released, pushed to sit.

I whirl in a fury, fists clenched and ready, only to find the Colonel staring back, very much prepared for my rage.

“You want to add striking your commanding officer to your list of offenses?” he says. It’s almost a purr.

No, I don’t. Glumly, I drop my fists. Even if I could fight my way past Baldy, I don’t want to try myself at the Colonel and his wiry strength. I raise a hand to my neck instead, massaging the now tender skin beneath the red scarf.

“It won’t bruise,” he continues.

“Your mistake. I thought you wanted to send a message. Nothing says ‘get your ass back in line’ like a blue neck.” His red eye flashes. “You stop responding and think I’ll let that go? Not a chance, Captain. Now tell me what’s going on here. What of your team? Have you all gone rogue, or did some run off?” “No one’s run off,” I force through gritted teeth. “Not one of them. No one’s rogue either. They’re still following orders.” “At least someone is.”

“I am still under operation, whether you choose to see it or not. Everything I’m doing here is for the cause, for the Guard. Like you said, this isn’t the Lakelands. And while getting the Whistle network online is priority, so is Corvium.” I have to hiss to be heard over the crowding arena. “We can’t rely on the slow creep here. Things are too centralized. People will notice, and they’ll root us out before we’re ready. We have to hit hard, hit big, hit where the Silvers can’t hide us.” I’m gaining ground, but not much. Still, it’s enough for him to keep his voice from shaking. He’s angry, but not livid. He can still be reasoned with.

“That’s precisely what you recorded for,” he says. “You remember, I assume.” A camera and a red scarf across half my face. A gun in one hand, a newly made flag in the other, reciting words memorized like a prayer. And we will rise up, Red as the dawn.

“Farley, this is how we operate. No one holds all the cards. No one knows the hand. It’s the only way we stay ahead and alive,” he presses on. From another, it might sound like pleading. But not the Colonel. He doesn’t ask things. He just orders. “But believe me when I say, we have plans for Norta. And they aren’t so far from what you want.” Below us, the champions of the Feat march out onto the strange gray sand. One, the Thany stoneskin, has a boulder belly, and is nearly as wide as he is tall. He has no need for armor, and is naked to the waist. For her part, the oblivion looks every inch her ability. Dressed in interlocking plates of red and orange, she dances like a nimble flame.

“And do those plans include Corvium?” I whisper, turning back to the Colonel. I must make him understand. “Do you think me so blind that I wouldn’t notice if there was another operation in this city? Because there isn’t. There’s no one here but me. No one else seems to care about that fortress where every single Red doomed to die passes through. Every single one. And you think that place isn’t important?” Corporal Eastree flashes in my head. Her gray face and gray eyes, her stern resolve. She spoke of slavery, because that’s what this world is. No one dares say it, but that’s what Reds are. Slaves and graves.

For once, the Colonel holds his tongue. Good, or else I might cut it out.

“You go back to Command and you tell someone else to continue with Red Web. Oh, and let them know the Mariners are here too. They’re not so shortsighted as the rest of us.” Part of me expects to be slapped for insubordination. In all our years, I’ve never spoken to him like this. Not even—not even in the north. At the frozen place we all used to call home. But I was a child then. A little girl pretending to be a hunter, gutting rabbits and setting bad snares to feel important. I am not her anymore. I am twenty-two years old, a captain of the Scarlet Guard, and no one, not even the Colonel, can tell me I am wrong now.

“Well?”

After a long, trembling moment, he opens his mouth. “No.” An explosion below matches my rage. The crowd gasps in time with the fight, watching as the wispy oblivion tries to live up to her odds. But the Mariner was right. The stoneskin will win. He is a mountain against her fire, and he will endure.

“My team will stand with me,” I warn. “You’ll lose ten good soldiers and one captain to your pride, Colonel.” “No, Captain, someone else is not going to take over Red Web from you,” he says. “But I will petition Command for a Corvium operation, and when they’ve secured a team, it will take your place.” When. Not if. I can barely believe what he’s saying.

“Until such time, you will remain in Corvium and continue work with your contacts. Relay all pertinent information through the usual channels.” “But Command—”

“Command is more open-minded than you know. And for whatever reason, they think the world of you.” “I can’t tell if you’re lying.”

He merely raises one shoulder, shrugging. His eyes rove back to the arena floor, to watch as the stoneskin rips the young oblivion apart.

Somehow, his reason grates on me more than anything else. It’s hard to hate him in a time like this, when I remember who he used to be. And then of course, I remember the rest. What he did to us, to our family. To my mother and sister, who were not so horrible as we were, who could not survive in the monster he made.

I wish he wasn’t my father. I’ve wished it so many times.

“How goes Shieldwall?” I murmur to keep my thoughts at bay.

“Ahead of schedule.” Not a hint of pride, just sober fact. “But transit could be an issue, once we set in on removal.” Supposedly the second stage of my operation. The removal and transport of assets deemed useful to the Scarlet Guard. Not just Reds who would pledge to the cause but ones who can fire a gun, drive a transport, read, fight.

“I shouldn’t know—,” I begin, but he cuts me off. I get the feeling he doesn’t have anyone to talk to, if Baldy is any indication. Now that I’m gone.

“Command gave me three boats. Three. They think three boats can help get an entire island populated and working.” Somewhere in my brain, a bell rings. And on the floor, the stoneskin raises his rocky arms, victorious. Skin healers tend to the oblivion girl, fixing up her broken jaw and crushed shoulders with quick touches. Crance will be happy.

“Does Command ever mention pilots?” I wonder aloud.

The Colonel turns, one eyebrow raised. “Pilots? For what?” “I think my man inside Corvium can get us something better than boats, or at least, a way to steal something better than boats.” Another man would smile, but the Colonel simply nods.

“Do it.”

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, COMMAND CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: Colonel REDACTED.

Designation: RAM.

Origin: Rocasta, NRT.

Destination: COMMAND at REDACTED

-Contact made with LAMB. Her team still online, no losses.

-Assessment: CORVIUM worth an operation team. Suggest MERCY. Suggest a rush. LAMB will hand off and return to RED WEB.

-LAMB passing intelligence vital to SHIELDWALL and removal/transit.

-Returning to post.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: General REDACTED. Designation: DRUMMER.

Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, LAMB at Corvium, NRT.

-CORVIUM suggestion under advisement.

-Captain Farley will return to RED WEB in two days.

-COMMAND split on punishment as is.

-Awaiting intelligence.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: Captain REDACTED.

Designation: LAMB.

Origin: Corvium, NRT.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, COMMAND at REDACTED.

-Request a week.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

—You’re a special kind of stupid, kid. —RAM—

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: General REDACTED.

Designation: DRUMMER.

Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, LAMB at Corvium, NRT.

-Five days. No more negotiation.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

Somehow the farmhouse has begun to feel like a home.

Even with the collapsed roof, the tents wicked with humidity, and the silence of the woods. It’s the longest I’ve been anywhere since Irabelle, but that was always base. And while the soldiers there are the closest thing I have to family, I never could see the cold concrete and mazelike passages as anything more than a way station. A place to train and wait for the next assignment.

Not so with the ruin on the doorstep of the killing grounds, in the shadow of a grave city.

“That’s it,” I tell Cara, and lean back against the closet wall.

She nods and folds away the broadcaster. “Nice to see you all chatting again.” Before I can laugh, Tristan’s neat knock jars the shuttered excuse for a door. “Got company.” Barrow.

“Duty calls,” I grumble as I scoot past Cara, bumping her in the closed space. Wrenching open the door, I’m surprised to find Tristan standing so close, his usual nervous energy on overdrive.

“Spotters got him this time, finally,” he says. On another day, he might be proud, but something about this sets him off. I know why. We never see Barrow coming. So why today? “Signaled it’s important—” Behind him, the farmhouse door bangs open, revealing a red-faced Barrow flanked by Cris and Little Coop.

One look at his terrified face is enough.

“Scatter,” I snap.

They know what it means. They know where to go.

A hurricane moves through the farmhouse, taking home with it. The guns, the provisions, our gear disappears in a practiced heartbeat, shoved into bags and packs. Cris and Little Coop are already gone, into the trees, to get as high as they can. Their mirrors and birdcalls will carry the message to the others in the woods. Tristan supervises the rest, all while loading his long rifle.

“There isn’t time, they’re coming now!” Barrow hisses, suddenly at my side. He takes my elbow and not gently. “You have to go!” Two snaps of my fingers. The team obeys, dropping whatever isn’t packed away. I guess we’ll have to steal some more tents down the line, but it’s the least of my worries. Another snap, and they fly like bullets from a gun. Cara, Tye, Rasha, and the rest going through the door and the collapsed wall, in all directions with all speed. The woods swallow them whole.

Tristan waits for me because it’s his job. Barrow waits because—because I don’t know.

“Farley,” he hisses. Another tug at my arm.

I cast one last glance, making sure we have everything, before making my own escape into the tree line. The men follow, keeping pace with my sprint through tangled roots and brush. My heart pounds in my ears, beating a harried drum. We’ve had worse. We’ve had worse.

Then I hear the dogs.

Animos-controlled hounds. They’ll smell us, they’ll follow, and the swifts will run us down. If we’re lucky they’ll think we’re deserters and kill us in the forest. If not—I don’t want to think about what horrors the black city of Corvium holds.

“Get to water,” I force out. “They’ll lose the scent!” But the river is a half mile on.

I only hope they take the time to search the farmhouse, giving us the window we need to escape. At least the others are farther on, spread wide. No pack can follow us all. But me, us, the freshest, closest scent? Easy prey.

Despite the protest in my muscles, I push harder and run faster than I ever have before. But after only a minute, only a minute, I start to tire. If only I could run as fast as my thundering heart.

Tristan slows with me, though he doesn’t need to. “There’s a creek,” he hisses, pointing south. “Shoots off the river, closer. You head for it.” “What are you talking about?”

“I can make it to the river. You can’t. And they can’t follow us both.” My eyes widen. I almost trip in my confusion, but Barrow catches me before I can, sternly helping me over a gnarled root. “Tristan—” My lieutenant only smiles and pats the gun slung across his back. Then he points. “That way, Boss.” Before I can stop him, before I can order him not to, he leaps through the trees, using his long legs and the lower branches to vault over worsening ground. I can’t shout after him. Somehow I don’t even get a good look at his face. Only a mop of red hair, gleaming through the green.

Barrow all but shoves me. I think he looks relieved, but that can’t be right. Especially when a dog howls not a hundred yards away. And the trees above us seem to bow, their branches reaching like cloying fingers. Greenwardens. Animosi. Swifts. The Silvers will catch us both.

“Farley.” Suddenly both his hands are on my jaw, forcing me to look at a shockingly calm face. There’s fear, of course, flickering in his golden eyes. But not nearly enough for the situation. Not like me. I am terrified. “You have to promise not to scream.” “Wha—?”

“Promise.”

I see the first dog. A hound the size of a pony, its jowls dripping. And next to it, a gray blur like the wind made flesh. Swift.

Again, I feel the squeeze of Shade’s body against mine, and then something less pleasant. The tightening of the world, the spin, the tipping forward through empty air. All of it compounds and contracts, and I think I see green stars. Or maybe trees. I feel a familiar wave of nausea first. This time I land in a streambed instead of on concrete.

I sputter, spitting water and bile, fighting the urge to scream or be sick or both.

Barrow crouches over me, one hand raised.

“Ah, don’t scream.”

Sick it is.

“I suppose that’s preferable at the moment,” he mutters, kindly looking anywhere but my green face. “Sorry, I guess I need more practice. Or maybe you’re just sensitive.” The gurgling stream cleans up what I can’t, and the cold water does more for me than a mug of black coffee. I snap to attention, looking around at the trees bowing over us. Willows, not oaks like where we were just seconds ago. They’re not moving, I realized with a swell of relief. No greenwardens here. No dogs either. But then—where are we?

“How?” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Don’t say pipes.” The practiced shield of Shade Barrow drops a little. He takes a few steps back from me so he can sit on a stone above the stream, perching like a gargoyle. “I don’t quite have an explanation,” he says as if he’s admitting a crime. “The best—the best I can do is show you. And, again, you have to promise not to scream.” Dully, I nod. My head swims, still off balance. I can barely sit up in the stream, let alone shout.

He heaves a breath, his fingers gripping the stone until his knuckles turn white. “Okay.” And then he’s gone. Not—not from running away or hiding or even falling off the rock. He just simply isn’t. I blink, not believing what I see.

“Here.”

My head turns so quickly I’m almost sick again.

There he is, standing on the opposite bank. Then he does it again, returning to the stone, taking a slow seat once more. He forces a tentative smile without any joy behind it. And his eyes are wide, so wide. If I was afraid a few minutes ago, he is completely petrified. And he should be.

Because Shade Barrow is Silver.

Muscle memory lets me draw my gun and cock the hammer without blinking.

“I might not be able to scream, but I can shoot you.” He flushes, somehow his face and neck turning red. An illusion, a trick. His blood is not that color.

“There’s a few reasons why that won’t work,” he says, daring to look away from my pistol. “For one thing, your barrel’s full of water. Two, in case you haven’t noticed—” Suddenly he’s by my ear, crouching next to me in the stream. The shock of it raises a shriek, or at least it would if he didn’t clamp a hand over my mouth. “—I’m pretty fast.” I’m dreaming. This isn’t real.

He hauls my dazed body up, forcing me to stand. I try to shove him off but even that makes me dizzy.

“And three, the dogs might not be able to smell us anymore, but they can certainly hear a gunshot.” His hands don’t leave my shoulders, gripping each tightly. “So, are you going to rethink your little strategy, Captain?” “You’re Silver?” I breathe, turning in his grasp. This time I right myself before I fall. As in Corvium, the nausea is wearing off quickly. A side effect of his ability. His Silver ability. He’s done this to me before and I didn’t even know it. The thought burns through my brain. “All this time?” “No, no. I’m Red as that dawn thing you keep going on about.” “Don’t lie to me.” I still have the gun in hand. “This has all been a trick so you could catch us. I bet you led those hunters right to my team—!” “I said no screaming.” His mouth hangs open, drawing ragged breath past his teeth. He’s so close I can see the blood vessels spindling through the whites of his eyes. They’re red. An illusion, a trick, rings again. But memories of him come with the warning. How many times did he meet me alone? How many weeks has he worked with us, passing information, relaying with the blood-Red Corporal Eastree? How many times did he have the opportunity to spring a trap?

I can’t. I can’t make sense of this.

“And no one followed me. Obviously no one can follow me. They found out about you on their own. Something about spies in Rocasta, didn’t quite catch it all.” “So you’re still safe in Corvium, still working for them? As one of them?” His patience snaps like a twig. “I told you, I’m not Silver!” he growls, an animal in that quaking second. I want to take a step backward, but force myself to stand firm, unmoving, unafraid of him. Though I have every right to be.

Then he shoves his arm out, drawing back the sleeve with shaking fingers. “Cut me.” He nods, answering my question before I can ask. “Cut. Me.” To my surprise, my fingers shake just as badly as his when I draw the knife from my boot. He flinches when I press it to his skin. At least he feels pain.

My heart skips a beat when blood swells beneath the blade. Red as the dawn.

“How is this possible?”

I look up to find him staring at my face, looking for something. By the way his eyes flash, I think he finds it.

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t know what this is or what I am. I only know I’m not one of them. I’m one of yours.” For a blistering moment, I forget my team, the woods, my mission, and even Shade standing in front of me. Again, the world tips, but not from anything he can do. This is something more. A shifting. A change. And a weapon to be used. No, a weapon I’ve already wielded many times. To get information, to infiltrate Corvium. With Shade Barrow, the Scarlet Guard can go anywhere. Everywhere.

You’d think, with all my breaches in protocol, I’d try to steer away from breaking any more rules. But at the same time, what’s one more going to do?

Slowly, I close my fingers around his wrist. He still bleeds, but I don’t mind. It’s fitting.

“Will you oath yourself to the Scarlet Guard?”

I expect him to smile. Instead his face turns to stone.

“On one condition.”

My eyebrows raise so high they might disappear into my hairline. “The Guard does not bargain.” “This isn’t a request to the Guard, but to you,” he replies. For a man who can move faster than the blink of an eye, somehow he manages to take the world’s slowest step forward. We stand eye to eye, blue meeting gold.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “And that is?” “What’s your name?”

My name. The others don’t mind using their own, but for me, there is no such thing. My name holds no importance. Only rank and designation truly matter. What my mother called me is of no consequence to anyone, least of all me. It is a burden more than anything, a stinging reminder of her voice and the life we lived in early days. When the Colonel was called Papa, and the Scarlet Guard was the pipe dream of hunters and farmers and empty soldiers. My name is my mother, my sister Madeline, and their graves dug in the frozen ground of a village no one lives in anymore.

Shade looks on, expectant. I realize he’s holding my hand, not minding the blood coagulating beneath my fingers.

“My name is Diana.”

For once, his smile is real. No jokes, no mask.

“Are you with us, Shade Barrow?”

“I’m with you, Diana.”

“Then we will rise.”

His voice joins mine.

“Red as the dawn.”

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 34 of Operation RED WEB, Stage 1.

Operative: Captain REDACTED.

Designation: LAMB.

Origin: On the move.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED, COMMAND at REDACTED.

-Leaving CORVIUM, heading to DELPHIE. Stopping at WHISTLE points along route.

-Plan to be in Stage 2 within a week.

-Advise CORVIUM operation that CORVIUM officials believe there are “bandits and deserters” in the woods.

-Enclosed is detailed information about Air Fleet grounded in DELPHIE, procured by newly oathed operative Aide B (designation: SHADOW) still in CORVIUM.

-Suggest Corp E be oathed as well.

-I am and will remain SHADOW’s SG contact.

-SHADOW will be removed from CORVIUM at my discretion.

-CORVIUM overview: Killed in action: G. TYE, W. TARRY, R. SHORE, C. ELSON, H. “Big” COOPER (5).

Missing in action: T. BOREEVE, R. BINLI (2).

Silver casualty count: Zero (0).

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Operative: General REDACTED.

Designation: DRUMMER.

Origin: COMMAND at REDACTED.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED.

-Air intel good. DELPHIE Operation in motion.

-Train transit online between ARCHEON and City 1.

-Begin 3 week countdown for Operation DAYBREAK.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

—Your girl has balls. —DRUMMER—

—The girl gets our people killed. —RAM—

—Worth it for her results. But her attitude leaves something to be desired. —DRUMMER— THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 54 of Operation RED WEB, Stage 2.

Operative: Captain REDACTED.

Designation: LAMB.

Origin: Albanus, NRT.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED.

-CAPITAL VALLEY WHISTLES coming online. In ALBANUS to open removal with oathed WHISTLE operative WILL.

-30 assets removed in 2 weeks.

-SHADOW still operating out of CORVIUM. Intel: legions are being rotated off the trench lines, leaves gaps.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN

I hate this stinking wagon.

The fencer, old Will, burns a candle, as if it can do anything for the smell. It only makes it hotter in here, more stifling if that’s even possible. Besides the stench, though, I feel at ease.

The Stilts is a sleepy village, without much cause for concern. In fact, this happens to be Shade’s own birthplace. Not that he talks about home much, other than his sister. I know he writes to them, though. I “mailed” his latest letter myself, leaving it at the post only this morning. Faster than relying on the army to get a letter through, he said, and he was right. Only two or so weeks since he wrote it, rather than the usual month it takes for any kind of Red mail to get anywhere.

“So does this have anything to do with the new cargo you’ve been having my compatriots ferry downriver and overland? To Harbor Bay, yes?” Will glares at me, eyes so bright for someone his age. But his beard looks thinner than it did last month, as is his body. Still, he pours himself a cup of tea with the still hands of a surgeon.

I politely decline the offer of hot tea in an even hotter wagon. How is he wearing long sleeves? “What have you heard?” “This and that.”

Wily to the end, these Whistles. “It’s true. We’re beginning to move people, and the Whistle network has been integral to that operation. I’m hoping you’ll agree to join the same.” “Now why would I be stupid enough to do that?”

“Well, you were stupid enough to oath yourself to the Scarlet Guard. But if you need more convincing. . .” With a grin, I pull five silver tetrarchs from my pocket. They barely touch the small table before he snaps them up. They disappear between his fingers. “More for every item.” Still, he does not agree. Putting on a show like the other Whistles did before I eventually won their agreements.

“You would be the first to refuse,” I tell him with a slick smile. “And our partnership would cease.” He waves a hand, dismissive. “I do fine without your sort, anyways.” “Is that so?” My smile widens. Will is no good at bluffing. “Very well then, I’ll go and never darken your. . . wagon again.” Before I can even get up, he stands to stop me. “Who are you planning to move?” Got you.

“Assets. People who will be valuable to our cause.” As I watch, his bright eyes darken. A trick of the light.

“And who makes that decision?”

Despite the heat, a finger of cold runs down my spine. Here comes the usual sticking point. “There are operations all over the country seeking out such people, myself included. We assess, propose our candidates, and wait for approval.” “I assume the old, the sick, and the children set to conscript do not make any of your proposals. No use saving the ones who truly need it.” “If they have valuable skills—”

“Pah!” Will spits, his cheeks going red. He gulps at his tea with angry gasps, draining the cup. The liquid seems to calm him though. When he sets down the empty cup, he rests his chin on his hand thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s the best we can hope for.” Another channel opened. “For now.”

“Very well.”

“Oh, and this most likely won’t be a problem here, but I’d stay away from any Silvers you see tomorrow. They won’t be happy.” Tomorrow. The thought of it singes my blood. I don’t know what the Colonel and Command have planned, only that it includes my broadcast, and something worth waving our flag for.

“Do I want to know?” Will wonders with a pointed smirk. “Do you even know?” I have to laugh openly. “Do you have anything stronger than tea?” He doesn’t get a chance to answer, as someone starts pounding on the wagon door. He jumps, nearly smashing the cup. I catch it deftly, but my eyes are on him. An old tremor of fear shivers through me and we sit still, waiting. Then I remember. Officers do not knock.

“Will Whistle!” a girl’s voice says. Will all but collapses in relief, and the cord of tension in me releases as well. With one hand, he gestures for me to get behind the curtain dividing his wagon.

I do as asked, hiding myself seconds before she wrenches open the door.

“Miss Barrow!” I hear him say.

A thousand crowns. I curse under my breath as I walk back to the roadside tavern. Each. Why I picked such an outrageous number, I can’t say. Why I even agreed to see the girl—Shade’s sister, that must have been her—is less puzzling. But telling her I would help? Save her friend, save her from conscription? Two teenagers I don’t know, thieves who would most likely get their ferriers killed? But deep down, I know why. I remember the boy in Rocasta, dragged away from his mother. The same happened to Shade and his two older brothers in front of that girl who begged me tonight. Mare, her name is Mare. She begged for herself and another, her boyfriend most likely. In her voice, I heard and saw so many people. The Rocastan mother. Rasha, stopping to watch. Tye, dying so close to the place she wanted to escape. Cara, Tarry, Shore, Big Coop. All gone, risking their lives and paying the price the Scarlet Guard always seems to collect.

Not that Mare will come up with the money. It was an impossible task. Still, I owe Shade much and more for his service. I suppose getting his sister away from conscription will be a small price to pay for his intelligence. And whatever she does bring me will go straight to the cause.

Tristan joins me midway between the Stilts and the road tavern. I half expected him to be all the way there, waiting with Rasha, Little Coop, and Cristobel, the only remaining members of our ill-fated team.

“Successful?” he asks, carefully adjusting his coat to hide the pistol at his hip.

“Very,” I respond. The word is surprisingly hard to force out.

Tristan knows me well enough not to pry. Instead, he changes the subject and hands over the Corvium radio. “Barrow’s been clicking for the last hour.” Bored again. I don’t know how many times I’ve told Shade the radio is for official business and emergencies, not to annoy me. Still, I can’t help but grin. I do my best to keep my lips still, at least in front of Tristan, and start fumbling with the radio.

I click the receiver, sending a pulse of seemingly random dots. I’m here, they say.

His response comes so quickly I almost drop the radio.

“Farley, I need out.” His voice crackles, tinny through the small speaker. “Farley? I have to get away from Corvium.” Panic spikes down my spine. “Okay,” I respond, my mind flying at top speed. “You—you can’t get out yourself?” If not for Tristan, I would ask him outright. Why can’t he jump himself away from that nightmare fortress?

“Meet me in Rocasta.”

“Done.”

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 56 of Operation RED WEB, Stage 2.

Operative: Captain REDACTED.

Designation: LAMB.

Origin: Rocasta, NRT.

Destination: RAM at REDACTED.

-Congratulations on ARCHEON bombing.

-In ROCASTA to remove SHADOW.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 60 of Operation SHIELDWALL, Stage 2.

Operative: Colonel REDACTED.

Designation: RAM.

Origin: REDACTED.

Destination: LAMB at Rocasta.

-Proceed. Send him to TRIAL. Return to RED WEB ASAP.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

It took longer to get here than I anticipated. Not to mention the fact that I came alone.

After the bombing in Archeon, travel is difficult, even through our usual channels. Whistle cargo boats and transports are harder to come by. And getting into cities, even Rocasta, is no mean feat. Reds must present identity cards or even their blood at different checkpoints entering the city, checkpoints I must avoid at all cost. Even though my face was masked, hidden in the video during which I announced the presence of the Scarlet Guard to the entire country, I can’t take any chances.

I even shaved my head, parting with the long blond braid clearly visible in that broadcast.

Crance, the Mariner working the supply convoy, had to smuggle me in, and it took a great amount of back channeling to get him to agree. Even so, I managed to get into the city proper in one piece, my radio firmly tucked into my waistband.

Red sector. Marketgrove.

That’s where Shade wanted to meet, and that’s where I must get to. I don’t dare cover or hood my face, which would give anyone a better clue as to my identity. Instead, I wear shaded glasses, hiding the one part of my face anyone saw in the video. Still, I feel risk in every step. Risk is part of the game. But somehow, my fear isn’t for myself. I’ve done my part, more than my part, for the Scarlet Guard. I could die now and be considered a successful operative. My name would go into someone’s correspondence, Tristan’s probably, clicked out in dots for the Colonel to read.

I wonder if he would mourn.

It’s cloudy today and the mood of the city reflects the weather. And the bombing is on everyone’s lips, in everyone’s eyes. The Reds are a strange mix of hopeful and downcast, some openly whispering about this so-called Scarlet Guard. But many, the old especially, scowl at their children, scolding them for believing our nonsense, telling them it will bring more trouble to their people. I’m not stupid enough to stop and argue.

Marketgrove is deep in the Red sector, but still crawling with Silver Security officers. Today they look like wolves on the prowl, their guns in hand rather than holster. I heard news of riots in the major cities, Silver citizens going after any Reds they could get their hands on, blaming everyone they could for the Scarlet Guard’s deeds. But something tells me these officers aren’t here to protect my people. They only want to instill fear and keep us quiet.

But even they can’t stop the whispers.

“Who are they?”

“The Scarlet Guard.”

“Never heard of the like.”

“Did you see? West Archeon in flames—”

“—but no one was hurt—”

“—they’ll bring more trouble—”

“—worse and worse times—”

“—blaming us for it—”

“I want to find them.”

“Farley.”

The last is a warm breath against the shell of my ear, his voice familiar as my own face. I turn instinctually and pull Shade into a hug, surprising both of us.

“Good to see you too,” he mutters.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I murmur as I pull back. When I look at him properly, I realize the last few weeks have not been kind. His face is pale, his expression drawn, and dark circles ring his eyes. “What happened?” He tucks my arm in his and I let him lead us through the crowd dutifully walking the market. We look like anyone. “A transfer, to the Storm Legion, to the front.” “Punishment?”

But Shade shakes his head. “Not for passing information. They still don’t know I’m the leak or that I’m bleeding everything to the Guard. No, this order is strange.” “Strange how?”

“A general’s request. High up. For me, an aide. It makes no sense. Just like something else doesn’t make any sense.” His eyes narrow pointedly, and I nod. “I think they know, and I think they’re going to get rid of me.” I swallow hard and hope he doesn’t notice. My fear for him cannot be construed as anything but professional. “Then we’ll execute you first, say you ran off and got shot for deserting. Eastree can falsify the documents like she does with other assets. And besides, it’s high time we moved you anyways.” “Do you have any idea where that might be?”

“You’ll be going to Trial, across the border. That shouldn’t be too difficult for someone with your skills.” “I’m not invincible. I can’t jump hundreds of miles, or even, well, navigate myself that far. Can you?” he mumbles.

I have to smile. Crance should work. “I think I can secure you a map and a guide.” “You’re not coming?” I tell myself I’m imagining the disappointment in his voice.

“I have other business to handle first. Careful,” I add, noting a cluster of officers up ahead. Shade’s arm tightens on mine, pulling me closer. He’ll jump if he has to, and I’ll get sick all over my boots again.

“Try not to make me sick this time,” I grumble, drawing his crooked grin.

But there’s no need for his trepidation. The officers are focused elsewhere, on a cracked video screen, likely the only one in the Red market. Used for official broadcasts, but there isn’t anything official about what they’re watching.

“Forgot Queenstrial was today,” one of them says, leaning forward to squint at the picture. It blurs occasionally. “Couldn’t get a better set for us, eh, Marcos?” Marcos flushes gray, annoyed. “This is Red sector, what did you expect? You’re welcome to go back to rounds if this doesn’t satisfy!” Queenstrial. I remember something about the word. In the briefing on Norta, the packet of cobbled-together information the Colonel made me read before I was sent here. Something about princes—choosing brides, maybe. I wrinkle my nose at the idea, but somehow I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen as we get closer and closer.

On it, a girl in black leather demonstrates her storied abilities. Magnetron, I realize as she manipulates the metal of whatever arena she’s been dropped into.

Then a flash of red drops across the screen, landing hard against the electric shield separating the magnetron girl from the rest of the Silver elite watching her display.

The officers gasp in unison. One of them even turns away. “I don’t want to see this,” he groans, as if he’s about to be sick.

Shade is rooted to the spot, his eyes hard on the screen, watching the red blotch. His grip tightens on me, forcing me to look. The blotch has a face. His sister.

Mare Barrow.

He goes cold against me as the lightning swallows her whole.

“It should have killed her.”

Shade’s hands are shaking and he has to crouch in the alley to keep the rest from following suit. I drop to my knees next to him, one hand on his shivering arm.

“It should have killed her,” he says again, his eyes wide and hollow.

I don’t need to ask to know he’s replaying the scene in his head, over and over again. His young sister falling into the Queenstrial arena. To her death under all circumstances. But Mare didn’t die. She was electrocuted on camera, but she didn’t die.

“She’s alive, Shade,” I tell him, turning his face to mine. “You saw yourself, she got up and ran.” “How is that possible?”

Now is not the time to appreciate the joke. “I asked you the same thing once.” “Then she’s different too.” His eyes darken, sliding away from my face. “And she’s with them. I have to help her.” He tries to scramble to his feet, but the shock has not worn off. I help him back down as gently as I can, letting him lean on me.

“They’ll kill her, Diana,” he whispers. His voice breaks my heart. “They could be doing it right now.” “Somehow, I don’t think they will. They can’t. Not after everyone saw her, a Red girl surviving lightning.” They’ll need to explain first. Come up with a story. Just like the stories they used to cover us until we made sure they couldn’t anymore. “She planted a flag of her own today.” Suddenly the alley feels too small. Shade levels a glare, one only a soldier could muster. “I won’t leave my sister there alone.” “She won’t be. I will make sure of it.”

His eyes harden, mirroring the resolve I feel inside.

“So will I.”

THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

CONFIDENTIAL, COMMAND CLEARANCE REQUIRED

Day 2 of Operation LIGHTNING.

Operative: Captain REDACTED.

Designation: LAMB.

Origin: Summerton, LL.

Destination: COMMAND at REDACTED.

-Op under way. MARE BARROW made contact with WHISTLE WILL and BONES in ALBANUS, oathed to SG. SHADOW leverage successful.

-Operative MAIDEN will act as her contact within HALL OF THE SUN.

-Operative STEWARD made contact regarding new asset for recruitment inside HALL OF THE SUN, will explore further.

RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.