فصل بیست و نهم

Twenty-Nine: Mare

It’s nightfall when we reach Ascendant, gliding through the mountains in almost pitch darkness. I try not to think about being smashed against the black slopes. But the pilots are skilled, landing our airjet on the alpine runway with ease. The rest of Montfort’s Air Fleet, as well as the transport convoys carrying the bulk of their army, is down on the plain. They’ll have to climb the Hawkway to get to the city, or disperse along other roads and travel routes throughout Montfort to return to their posts. The country will then take up defensive positions, guarding its own borders, on the off chance the Lakelanders decide to try their might against the mountains. Or prod the raiders and Prairie into doing their work for them.

Farley, Davidson, their attendants, and I make the trek into the city in silence, walking the steps beneath an arc of glittering starlight. I watch the sky as we go, trying to name the constellations. I refuse to think about either Calore brother. Not the one we left in Norta, nor the one marching with us, bound in chains, held at gunpoint. He chatters occasionally, asking questions about Montfort. No one answers, and his voice dies slowly, left to echo into nothing. Before we reach the premier’s home, Maven is taken away, down another flight of steps, where more guards appear to flank him. Montfort won’t risk losing another prisoner. Maven won’t get the gentle treatment given to Bracken’s children. He will be being taken deep into the city, to the prison below the Ascendant main barracks. I try not to watch his silhouette as it grows smaller and smaller. He never looks back.

Farley outpaces everyone, even Kilorn and his long strides. I don’t have to be a mind reader to guess her thoughts are of her daughter, left behind with the rest of our family.

Davidson was good enough to send word on ahead, so his palatial home is ablaze when we approach, the many windows and balconies lit by warm candles and lights. Familiar figures cast shadows across the stones, and we beeline for them. My mother hands off Clara, the baby girl sleepy but smiling as Farley lifts her up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Davidson embrace his husband, Carmadon, before my mom does the same to me. Her arms squeeze my shoulders tightly, and she hugs me to her chest with a deep sigh. I relax as I only can with the rest of my family, letting them usher us inside and up to our rooms.

The reunion is sentimental as ever, even though it’s become a habit. I leave, face death, and, against all odds, return in one piece. I know my parents would tie me down to stop me from repeating the cycle, if they thought it might work. But they trust me to make my own choices, and besides, I’m a newblood. The lightning girl. There are very few bonds that can hold me back. No matter how much I might want to stay, the need to move on, to keep fighting, is always stronger.

Farley disappears into her own bedroom, Clara on her hip, with an exhausted smile. No one stops her. She needs time alone with her daughter, and we’re all happy to give it.

Instead my family filters onto the tiled terrace, which is bursting with more flowers than I remember. Tramy has been busy. “They’re beautiful,” I tell him, gesturing to a lovely array of white blooms curling up and over the railing. He heaves himself into a chair with a bashful grin, and Gisa perches on the arm of the seat. I plop down next to them both, content to sit on a flat, squashy cushion set on the tile.

“Mom helped,” Tramy says, gesturing across to her.

At the edge of the terrace, she waves a hand. Her hair is down tonight. I’m used to long years of my mother in twisted braids and neat buns, always keeping her hair out of her face. Despite the gray, she looks younger like this. “I just followed you around with a watering can,” she says.

I’ve never considered Ruth Barrow beautiful. How could anyone, let alone a poor Red woman, be considered beautiful next to Silvers? But Montfort brings a glow to her, a healthiness in her golden skin that makes it gleam. Even her wrinkles seem lessened, softened by the gentle lamplight. Of course, Dad looks better than ever, heartier than he was in the Stilts. He’s gained weight where he needs to, arms and legs filling out, while his waist looks trimmer. I chalk it up to nutrition, and of course his replaced leg and lung. After he greets me, he settles into his usual gruff silence, claiming a seat of his own next to Bree. The weeks have been good to all of them. Especially Gisa. Her dark red hair glints like oil in the dim light. I take in her clothing, a repurposed Montfort uniform. But the cuffs and collar are heavily embroidered in swirls of colored thread, pricking out a pattern of flowers and purple-bright zags of lightning. I reach out to her, running my fingers over her careful handiwork.

“I can make you one, if you like,” she says, eyeing my own uniform. The offensively bright red of the Scarlet Guard outfit makes her wrinkle her nose. “Maybe downplay all this,” she mutters, waving her hands a little. “Give you something a little better than medals.” Kilorn eases himself down next to me, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed. “Do I get one too?” “If I feel like it,” Gisa replies with her usual sniff. She eyes him up and down, as if assessing a customer. “Fish instead of flowers, I think.” I can’t help but chuckle into my hand, grinning at Kilorn’s exaggerated pout.

“So how long will you be here this time?” My father’s voice is still a low grunt, full of accusation. I glance at him, meeting his dark brown eyes. The same eyes as Bree and Tramy, darker than my own.

Mom puts a hand on his shoulder, as if she can push him off the subject. “Daniel, she just got back.” He doesn’t look at her. “That’s my point.”

“It’s fine,” I murmur, glancing between them. It’s an honest question, and a good one, especially based on recent circumstances. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. It could be days. Could be weeks. Could be months.” My family seems to brighten with each larger measurement of time. It pains me to give them what could be false hope, even though I want it to be true. “We still don’t know how things will proceed.” Dad purses his lips. “With Norta.”

I shake my head. “With the Lakelands, mostly.” The others look on, silent as I explain. Except for Kilorn. His brow furrows slowly, creasing his forehead with deep, angry lines. “They hold all the power right now. Cal is still consolidating a torn country, and we’re waiting to see how everything shakes out. If the Lakelands strike—” My oldest brother draws an angry breath before pushing it out in an exasperated sigh. He glares at me because there’s simply no one else to glare at. “You’ll help fight them off?” As with Dad, I hear an accusation in him.

I can only shrug. It isn’t me he’s frustrated with, but the situation I keep finding myself in. Pulled toward danger, torn between Silver kings, a weapon to be wielded, a face to be used. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “We aren’t allied to him anymore.” At my side, Kilorn shifts, uncomfortable on the tile. Or the subject. “And what about the other one?” Around the cluster of chairs, my family blanches in varying levels of confusion. Mom crosses her arms over her chest, fixing me with a piercing stare I know all too well. “Who?” she asks, even though she knows. She just wants to make me say it.

Gritting my teeth, I force an answer. “He means Maven.”

My father’s voice turns deadly, like I’ve never heard it before. “He should be dead by now.” “He’s not, and he’s here,” Kilorn snarls before I can stop him.

A pulse of fury thrums through my family, every face turning red, every lip curling, all eyes sharpening with glints of rage.

“Kilorn, don’t start trouble,” I hiss, squeezing his wrist. But the damage is already done. The silence around our circle runs heavy with scarlet anger, so strong I can almost taste it.

Finally, Gisa speaks, her tone as feral as my father’s. “We should kill him.”

My sister is not a violent girl, better suited to a needle than a knife. But she looks like she could claw Maven’s eyes out if given the opportunity. I would feel guilty for bringing this anger out in her, but I can’t get beyond the sudden swell of love, appreciation, and pride.

My brothers nod slowly, agreeing with her sentiment. They might even be cooking up some harebrained attempt to get into Maven’s cell right now.

“He’s valuable alive,” I say quickly, if only to stop them short.

“I don’t give a shit about his value,” Bree snaps.

I expect our mother to scold him for his language, but she isn’t bothered by the curse. In fact, she looks positively murderous herself, and for an instant I see the violent love of Queen Anabel, Larentia Viper, and even Elara Merandus in her eyes. “That creature took my son from me, and he took you.” “I’m right here, Mom,” I murmur, swallowing around the sudden, painful memory of Shade.

“You know what I mean,” she says. “I’ll slit his throat myself.”

Most shocking of all is Dad’s silence. He’s a naturally quiet man, but not when it comes to despising Silvers. When I glance at him, I realize why he won’t say anything. Because he can’t. His face is a furious red, boiling with a steady, rising hatred. If he opens his mouth, who knows what might tumble out.

“Can we talk about something else?” I have to ask, looking around at the rest of my family.

“Please do,” Dad barely manages through gritted teeth.

“You all look well,” I say quickly. “Is Montfort—”

Mom seems annoyed, but dips her head in acceptance. She answers for all of them, cutting me off. “It’s a dream, Mare.” My natural suspicion flares, in spite of all I know about Davidson. But I don’t know his country or his city. I don’t know the politicians he serves or the people they represent.

“Is it too good, though?” I ask. “Do you think we’ll wake up to find ourselves in trouble? To find something gone horribly wrong?” She heaves a heavy sigh, looking out at the sparkling lights of Ascendant. “I suppose we should always be wary but—” “I don’t think so,” Dad offers, neatly finishing her thought. His words are few but expressive. “This place is different.” Gisa nods along with them. “I’ve never seen Reds and Silvers together like this. Back in Norta, when I went to sell with my mistress, Silvers wouldn’t even look at us. Wouldn’t touch us.” Her brown eyes, the same as mine, glaze a little as she remembers her life as it was so long ago, before a Silver officer smashed apart her sewing hand. “Not here.” In his seat, Tramy settles back, some of his ire melting away. Like a cat smoothing his fur after a scare. “We feel like equals.” I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of me. They’re family to the lightning girl, a valuable asset to the Montfort premier. Of course they’d be treated well. But I don’t say any of that out loud, if only to maintain some kind of peace on an otherwise tumultuous night. After that, the conversation becomes far more pleasant.

Servants, kindly and smiling, bring up a sizable spread for dinner. The food is simple, but rich and tasty, ranging from fried chicken to sugary, dark purple berries spread over toast. The food is mostly for my benefit and Kilorn’s, but Bree and Tramy help themselves to full portions. Gisa favors a tray of fruits and cheeses, while Dad fixes himself a plate of cold meats and crackers to share with Mom. We eat slowly, talking more than chewing. I mostly listen, letting my siblings regale me with stories of their explorations throughout Ascendant. Bree swims in the lake every morning. Sometimes he wakes up Tramy with it too, dumping a bottle of icy water on his head. Gisa has an almost scientific knowledge of the shops and markets, as well as the grounds of the premier’s compound. She likes to walk the high meadows with Tramy, while Mom prefers the gardens in the city, terraced down the slopes. Dad has been honing his walking abilities, going deeper and deeper into the valley every day, strengthening his new muscles and relearning two legs with every step down and every step back up.

Kilorn fills in as well as he can, detailing our exploits since we left Montfort last. It’s a sparse recollection, and he is gracious enough to leave out the more embarrassing or upsetting details. Including any mention of Cameron Cole. For Gisa’s sake, but judging by the way she spoke about a young girl and the jeweler’s shop she worked in, I think her old crush on my best friend has passed.

Eventually my eyelids begin to droop. It’s been a long, difficult day. I try not to remember how I woke up this morning, in the dark of Cal’s royal bedchamber, his blankets over my body. Tonight I’ll sleep in a bed by myself. Not alone, though. Gisa will be just across the room. I still can’t sleep without someone else there. Or, at least, I haven’t tried since I escaped Maven’s imprisonment.

Don’t think about him.

I chant it to myself as I prepare for bed, repeating the words over and over.

Cal’s face seems burned against my eyelids, while Maven haunts even my fleeting, distant dreams. Those stupid boys. They never leave me alone.

In the morning, my nerves twitch with energy. It’s a constant pull, a tug behind my stomach, like someone has a hook around my spine. I know where it wants me to go. Down into the city, toward the central barracks of Ascendant. The structure squats over the city prison, drilled into the bedrock of the mountainside. I try not to picture him, alone behind bars, pacing like a dying animal. Why I want to see him, I can hardly understand. Maybe some part of me knows he’s still useful. Or wants to understand him a little more, before time runs out. We’re alike in some ways, too many ways. I’ve tasted darkness, and he lives in it. He represents what I could become, without my family, without an anchor, if I’m pushed into the abyss.

But Maven is the abyss. I can’t face him. Not yet. I’m not strong enough to do it. He’ll just laugh in my face, taunt and torture, turning the screws embedded too deeply. I need to heal a bit, before he can pick open my wounds again.

So instead of walking down into the city, I go up. And up. And up.

At first I follow the road we took over the mountain, when the raiders struck down on the plain. We know now that it was a planned attack, meant to distract us while the Lakelanders rescued Prince Bracken’s children. The raiders were paid to do it, and paid well. I kick at stones as I go, replaying the battle in my mind. The silence clawed at my body, like something alive and unnatural beneath my skin. Replacing my lightning with emptiness. Cursing, I push the thought away and turn off the road, into the rocks and trees.

The hours pass, and the air seems to burn in my lungs, searing down my throat. It’s matched only by the fire in my muscles. They scream with each new step, every foot forward and upward over the rocks. Snow puddles in the shadows, white and pure even in the late summer. It turns ever colder as I climb, my feet sliding over dirt and pine needles, gravel and naked rock. In spite of the pain, I push on.

Streams trickle past, running down the mountainside to pool in the lake far below. I look back through the gaps in the pines, into the valley. The mountains dwarf Ascendant, and the foreign capital looks like a child’s toy from this distance. White blocks strewn around ribbon-thin roads and winding stairs. The mountain range seems endless, a jagged wall of stone and snow dividing the world in half. Above, the clear blue sky beckons me to continue the climb. I do my best, stopping at the streams to drink and splash my red, sweaty face.

Occasionally I fish out crackers from my pack or strips of salted meat. I wonder if the smell might lure a bear or a wolf across my path.

I have my lightning, of course, close as the breath in my lungs. But no predator ever comes near. I think they know I’m as dangerous as they are.

All except for one.

At first I mistake him for an outcropping of rock, silhouetted against the perfect blue, still in gray clothing. The pines are sparser at this high altitude, offering little shade from the noon sun. I have to blink, rubbing my eyes, before I realize what I’m looking at.

Who I’m looking at.

My lightning splits the granite boulder beneath him in two. He moves before it strikes, sliding off into the rocks.

“You bastard,” I snarl, advancing with speed, the adrenaline sudden and surging in my blood. It drives me, as does frustration. Because I know, no matter how fast I am, no matter how strong my lightning, I’ll never catch him.

Jon will always see me coming.

His laughter echoes over the slope, coming from higher up. I snarl to myself and follow the sound, letting him lead me. He laughs and laughs, and I climb and climb. By the time we’re out of the trees, over earth too high for anything to grow, the air has turned harsh and cold. I choke down a gasp of anger, letting the temperature shock my lungs. And I slump, unable to go any farther. Unwilling to let Jon, or anyone, control where I go and what I do.

But mostly I’m just exhausted.

I lean back, bumping against a large boulder smoothed by centuries of unforgiving wind and snow.

My breathing comes hard and heavy. I think I might never catch my breath, just as I’ll never catch the damned seer.

“The altitude,” his voice says. “It makes everything difficult if you aren’t used to it. Even your fire prince would have a hard time climbing his first mountain.” I’m too tired to do much more than glance at him, eyes half lidded. He perches above me, legs dangling. Jon is dressed for the mountain weather, in a thick coat, with well-worn boots on his feet. I wonder how long he’s been walking, or how long he had to wait up here for me.

“You know as well as I do he isn’t a prince anymore,” I answer, choosing my words very carefully. Maybe I can get him to reveal something, just a sniff of the future ahead of us all. “Just like you know how long he’ll be a king.” “Yes,” he replies, smirking slightly. Of course he knows what I’m doing, and he says only what he intends to say.

I heave another heavy breath, sucking air into my starved lungs. “What are you doing here?” “Taking in the view.”

He still hasn’t looked at me, his red eyes trained on the horizon. The sight before us is amazing, more splendid than it was a thousand feet below. I really do feel small, and large, everything and nothing, sitting here on the rim of the world. My breath fogs before my eyes, a testament to the chill. I can’t stay long. Not if I want to get down before nightfall.

I wish I could take Jon’s head with me.

“I told you this would happen,” he murmurs.

Snarling, I bare my teeth at him. “You didn’t tell me anything. My brother might be alive if you did. Thousands of people—” “Have you considered the alternative?” he snaps. “That what I did, what I said and didn’t say, did and didn’t do, saved more?” I ball a fist and kick my foot, sending a shower of gravel skittering down the slope. “Have you considered just keeping your nose out of everything?” Jon barks a laugh. “Many times. But whether I involve myself or not, I see the path. I see the destination. And sometimes I just can’t let it happen.” “So nice you get to decide,” I sneer, bitter as I always am with the wretched newblood.

“Would you like the burden, Mare Barrow?” Jon replies, lowering himself down so we sit side by side. He smiles sadly. “I didn’t think so.” I shudder beneath his crimson attention. “You told me I would rise, and rise alone,” I mutter, repeating the words he spoke so long ago, in an abandoned coal town half shrouded by the rain. That was my fate. And I’ve watched it become truer with every passing day. When I lost Shade. When I lost Cal. But also in the steady detachment, the cold hand that seems to worm itself between me and everyone else I love. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, I can’t help but feel different, broken and angry, and therefore alone. With only one person left who truly understands. And he is a monster.

I lost Maven too. The person he pretended to be, the friend I loved and needed when I was so alone and so afraid. I’ve lost so many people.

But I’ve gained many. Farley, Clara. My family is still with me, safe but for Shade. Kilorn, never wavering in his loyalty and friendship. I have the electricons, newbloods like me, who prove I am not alone. Premier Davidson and all he hopes to do. They outnumber everyone I’ve lost.

“I don’t think you were right,” I mumble, half believing the words. Next to me, Jon jolts, his neck cracking as he looks at me sharply. “Or has that path changed too?” Even though I hate his eyes, I force myself to stare into them. To look for a lie or the truth.

“Did I change it?”

He blinks slowly. “You changed nothing.”

I feel like elbowing him in the throat, or the gut, or the skull. Instead I slump backward, tipping my head to glare at the sky. Jon watches, chuckling a little.

“What?” I snarl, eyeing him.

“Rise,” he murmurs, pointing to the valley thousands of feet below. Then he points to my chest. “And rise alone.” This time I bat his arm weakly, wishing I could inflict more hurt on the seer. “I know you weren’t talking about climbing a mountain,” I growl. “’No longer the lightning, but the storm. The storm that will swallow the world entire.’” He just rolls his shoulders and looks out to the range again, his breath steaming in the cold air. “Who knows what I was talking about.” “You do.”

“And I’ll keep that weight to myself, thank you very much. No one else needs it.”

I scoff. “You act as if you enjoy lording our fates over us.” Chewing my lip, I weigh my chances again. A hint from him could be infinitely valuable, or damning, throwing me onto a path of his choosing. I simply have to take the chance, and consider what he says with a mountain of salt. “Any more choice words, little nudges, you might condescend to give?” The corner of his mouth lifts, but his eyes waver, almost sad. “Your friend is better at fishing than you.” Cold air whistles down my throat as I inhale sharply. “What do you know about Kilorn?” I ask, my voice climbing an octave. Kilorn is no one to Jon, no one to grand movements of kingdoms and fate. He shouldn’t take up an inch of space in Jon’s head, not in comparison to the thousands of dangerous and horrible things he does keep in there. I move to grab his arm, but he shifts neatly from my touch.

His red eyes stare, like twin drops of blood. “He’s the catalyst for all this, isn’t he? For your part in it, at least,” he says. “The poor friend doomed to conscription, with only you to save him.” Jon’s words are slow, methodic. Deliberate. Giving me time to put together the pieces of this part of the puzzle. I try not to know, try not to accept what is staring me in the face. I want to kill him. Smash his head against the rock. But I can’t move.

“Because he lost his apprenticeship,” I say, trembling. “Because Kilorn’s master died.” “Because Kilorn’s master fell.” It isn’t a question. Jon knows exactly what happened to Old Cully, the fisherman my best friend used to serve. A simple man, gray before his years, just like the rest of us.

Tears fill my eyes. I’ve been a puppet for too long, even longer than I thought possible. “You pushed him.” “I push many people, in many different ways.”

“Did you push an innocent man to his death?” I seethe.

Something switches in him, like a lamp turning off or on. Shifting his focus. He gathers himself and sniffs, his voice suddenly clear, more forceful. As if he is addressing a crowd of soldiers, rather than just me. “The Lakelands will strike Archeon soon,” he says. “Within a few weeks. They’re preparing as we speak, drilling their armies past the point of perfection. Tiberias Calore is weak and they know it.” I don’t have the heart or stomach to argue. He’s right, and I’m still reeling. “If they take the city, Tiberias will never win Norta. Not this year. Not the next. Not even a hundred years from now.” I clench my teeth. “You could be lying.”

He ignores me, forging on. “If the capital falls to the queen of the Lakelands, the road becomes long and bloody, worse than anything you’ve experienced before.” In his lap, he knits his fingers together, knuckles going white against the gray of his clothes. “Even I can barely see the ending of that path. But I know it’s terrible.” “I don’t like being your chess piece.”

“Everyone is someone else’s pawn, Mare, whether we know it or not.”

“Whose pawn are you?”

He doesn’t respond, only raising his eyes to the clear, cold sky. With a final sigh, he pushes himself to his feet, dislodging rocks with the motion. “You should get moving,” he says, gesturing down the mountain.

“So I can pass on your message?” I snap, sounding bitter. Taking Jon’s orders is the last thing I want to do right now, even if he’s right. I think I’d rather freeze than give him the satisfaction.

“So you can avoid that,” he replies. With his chin, he points off to the north, where a band of clouds gathers across the peaks. “Storms move quickly up here.” “I can handle storms.”

“Do as you wish,” Jon replies, shrugging. He pulls his coat tighter around himself. “We will not see each other again, Mare Barrow.” Still on the ground, I sneer up at him. “Good.”

He doesn’t respond and turns around to continue his climb.

I watch his figure grow smaller, a gray man against gray stone, until he disappears.

To rise, and rise alone.

The storm breaks on the summit as soon as I step into the protection of the tree line, escaping a howl of wind and freezing rain. It hurts almost as much as going up, my knees jarring with the hard impact of every step. I have to be careful and focus on where I put my feet, lest I break an ankle on the loose stones and pine needles piled over the trail. Above me, back up the mountain, a low thrum of thunder peals, alive as my own beating heart.

I reach Ascendant as the sun first sinks beneath the peaks across the valley. Even though I’m sore from the climb and aching from the conversation, my pace quickens as I enter the premier’s palace. I pass Montfort soldiers and officers, as well as politicians from his government, marked by their fine suits, all milling around the lower level of the building, leaving meetings or going to them. They watch me pass with scrutiny, but not fear. I’m not a freak here.

Two heads of shocking hair, one blue, one bone white, stand out in the crowd of dark green suits and uniforms. Ella and Tyton. My fellow electricons idle in one of the windowed alcoves, taking up enough space that they can be left alone.

“Waiting for me? You shouldn’t have,” I say with a smile, my breath still uneven and ragged from the climb.

Tyton looks me up and down, a lock of white hair falling into his face. He leans back calmly, one long leg planted against the seat across from him. “You shouldn’t climb mountains alone,” he says. “Especially when you’re not good at it.” “You should spend more time with my brothers, Tyton,” I reply with little bite. “They’re better at teasing me than you are.” His grin comes easily, but it doesn’t reach his dark eyes. Ella huffs at him. “Everyone’s in Davidson’s library. General Farley and the rest,” she offers, gesturing down the hall.

My stomach swoops at the prospect of facing yet another council. I grit my teeth. “How do I look?” The woman licks her lips, her eyes running over me.

Tyton is less diplomatic. “Her hesitation should be answer enough. But you don’t exactly have time to put on your war paint, Barrow.” “Right, great,” I grumble, leaving them both behind.

Quickly, I smooth my hair back, trying to hide the wind-tangled knots with a hasty braid. The rest. Who else could be with Farley and the premier?

The library isn’t difficult to find. It’s one floor up, occupying a large expanse of the eastern side of the palace. Guards flank the double doors, but they don’t stop me as I approach, letting me pass in silence. Like the rest of the compound, the library is bright and cheerful, wood-paneled in lacquered, gleaming oak. The chamber is lined with double rows of shelving, the second story ringed by a narrow landing railed in bronze. Currently, soldiers of the Scarlet Guard perch there, blazing in their red uniforms, guns hanging bare. They note me as I enter, tense but ready to protect their charges should I pose a threat.

The Red generals of Command.

Farley sits with them in the center of the room, on green leather couches arranged in a half circle. Ada is with them too, having returned after long weeks with Command. She stands to the side with her arms crossed. Silent, observing everything. She offers me a shadow of a smile as I approach.

The Scarlet Guard faces a corresponding arrangement of chairs, all occupied by Montfort officers and politicians, with Davidson himself in the center. They murmur in low voices, undisturbed by my presence. Or perhaps expecting it.

Again, I feel too dirty to be here, stinking of the cold and the mountain. But I really shouldn’t worry. The Command generals are as disheveled as I feel, if not more so. They just arrived from wherever their roving headquarters were. They look like Farley, not in appearance but in attitude. If Farley had thirty or more years under her belt, a lifetime of hard-lived and hard-won survival. The three men and three women are all gray-haired, with short haircuts like Farley’s own. I wonder if she wanted to imitate them. Because, despite their similarities, Farley sits in harsh contrast to them all. She is still young, still blooming. Their firebrand.

Her father stands among the many officers lining the landing above, leaning against the railing, hands knit together. If he’s jealous of his daughter and her position, he doesn’t show it. He glances at me as I enter, and even dips his head in greeting, his red eye glowering.

The low conversation continues as I move closer. Farley shifts a little, making room for me next to her. But I’m not a general. I’m not Command. I haven’t earned the right to sit. I fall in behind her, close as a guardian, and cross my arms over my chest.

“Good to meet you, Miss Barrow,” a curly-haired general says, turning to look at me over her shoulder with the stern eye of a teacher. As if I’ve just disturbed a particularly important lesson. I nod in return, not wanting to interrupt the meeting any further. Though the subject matter does not seem dire. Many advisers talk among themselves, and conversation buzzes among the soldiers above.

“We’ve only just finished introductions,” Ada offers kindly, sidling up next to me.

Farley watches with a glint in her eye. She leans, whispering in my direction. “Don’t mind Swan,” she adds, nudging the female general. “She’s just giving you a hard time.” To my surprise, the older woman smirks a little. They have a familiar way about them, like old friends or even family. But they share very little resemblance. Swan is short and slim, with sandy skin dusted in dark freckles. They give her an almost childish look, despite her lines of age.

“General Swan,” I murmur, ducking my head again in an attempt to be polite. She returns in kind, smiling this time.

Under her breath, Ada rattles off the other generals seated on the remaining couches. After her time at their headquarters, she knows them well. The remaining women are Horizon and Sentry, and the men are Drummer, Crimson, and Southern. Code names, clearly. Still in use, even here.

“General Palace is still in Norta, keeping our operations moving,” Ada says. “She’ll relay whatever we can dig up, in Norta and on the borders.” “What about the Lakelands?” I ask. “Iris is going to invade, and we’ll need to know when.” A few weeks, Jon said. Not nearly specific enough.

Swan clears her throat. “The Lakelanders closed the borders. I wasn’t sure I would be able to get myself out, let alone my staff, and we went as quickly as we could.” Her eyes darken. “Took some doing, if you catch my meaning.” Grimly, I nod and try not to think about how many dead friends she left behind.

My eyes skitter across the assembled soldiers and politicians, almost all of them Red. A few Silvers of Montfort sit with Davidson, but they are greatly outnumbered. I recognize Radis, the blond representative from the Gallery, among them. He nods his head in the smallest acknowledgment.

Davidson does the same, meeting my gaze.

With a flush, I clear my throat loudly, stepping out a little. Only the nearby generals turn to look at me. Their soldiers are more difficult to silence, and I have to try again, with more force. Slowly but surely, quiet ripples through them, until every eye in the library lands on me. I swallow hard against the familiar but still unsettling sensation. Don’t flinch. Don’t blush. Don’t hesitate.

“My name is Mare Barrow,” I say to the assembled crowd. Someone on the landing scoffs quietly. I suppose I need no introduction at this point. “Thank you for coming here.” I push on, searching for the right way to say what I have to. A man who can see the entire future passed along some tips just doesn’t sound right. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I was . . . climbing. And I met a man on the mountain.” “Is that a metaphor?” General Crimson mutters gruffly, only to be hushed by the aptly named Drummer, a fantastically round man.

I glance at Ada, then down at Farley. “Jon,” I explain, and her eyes widen. The shock on her face speaks volumes to the room. “He’s a newblood seer, and we’ve dealt with him before.” Davidson raises his chin. “So has Maven. If I’m not mistaken, that man was instrumental in your capture.” “Yes,” I mutter, almost ashamed.

The premier purses his lips. “And he served Maven for a time.”

I nod again. “He did. For his own reasons.”

Even though several of his compatriots look dismissive, Davidson leans forward on his elbows, fixing me with his intense, unreadable gaze. “What did he say, Mare?” “That we can’t let the Nortan capital fall to the Lakelands,” I reply. “If we do, the road will be ‘long and bloody.’ Worse than anything before. If they win Archeon, the Lakelands will control Norta for a hundred years.” Radis huffs, inspecting his polished nails. He isn’t the only one to roll their eyes at such a statement. “I don’t need a seer to know that,” he mutters.

A few of the generals bob their heads in agreement. Swan speaks for them. “We know an invasion is coming; it’s just a matter of when.” “A few weeks.” I can already feel the clock ticking against us. “That’s what Jon told me.” Swan narrows her eyes, not with unkindness or suspicion, but with pity. “And you believe him? After all he did to you?” Images flash in my head, memories of my captivity. The prison Jon bought me with whatever scheme of fate he put in motion. I told him before that I didn’t like being his pawn, and it’s exactly what I’m doing now.

“Somehow, I think I do,” I reply, fighting to keep my voice firm.

The words set off another round of murmurs and even a bit of shouting. From the generals, the representatives, even the soldiers above us.

Only three of us remain silent, trading glances.

Farley, Davidson, and myself.

As I look between them, jumping from golden eyes to blue, I see the same resolve in both of them, and feel it in myself.

We’ll fight again. We just need to figure out how.

As usual, Farley jumps in first.

She stands up, hands outstretched, motioning for quiet. It works a little, silencing her soldiers as well as the generals. Some of the Montfort diplomats still whisper among themselves.

“We need a plan,” she barks. “Regardless of what the seer says, we all know this road leads to Archeon. Montfort and the Scarlet Guard have to be able to overthrow the Nortan capital if we want any chance of freeing the country. No matter who sits on the throne.” Swan nods. “I was stationed in the Lakelands before we fled here. I’ve seen more of their strength than anyone here. If the Cygnet queens gain the city before we can, it will be almost impossible to take it back. It’s in our best interest to fight the weaker enemy.” Cal. Never have I thought of him as the weaker half of anything, but it’s certainly true. His position is precarious at best. I try not to picture him alone in his palace, trying to balance the world his father and brother broke.

“You still have Scarlet Guard in Archeon, yes?” Davidson asks, and his voice is enough to quiet the rest of his people.

“Palace is stationed just outside,” Farley says. “With her own teams still in place through as much of the country as can be managed. Harbor Bay, Delphie, the Archeon outskirts.” Drummer, the portly general, jumps in. “Palace has orders to move into the city—quietly, of course. The new king is not his brother, and his regime is not yet openly hostile to the Scarlet Guard. We can risk it.” “So we’ll have eyes in the city, at least,” Davidson muses. “Yours as well as our own. We’ll make sure they coordinate.” “The Scarlet Guard has infiltrated Archeon before.” Drummer puffs out his impressive chest. “It can be done again.” The premier’s lips press into a thin, grim line. “But not in the same way,” he says. “Too dangerous from the air, now that Cal has the full force of the Air Fleet behind him. We can’t match their aerial strength for a landing, and we can’t rely on surprise like we did at Maven’s wedding.” “And the tunnels,” Farley mutters, thinking of a coup that failed before it even began. “King Maven closed up everything beneath the city.” “Not everything,” I blurt out. The others blink at me, hard-eyed and eager. “I’ve seen Maven’s train, his escape plan. It runs straight under the Treasury, and there are more entrances below the palace. He used it to leave the city unseen. I’m willing to bet he left some tunnels intact, if only for his own use.” With a will, Drummer rolls to his feet. He’s surprisingly agile for his age and size. “I can relay to Palace, have her start sniffing it out. Ada, you’ve got city plans in your head, yes?” “I do, sir,” she anwers quickly. I can’t imagine what Ada doesn’t have preserved in her perfect mind.

Drummer ducks his chin. “Get on the comms with Palace. Help her run her operatives.”

Without hestitation, Ada nods. “Yes, sir,” she says, already walking from the library.

Farley clenches her jaw and watches our friend go, disappearing from the room. Then she glances sidelong at me, weighing my response. “Do we have time for that?” “Probably not,” I mutter. If only Jon had been more precise in his damned warning. But I suppose that’s too easy. It isn’t his way.

“So what can we do?” she prods.

A sudden headache throbs at my temples and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Earlier today, I climbed a mountain to keep away from Maven.

Of course my efforts only prolonged the inevitable. And the necessary.

“Well, I guess we can just ask.”

Without Julian to sing a confession out of him, or any whispers, newblood or otherwise, an interrogation of Maven Calore will be a two-sided battle of wills and deception. Though Montfort has Silvers to spare, none can draw truth through ability alone.

But they can draw it through pain.

Before Maven is brought in, one of the officers returns with Tyton in tow, the white-haired electricon looking dour as he enters the room. He settles into his seat on Davidson’s side of the room and drums his fingers, the movement quick and twitching, like the lightning he may have to use on Maven. His ability is far more precise than my own, able to push a body to its limit without destroying what cannot be repaired.

The room is deathly silent, empty of the soldiers above, as well as most of the Montfort representatives. Davidson and the Guard generals are smart enough not to give Maven an audience. He’s too good a performer, too good a liar.

I can sit now, sandwiched between Farley and the armrest of her couch. She’s broader than I am, but I’m glad for her close presence. The thought of Maven still chills my blood. At least in Archeon there was Cal to split his attention, his obsession, and his fury. Now there’s just me.

His guards are many, a half dozen at least. Montfort soldiers and Scarlet Guard alike, armed to the teeth with weapons and abilities. He revels in the attention and the need for such precautions, smiling slightly as they lead him into the library.

His icy eyes sweep over the chamber quickly, noting the windows, the books, and the people waiting for him. I hold his gaze.

“I must admit, I never expected to see you again, Premier,” he says, breaking his stare to look at Davidson. The unflappable man doesn’t react, his face still and neutral. “Nor did I ever think I would set foot in the mysterious wilds of Montfort. But this isn’t so wild, is it? Not as much as you would have us believe.” It’s wild enough, I think, remembering our battle with a herd of bison.

“I was taught your country was a land of Silvers as much as my own, albeit divided by many kings and lords. How wrong my instructors were.” Maven keeps on, turning slightly as he speaks. He could be counting us. The seven generals of Command, matched by Davidson and the representatives from his government and military. He stops when he spots Radis, plainly silver-blooded with his cold-hued skin. “How interesting,” he murmurs. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, sir?” The older Silver flexes a hand, the waning sunlight flashing on his long nails. A soft brush of wind rustles through Maven’s hair. A warning. “Save your breath, princeling. There are things to discuss.” Maven only grins. “I just didn’t expect to see Silvers here, in the midst of such . . . crimson company.” I huff, already bored with his stalling tactics. “You said yourself, you don’t know anything about this place.” Maven turns back to me, glaring, but I wave him off. “And you don’t need to.” He bares his teeth. “Because you’ll execute me before long? Is that the threat you’re trying to make, Mare?” I set my jaw, electing not to answer. “It’s an empty one. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. I’m worth more alive. To you and your cause.” The room remains silent in reply.

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Maven sneers. “As long as I breathe, I’m a threat to my brother. Same as he was to me. I assume he’s collecting loyalties now, recalling the High Houses of Norta. Trying to win over those who pledged allegiance to me. And some will, but all?” Slowly, he ticks his head back and forth, clucking his tongue like a scolding mother. “No, they’ll sit back and wait. Or they’ll fight him.” “For you?” I snap back. “I doubt that.”

He makes a noise low in his throat, a growl more suited to an animal.

“What exactly do you need from me?” he says, wrenching his eyes away. He moves gracefully, swiveling on his toes to face the rest of the chamber. The fallen king has no cage, but he is obviously trapped. For some reason, his eyes waver on Tyton, looking over the electricon, with his white hair and calmly murderous disposition. “And who is he?” To my surprise, I hear fear in Maven Calore.

Farley pounces, smelling blood in the water. “You’re going to tell us what you did to the Archeon tunnels. Which ones are closed, which ones are open. Which ones you built after you took the throne.” In spite of his predicament, Maven rolls his eyes and laughs. “You people and your tunnels.” The young general is not deterred. “Well?”

“And what do I get out of this?” He leers at her. “A better view from my cell? Not that it would be difficult. I currently have no windows.” With oddly twitching hands, he counts off on his fingers. “Better food? Visitors, perhaps?” Maven wavers a little, teeth on edge. His body seems to shiver. Whatever control he maintains is beginning to slip. “A painless death?” I fight the urge to grab him, if only to keep him still. He reminds me of a rat in a trap, squirming for his life.

“You get the satisfaction, Maven,” I force out.

I should be used to the sensation of his eyes running through me. I’m not, and I shudder, his gaze a featherweight on my skin. “Of what?” he murmurs.

Despite the yards between us, Maven feels much too close.

The words taste sour in my mouth. “You know what.”

His grin widens, a white knife to taunt us. “If I can’t have the throne, neither can he,” he says plainly. “Well, that’s something, at least.” His voice drops, as does his grin. “But not enough.” Behind him, Davidson looks to his side, exchanging a stern glance with Tyton. After a long moment, the white-haired electricon unfolds from his chair. He rises slowly, deliberately, hands loose at each side. Maven turns at the sound, sharp in his motions. His eyes widen.

“Who is he?” Maven asks again. I try to ignore the tremor in his voice.

I raise my chin. “Someone like me.”

Tyton drums a hand against his leg, running a single, blinding white spark down his finger.

“But stronger.”

Dark lashes flutter against pale cheeks, and Maven’s throat bobs.

His next words are reluctant, stumbling. Low, almost inaudible. “I need something in exchange,” he hisses.

My teeth clench in frustration. “Maven, I already told you—”

The fallen king cuts me off, wrenching his eyes from Tyton to look back at me with all his black fire. “When you invade, which you’re planning to do,” he sneers, baring his teeth, “I’ll lead you where you need to go. Which tunnels, which paths. I’ll bring your whole army into the city myself, and set you loose on my wretched brother.” Farley scoffs from her seat. “Into a trap, no doubt. Into the teeth of your Cygnet bride—” “Oh, she’ll be there, no doubt,” Maven replies, waving a finger at her. Her face flushes with anger. “That snake and her mother have been planning to take Norta since the moment she set foot in my kingdom.” “The moment you let her in,” I mutter.

Maven barely flinches. “A calculated risk. And so is this.”

Hardly convincing, even to those who don’t know him. The Command generals look more disgusted than when he walked in, no mean feat, while the newbloods of Montfort seem more inclined to skin Maven alive. The premier, usually so levelheaded, curls his lips into the rare, obvious scowl. Again he nods to Tyton, and the electricon takes one shuddering step forward.

It sets something off in Maven. He jumps out of reach, keeping his distance from all of us. The twitching returns in force, but his eyes blaze, all fire. No fear.

“You think I can’t lie through pain,” he snarls, his voice thundering through the room. “You think I haven’t done it a thousand times?” No one has an answer for him, especially not me. I try not to react, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing an emotion from me. I fail horribly, unable to keep my eyes open. For a brief, empty moment I see nothing but darkness, and I try not to think of Maven. His words. What his life was and continues to be.

And how we’ve all suffered because of it.

I expect the others to give him no quarter. To torture what we need from him. Draw it out with lightning and pain. Will I be strong enough to watch?

Even Farley falters.

She stares at Maven, trying to read him. To weigh the risk and the cost. He meets her eyes without quailing.

She swears under her breath.

For once, he’s telling the truth.

Maven Calore is our only chance.