فصل سی و سوم

Thirty-Three: Mare

I’m still not used to the purple hair.

It isn’t as garish as Ella’s, at least. I only let Gisa dye the gray ends, leaving the roots untouched. I twist a spare lock around my finger, staring at the odd color as I walk. Strange as it looks, it gives me a small burst of pride. I’m an electricon, and I’m not alone.

After the first attack on Archeon, Maven and his loyal advisers took up a campaign of collapsing or flooding the immense tunnel system beneath the city. They concentrated heavily on the southern edges, where the tunnels were more numerous, all of them leading to the ruins of Naercey at the mouth of the Capital River. Davidson originally suggested striking out from the abandoned city, but Farley and I knew better. Maven destroyed that too, rooting out the Scarlet Guard’s stronghold while obliterating whatever remained. He was inspired by the Guard as well, constructing tunnels of his own in addition to an escape train. I can’t be certain, not this deep or after this long underground, but I think we’ll link up with the train line eventually.

My inner compass spins, searching for true north in vain. We have to rely on Guard intelligence, what they know of the tunnels. And we have to rely on Maven. Stupid as it is, he is our best hope for getting as far into the city as we can. The combined force of Montfort and the Scarlet Guard is too big to simply strike from the air, or the river, or the ground. We have to do all three.

Of course I’m stuck scrabbling in the darkness, walking for hours beneath several tons of rock and soil.

Maven cuts a harsh silhouette, backlit by our lanterns. He’s still wearing the simple uniform the Montfortans gave him when they locked him up. Washed-out gray pants and shirt, the fabric too thin and the cut too big on his frame. It makes him look younger than he is, more gaunt and drawn than ever before.

I hang back, using Farley as a human shield between us. His own guards are close at hand as well, an even mix of Reds and newbloods. None of them falter, hands resting on their holstered guns. Tyton walks close by, never breaking his concentration on Maven. They’re prepared for the first sign of trouble.

So am I. My body buzzes, a live wire, not from my own electricity but from sheer nerves. I’ve felt it for hours, since Maven brought us down here, leading us through a service hatch a few miles north of the city limits.

Our army lumbers along with us. Thousands winding through the darkness, marching at an even, steady pace that echoes off the tunnel walls. It sounds like a heartbeat, rhythmic and pulsing, vibrating in my rib cage.

On my right, Kilorn shuffles along, his steps a bit stilted to keep pace with mine. He notices me staring and pulls a tight smile.

I try to return the gesture. He almost died in New Town. I remember the feel of his blood spraying across my lips. The memory fills me with a numb fear.

My old friend reads my face, even in the dim light. He nudges my arm. “You have to admit, I have a talent for survival.” “Let’s hope it holds,” I mutter back.

I’m just as concerned for Farley, in spite of all her skills and wiles. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.

Farley has command of half the ground forces—all the Scarlet Guard soldiers as well as the Red Nortan defectors collected over the months of rebellion. Davidson leads the other half, though he is content to walk in line with the rest of us, letting her take precedence.

Up ahead, the tunnel splits. One side narrows but angles sharply upward, the path scrambling over a few ancient steps punctuated by gentle slopes of packed dirt. The other carries on like this one, wide and flat, with the slightest incline.

Maven slows before the fork, resting both hands on his hips. He seems amused by the guards flanking him, all six of them moving in lockstep.

“Which way?” Farley barks.

Maven glances over at her, wearing a familiar smirk. The shadows cut deep along his cheekbones and make his blue eyes stand out, vivid in their icy coldness. He doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t hesitate, striking him across the jaw. Silver blood spatters the tunnel floor, winking in the lantern light.

At my side, I clench a fist. I would let Farley grind Maven into a pulp under any other circumstances, but we need him right now.

“Farley,” I hiss, wishing I could call back the word as soon as I speak.

She frowns at me, even as Maven grins, showing silvered teeth.

“Up,” he says simply, pointing to the steeper way.

I’m not the only one to curse under their breath.

The narrower path isn’t difficult, but it does slow us down. Maven seems to delight in the prospect, looking back with a haunting sneer every few minutes or so. We have to walk three abreast, instead of twelve as before, making for a cramped ascent. The tunnel quickly grows hot with the presence of so many bodies, all of them nervous and agitated. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck. I would prefer to storm the capital at full strength, but I guess this will have to do.

Some of the steps are uneven and too high, forcing me to scramble. Kilorn watches me go, almost laughing. I can call forth a lightning storm, but tall steps are apparently beyond me.

The climb doesn’t take longer than a half hour, but it feels like days spent in the dim light, scuffling in relative silence. Even Kilorn keeps his mouth shut. The circumstances settle over the long train of soldiers like a cloud, sobering us all. What will we find when we finally reach the surface?

I try not to look at Maven, but find myself focusing on the outline of his body. It’s instinctual. I don’t trust him in any capacity. I expect him to dart into a crevice, disappear, and escape. But he keeps an even pace, never faltering in his steps.

The path flattens again, joining a wider tunnel with rounded walls and stone supports. The air is colder, sending a chill over my fevered skin.

“I think you know where we are,” Maven says, his voice echoing down to me. With one hand, he gestures to the center of the tunnel floor.

A pair of new tracks gleams, reflecting our lanterns.

We’ve reached the escape train.

I swallow hard, feeling a swell of fear rise in my throat. Not long now. Everyone else knows it too, judging by the thrum of activity rising through our ranks. From here, Farley’s half of our forces can easily get up to Whitefire, Caesar’s Square, and the cliffs that make up West Archeon. The rest, following Premier Davidson and General Swan, will cross under the river and link up with General Palace, the last member of Command still operating in the city. If all goes to plan, we’ll be able to overrun both sides of Archeon before anyone knows we’re here. And the Lakelanders will be caught in the middle.

But will Cal fight with us?

He has to, I tell myself. He has no other choice.

The official objective is to keep the city out of Lakelander hands. We can do that, at the very least. We can do that.

Next to me, Kilorn brushes my arm, sensing my discomfort. The burst of warmth makes me shiver again.

At the edge of my perception, something tinges. It hums and buzzes, the whine of distant electricity. Not above us, strangely, but ahead. And steadily approaching.

“Something’s coming,” I bark aloud.

Tyton reacts in the same manner, his body tensing. “Stand back!” he shouts, pushing Maven against the wall. The rest of us follow suit, moving quickly as the sound reaches us.

An engine screeches far ahead, closing the distance as it gains speed over the tracks. The lights round a gentle curve, blinding in comparison to our lanterns, and I have to turn my head to shield my eyes.

I end up looking at Maven, who doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.

The familiar train speeds by in a blur of gray metal, too fast for us to glimpse who may be inside. Still, Maven searches the windows as they fly by, his blue eyes big as dinner plates. He pales, going whiter than Tyton’s hair, and his throat works furiously, lips pressing into a disappearing line. All this passes in an instant as he quickly wrestles his emotions under control, but the moment is enough for me.

I know what fear looks like in Maven Calore, and he is terrified now. For very good reason.

Whatever plan he had, whatever hope there was for escape, just disappeared with that train.

He catches me staring, reading the fading expression on his face. His jaw tightens just a little and his eyes run over me, slow as a caress.

You can’t run from what you’ve done, I want to say aloud.

He gets the message.

As the train fades to nothing again, beyond my perception, his eyes flutter shut.

I think he’s saying good-bye.

Like the lights of the train, the spiraling white of the Treasury vaults is blinding.

Tyton has Maven by the neck. He uses the leverage to increase our pace, forcing Maven to march faster and faster as we ascend the vault levels. The air fills with the sound of weapons and body armor being checked. Guns loaded, blades drawn, buttons fastened, buckles clicked into place. The pistol on my own hip is still an unusual weight, and I lean a little to compensate. I doubt I’ll fire a bullet up there. Not like Farley. She sheds her jacket, tossing it to the side to be trampled by the hundreds behind us. Without the red overcoat, I can see the many belts and holsters crossing her back and hips, slung with half a dozen different guns and corresponding ammunition, as well as her radio. She has her knives as well, now in plain sight. Diana Farley is ready for war.

Somewhere behind us, one of the Scarlet Guard shouts, her voice echoing oddly. I can’t decipher it, but others repeat her words. The cheer reverberates off the walls, the sound rising like thunder, until I realize what they’re chanting.

“Rise, red as the dawn.”

In spite of my fear, I feel a wicked, wild grin rise to my lips.

“Rise, red as the dawn.”

The spiraling passage choruses with the battle cry.

We’re almost running, Maven struggling to keep up with Tyton’s pace. Farley matches his speed, her long strides eating up the white marble beneath our feet.

“Rise, red as the dawn.”

Kilorn’s voice joins the din.

“Rise, red as the dawn.”

The lights overhead flicker in time with my heartbeat.

I look back, searching through the ranks of red and green, Scarlet Guard and Montfort. The range of faces, skin every shade, blood both colors, all speaking in shuddering unison. Some raise their fists or weapons or both, but no one is silent. Our voices are so loud I can barely hear my own.

“Rise, red as the dawn.”

I call to lightning, call to thunder, call to all the strength left in my body. I’m not a general or commander. The only things I have to worry about topside are myself, Kilorn, and Farley, if she’ll let me. That’s all I have the capacity for.

And Cal, wherever he might be. Leading his army, fighting in vain against a greater force. Defending a city from almost inevitable ruin.

Tyton is first through the great doors of the Treasury, vaulting out into the spiraling rain with Maven in tow. The younger prince skids, his shoes sliding over the wet tiles of Caesar’s Square, but Tyton keeps his grip. I follow, half expecting Tyton to kill Maven on the spot, already shivering in the rain. We never planned on letting Maven survive the battle. And we don’t need him anymore, not really.

It could be over right now.

I feel tugged by both ends of the decision. As if it’s really my decision to make.

The other electricon never loosens his grasp, almost holding Maven down. Tyton isn’t as temperamental as the rest of us. He is slow to fury, even now, with Maven in hand. He’s a good jailer for someone the rest of us despise so much.

“Do it,” I hear Maven grit out, head still bowed. He extends his white hands and I watch his fingers tremble in the rain. Like me, he knows where this road leads.

Behind us, more and more of Farley’s forces flood into the Square, still cheering the words of the Scarlet Guard. They fill the space with color, uniforms of red and green standing out starkly even in the wet fog. I focus on the fallen king, now shuddering a hundred yards from his own palace. Even the rhythmic thud of gunfire and explosions barely penetrates my awareness.

“I said, do it,” Maven snarls again. Trying to goad Tyton.

Or me.

Above us, the storm clouds churn. I feel the flash of lightning before it crackles across the sky, purple and white, an emblem of our presence. Let Cal know we’re here.

“You don’t have any more use for me.” Rainwater drips down his face, tracing familiar paths. “Be done with it.” Slowly, he raises his eyes to mine. I expect sorrow, or defeat.

Not icy anger.

“Ty—” I start, but the word is hardly out of my mouth when a shell strikes true, exploding over the columned walls of the Treasury.

The force of it blows us sideways, falling over already slippery ground. My skull cracks against the tile and I see dizzy stars for a second. I try to stand and fall again, colliding with an equally disoriented Tyton. He holds me down, pushing me flat against the Square as a leaping tongue of flame passes over us, singing the air directly above our heads.

“Maven!” I scream, my voice lost in the surge of battle. Against the guns, the missiles, the mortar shells, the wind and the rain, I might as well whisper.

Beneath me, Tyton tenses, pushing up on his elbows. His head whips back and forth, searching the crowd around us for a gray form and black hair.

I roll to my knees, cursing, the twists of my hair already coming undone. Purple strands drift, unfamiliar. Kilorn skids to a stop at my shoulder, his face already sweaty and flush with exertion.

“Is he gone?” he pants, trying to help me up.

As my head clears, I manage to get my feet underneath me. My muscles tighten, ready to dodge another flaming blow. Not that I need to. That isn’t his way. Maven isn’t a warrior.

“He’s gone,” I hear myself hiss.

I can choose to hunt him down. Or I can make sure we finish what we’ve started. I can keep my friends alive.

With a burst of determination, I force myself to turn, face the gates of the Square, and the Bridge beyond. “We have work to do.” Though it’s still shrouded in fog, I can just make out hundreds of soldiers spanning the Bridge, with the looming hulks of Lakelander ships below. In the sky, airjets give chase, with wings of yellow, purple, red, blue, and green swooping like deadly birds of prey. I can’t make out anything beyond the river. The other half of the city is entirely obscured. At least Farley and the officers have their radios. They should be able to communicate with Davidson on the far side.

Extending a hand, I take Tyton by the wrist, hoisting him to his feet. His face darkens as he scowls, disgusted with himself.

“I’m sorry,” I think I hear him whisper. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Spinning on my heel, I make for Farley. “Join the club,” I mutter, sending another angry bolt across the sky.

In the fog, flashes of blue and green pulse, as if in reply.

“They made it across,” Kilorn muses, pointing out the distant lights. “Rafe and Ella. Davidson’s army.” In spite of Maven’s escape, my lips twitch, wanting to smile. A small burst of triumph blooms in my chest. “Well, that’s something.” More than something.

Caesar’s Square contains the center of Nortan government—the palace, the courts, the Treasury, and War Command—but the bulk of the capital is on the other side of the river. Our side might be more valuable, but East Archeon is larger, with a greater population. Red and Silver. They won’t be left to fend for themselves against the Lakelander assault while Cal’s army concentrates on the armada.

Farley stares down the gullet of the Bridge, standing tall and stoic, a statue against the soldiers moving around her. Her lieutenants bark orders, organizing their troops into predetermined formation. Half form a shield wall of bodies facing Whitefire and War Command, where some of Cal’s own Silvers could still be. The others face out, looking down the cliffs to the river or blocking this end of the Bridge.

Essentially trapping Cal between this side of the water and the other, suspended over the armada below.

We reach her without delay, the Scarlet Guard and Montfort soldiers parting to let us pass. Tyton is quick to get to work, hurling his blinding-white darts of electricity at the ships below. The steel leviathans seem impenetrable, even for magnetrons. Blue rumbles in the clouds, before one of Ella’s storm bolts hits the prow of a battleship with the keening scream of tearing metal. I squint over the walls of the cliff edge, searching the river. It should be hundreds of feet below, but it seems closer than I remember. My mouth goes dry when I realize the Lakelanders must have raised the river to allow their largest ships to sail this far.

“It’s still rising,” Farley says over her shoulder, making room for me on her perch. “We won’t be able to escape the way we came.” I bite my lip, thinking of the tunnels beneath us. “Flooded?”

She nods. “More than likely.” Her eyes waver, looking between the river and the silhouettes on the bridge. Smoke spirals with the fog, black against the white and gray. “We made it through just in time.” Kilorn settles in next to us. His attention is on the Bridge, not the water. From this vantage point, I can see that Cal’s forces aren’t defending the Bridge, but striking from it. Through the fog, swifts blur along the decks of the boats below, alongside strongarms, Anabel’s oblivions, and other Silvers best suited to close combat. Shivers of House Gliacon seem to be making the most headway. They use their abilities to freeze. One of the smaller battleships is completely iced in, frozen against the supports of the Bridge.

I sigh in relief when I don’t see fire dancing among the ships. Nothing but the usual explosive blasts. Cal isn’t down there fighting the armada himself. Yet.

“Do you think he knows we’re here?” Kilorn wonders, still looking at the Bridge.

Farley clenches her jaw. She rests her hand at her side, not on her gun but on the radio strapped high on her hip. “Cal seems a bit preoccupied.” “He knows,” I mutter, another peal of purple lightning streaking across the sky. The air is thick, like the clouds have come down to obscure the battle raging before us. I flinch as another round strikes the Square, missiles crashing through a wing of the palace.

“I don’t see Maven,” Farley says, shifting closer to me. I find myself facing the full weight of her cerulean stare, clear and bright even in the haze. “Is it done?” I bite my lip, almost drawing blood. The sharp pain is better than shame. She reads my hesitation, and her face purples quicker than I thought possible.

“Mare Barrow—”

The crackle of the radio at her side cuts her off, saving me from her rage. She rips it free, snarling into the receiver. “This is General Farley.” The voice on the other end does not belong to a Command general or a Montfort officer. It isn’t Davidson either.

I would know that voice anywhere, even punctuated by gunfire.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Cal says, sounding tinny and far away, distorted by static. The electricity in the air must not be very good for radio waves.

Breathless, I look from Farley toward the Bridge. Sure enough, one of the shadows in the fog seems to be solidifying. Broad shoulders and a familiar, determined stride move closer and closer. I keep still, my feet rooted in place on our perch above the fray.

Farley smirks down at her radio. “So nice of you to make time for us.” “It’s only polite,” he replies.

With a sigh, Farley angles herself toward the form on the Bridge, now less than fifty yards away. Cal is surrounded by his guards, and he halts, stopping the group. The Silvers seem tense, their guns ready, waiting for an order. He acknowledges us with a tip of his head. Farley furrows her brow a little, hesitant.

“I’m guessing you know where things stand, Cal,” she says.

His response is almost too quick. “I do.”

Farley bites her lip. “And?”

A long rush of static drones, before he speaks again. “Mare?”

The radio is in my hand before I can even think to ask for it.

“I’m here,” I say, locking eyes with him across a canyon.

“Is it too late?”

The question has too many implications to count.

Purple, white, green, and blue flash through the clouds, enough to penetrate the mist and blind us all for a moment. Shutting my eyes, I smile with the burst of energy as it thrums through me.

When the lightning passes, I answer him, and everything he means.

“No, it isn’t,” I tell him, before returning the radio to Farley.

She doesn’t stop me as I clamber down the steps, and Cal’s guards stand aside when I approach, walking through the broken gates of the ruinous Square.

He waits at the edge of the Archeon Bridge, unmoving. As before, he lets me come to him. He lets me set the pace, choose the direction, make the decision. He puts it all in my hands.

I keep an even step, in spite of the rumblings far below. Something smashes, wailing and roaring. One of the ships, maybe, colliding into another. I hardly notice.

The embrace is short, far too short, but enough. I steady myself against him, holding tightly for as long as I dare, feeling the warm, hard lines of his body pressed against me. He smells like smoke and blood and sweat. His arms cross my back, holding me around the shoulders to pull me into his chest.

“I’m done with crowns,” he murmurs to the top of my head.

“Finally,” I whisper.

We push back in unison, turning to the situation at hand. We don’t have time for anything else, and I certainly don’t have the capacity to think about much more.

He raises the radio again, one hand still resting on my shoulder. “General, I believe Volo Samos and some of his own soldiers are still in War Command,” he says. Through the mist, I glance at the hulking building on the edge of the Square. “You’ll want to keep an eye on your backs.” “Got it, will do,” she answers. “Anything else?”

She’s on the move, barking orders to her lieutenants, as she relays the advice. Kilorn and Tyton flank her like guards.

“We’re working on blocking up the river. If the ships can’t turn around . . .” “They can’t escape,” I finish for him, glancing out at the destruction on both sides of the city. Missiles spiral overhead, trailing smoke like black ink over paper as they arc and explode.

In spite of Cal’s soldiers, as well as the jets overhead, the Lakelander armada doesn’t seem to be taking much damage. As I watch, another one of Ella’s storm bolts cracks, but a wave rises with blinding speed, taking the brunt of the blow to save a battleship. It lights up with the eerie glow of electricity before fading and falling harmlessly back into the river. It must be Queen Cenra’s doing, maybe with her daughter’s help. I’ve never seen such a display of power, even from people who delight in that sort of thing.

Cal watches with me, his face still and grim. “We have to start sinking the ships, but with the river, they have all the shields they’ll ever need. Right now it’s all we can do to minimize the damage to the city.” He curses as a wave knocks back another volley of gunfire. “They have to run out of ammunition eventually, right?” he says dryly.

I glare at the offending ships, eyes running over their steel hides. “Call up some teleporters. Let’s get Lerolan oblivions and Evangeline onto a ship. Have them tear some holes.” “Evangeline is gone.”

“But you said her father . . .”

Somehow, Cal looks oddly proud. “She had an opportunity and she took it.” An opportunity to run and put all this behind her. I don’t need much of an imagination to guess where she might be running. Or who she’s running with. Like Cal, I feel a strange mix of pride and surprise.

“The train,” I say, almost smirking to myself. Well done, I can’t help but think.

He quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“In the tunnels, we saw Maven’s escape train on the move. It must have been her,” I answer. It stings to say his name, and I grimace. A sour taste fills my mouth. “He’s here, by the way,” I blurt out.

The temperature around us rises a few degrees. Cal’s lips drop open in shock. “Maven?” I nod. Heat flares up in my cheeks. “He led us back into the city. To spite you.” Still sputtering, Cal runs a hand over his face. “Well, too bad I can’t thank him,” he finally mumbles, attempting a smirk. I don’t laugh, unable to do much more than bite my lip. “What’s that look for?” It’s no use lying. “He slipped us.”

He blinks at me. Another missile whines past. “This is a very odd time for a very odd joke, Mare.” I waver, dropping my gaze. I’m not joking.

The flamemaker bracelet on his wrist sparks, and he turns the spark to a ball of flame. Angry, surprised, exasperated, he tosses the fiery orb over the edge of the Bridge, letting it singe the fog as it fades.

“So he’s somewhere in the city,” he snaps. “Fantastic.”

“You keep an eye on Kilorn and Farley. I’ll find him,” I say quickly, putting a hand to his arm. The plates of steel beneath my touch feel like they’ve been sitting in an oven.

Cal brushes me away gently. He glances back toward the Square again, teeth gritted. “No, I will.” I’ve always been faster than he is. I dodge his hands with ease, planting myself firmly between him and the Square. Putting my palm on his chest, I hold him at arm’s length. “You’re a little busy,” I say, jerking my chin toward the armada below us.

“A little,” he grinds out.

“I can finish this.”

“I know you can.”

His armor warms beneath my hand, and he covers my fingers with his own.

Then the Bridge buckles beneath us as something slams into it, a dozen times, from all angles. Above, below. Missiles, shells. A crashing wave sends spray up the supports and onto the level where we stand. Heavier in his armor, Cal loses his balance, falling flat while I fight to stay upright.

Except there is no such thing as upright.

The three-tiered Bridge of Archeon, massive stone and steel, bows toward its center, drooping downward. It isn’t difficult to guess why. Another explosion shudders, and a spray of debris plummets outward, falling with the central supports of the Bridge.

Cal scrambles, trying to get his feet, and I seize him beneath the arm. I would drag him if I could, but the armor is too heavy.

“Help!” I shout, looking for his guards.

The Lerolan soldiers, his grandmother’s own kin, waste no time dragging Cal to his feet. But the Bridge fights us, falling faster and faster, roaring against its own demise.

I scream when the pavement under our feet gives way, slamming into the next tier thirty feet below. I land hard on my side and something cracks in my ribs, sending spiderwebs of pain over me. Hissing, I try to roll and get my bearings. Get off the Bridge, get off the Bridge drums in my head.

Cal is already on his knees, a hand outstretched. Not to grab me.

To stop me.

“Don’t move!” he screams, fingers splayed.

I freeze midstep, my arm wrapped around my rib cage.

His eyes stand out sharply, so afraid, his pupils blown wide and dark.

Instead of the armada, their guns raining concussive hell upon us, I can only hear one thing. Like a whisper, but worse.

Cracking. Crumbling.

“Cal—”

Everything collapses beneath us.