King’s Cage (Red Queen Book 3)

For once, I am not the object of torture. If I had the opportunity, I would thank Iris for allowing me to sit to the side and be ignored. Evangeline takes my place instead. She tries to look serene, unaffected by the scene around us. The rest of the bridal entourage keeps glancing at her, the girl they were supposed to serve. At any moment, I expect her to curl up like one of her mother’s snakes and start hissing at every person who dares come within a few feet of her gilded chair. After all, these chambers used to be hers.

The salon is redecorated for its new occupant and rightfully so. Bright blue wall hangings, fresh flowers in clear water, and several gentle fountains make it unmistakable. A princess of the Lakelands reigns here.

In the center of the room, Iris surrounds herself with servants, Red maids infinitely skilled in the art of beauty. She needs little help. Her cliff-high cheekbones and dark eyes are magnificent enough without paint. One maid intricately braids her black hair into a crown, fastening it with sapphire and pearl pins. Another rubs sparkling blush to sculpt an already beautiful bone structure into something ethereal and otherworldly. Her lips are a deep purple, expertly drawn. The dress itself, white fading to bright, shimmering blue at the hem, sets off her dark skin with a glow like the sky moments after a sunset. Even though appearance is the last thing I should be worried about, I feel like a discarded doll next to her. I’m in red again, simple in comparison to my usual jewels and brocade. If I were a bit healthier, I might look beautiful too. Not that I mind. I’m not supposed to shine, I don’t want to shine—and next to her, I certainly won’t.

Evangeline couldn’t contrast Iris more if she tried—and she certainly tried. While Iris eagerly plays the part of a young, blushing bride, Evangeline has willingly accepted the role of the girl scorned and cast aside. Her dress is metal so iridescent it could be made of pearl, with razored white feathers and silver inlay throughout. Her own maids flutter about, putting the finishing touches on her appearance. She stares at Iris through it all, black eyes never wavering. Only when her mother moves to her side does she break focus, and then only to inch away from the emerald-green butterflies decorating Larentia’s skirts. Their wings flutter idly, as if in a breeze. A gentle reminder that they are living things, attached to the Viper woman by ability alone. I hope she doesn’t intend to sit.

I’ve seen weddings before, back home in the Stilts. Crude gatherings. A few binding words and a hasty party. Families scrounge to provide enough food for the invited guests, while those who wander through get nothing more than a good show. Kilorn and I used to try to pinch leftovers, if there were any. Fill our pockets with bread rolls and slink off to enjoy the spoils. I don’t think I’ll be doing that today.

The only thing I’ll be holding on to is Iris’s long train and my own sanity.

“Pity more of your family could not be here to attend, Your Highness.”

An older woman, her hair entirely gray, distances herself from the many Silver ladies awaiting Iris. She crosses her arms over an immaculate black dress uniform. Unlike most officers, her badges are few, but still impressive. I’ve never seen her before, though there’s something familiar about her face. But from this angle, with her features in profile, I can’t place it.

Iris inclines her head to the woman. Behind her, two maids fasten a shimmering veil in place. “My mother is ruling queen of the Lakelands. She must always sit the throne. And my older sister, her heir, is loath to leave our kingdom.”

“Understandable, in such tumultuous times.” The older woman bows back, but not as deeply as one would expect. “My congratulations, Princess Iris.”

“My thanks, Your Majesty. I’m glad you were able to join us.”

Majesty?

The older woman turns fully, putting her back to Iris as the maids finish their work. Her eyes fall on me, narrowing in the slightest. With one hand she beckons. A giant black gem flashes on her ring finger. On either side, Kitten and Clover bump me forward, pushing me at the woman who somehow commands a title.

“Miss Barrow,” she says. The woman is sturdy, with a thick waist, and she has a few good inches on me. I glance at her uniform, looking for house colors to distinguish who she might be.

“Your Majesty?” I reply, using the title. It sounds like a question, and truly, it is.

She offers an amused smile. “I wish I had met you before. When you were masquerading as Mareena Titanos and not reduced to this”—she touches my cheek lightly, making me flinch—“this person wasting away. Maybe then I could understand why my grandson threw his kingdom away for you.”

Her eyes are bronze. Red-gold. I would know her eyes anywhere.

Despite the wedding party milling around us, the clouds of silk and perfume, I feel myself slide back into that horrible moment when a king lost his head and a son lost his father. And this woman lost them both.

Out of the depths of memory, my moments wasted reading histories, I remember her name. Anabel, of House Lerolan. Queen Anabel. Mother to Tiberias the Sixth. Cal’s grandmother. Now I see her crown, rose gold and black diamonds nestled into her neatly tied hair. A little thing compared to what royals usually prance around in.

She pulls her hand away. All the better. Anabel is an oblivion. I don’t want her fingers anywhere near me. They could destroy me with a touch.

“I’m sorry about your son.” King Tiberias was not a kind man, not to me, not to Maven, not to more than half his country living and dying as slaves. But he loved Cal’s mother. He loved his children. He was not evil. Just weak.

Her gaze never breaks. “Odd, since you helped kill him.”

There is no accusation in her voice. No anger. No rage.

She is lying.

The Royal Court is devoid of color. Just white walls and black columns, marble and granite and crystal. It devours a rainbow crowd. Nobles flood through its doors, their gowns and suits and uniforms dyed in every glittering shade. The last of them hurry, scrambling to get inside before the royal bride and her own parade begin their march across Caesar’s Square. Hundreds more Silvers crowd across the tiled expanse, too common to merit an invitation to the wedding itself. They wait in droves, on either side of a cleared pathway lined by an even distribution of Nortan and Lakelander guards. Cameras watch too, elevated on platforms. And the kingdom watches with them.

From my vantage point, sandwiched in the Whitefire entrance, I can just see over Iris’s shoulder.

She keeps quiet, not a hair out of place. Serene as still water. I don’t know how she can stand it. Her royal father has her arm, his cobalt-blue robes electric against the white sleeve of her wedding gown. Today his crown is silver and sapphire, matching hers. They do not speak to each other, focused on the path ahead.

Her train feels like liquid in my hands. Silk so fine it might slip through my fingers. I keep a good grip, if only to avoid drawing more attention than I need to. For once, I’m glad to have Evangeline at my side. She holds the other corner of Iris’s train. Judging by the whispers of the other ladies-in-waiting, the sight is a near scandal. They focus on her instead of me. No one bothers to bait the lightning girl without her sparks. Evangeline takes it all in stride, jaw set and shut. She hasn’t spoken to me at all. Another small blessing.

Somewhere, a horn blows. And the crowd responds, turning toward the palace in unison, a sea of eyes. I feel each look as we step forward, onto the landing, down the stairs, into the jaws of a Silver spectacle. The last time I saw a crowd here, I was kneeling and collared, bloody and bruised and heartbroken. I am still all those things. My fingers tremble. Guards press in, while Kitten and Clover stick behind me in simple but suitable gowns. The crowd pushes closer, and Evangeline is so near she could knife me between the ribs without blinking. My lungs feel tight; my chest constricts and my throat seems to close. I swallow hard and force out a long breath. Calm down. I focus on the dress in my hands, the inches in front of me.

I think I feel a drop of water hit my cheek. I pray it’s rain and not nervous tears.

“Pull yourself together, Barrow,” a voice hisses. It could be Evangeline’s. As with Maven, I feel a sick burst of gratitude for the meager support. I try to push it away. I try to reason with myself. But like a dog starved, I’ll take whatever scraps I’m given. Whatever passes for kindness in this lonely cage.

My vision spirals. If not for my feet, my dear, quick, sure feet, I might stumble. Each step comes harder than the last. Panic spikes up my spine. I drown myself in the white of Iris’s dress. I even count heartbeats. Anything to keep moving. I don’t know why, but this wedding feels like the closing of a thousand doors. Maven has doubled his strength and tightened his grip. I’ll never escape him. Not after this.

The stone beneath me changes. Smooth, square tiles become steps. I bump on the first but right myself, holding up the train. Doing the only thing I’m still able to do. Stand to the side, kneel, shrivel away, turn bitter and hungry in the shadows. Is this the rest of my life?

Before I enter the maw of the Royal Court too, I glance up. Past the sculptures of fire and stars and swords and ancient kings, past the crystal reaches of the glittering dome. To the sky. Clouds gather in the distance. A few have already reached the square, moving steadily in the wind. They dissipate slowly, unraveling into wisps of nothing. Rain wants to gather, but something, probably Silver storms, controlling the weather won’t let it. Nothing will be allowed to ruin this day.

And then the sky disappears, replaced by a vaulted ceiling. Smooth limestone arches overhead, banded with silver spirals of forged flame. Red-and-black banners of Norta and blue banners of the Lakelands decorate either side of the antechamber, as if anyone could forget the kingdoms whose union we’re about to witness. The murmurs of a thousand onlookers sound like humming bees, increasing with every step forward I take. Ahead, the passage widens into the central chamber of the Royal Court, a magnificent circular hall beneath the crystal dome. The sun climbs across the clear panes, illuminating the spectacle below. Every seat is full, ringed out from the middle of the chamber in a halo of flashing color. The crowd waits, breathless. I can’t see Maven yet, but I can guess where he will be.

Anyone else would hesitate, even a little. Iris does not. She never breaks pace as we cross into the light. A thousand bodies standing up is almost deafening, and the noise echoes around the chamber. Rustling clothes, shifting movement, whispers. I stay focused on my breathing. My heart races anyway. I want to look up, note the entrances, the branching passages, the pieces of this place I can use. But I can barely walk, let alone plan another ill-fated escape.

It feels like years pass before we reach the center. Maven waits, his cape just as opulent as Iris’s train and nearly as long. He cuts an impressive figure in flashing red and white instead of black. The crown is newly made, wrought of silver and rubies worked into flame. It gleams when he moves, turning his head to face his approaching bride and her entourage. His eyes find me first. I know him well enough to recognize regret. It flickers, alive for a moment, dancing like the wick of a lit candle. And, just as easily, it disappears, trailing a memory like smoke. I hate him, especially because I can’t fight the now-familiar surge of pity for the shadow of the flame. Monsters are made. So was Maven. Who knows who he was supposed to be?

The ceremony takes the better part of an hour, and I have to stand through all of it alongside Evangeline and the rest of the bridal parade. Maven and Iris trade words back and forth, oaths and pledges urged on by a Nortan judge. A woman in plain indigo robes speaks as well. From the Lakelands, I assume—maybe an envoy of their gods? I hardly listen. All I can think about is an army in red and blue, marching across the world. Clouds continue to roll in, each one darker than the last as they pass the dome overhead. And each one disintegrates. The storm wants to break, but it just can’t seem to.

I know the feeling.

“From this day until my last day, I pledge myself to you, Iris of House Cygnet, princess of the Lakelands.”

In front of me, Maven holds out his hand. Fire licks at the tips of his fingers, gentle and weak as candle flame. I could blow it out if I tried.

“From this day until my last day, I pledge myself to you, Maven of House Calore, king of Norta.”

Iris mirrors his action, putting out her own hand. Her white sleeve, edged in bright blue, falls back gracefully, exposing more of her smooth arm as it leaches moisture from the air. A sphere of clear, trembling water fills her palm. When she joins hands with Maven, one ability destroys the other without even the hiss of steam or smoke. A peaceful union is made, and sealed with a brush of their lips.

He doesn’t kiss her the way he kissed me. Any fire he might have is far away.

I wish I were too.

The applause shudders in me, loud as a thunderclap. Most people cheer. I don’t blame them. This is the last nail in the coffin of the Lakelander War. Even though Reds died in the thousands, the millions, Silvers died too. I won’t begrudge them their celebrations of peace.

Another rumble sounds as many seats around the Royal Court shift, pushing back along stone. I flinch, wondering if we’re about to be crushed in a tide of well-wishers. Instead, Sentinels press in. I clutch at Iris’s train like a lifeline, letting her swift motions pull me through the heaving crowd and back out into Caesar’s Square.

Of course, the crush of noise only increases tenfold. Flags wave, cheers erupt, and sprinkles of paper drift down on us. I dip my head, trying to block it out. Instead, my ears start to ring. The sound doesn’t go away, no matter how much I shake my head. One of the Arvens takes my elbow, her fingers digging into flesh as more and more people press in around us. The Sentinels shout something, instructing the crowd to stay back. Maven turns to look over his shoulder, his face flushed gray in excitement or nerves or both. The ringing intensifies, and I have to let go of Iris’s train to cover my ears. It does nothing except slow me down, pulling me out of her circle of safety. She carries on, arm in arm with her new husband, with Evangeline trailing them both. The tide separates us.

Maven sees me stop and raises an eyebrow, his lips parting to ask a question. His steps slow.

Then the sky turns black.

Storm clouds bloom, dark and heavy, arcing over us like an inferno’s smoke. Lightning streaks across the clouds, bolts tinged white and blue and green. Each one jagged, vicious, destructive. Unnatural.

My heartbeat roars loud enough to drown out the crowd. But not the thunder.

The sound rattles in my chest, so close and so explosive it shakes the air. I taste it on my tongue.

I don’t get to see the next thunderbolt before Kitten and Clover throw me to the ground, our dresses be damned. They pin my shoulders, digging into aching muscles with their hands and their ability. Silence floods my body, fast and strong enough to push the air from my lungs. I gasp, struggling to breathe. My fingers scrabble over the tiled ground, feeling for something to grab. If I could breathe, I would laugh. This is not the first time someone has held me down in Caesar’s Square.

Another clap of thunder, another flash of blue light. The resulting push of Arven silence almost makes me vomit up my guts.

“Don’t kill her, Janny. Don’t!” Clover growls. Janny. Kitten’s real name. “It’ll be our heads if she dies.”

“It’s not me,” I try to choke out. “It’s not me.”

If Kitten and Clover can hear, they don’t show it. Their pressure never lessens, a new constant of pain.

Unable to scream, I force my head up, looking for someone to help me. Looking for Maven. He’ll stop this. I hate myself for thinking it.

Legs cross my vision, black uniforms, civilian colors, and distant, fleeing red-orange robes. The Sentinels keep moving, tight in their formation. Like at the banquet that ended in a near assassination, they spring into well-practiced action, focused on their one and only purpose: defend the king. They change direction quickly, herding Maven not toward the palace, but to the Treasury. To his train. To his escape.

Escape from what?

The freak storm isn’t mine. The lightning isn’t mine.

“Follow the king,” Kitten—Janny—snarls. She hoists me onto wobbly legs, and I almost fall again. The Arvens don’t let me. Neither does the sudden wall of uniformed officers. They surround me in diamond formation, perfect for cutting through the surging crowd. The Arvens lessen their pulsing ability, if only to allow me to walk.

We push on as one while the lightning overhead intensifies. No rain yet. And it’s not nearly hot enough or arid enough for dry lightning. Strange. If only I could feel it. Use it. Draw the jagged lines out of the sky and obliterate every single person around me.

The crowd is perplexed. Most look up; a few point. Some try to back away but find themselves hemmed in by one another. I glance between the faces, looking for an explanation. I see only confusion and fear. If the crowd panics, I wonder if even the Security officers can stop them from trampling us.

Up ahead, Maven’s Sentinels widen the gap between us. A few have taken to tossing people. A strongarm bodily shoves a man back several yards, while a telky sweeps away three or four with a wave of her hand. The crowd gives them a wide berth after that, clearing the space around the fleeing king and new queen. Through the tumult, I catch his eyes as he looks back to search for me. They are wide and wild now, vividly blue even from so far away. His lips move, shouting something I can’t hear over the thunder and the rising panic.

“Hurry!” Clover barks, pushing me onward toward the gap.

Our guards become aggressive, their abilities presenting. A swift lunges back and forth, pressing people back from our path. He blurs between bodies, a whirlwind. And then he stops cold.

The gunshot catches the swift between the eyes. Too close to dodge, too fast to escape. His head snaps back in an arc of blood and brain.

I don’t know the woman holding the gun. She has blue hair, jagged blue tattoos—and a bloody crimson scarf wrapped around her wrist. The crowd shudders around her, shocked for an instant, before springing into full-blown chaos.

With one hand still aiming her pistol, the blue-haired woman raises the other.

Lightning rips out of the sky.

It crashes toward the circle of Sentinels. She has deadly aim.

I tense, expecting an explosion. Instead, the blue-tinged lightning hits a sudden arc of shimmering water, running across the liquid but not through. It veins and flashes, almost blinding, but disappears in an instant, leaving only the watery shield. Beneath it, Maven, Evangeline, and even the Sentinels crouch, hands over their heads. Only Iris is left standing.

The water pools around her, curling and twisting like one of Larentia’s snakes. It grows with every second, leaching so quickly I taste the air drying on my tongue. Iris wastes no time, tearing off her veil. Dimly, I hope it doesn’t rain. I don’t want to know what Iris can do with rain.

Lakelander guards fight through the crowd, their dark blue forms trying to break through the fleeing crowd. Security officers meet the same obstacle and get caught up, tangled in the mess. Silvers dart in every direction. Some toward the commotion, others away from danger. I’m torn between wanting to run with them and wanting to run toward the blue-haired woman. My brain buzzes as adrenaline courses through me, fighting tooth and nail against the silence smothering my being. Lightning. She wields lightning. She’s a newblood. Like me. The thought almost makes me cry with happiness. If she doesn’t get out of here fast, she’ll end up a corpse.

“Run!” I try to scream. It comes out a whisper.

“Get the king to safety!” Evangeline’s voice carries as she jumps to her feet. Her gown quickly shifts into armor, scaling across her skin in pearly plates. “Evacuate!”

A few of the Sentinels comply, pulling Maven into their protective formation. His hand sparks with weak flame. It sputters, matching his fear. The rest of his detail draw guns of their own or explode into their abilities. A banshee Sentinel opens his mouth to scream but drops to a knee, gasping. He tears at his throat. He can’t breathe. But why, who? His comrades drag him back as he continues to choke.

Another lightning bolt streaks overhead, this one too bright to look at. When I open my eyes again, the blue-haired woman is gone, lost in the crowd. Somewhere, gunfire peppers the air.

Gasping, I realize not everyone in the crowd is running away. Not all of them are afraid, or even confused by the outburst of violence. They move differently, with purpose, motive, a mission. Black pistols gleam, flashing as they dig into a guard’s back or stomach. Knives glint in the growing dark. The screams of fear become screams of pain. Bodies fall, slumping against the tile of the square.

I remember the riots in Summerton. Reds hunted down and tortured. A mob turning on the weakest among them. It was disorganized, chaotic, without any order. This is the opposite. What looks like wild panic is the careful work of a few dozen assassins in a crowd of hundreds. With a grin, I realize they all have something in common. As the hysteria grows, each one dons a red scarf.

The Scarlet Guard is here.

Cal, Kilorn, Farley, Cameron, Bree, Tramy, the Colonel.

They’re here.

With everything I have, I butt my head back and crack my skull against Clover’s nose. She howls, and silver blood spurts down her face. In an instant her grip on me breaks, leaving only Kitten. I drive an elbow into her gut, hoping to throw her off. She lets go of my shoulder, only to wrap her arm around my neck and squeeze.

I twist, trying to get enough room to bend my neck and bite. No chance. She increases the pressure, threatening to crush my windpipe. My vision spots, and I feel myself being pulled backward. Away from the Treasury, Maven, his Sentinels. Through the lethal crowd. I trip backward as we reach the steps. I kick weakly, trying to catch on to anything. The Security officers dodge my poor efforts. Some drop to their knees, guns raised, covering the retreat. Clover looms over me, the bottom half of her face painted with mirrored blood.

“Double back through Whitefire. We have to keep orders,” she hisses at Kitten.

I try to shout for help, but I can’t summon air enough to make noise. And it wouldn’t be any use. Something louder than thunder screams across the sky. Two somethings. Three. Six. Metal birds with razor wings. Snapdragons? The Blackrun? But these airjets look different from the ones I know. Sleeker, faster. Maven’s new fleet, probably. In the distance, an explosion blooms with petals of red fire and black smoke. Are they bombing the square, or bombing the Scarlet Guard?

As the Arvens drag me into the palace, another Silver almost collides with us. I reach out. Maybe this person will help.

Samson Merandus sneers down, wrenching one arm out of my grip. I pull back like his touch burns. Just the sight of him is enough to bring on a splitting headache. He wasn’t allowed to attend the wedding, but he’s still dressed for it, immaculate in a navy suit with his ash-blond hair slicked to his skull.

“Lose her and I’ll turn you all inside out!” he snarls over his shoulder.

The Arvens look more frightened of him than of anyone else. They nod vigorously, as do the three remaining officers. All of them know what a Merandus whisper can do. If I needed any more incentive to escape, knowing that Samson will obliterate their minds is certainly it.

In my last glimpse of the square, black shadows loom out of the clouds, coming closer and closer. More airships. But these are heavy, swollen, not built for speed or even combat. Maybe they’re coming in to land. I never see them touch down.

I fight as much as I can, which is to say I mumble and squirm under the weight of silence. It slows my guards down, but only a little. Every inch feels hard won but futile. We keep moving. The halls of Whitefire spiral out around us. With my memorization, I know exactly where we are headed. Toward the east wing, the closest part of the palace to the Treasury. There must be passages to it, another way to Maven’s forsaken train. Any hope of escape will disappear the second they get me underground.

Three gunshots ring out, echoing so close I feel them in my chest. Whatever’s happening in the square is slowly bleeding into the palace. In the window, red flame bursts into the air. From an explosion or a person, I don’t know. I can only hope. Cal. I’m in here. Cal. I picture him just outside, an inferno of rage and destruction. Gun in one hand, fire in the other, bringing down all his pain and fury. If he can’t save me, I hope he can at least rip apart the monster that used to be his brother.

“The rebels are storming Whitefire!”

I jolt at the sound of Evangeline Samos. Her boots ring hard against the marble floor, each step the blow of an angry hammer. Silver blood stains the left side of her face, and her elaborate hair is a mess, tangled and windblown. She smells like smoke.

Her brother is nowhere to be found, but she isn’t alone. Wren, the Skonos skin healer who spent so many days trying to make me look alive, trails her closely. Probably dragged along to make sure Evangeline doesn’t have to suffer scratches for more than an instant.

Like Cal and Maven, Evangeline is no stranger to military training or protocol. She stays on her toes, ready to react. “The lower library and old gallery are overrun. We have to take her this way.” She points her chin to a branching hall perpendicular to ours. Outside, lightning flashes. It reflects against her armor. “You three”—she snaps her fingers at three of the guards—“defend our backs.”

My heart sinks in my chest. Evangeline will personally make sure I get on that train.

“I’m going to kill you one day,” I curse at her around Kitten’s grip.

She lets the threat glance off, too busy barking orders. The guards obey eagerly, dropping back to cover our retreat. They’re happy to have someone take charge in this infernal mess.

“What’s happening out there?” Clover growls as we hurry along. Fear corrupts her voice. “You, reset my nose,” she adds, grabbing Wren by the arm. The Skonos skin healer works on the fly, popping Clover’s broken nose back into place with an audible crack.

Evangeline looks over her shoulder, not at Clover but at the passage behind us. It darkens as the storm outside turns day to night. Fear crosses her face. An unfamiliar thing to see in her. “There were plants in the crowd, disguised as Silver nobles. Newbloods, we think. Strong enough to hold their own until . . .” She checks around a corner before waving us on. “The Scarlet Guard took over Corvium, but I didn’t think they had this many people. True soldiers, trained, well armed. Dropped right out of the sky like damn insects.”

“How did they get in? We’re under full security protocols for the wedding. Over a thousand Silver troops, plus Maven’s newblood pets—” Kitten blusters. She cuts herself off as two figures in white pop out of a doorway. The weight of their silence slams into me, making my knees buckle. “Caz, Brecker, with us!”

I think Egg and Trio are better names. They skid across the marble floor, sprinting to join my moving prison. If I had the energy, I would weep. Four Arvens and Evangeline. Any whisper of hope disappears. It won’t even help to beg.

“They can’t win. It’s a lost cause,” Clover presses on.

“They’re not here to win the capital. They’re here for her,” Evangeline snaps.

Egg shoves me onward. “Waste of effort for this sack of bones.”

We round another corner, to the long, stretching Battle Hall. Compared to the turmoil in the square, it seems serene, its painted scenes of war far away from the chaos. They tower, dwarfing all of us in their old grandeur. If not for the distant sound of screaming airjets and concussive thunder, I could trick myself into believing all that was a dream.

“Indeed,” Evangeline says. Her steps falter so slightly the others don’t notice. But I do. “What a waste of effort.”

She twists with smooth, feline grace, both hands darting out. I see it all as if time itself has slowed. The plates of her armor fly from both wrists, quick and deadly as bullets. Their edges gleam, sharpening to razors. They hiss through air. And flesh.

The sudden drop of silence feels like the lifting of immense weight. Clover’s arm falls from my neck, her grip slack. She falls too.

Four heads tumble to the floor, leaking blood. The bodies follow, all in white, hands gloved in plastic. Their eyes are open. They never had a chance. Blood—the smell, the sight—assaults my senses, and I taste bile rising in my throat. The only thing that keeps me from retching is the jagged spike of fear and realization.

Evangeline isn’t going to take me to the train. She’s going to kill me. She’s going to end this.

She looks shockingly calm for having just murdered four of her own. The plates of metal return to her arms, sliding back into place. Wren the skin healer doesn’t move, her eyes on the ceiling. She won’t watch what’s going to happen next.

It will be no use to run. I might as well face it.

“Get in my way and I’ll kill you slowly,” she whispers, stepping over a corpse to grab me by the neck. Her breath washes over me. Warm, tinged with mint. “Little lightning girl.”

“Then get it over with,” I force through my teeth.

At this range, I realize her eyes are not black but charcoal gray. Storm-cloud eyes. They narrow as she tries to decide how to kill me. It will have to be by hand. My manacles won’t let her abilities touch my skin. But a single knife will do the trick just fine. I hope it’s quick, though I doubt she has enough mercy for such a thing.

“Wren, if you please,” Evangeline says, putting out her hand.

Instead of a dagger, the skin healer pulls a key from a pocket on Trio’s now headless corpse. She presses it into Evangeline’s palm.

I go numb.

“You know what this is.” How could I not? I have dreamed of that key. “I’m going to make you a bargain.”

“Make it,” I whisper, my eyes never wavering from the spiky bit of black iron. “I’ll give you anything.”

Evangeline grabs my jaw, forcing me to look at her. I’ve never seen her so desperate, not even in the arena. Her eyes waver and her lower lip trembles. “You lost your brother. Don’t take mine.”

Rage flares in my stomach. Anything but that. Because I’ve dreamed of Ptolemus too. Slitting his throat, cutting him apart, electrocuting him. He killed Shade. A life for a life. A brother for a brother.

Her fingers dig into my skin, nails threatening to pierce flesh. “You lie and I’ll kill you where you stand. Then I’ll kill the rest of your family.” Somewhere in the twisting halls of the palace, the echoes of battle rise. “Mare Barrow, make your choice. Let Ptolemus live.”

“He’ll live,” I croak out.

“Swear it.”

“I swear it.”

Tears gather as she moves, quickly sliding off one manacle after the other. Evangeline tosses each one as far as she can. By the time she finishes, I’m a weeping mess.

Without the manacles, the Silent Stone, the world feels empty. Weightless. I’m afraid I might float away. Still, the weakness is almost debilitating, worse than my last escape attempt. Six months of it will not disappear in an instant. I try to reach with my ability, try to feel the lightbulbs above my head. I can barely sense the buzz of them. I doubt I could even shut them off, something I used to take for granted.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Words I never thought I would say to her. They unsettle us both.

“You want to thank me, Barrow?” she mutters, kicking away the last of my bindings. “Then keep your word. And let this fucking place burn.”

Before I can tell her I’ll be of no use, that I’ll need days, weeks, months to recover, Wren puts her hands to my neck. I realize now why Evangeline dragged a skin healer along. Not for herself. For me.

Warmth bleeds down my spine, into my veins and bones and marrow. It pounds through me so completely I almost expect the healing to hurt. I drop to a knee, overtaken. The aches vanish. The trembling fingers, weak legs, sluggish pulse—every last ghost of Silent Stone flees before the touch of a healer. My head will never forget what happened to me, but my body quickly does.

The electricity rushes back, thundering from the deepest part of me. Every nerve shrieks to life. All down the hallway, the lightbulbs shatter on their chandeliers. The hidden cameras explode into sparks and spitting wires. Wren jumps back, yelping.

I look down to see purple and white. Naked electricity jumps between my fingers, hissing in the air. The push and pull is achingly familiar. My ability, my strength, my power has returned.

Evangeline takes a measured step back. Her eyes reflect my sparks. They glow.

“Keep your promise, lightning girl.”

Darkness walks with me.

Every light sizzles and blinks out as I pass. Glass shatters, electricity spits. The air buzzes like a live wire. It caresses my open palms, and I shiver at the feel of such power. I thought I had forgotten what this was like. But that’s impossible. I can forget almost everything else in this world, but not my lightning. Not who and what I am.

The manacles made it exhausting to walk. Without them weighing me down, I fly. Toward the smoke, the danger, to what could finally be my salvation or my ending. I don’t care which, so long as I’m not stuck in this hellish prison one second longer. My dress flutters in ruby tatters, ripped enough to let me run as fast as I can. The sleeves smolder, burning with every new burst of sparks. I don’t hold myself back now. The lightning goes where it wants. It explodes through me with every heartbeat. The purple-white bolts and sparks dance along my fingers, blazing in and out of my palms. I shudder in pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful. I keep looking at the electricity, enamored with every vein. It’s been so long. It’s been so long.

This must be what hunters feel like. Every corner I turn, I hope to find some kind of prey. I run the shortest route I know, tearing through the council chamber, its empty seats haunting me as I sprint over the Nortan seal. If I had time, I would obliterate the symbol beneath my feet. Tear up every inch of the Burning Crown. But I have a real crown to kill. Because that’s what I’m going to do. If Maven is still here, if the wretched boy hasn’t gotten away. I’m going to watch his last breath and know he can never hold my leash again.

The Security officers retreat in my direction, their backs to me. Still doing as Evangeline commanded. All three have their long guns tucked into the crooks of their shoulders, fingers on triggers as they cover the passageway. I don’t know their names, just their colors. House Greco, strongarms all. They don’t need bullets to kill me. One of them could break my back, crush my rib cage, pop my skull like a grape. It’s me or them.

The first hears my footsteps. He turns his chin, looking over his shoulder. My lightning shrieks up his spine and into his brain. I feel his branching nerves for a split second. Then darkness. The other two react, swinging around to face me. The lightning is quicker than they are, splitting them both.

I never break pace, vaulting over their smoking bodies.

The next hall runs alongside the square, its once-gleaming windows streaked with ash. A few chandeliers lie smashed against the floor in twisted heaps of gold and glass. There are bodies too. Security officers in their black uniforms, Scarlet Guard with their red scarves. The aftermath of a skirmish, one of many raging within the larger battle. I check the closest Guardsman to me, reaching down to feel her neck. No pulse. Her eyes are closed. I’m glad I don’t recognize her.

Outside, another burst of blue lightning forks through the clouds. I can’t help but grin, the corners of my mouth pulling sharply on my scars. Another newblood who can control lightning. I’m not alone.

Moving quickly, I take what I can off the bodies. A pistol and ammunition from an officer. A red scarf from the woman. She died for me. Another time, Mare, I chide myself, pushing aside the quicksand of such thoughts. Using my teeth, I tie the scarf to my wrist.

Bullets ping against the windows, a spray of them. I flinch, dropping to the floor, but the windows hold firm. Diamondglass. Bulletproof. I’m safe behind them, but also trapped.

Never again.

I slide up against the wall, trying not to be seen as I observe. The sight makes me gasp.

What was once a wedding celebration is now all-out war. I was in awe of the house rebellion, Iral and Haven and Laris against the rest of Maven’s court, but this dwarfs it substantially. Hundreds of Nortan officers, Lakelander guards, deadly nobles of the court on one side, with Scarlet Guard soldiers on the other. There have to be newbloods among them. So many Red soldiers, more than I ever thought possible. They outnumber the Silvers at least five to one, and they are certainly, clearly soldiers. Trained to military precision, from their tactical gear to the way they move. I start to wonder how they even got here, but then I see the airships. Six of them, all landed directly on the Square itself. Each one spits soldiers, dozens of them. Hope and excitement roar through me.

“Hell of a rescue,” I can’t help but whisper.

And I’m going to make sure it succeeds.

I’m not Silver; I don’t need to pull my ability from my surroundings. But it certainly doesn’t hurt to have more electricity, more power, on hand. Closing my eyes, just for a second, I call to every wire, every pulse, every charge, down to the static cling of the curtains. It rises at my demand. It fuels me, heals me as much as Wren.

After six months of darkness, I finally feel the light.

Purple-white flares at the edges of my vision. My entire body buzzes, skin shivering beneath the delight of lightning. I keep sprinting. Adrenaline and electricity. I feel like I could run through a wall.

More than a dozen Security officers guard the entrance hall. One, a magnetron, busies himself boarding up the windows with cages of twisted chandelier and gilt paneling. Bodies and blood in both colors cover the floor. The smell of gunpowder overwhelms everything but the blasts outside. The officers secure the palace, maintaining their position. Their attention is on the battle outside, the Square. Not their backs.

Crouching, I put my hands to the marble beneath my feet. It feels cold beneath my fingers. I will my lightning against the stone, sending it out along the floor in a jagged ripple of electricity. It pulses, a wave, catching them all off guard. Some fall, some rocket backward. The strength of the blast echoes in my chest. If it’s enough to kill, I don’t know.

My only thought is the Square. When the open air hits my lungs, I almost laugh. It’s poisoned with ash, blood, the electric buzz of the lightning storm, but it tastes sweeter than anything. Above me, the black clouds rumble. The sound lives in my bones.

I streak purple-white bolts across the sky. A sign. The lightning girl is free.

I don’t linger. Standing on the steps, overlooking the turmoil, is a good way to get shot in the head. I plunge into the fray, looking for a single familiar face. Not friendly, but at least familiar. People collide all around me with no rhyme or reason. The Silvers were taken unawares, unable to form up into their practiced ranks. Only the Scarlet Guard soldiers have any kind of organization, but it’s rapidly breaking down. I weave toward the Treasury, the last place I saw Maven and his Sentinel. It was only a few minutes ago. They could still be there, surrounded, making a stand. I will kill him. I have to.

Bullets whistle past my head. I’m shorter than most, but still, I hunch as I run.

The first Silver to challenge me head-on has Provos robes, gold and black. A thin man with thinner hair. He throws out an arm and I rocket backward, my head slamming against the tiled ground. I grin at him, about to laugh. When suddenly I can’t breathe. My chest contracts, tightening. My ribs. I look up to find him standing over me, his hand clenching into a fist. The telky is going to collapse my rib cage.

Lightning rises to meet him, sparking angrily. He dodges, faster than I anticipated. My vision spots as the lack of oxygen hits my brain. Another bolt, another dodge.

Provos is so focused on me, he doesn’t notice the barrel-chested Red soldier a few yards away. He shoots him through the head with an armor-piercing round. It isn’t pretty. Silver spatters across my ruined gown.

“Mare!” he shouts, hurrying to my side. I recognize his voice, his dark brown face—and his electric-blue eyes. Four other Guardsmen move with him. They circle up, protective. With strong hands, he hoists me to my feet.

Forcing a breath, I shiver in relief. When my brother’s smuggling friend became a true soldier, I don’t know, and now isn’t the time to ask. “Crance.”

One hand still on his gun, he raises the radio clawed in his other fist. “This is Crance. I have Barrow in the Square.” The hiss of empty feedback is not promising. “Repeat. I have Barrow.” Cursing, he tucks the radio back into his belt. “Channels are a mess. Too much interference.”

“From the storm?” I glance up again. Blue, white, green. I narrow my eyes and throw another bolt of purple into the crash of blinding color.

“Probably. Cal warned us—”

Air hisses through my teeth. I grab him tightly, making him flinch. “Cal. Where is he?”

“I have to get you out—”

“Where?”

He sighs, knowing I won’t ask again.

“He’s on the ground. I don’t know where exactly! Your rendezvous point is the main gate,” he shouts in my ear, making sure he can be heard. “Five minutes. Grab the woman in green. Take this,” he adds, shrugging out of his heavy jacket. I pull it over my tattered dress without argument. It feels weighted. “Flak jacket. Semibulletproof. It’ll give you some cover.”

My feet carry me away before I can even say thank you, leaving Crance and his detail in my wake. Cal is here somewhere. He’ll be hunting Maven, just like me. The crowd surges, a swiftly changing tide. If not for the Guardsmen pushing through the fray, I could force my way through. Blast everyone in front of me, clear a path across the Square. Instead I rely on my old instincts. Dancing steps, agility, predicting every pulsing wave of the chaos. Lightning trails in my wake, staving off any hands. A strongarm knocks me sideways, sending me careening through arms and legs, but I don’t return to fight him. I keep moving, keep pushing, keep running. One name screams through my head. Cal. Cal. Cal. If I can get to him, I’ll be safe. A lie maybe, but a good lie.

The smell of smoke gets stronger as I push on. Hope flares. Where there’s smoke, there’s a fire prince.

Ash and soot streak the white walls of the Treasury Hall. One of the airjet missiles took a chunk out of the corner, slicing through marble like butter. It lies in a pile of rubble around the entrance, forming good cover. The Sentinels make full use of it, their ranks bolstered by the Lakelanders and a few of the purple-uniformed Treasury guards. Some of them fire into the oncoming Guardsmen, using bullets to defend their king’s escape, and many more utilize their abilities. I dart around a few bodies frozen solid on their feet, the violent work of a Gliacon shiver. Another few are alive but on their knees, bleeding from the ears. Marinos banshee. The evidence of so many deadly Silvers is all around. Corpses speared by metal, necks broken, skulls caved in, mouths dripping water, a particularly gruesome body that seems to have choked on the plants growing out of its mouth. As I watch, a greeny throws a handful of seeds at an attacking swath of Scarlet Guard. Before my eyes, the seeds burst like grenades, spitting vines and thorns in a verdant explosion.

I don’t see Cal here, or any other faces I recognize. Maven is already in the Treasury, headed for the train.

Clenching a fist, I throw everything I can at the Sentinels. My lightning crackles along the rubble, sending them scurrying back. Dimly, I hear someone shout to push forward. The Guardsmen do, continuing to fire round after round. I keep up the pressure, sending another blaze of lightning across them like a cracking whip.

“Incoming!” a voice screams.

I look up, expecting a blow from the sky. Airjets dance through the stormy clouds, chasing one another. None of them seem concerned by us.

Then someone pushes me aside, throwing me out of the way. I turn in time to see a person I recognize barrel along a cleared pathway, his head lowered, body armored on the head, neck, and shoulders. He picks up speed, legs pumping.

“Darmian!”

He doesn’t hear me, too busy crashing toward the marble blockade. Bullets ping off his armor and skin. A shiver sends a blast of icicles at his chest, but they shatter. If he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it. He never hesitates. Cal taught him that. Back at the Notch. When we were all together. I remember a different Darmian then, the one I knew. He was a quiet man compared to Nix, another newblood who shared his ability of impenetrable flesh. Nix is long dead now, but Darmian is very much alive. Roaring, he clambers over the marble blockade, careening into two Sentinels.

They fall on him with everything they have. Stupid. They might as well be shooting at bulletproof glass. Darmian responds in kind, dropping grenades with cold rhythm. They bloom in fire and smoke. Sentinels fall backward, few of them able to withstand a direct explosion.

Guardsmen vault over the rubble, following in Darmian’s wake. Many overtake him. The Sentinels are not their mission. Maven is. They flood into the Treasury, hot on the king’s trail.

As I run forward, I let my ability press on ahead. I feel the lights of the Treasury’s main hall, spiraling down into the rock beneath us. My sense jumps along the wires, deeper and deeper. Something big idles below, its engine a rising purr. He’s still here.

The marble beneath my feet is easy to scale. I scrabble over the rubble on all fours, my mind focused a hundred feet down. The next grenade blast catches me unawares. Its force blows me backward in a wave of heat. I land hard, flat on my back, gasping for breath, quietly thankful for Crance’s jacket. The explosion blazes over me, close enough to burn my cheek.

Too big for a grenade. Too controlled for natural flame.

I scramble to my feet, forcing my legs to obey as I suck down air. Maven. I should have known. He wouldn’t leave me up here. Wouldn’t run away without his favorite pet. He’s come to put the chains back on me himself.

Good luck.

Smoke follows the swirling fire, making the already dark Square hazy. It surrounds me, growing stronger and hotter with every passing second. Tensing, I send lightning through my nerves, letting it crackle over every inch. I take a step toward his silhouette, black and strange in the shifting firelight. The smoke curls, the fire shooting with raging hot blue flame. Sweat drips down my neck. My fists clench, ready to run him through with every drop of rage collected in his prison. I’ve been waiting for this moment. Maven is a cunning king, but no fighter. I’m going to rip him apart.

Lighting ripples over our heads, flashing brighter than the flame. It illuminates him as the wind picks up, blowing away the smoke to reveal—

Red-gold eyes. Broad shoulders. Callused hands, familiar lips, unruly black hair, and a face I have ached for.

Not Maven. All thoughts of the boy king disappear in an instant.

“Cal!”

The fireball hisses through the air, almost engulfing my head. I roll beneath it on instinct alone. Confusion rules my brain. He’s unmistakable. Cal, standing there in tactical armor, a red sash tied across him from waist to hip. I fight the animal need to run toward him. It takes every fiber of control to step back.

“Cal, it’s me! It’s Mare!”

He doesn’t speak, just pivots on his feet, keeping me in front of him. The fire around us churns and contracts, pulling inward with blinding speed. The heat crushes the air from my lungs, and I choke down smoke. Only lightning keeps me safe, crackling around me in a shield of electricity to keep me from burning alive.

I roll again, bursting through his inferno. My dress smolders, trailing smoke. I don’t waste precious time or brainpower trying to figure out what’s going on. I already know.

His eyes are shadowed, unfocused. No recognition in them. No indication that we’ve spent the last six months trying to get back to each other. And his movements are robotic, even compared to his military-trained precision.

A whisper has his mind. I don’t have to guess which one.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, even though he can’t hear me.

A blast of lightning throws him back, the sparks dancing over the plates of his armor. He seizes, twitching as the electricity pulls on his nerves. I bite my lip, trying harder than I ever have before to walk the narrow line between incapacitation and injury. I err on the weak side. A mistake.

Cal is stronger than I ever realized. And he has such an advantage. I’m trying to save him. He’s trying to kill me.

He fights through the pain, charging. I dodge, my focus shifting from keeping him at bay to keeping out of his crushing grip. A fire-fueled punch arcs over my head. I smell burned hair. Another catches me in the stomach and I fall backward. I roll with the momentum and pop up again, my old tricks returning. With a twist of my hand, I send another bolt of sparks dancing up his leg and into his spine. He howls. The sound cuts my insides. But it gives me a head start.

My focus narrows to one thing, one person’s devilish face. Samson Merandus.

He has to be close enough to bewitch Cal and send him after me. I search the battle as I run, looking for his blue suit. If he’s here, he’s hiding well. Or he could be perched above, looking down from the Treasury roof or the many windows of the adjoining buildings. Frustration eats at my resolve. Cal’s right here. We’re back together. And he’s trying to kill me.

The heat of his rage licks at my heels. Another blast rips along my left, sending needles of white-hot agony down my arm. Adrenaline drowns it out quickly. I can’t afford pain right now.

At least I’m faster than he is. After the manacles, every step feels easier than the last. I let the storm above fuel me, feeding on the electric energy of the other lightning-wielding newblood somewhere. Her blue hair doesn’t cross my vision again. Too bad. I could use her right now.

If Samson is hiding near the Treasury, I only have to get Cal out of his circle of influence. Skidding, I turn to look over my shoulder. Cal is still following me, a shadow of blue-tinged flame and anger.

“Come and get me, Calore!” I shout to him, sending a blast of lightning at his chest. Stronger than the last, enough to leave a mark.

He twists sideways, dodging, never breaking step. Hot on my trail.

I hope this works.

No one dares get in our way.

Red and blue and purple, fire and lightning, chase in our wake, splitting the battle like a knife. He pursues with the singular resolve of a hunting dog. And I certainly feel hunted across the Square.

I angle for the main gate, to whatever rendezvous Crance mentioned. My escape. Not that I’ll take it yet. Not without Cal.

After a hundred yards, it’s clear that Samson is running with us, just out of sight. No Merandus whisper has a bigger range than that, not even Elara. I twist back and forth, scanning the bloodbath. The longer the battle pushes on, the more time the Silvers have to organize. Army soldiers in clouded gray uniforms flood the Square, systematically winning over pieces of it. Most of the nobles retreat behind the wall of military protection, though a few—the strongest, the bravest, the most bloodthirsty—continue fighting. I expect members of House Samos to be in the thick of it, but I see no magnetrons that I recognize. And still no other familiar members of the Scarlet Guard. No Farley, no Colonel, no Kilorn or Cameron or any of the newbloods I helped recruit. Just Darmian, probably blasting his way through the Treasury, and Cal, trying his best to put me in the ground.

I curse, wishing for Cameron above all of them. She could silence Cal, keep him contained long enough for me to find and destroy Samson. Instead, I have to do it myself. Keep him at bay, keep myself alive, and somehow root out the Merandus whisper plaguing us both.

Suddenly navy blue blurs by at the edge of my vision.

Long months in Silver captivity have made me attuned to house colors. Lady Blonos drilled her knowledge into me, and now, more than ever, I thank her for it.

I whirl, changing direction with a vengeance. Ash-blond hair darts through the Silver soldiers, attempting to blend into their ranks. Instead, he stands out, his formal suit in sharp contrast to their military uniforms. Everything narrows to him. All my focus, all my energy. I throw what I can in his direction, loosing jagged lightning upon Samson and the Silver shield between us.

His eyes lock on mine and the lightning arcs like a cracking whip. He has the same eyes as Elara, the same eyes as Maven. Blue as ice; blue as flame. Cold and unforgiving.

Somehow my electricity bends, curving around him. It slingshots away, rocketing in another direction. My hand swings with it, my body moving of its own accord as the lightning races at Cal. I try to shout out, even though warning a bewitched man will do nothing at all. But my lips don’t move. Horror bleeds down my spine, the only sensation I can feel. Not the ground beneath my feet, not the bite of new burns, not even the smoky air in my nose. It all disappears, wiped away. Taken.

Inside, I scream because Samson has me now. I can’t make a sound. There is no mistaking the jagged brush of his brain against my mind.

Cal blinks like someone waking up from a long sleep. He barely has time to react, lifting his arms to protect his head from the electric blow. Some of the jagged sparks turn to flame, manipulated by his ability. Most of them hit home, though, dropping him to his knees with a pained roar.

“Samson!” he screams through gritted teeth.

I realize my hand is moving, straying to my hip. It draws the pistol I took and puts steel to my temple.

Samson’s whispers rise in my head, threatening to drown out everything else.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

I don’t feel the trigger. I won’t feel the bullet.

Cal rips my arm back, spinning me away. He breaks my grip on the gun and tosses it across the tile. I’ve never seen him so afraid.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

My body obeys.

I am a spectator in my own head. A furious battle rages before my eyes and I can’t do anything but watch. The tiled ground blurs as Samson makes me sprint, colliding head-on with Cal. I act as a human lightning rod, latching on to his armor, drawing electricity out of the sky to pour into him.

Pain and fear cloud his eyes. His flame can only shield so much.

I lunge, grabbing at his wrist. But the flamemaker bracelet holds firm.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Fire pushes me back. I tumble end over end, shoulders and skull bouncing. The world spins, and dizzy limbs try to make me stand.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

“Stay down, Mare!” I hear from Cal’s direction. His figure dances before me, splitting into three. I might have a concussion. Red blood pulses across the white tile.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

My feet move beneath me, pushing hard. I stand too quickly, nearly falling over again as Samson forces me into drunken steps. He closes the distance between my body and Cal’s. I’ve seen this before, a thousand years ago. Samson Merandus in the arena, forcing another Silver to cut up his own insides. He’ll do the same to me too, once he uses me to kill Cal.

I try to fight, though I don’t know where to start. Try to twitch a finger, a toe. Nothing responds.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Lightning erupts from my hand, spiraling toward Cal. It misses, off balance like my body. He sends an arc of fire in response, forcing me to dodge and stumble.

Get up. Kill him. Get up.

The whispers are sharp, cutting wounds across my mind. I must be bleeding in my brain.

KILL HIM. GET UP. KILL HIM.

Through the flames, I see navy blue again. Cal stalks after Samson and skids to a knee, taking aim with a pistol of his own.

GET UP—

Pain crashes through me like a wave and I fall backward just as a bullet tears overhead. Another follows, closer. On pure instinct, fighting the ringing in my bruised skull, I scramble to my toes. I move of my own volition.

Shrieking, I turn Cal’s fire to lightning, the red curls becoming purple-white veins of electricity. It shields me as Cal empties bullet after bullet in my direction. Behind him, Samson grins.

Bastard. He’s going to play us off each other for as long as it takes.

I push the lightning as fast as I can, letting it splinter toward Samson. If I can break his concentration, just for a second, it could be enough.

Cal reacts, a puppet on strings. He shields Samson with his broad body, taking the brunt of my attack.

“Someone help!” I shout to no one. We’re only three people in a battle of hundreds. A battle turning one-sided. The Silver ranks grow, fed by reinforcements from the barracks and the rest of the Archeon garrison. My five minutes have long passed. Whatever escape Crance promised is long gone.

I have to break Samson. I have to.

Another bolt of lightning, this time across the ground in a flood. No dodging that.

KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.

The whispers return, pulling back the electricity with my own two hands. It arcs backward in a crashing wave.

Cal drops and spins, throwing out his leg in a sweeping kick. It connects, sending Samson sprawling.

His control of me drops and I push forward. Another electric wave.

This one washes through them both. Cal curses, biting back a yelp. Samson writhes and screams, a blood-curdling sound. He isn’t used to pain.

Kill him—

The whisper is far away, weakening. I can fight it.

Cal grabs Samson by the neck, pulling him up only to smash his head back down.

Kill him—

I slice a hand through the air, pulling lightning with it. It splits a gash in Samson from hip to shoulder. The wound spurts Silver blood.

Help me—

Fire races down Samson’s throat, charring his insides. His vocal cords shred. The only screaming I hear now is in my head.

I bring my lightning into his brain. Electricity fries the tissue in his skull like an egg in a pan. His eyes roll over white. I want to make it last longer, want to make him pay for what torture he gave to me and so many others. But he dies too quickly.

The whispers disappear.

“It’s done,” I gasp aloud.

Cal looks up, still kneeling over the body. His eyes widen as if seeing me for the first time. I feel the same. I’ve been dreaming of this moment, wanting it for months and months. If not for the battle, for our precarious position wedged in the middle, I would wrap my arms around his neck and bury myself in the fire prince.

Instead, I help him to his feet, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder. He limps, one leg a mess of muscle spasms. I’m hurt too, bleeding slowly from a tear in my side. I press my free hand to the wound. The pain sharpens.

“Maven is below the Treasury. He has a train,” I say as we clamber away together.

His arm tightens around me. He steers us toward the main gate, quickening his pace with every step. “I’m not here for Maven.”

The gate looms, wide enough to allow three transports to drive through side by side. On the other side, the Bridge of Archeon spans the Capital River to meet the eastern half of the city. Smoke rises all over, reaching into the storm-black sky. I fight the urge to turn around and sprint for the Treasury. Maven will be gone by now. He is beyond my reach.

More military transports speed toward us while airjets scream in our direction. Too many reinforcements to withstand.

“What’s the plan, then?” I mumble. We’re about to be surrounded. The thought wears through my shock and adrenaline, sobering me up. All this for me. Bodies everywhere, Red and Silver. What a waste.

Cal’s hands find my face, making me turn to look at him. In spite of the destruction around us, he smiles.

“For once, we have one.”

I see green out of the corner of my eye. Feel another hand grab my arm.

And the world squeezes to nothing.