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Queen Song Aveyard Victoria Year: 2015 Language: english File: EPUB, 214 KB

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Glass Sword Aveyard Victoria Year: 2015 Language: english File: EPUB, 3.06 MB

GLASS SWORD





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for publication until verified with the finished book. This proof

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GLASS SWORD


Victoria Aveyard





First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Orion Books,

an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd,

Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ



An Hachette UK company



1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2



Copyright © Victoria Aveyard 2016



Victoria Aveyard has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and

Patents Act of 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.



All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,

mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior

permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.



All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.



ISBN (Trade Paperback) 978 1 4091 5935 3

ISBN (Ebook) 978 1 4091 5075 6



The Orion Publishing Group’s policy is to use papers that are natural,

renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable

forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to

the environmental regulations of the country of origin.





www.orionbooks.co.uk





ON E


I flinch. The rag she gives me is clean, but it still smells like blood. I shouldn’t care. I already have blood all over my clothes. The red is mine,

of course. The silver belongs to many others. Evangeline, Ptolemus,

the nymph lord, all those who tried to kill me in the arena. I suppose

some of it is Cal’s as well. He bled freely on th; e sand, cut and bruised

by our would-be executioners. Now he sits across from me, staring at

his feet, letting his wounds begin the slow process of healing naturally.

I glance at one of the many cuts on my arms, probably from Evange-

line. Still fresh, and deep enough to leave a scar. Part of me delights in

the thought. This jagged gash will not be magically wiped away by a

healer’s cold hands. Cal and I are not in the Silver world anymore, with

someone to simply erase our well-earned scars. We have escaped. Or at

least, I have. Cal’s chains are a firm reminder of his captivity.

Farley nudges my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Hide your

face, lightning girl. It’s what they’re after.”

For once, I do as I’m told. The others follow, pulling red fabric up

over their mouths and noses. Cal is the last uncovered face, but not for

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long. He doesn’t fight Farley when she ties his mask into place, making

him look like one of us.

If only he was.

An electric hum sets my blood on fire, reminding me of the puls-

ing, screeching Undertrain. It carries us inexorably forward, to a city

that was once a haven. The train races, screaming over ancient tracks

like a Silver swift running over open ground. I listen to the grating

metal, feel it deep in my bones where a cold ache settles in. My rage, my

strength back in the arena seem like faraway memories, leaving behind only pain and fear. I can scarcely imagine what Cal must be thinking.

He’s lost everything, everything he ever held dear. A father, a brother, a kingdom. How he’s holding himself together, still but for the rocking

of the train, I do not know.

No one needs to tell me the reason for our haste. Farley and her

Guardsmen, tense as coiled wire, are enough explanation for me. We

are still running.

Maven came this way before, and Maven will come again. This

time with the fury of his soldiers, his mother, and his new crown. Yes-

terday he was a prince; today he is king. I thought he was my friend,

my betrothed, now I know better.

Once I trusted him. Now I know to hate him, to fear him. He

helped kill his father for a crown, and framed his brother for the crime.

He knows the radiation surrounding the ruined city is a lie—a trick—

and he knows where the train leads. The sanctuary Farley built is no

longer safe, not for us. Not for you.

We could already be speeding into a trap.

An arm tightens around me, sensing my unease. Shade. I still can’t

believe my brother is here, alive and, strangest of all, like me. Red and

Silver—and stronger than both.

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“I won’t let them take you again,” he murmurs, so low I can barely

hear him. I suppose loyalty to anyone but the Scarlet Guard, even fam-

ily, is not allowed. “I promise you that.”

His presence is soothing, pulling me backward in time. Past his

conscription, to a rainy spring when we could still pretend to be chil-

dren. Nothing existed but the mud, the village, and our foolish habit of

ignoring the future. Now the future is all I think of, wondering what

dark path my actions have set us upon.

“What are we going to do now?” I direct the question at Farley, but

my eyes find Kilorn. He stands at her shoulder, a dutiful guardian with

a clenched jaw and bloody bandages. To think he was a fisherman’s

apprentice not so long ago. Like Shade, he seems out of place, a ghost

of a time before all this.

“There’s always somewhere to run,” Farley replies, more focused

on Cal than anything else.

She expects him to fight, to resist, but he does neither.

“You keep your hands on her,” Farley says, turning back to Shade

after a long moment. My brother nods, and his palm feels heavy on my

shoulder. “She cannot be lost.”

I am not a general or a tactician, but her reasoning is clear. I am

the little lightning girl—living electricity, a lightning bolt in human

form. People know my name, my face, and my abilities. I am valuable,

I am powerful, and Maven will do anything to stop me from striking

back. How my brother can protect me from the twisted new king, even

though he is like me, even though he’s the fastest thing I’ve ever seen,

I do not know. But I must believe, even if it seems a miracle. After all,

I have seen so many impossible things. Another escape will be the least

of them.

The click and slide of gun barrels echo down the train as the Guard

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makes ready. Kilorn shifts to stand over me, swaying slightly, his grip

tight on the rifle slung across his chest. He glances down, his expres-

sion soft. He tries to smirk, to make me laugh, but his bright green eyes

are grave and afraid.

In contrast, Cal sits quietly, almost peaceful. Though he has the

most to fear—chained, surrounded by enemies, hunted by his own

brother—he looks serene. I’m not surprised. He’s a soldier born and

bred. War is something he understands, and we are certainly at war

now.

“I hope you don’t plan to fight,” he says, speaking for the first time

in many long minutes. His eyes are on me, but his words bite at Farley.

“I hope you plan to run.”

“Save your breath, Silver.” She squares her shoulders. “I know what

we have to do.”

I can’t stop the words from bursting out. “So does he.” The glare she

turns on me burns, but I’ve dealt with worse. I don’t even flinch. “Cal

knows how they fight, he knows what they’ll do to stop us. Use him.”

How does it feel to be used? He spit those words at me in the prison beneath the Bowl of Bones and it made me want to die. Now it barely

stings.

She doesn’t say anything, and that is enough for Cal.

“They’ll have Snapdragons,” he says grimly.

Kilorn laughs aloud. “Flowers?”

“Airjets,” Cal says, his eyes sparking with distaste. “Orange wings,

silver bodies, single pilot, easy to maneuver, perfect for an urban assault.

They carry four missiles each. Times one squadron, that’s forty-eight

missiles you’re going to have to outrun, plus light ammunition. Can

you handle that?”

He’s met only with silence. No, we can’t.

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“And the Dragons are the least of our worries. They’ll just circle,

defend a perimeter, keep us in place until ground troops arrive.”

He lowers his eyes, thinking quickly. He’s wondering what he

would do, if he were on the other side of this. If he were king instead

of Maven. “They’ll surround us and present terms. Mare and I for your

escape.”

Another sacrifice. Slowly, I suck in a breath. This morning, yes-

terday, before all this madness, I would have been glad to give myself

over to save just Kilorn and my brother. But now . . . now I know I am

special. Now I have others to protect. Now I cannot be lost.

“We can’t agree to that,” I say. A bitter truth. Kilorn’s gaze weighs

heavy, but I don’t look up. I can’t stomach his judgment.

Cal is not so harsh. He nods, agreeing with me. “The king doesn’t

expect us to give in,” he replies. “The jets will bring the ruins down on

us, and the rest will mop up the survivors. It will be little more than a

massacre.”

Farley is a creature of pride, even now when she’s terribly cornered.

“What do you suggest?” she asks, bending over him. Her words drip

disdain. “Total surrender?”

Something like disgust crosses Cal’s face. “Maven will still kill you.

In a cell or on the battlefield, he won’t let any of us live.”

“Then better we die fighting.” Kilorn’s voice sounds stronger than

it should, but there’s a tremble in his fingers. He looks like the rest of

the rebels, willing to do anything for the cause, but my friend is still

afraid. Still a boy, no more than eighteen, with too much to live for,

and too little reason to die.

Cal scoffs at Kilorn’s forced but brazen declaration, yet he doesn’t

saying anything else. He knows a more graphic description of our

impending death won’t help anyone.

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Farley doesn’t share his sentiment and waves a hand, dismissing

both of them outright. Behind me, my brother mirrors her determi-

nation.

They know something we don’t, something they won’t say yet.

Maven has taught us all the price of trust misplaced.

“We are not the ones who die today,” is all she says, before march-

ing toward the front of the train. Her boots sound like hammer falls on

the metal flooring, each one smacking of stubborn resolve.

I sense the train slow before I feel it. The electricity wanes, weaken-

ing, as we glide into the underground station. What we might find in

the skies above, white fog or orange-winged airjets, I do not know. The

others don’t seem to mind, exiting the Undertrain with great purpose.

In their silence, the armed and masked Guard looks like true soldiers,

but I know better. They’re no match for what is coming.

“Prepare yourself.” Cal’s voice hisses in my ear, making me shiver.

It reminds me of days long past, of dancing in moonlight. “Remember

how strong you are.”

Kilorn shoulders his way to my side, separating us before I can tell

Cal my strength and my ability are all I’m sure of now. The electricity

in my veins might be the only thing I trust in this world.

I want to believe in the Scarlet Guard, and certainly in Shade and

Kilorn, but I won’t let myself, not after the mess my trust, my blindness toward Maven got us into. And Cal is out of the question altogether.

He is a prisoner, a Silver, the enemy who would betray us if he could—

if he had anywhere else to run.

But still, somehow, I feel a pull to him. I remember the burdened

boy who gave me a silver coin when I was nothing. With that one ges-

ture he changed my future, and destroyed his own.

And we share an alliance—an uneasy one forged in blood and

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betrayal. We are connected, we are united—against Maven, against all

who deceived us, against the world about to tear itself apart.

Silence waits for us. Gray, damp mist hangs over the ruins of Naercey,

bringing the sky down so close I might touch it. It’s cold, with the chill

of autumn, the season of change and death. Nothing haunts the sky yet,

no jets to rain destruction down upon an already destroyed city. Farley

sets a brisk pace, leading up from the tracks to the wide, abandoned

avenue. The wreckage yawns like a canyon, more gray and broken than

I remember.

We march east down the street, toward the shrouded waterfront.

The high, half-collapsed structures lean over us, their windows like

eyes watching us pass. Silvers could be waiting in the broken hollows

and shadowed arches, ready to kill the Scarlet Guard. Maven could

make me watch as he struck rebels down one by one. He would not

give me the luxury of a clean, quick death. Or worse, I think. He would not let me die at al .

The thought chills my blood like a Silver shiver’s touch. As much

as Maven lied to me, I still know a small piece of his heart. I remember

him grabbing me through the bars of a cell, holding on with shaking

fingers. And I remember the name he carries, the name that reminds

me a heart still beats inside him. His name was Thomas and I watched him die. He could not save that boy. But he can save me, in his own twisted way.

No. I will never give him the satisfaction of such a thing. I would

rather die.

But try as I might, I can’t forget the shadow I thought him to be, the

lost and forgotten prince. I wish that person were real. I wish he existed

somewhere other than my memories.

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The Naercey ruins echo strangely, more quiet than they should be.

With a start, I realize why. The refugees are gone. The woman sweeping mountains of ash, the children hiding in drains, the shadows of my Red

brothers and sisters—they have all fled. There’s no one left but us.

“Think what you want of Farley, but know she isn’t stupid,” Shade

says, answering my question before I get a chance to ask. “She gave the

order to evacuate last night, after she escaped Archeon. She thought

you or Maven would talk under torture.”

She was wrong. There was no need to torture Maven. He gave his

information and his mind freely. He opened his head to his mother,

letting her paw through everything she saw there. The Undertrain, the

secret city, the list. It is all hers now, just like he always was.

The line of Scarlet Guard soldiers stretches out behind us, a disorga-

nized rabble of armed men and women. Kilorn marches directly behind

me, his eyes darting, while Farley leads. Two burly soldiers keep Cal

on her heels, gripping his arms tensely. With their red scarves, they

look like the stuff of nightmares. But there are so few of us now, maybe

thirty, all walking wounded. So few survived.

“There’s not enough of us to keep this rebellion going, even if we

escape again,” I whisper to my brother. The low-hanging mist muffles

my voice, but he still hears me.

The corner of his mouth twitches, wanting to smile. “That’s not

your concern.”

Before I can press him, the soldier in front of us halts. He is not the

only one. At the head of the line, Farley holds up a fist, glaring at the

slate-gray sky. The rest mirror her, searching for what we cannot see.

Only Cal keeps his eyes on the ground. He already knows what our

doom looks like.

A distant, inhuman scream reaches down through the mist. This

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sound is mechanical and constant, circling overhead. And it is not

alone. Twelve arrow-shaped shadows race through the sky, their

orange wings cutting in and out of the clouds. I’ve never seen an airjet

properly, not so close or without the cover of night, so I can’t stop my

jaw from dropping when they come into view. Farley barks orders at

the Guard, but I don’t hear her. I’m too busy staring at the sky, watch-

ing winged death arc overhead. Like Cal’s cycle, the flying machines

are beautiful, impossibly curved steel and glass. I suppose a magnetron

had something to do with their construction—how else can metal fly?

Blue-tinged engines spark beneath their wings, the telltale sign of elec-

tricity. I can barely feel the twinge of them, like a breath against skin,

but they’re too far away for me to affect. I can only watch—in horror.

They screech and twist around the island of Naercey, never breaking

their circle. I can almost pretend they’re harmless, nothing but curious

birds come to see the obliterated remnants of a rebellion. Then a dart

of gray metal sails overhead, trailing smoke, moving almost too fast to

see. It collides with a building down the avenue, disappearing through

a broken window. A bloom of red-orange explodes a split second later,

destroying the entire floor of an already crumbling building. It shatters

in on itself, collapsing onto thousand-year-old supports that snap like

toothpicks. The entire structure tips, falling so slowly the sight can’t be

real. When it hits the street, blockading the way ahead of us, I feel the

rumble deep in my chest. A cloud of smoke and dust hits us head-on,

but I don’t cower. It takes more than that to scare me now.

Through the gray-and-brown haze, Cal stands with me, even while

his captors crouch. Our eyes meet for a moment, and his shoulders

droop. It’s the only sign of defeat he’ll let me see.

Farley grabs the nearest Guardsman, hoisting her to her feet. “Scat-

ter!” she shouts, gesturing to the alleys on either side of us. “To the

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north side, to the tunnels!” She points to her lieutenants as she speaks,

telling them where to go. “Shade, to the park side!” My brother nods,

knowing what she means. Another missile careens into a nearby build-

ing, drowning her out. But it’s easy to tell what she’s shouting.

Run.

Part of me wants to hold my ground, to stand, to fight. My purple-

and-white lightning will certainly make me a target and draw the jets

away from the fleeing Guard. I might even take a plane or two with

me. But that cannot be. I’m worth more than the rest, more than red

masks and bandages. Shade and I must survive—if not for the cause,

then for the others. For the list of hundreds like us—hybrids, anoma-

lies, freaks, Red-and-Silver impossibilities—who will surely die if we

fail.

Shade knows this as well as I do. He loops his arm into mine, his

grip so tight as to be bruising. It’s almost too easy to run in step with

him, to let him guide me off the wide avenue and into a gray-green

tangle of overgrown trees spilling into the street. The deeper we go,

the thicker they become, gnarled together like deformed fingers. A

thousand years of neglect turned this little plot into a dead jungle. It

shelters us from the sky, until we can only hear the jets circling closer

and closer. Kilorn is never far behind. For a moment, I can pretend

we’re back at home, wandering the Stilts, looking for fun and trouble.

Trouble is all we seem to find.

When Shade finally skids to a stop, his heels scarring the dirt

beneath us, I chance a glance around. Kilorn halts next to us, his rifle

aimed uselessly skyward, but no one else follows. I can’t even see the

street anymore, or the red rags fleeing into the ruins.

My brother glares up through the boughs of the trees, watching and

waiting for the jets to fly out of range.

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“Where are we going?” I ask him, breathless.

Kilorn answers instead. “The river,” he says. “And then the ocean.

Can you take us?” He glances at Shade’s hands, as if he could see his

ability plain in his flesh. But Shade’s strength is buried like mine, invis-

ible until he chooses to reveal it.

My brother shakes his head. “Not in one jump, it’s too far. And I’d

rather run, save my strength.” His eyes darken. “Until we really need

it.”

I nod, agreeing. I know firsthand what it is to be ability-worn, tired

in your bones, barely able to move, let alone fight.

“Where are they taking Cal?”

My question makes Kilorn wince.

“Hell if I care.”

“You should,” I fire back, even as my voice shakes with hesitation.

No, he shouldn’t. Neither should you. If the prince is gone, you must let him go.

“He can help us get out of this. He can fight with us.”

“He’ll escape or kill us the second we give him the chance,” he

snaps, tearing away his scarf to show the angry scowl beneath.

In my head, I see Cal’s fire. It burns everything in its path, from

metal to flesh. “He could’ve killed you already,” I say. It’s not an exag-

geration, and Kilorn knows it.

“Somehow I thought you two would outgrow your bickering,”

Shade says, stepping between us. “How silly of me.”

Kilorn forces out an apology through gritted teeth, but I do no such

thing. My focus is on the jets, letting their electric hearts beat against

mine. They weaken with each second, getting farther and farther away.

“They’re flying away from us. If we’re going to go, we need to do it

now.”

Both my brother and Kilorn look at me strangely, but neither argue.

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“This way,” Shade says, pointing through the trees. A small, almost

invisible path winds through them, where the dirt has been swept away

to reveal stone and asphalt beneath. Again, Shade links his arm through

mine, and Kilorn charges ahead, setting a swift pace for us to follow.

Branches scrape against us, bending over the narrowing path, until

it’s impossible for us to run side by side. But instead of letting me go,

Shade squeezes even tighter. And then I realize he’s not squeezing me

at all. It’s the air, the world. Everything and anything tightens in a blistering, black second. And then, in a blink, we’re on the other side of the

trees, looking back to see Kilorn emerge from the gray grove.

“But he was ahead,” I murmur aloud, looking back and forth

between Shade and the pathway. We cross into the middle of the street,

with the sky and smoke drifting overhead. “You—”

Shade grins. The action seems out of place against the distant

scream of jets. “Let’s say I . . . jumped. As long as you’re holding on to

me, you’ll be able to come along,” he says, before hurrying us into the

next alley.

My heart races with the knowledge that I just teleported, to the point where it’s almost possible to forget our predicament.

The jets are quick to remind me. Another missile explodes to the

north, bringing down a building with the rumble of an earthquake.

Dust races down the alley in a wave, painting us in another layer of

gray. Smoke and fire are so familiar to me now that I barely smell it,

even when ash begins to fall like snow. We leave our footprints in it.

Perhaps they will be the last marks we make.

Shade knows where to go and how to run. Kilorn has no trouble

keeping up, even with the rifle weighing him down. By now, we’ve cir-

cled back to the avenue. To the east, a swirl of daylight breaks through

the dirt and dust, bringing with it a salty gasp of sea air. To the west,

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the first collapsed building lies like a fallen giant, blocking any retreat

to the train. Broken glass, the iron skeletons of buildings, and strange

slabs of faded white screens rise around us, a palace of ruins.

What was this? I dimly wonder. Julian would know. Just thinking his name hurts, and I push the sensation away.

A few other red rags dart through the ashen air, and I look for a

familiar silhouette. But Cal is nowhere to be seen, and it makes me so

terribly afraid.

“I’m not leaving without him.”

Shade doesn’t bother to ask who I’m talking about. He already

knows.

“The prince is coming with us. I give you my word.”

My response cuts my insides. “I don’t trust your word.”

Shade is a soldier. His life has been anything but easy, and he is no

stranger to pain. Still, my declaration wounds him deeply. I see it in

his face.

I’l apologize later, I tell myself.

If later ever comes.

Another missile sails overhead, striking a few streets away. The

distant thunder of an explosion doesn’t mask the harsher and more ter-

rifying noise rising all around.

The rhythm of a thousand marching feet.

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T WO


The air thickens with a cloak of ash, buying us a few seconds to stare down our oncoming doom. The silhouettes of soldiers move down

the streets from the north. I can’t see their guns yet, but a Silver army

doesn’t need guns to kill.

Other Guardsmen flee before us, sprinting down the avenue with

abandon. For now, it looks like they might escape, but to where? There’s

only the river and the sea beyond. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to

hide. The army marches slowly, at a strange shuffling pace. I squint

through the dust, straining to see them. And then I realize what this is,

what Maven has done. The shock of it sparks in me, through me, forcing Shade and Kilorn to jump back.

“Mare!” Shade shouts, half-surprised, half-angry. Kilorn doesn’t

say anything, watching me wobble on the spot.

My hand closes on his arm and he doesn’t flinch. My sparks are

already gone—he knows I won’t hurt him. “Look,” I say, pointing.

We knew soldiers would come. Cal told us, warned us, that Maven

would send in a legion after the airjets. But not even Cal could have

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predicted this. Only a heart so twisted as Maven’s could dream up this

nightmare.

The figures of the first line are not wearing the clouded gray of

Cal’s hard-trained Silver soldiers. They are not even soldiers at all.

They are servants in red coats, red shawls, red tunics, red pants, red

shoes. So much red they could be bleeding. And around their feet,

clinking against the ground, are iron chains. The sound scrapes against

me, drowning out the airjets and the missiles and even the harsh-barked

orders of the Silver officers hiding behind their Red wall. The chains

are all I hear.

Kilorn bristles, growling. He steps forward, raising his rifle to

shoot, but the gun shudders in his hands. The army is still across the

avenue, too far for an expert shot even without a human shield. Now it’s worse than impossible.

“We have to keep moving,” Shade mutters. Anger flares in his eyes,

but he knows what must be done, what must be ignored, to stay alive.

“Kilorn, come with us now, or we’ll leave you.”

My brother’s words sting, waking me up from my horrified daze.

When Kilorn doesn’t move, I take his arm, whispering into his ear,

hoping to drown out the chains.

“Kilorn.” It’s the voice I used on Mom when my brothers went to

war, when Dad had a breathing attack, when things fell apart. “Kilorn,

there’s nothing we can do for them.”

The words hiss through his teeth. “That’s not true.” He glances over

his shoulder at me. “You have to do something. You can save them—”

To my eternal shame, I shake my head. “No, I can’t.”

We keep running. And Kilorn follows.

More missiles explode, faster and closer with each passing second.

I can barely hear over the ringing in my ears. Steel and glass sway like

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reeds in the wind, bending and breaking until biting silver rain falls

down upon us. Soon, it’s too dangerous to run, and Shade’s grip tight-

ens on me. He grabs Kilorn too, jumping all three of us as the world

collapses. My stomach twists every time the darkness closes in, and

every time, the falling city gets closer. Ash and concrete dust choke our

vision, making it difficult to breathe. Glass shatters in a bright storm,

leaving shallow cuts across my face and hands, shredding my clothes.

Kilorn looks worse than I do, his bandages red with fresh blood, but

he keeps moving, careful not to outpace us. My brother’s grip never

weakens, but he begins to tire, paling with every new jump. I’m not

helpless, using my sparks to deflect the jagged metal shrapnel that even

Shade can’t jump us away from. But we’re not enough, not even to save

ourselves.

“How much farther?” My voice sounds small, drowned out by the

tide of war. Against the haze, I can’t see farther than a few feet. But I

can still feel. And what I feel are wings, engines, electricity screaming overhead, swooping closer and closer. We might as well be mice waiting for hawks to pluck us from the ground.

Shade stops us short, his honey-colored eyes sweeping back and

forth. For one frightening second, I fear he might be lost. “Wait,” he

says, knowing something we don’t.

He stares upward, at the skeleton of a once great structure. It’s mas-

sive, taller than the highest spire of the Hall of the Sun, wider than the

great Caesar’s Square of Archeon. A tremor runs down my spine when

I realize—it’s moving. Back and forth, side to side, swaying on twisting supports already worn by centuries of neglect. As we watch, it starts

to tip, slumping slowly at first, like an old man settling into his chair.

Then faster and faster, falling above us and around us.

“Hold on to me,” Shade shouts over the din, adjusting his grip on

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us both. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, crushing me to him,

almost too tight to bear. I expect the now unpleasant sensation of jump-

ing, but it never comes. Instead, I’m greeted by a more familiar sound.

Gunfire.

Now it isn’t Shade’s ability saving my life, but his flesh. A bullet

meant for me catches him in the meat of his upper arm, while another

strafes his leg. He roars in anguish, almost falling to the cracked earth

beneath. I feel the shot through him, but I have no time for pain. More

bullets sing through the air, too fast and numerous to fight. We can only

run, fleeing both the collapsing building and the oncoming army. One

cancels out the other, with the twisted steel falling between the legion

and us. At least, that’s what should happen. Gravity and fire made the

structure fall, but the might of magnetrons stop it from shielding us.

When I look back, I can see them, with silver hair and black armor, a

dozen or so sweeping away every falling beam and steel support. I’m not

close enough to see their faces, but I know House Samos well enough.

Evangeline and Ptolemus direct their family, clearing the street so the

legion can press on. So they can finish what they started and kill us all.

If only Cal had destroyed Ptolemus in the arena; if only I had shown

Evangeline the same level of kindness she showed me. Then we might

have a chance. But our mercy has a cost, and it might be our lives.

I hold on to my brother, supporting him as best I can. Kilorn does

most of the heavy lifting. He takes the bulk of Shade’s weight, half

dragging him toward a still smoking impact crater. We gladly dive into

it, finding some refuge from the storm of bullets. But not much. Not

for long.

Kilorn pants and sweat beads on his brow. He rips off one of his

own sleeves, using it to bandage up Shade’s leg. Blood stains it quickly.

“Can you jump?”

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My brother furrows his brow, feeling not his pain but his strength. I

understand that well enough. Slowly he shakes his head, his eyes going

dark. “Not yet.”

Kilorn curses under his breath. “Then what do we do?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s asking me, and not my older

brother. Not the soldier who knows battle better than either of us.

But he’s not really asking me either. Not Mare Barrow of the Stilts,

the thief, his friend. Kilorn is looking to someone else now, to who I

became in the halls of a palace and the sands of an arena.

He’s asking the lightning girl.

“Mare, what do we do?”

“You leave me, that’s what you do!” Shade growls through clenched

teeth, answering before I can. “You run to the river, you find Farley.

I’ll jump to you as soon as I can.”

“Don’t lie to a liar,” I say, trying my best to keep from shaking.

My brother was only just returned to me, a ghost back from the dead. I

won’t let him slip away again, not for anything. “We’re getting out of

here together. All of us.”

The legion’s march rumbles the ground. One glance over the edge

of the crater tells me they’re less than a hundred yards away, advancing

fast. I can see the Silvers between the gaps in the Red line. The foot

soldiers wear the clouded gray uniforms of the army, but some have

armor, the plates chased with familiar colors. Warriors from the High

Houses. I see bits of blue, yellow, black, brown, and more. Nymphs and

telkies and silks and strongarms, the most powerful fighters the Silvers

can throw at us. They think Cal the king’s killer, me a terrorist, and

they’ll bring the whole city down to destroy us.

Cal.

Only my brother’s blood and Kilorn’s uneven breathing keeps me

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from vaulting out of the crater. I must find him, I must. If not for myself then for the cause, to protect the retreat. He’s worth a hundred good

soldiers. He’s a golden shield. But he’s probably gone, escaped, having

melted his chains and run when the city began to crumble.

No, he wouldn’t run. He would never run from that army, from Maven, or

from me.

I hope I’m not wrong.

I hope he isn’t already dead.

“Get him up, Kilorn.” In the Hall of the Sun, the late Lady Blonos

taught me how to speak like a princess. It is a cold voice, unyielding,

leaving no room for contest.

Kilorn obeys, but Shade still has it in him to protest. “I’ll only slow

you down.”

“You can apologize for that later,” I reply, helping him hop to his

feet. But I’m barely paying attention to them, my concentration else-

where. “Get moving.”

“Mare, if you think we’re leaving you—”

When I turn on Kilorn, I have sparks in my hands and determina-

tion in my heart. His words die on his lips. He glances past me, toward

the army advancing with every passing second. Telkies and magne-

trons scrape debris out of the street, opening the obliterated way with

resounding scrapes of metal on stone.

“Run.”

Again, he obeys and Shade can do nothing but limp along, leaving

me behind. As they clamber out of the crater, scrambling west, I take

measured steps east. The army will stop for me. They must.

After one terrifying second, the Reds slow, their chains clinking as

they halt. Behind them, Silvers balance black rifles on their shoulders,

as if they were nothing at all. The war transports, great machines with

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treaded wheels, grind to a screeching stop somewhere behind the army.

I can feel their power thrum through my veins.

The army is close enough now that I hear officers bark orders. “The

lightning girl!” “Keep the line, stand firm!” “Take aim!” “Hold your

fire!”

The worst comes last, ringing out against the suddenly quiet street.

Ptolemus’s voice is familiar, full of hatred and rage.

“Make way for the king!” he shouts.

I stagger back. I expected Maven’s armies, but not Maven himself.

He is not a soldier like his brother, and he has no business leading an

army. But here he is, stalking through the parting troops, with Ptole-

mus and Evangeline on his heels. When he steps out from behind the

Red line, my knees almost buckle. His armor is polished black, his cape

crimson. Somehow he seems taller than he did this morning. He still

wears his father’s crown of flames, though it has no place on a battle-

field. I suppose he wants to show the world what he’s won with his lies,

what a great prize he’s stolen. Even from so far away, I can feel the heat

of his glare and his roiling anger. It burns me from inside out.

Nothing but the jets whistle overhead; it is the only sound in the

world.

“I see you’re still brave,” Maven says, his voice carrying down the

avenue. It echoes among the ruins, taunting me. “And foolish.”

Like in the arena, I will not give him the satisfaction of my anger

and fear.

“They should call you the Little Quiet Girl.” He laughs coldly, and

his army laughs with him. The Reds remain silent, their eyes fixed on

the ground. They don’t want to watch what’s about to happen. “Well,

Quiet Girl, tell your rat friends it is over. They are surrounded. Call

them out, and I will give them the gift of good deaths.”

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Even if I could give such an order, I never would. “They’re already

gone.”

Don’t lie to a liar, and Maven is the grandest liar of al .

Still, he looks unsure. The Scarlet Guard has escaped so many times

already, in Caesar’s Square, in Archeon. Perhaps they might escape

even now. What an embarrassment that would be. What a disastrous

start to his reign.

“And the traitor?” His voice sharpens, and Evangeline moves closer

to him. Her silver hair glints like the edge of a razor, brighter than her

gilded armor. But he moves away from her, batting her aside like a cat

would a toy. “What about my wretched brother, the fallen prince?”

He never hears my answer, for I have none.

Maven laughs again and this time it stabs through my heart. “Has

he abandoned you too? Did he run away? The coward kills our father

and tries to steal my throne, only to slink off and hide?” He bristles,

pretending for the sake of his nobles and soldiers. For them, he must

still seem the tragic son, a king never meant for a crown, who wants

nothing more than justice for the dead.

I raise my chin in challenge. “Do you think Cal would do such a

thing?”

Maven is far from foolish. He is wicked, but not stupid, and he

knows his brother better than anyone else alive. Cal is no coward and

never will be. Lying to his subjects will never change that. Maven’s

eyes betray his heart and he glances sidelong, at the alleys and streets

leading away from the war-torn avenue. Cal could be hiding in any

one, waiting to strike. I could even be the trap, the bait to draw out the

weasel I once called my betrothed and my friend. When he turns his

head, his crown slips, too big for his skull. Even the metal knows it does

not belong to him.

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“I think you stand alone, Mare.” He speaks softly. Despite all he’s

done to me, my name in his mouth makes me shiver, thinking of days

gone by. Once he said it with kindness and affection. Now it sounds

like a curse. “Your friends are gone. You have lost. And you are an

abomination, the only one of your wretched kind. It will be a mercy to

remove you from this world.”

More lies, and we both know it. I mirror his cold laugh. For a sec-

ond, we look like friends again. Nothing is further from the truth.

A jet overhead sweeps by, its wings almost scraping the tip of a

nearby ruin. It’s so close. Too close. I can feel its electric heart, its whirring engines somehow keeping it aloft. I reach for it as best I can, like I

have so many times before. Like the lights, like the cameras, like every

wire and circuit since I became the lightning girl, I take hold of it—and

shut it off.

The airjet dips, nose down, gliding for a moment on heavy wings.

Its original trajectory meant to take it above the avenue, high over the

legion to protect the king. Now it dives headfirst into them, sailing

over the Red line to collide with hundreds of Silvers. The Samos mag-

netrons and Provos telkies aren’t quick enough to stop the jet as it plows

into the street, sending asphalt and bodies flying. The resounding

boom as it explodes nearly knocks me off my feet, pushing me farther

away. The blast is deafening, disorienting, and painful. No time for pain repeats in my head. I don’t bother to watch the chaos of Maven’s army.

I am already running, and my lightning is with me.

Purple-and-white sparks shield my back, keeping me safe from the

swifts trying to run me down. A few collide with my lightning, trying

to break through. They fall back in piles of smoked flesh and twitching

bone. I’m grateful I can’t see their faces, or else I might dream of them

later. Bullets come next, but my zigzagging sprint makes me a difficult

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target. The few shots that get close shriek apart in my shield, like my

body was supposed to when I fell into the electric net at Queenstrial.

That moment seems so long ago. Overhead, the jets scream again, this

time careful to keep their distance. Their missiles are not so polite.

The ruins of Naercey stood for thousands of years, but will not

survive this day. Buildings and streets crumble, destroyed by Sil-

ver powers and missiles alike. Everything and everyone has been

unleashed. The magnetrons twist and snap steel support beams, while

telkies and strongarms hurl rubble through the ashen sky. Water bleeds

up from the sewers as nymphs attempt to flood the city, flushing out

the last of the Guardsmen hiding in the tunnels below us. The wind

howls, strong as a hurricane, from the windweavers in the army. Water

and rubble sting my eyes, the gusts so sharp they are nearly blinding.

Oblivions’ explosions rock the ground beneath me and I stumble, con-

fused. I never used to fall. But now my face scrapes against the asphalt,

leaving blood in my wake. When I get back up, a banshee’s glass-shat-

tering scream knocks me down again, forcing me to cover my ears.

More blood there, dripping fast and thick between my fingers. But the

banshee who flattened me has accidentally saved me. As I fall, another

missile blasts over my head, so near I feel it ripple the air.

It explodes too close, the heat pulsing through my hasty lightning

shield. Dimly, I wonder if I’ll die without eyebrows. But instead of

burning through me, the heat stands constant, uncomfortable but not

unbearable. Strong, bruising hands wrench me to my feet, and blond

hair glints in the firelight. I can just make out her face through the

biting windstorm. Farley. Her gun is gone, her clothes torn, and her muscles quiver, but she keeps holding me up.

Behind her, a tall, familiar figure cuts a black silhouette against

the explosion. He holds it back with a single, outstretched hand. His

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shackles are gone, melted or cast away. When he turns, the flames

grow, licking at the sky and the destroyed street, but never us. Cal

knows exactly what he’s doing, directing the firestorm around us like

water around rock. As in the arena, he forms a burning wall across the

avenue, protecting us from his brother and the legion beyond. But now,

his flames are strong, fed by oxygen and rage. They leap up into the air,

so hot the base burns ghostly blue.

More missiles drop, but again, Cal contains their power, using it

to feed his own. It’s almost beautiful, watching his long arms arc and

turn, transforming destruction into protection with steady rhythm.

Farley tries to pull me away, overpowering me. With the flames

defending us, I turn to see the river a hundred yards away. I can even

see the hulking shadows of Kilorn and my brother, limping toward

supposed safety.

“Come on, Mare,” she growls, half dragging my bruised and weak-

ened body.

For a second, I let her pull me along. It hurts too much to think

clearly. But one glance back and I understand what she’s doing, what

she’s trying to make me do.

“I’m not leaving without him!” I shout for the second time today.

“I think he’s doing fine on his own,” she says, her blue eyes reflect-

ing the fire.

Once, I thought like her. That Silvers were invincible, gods upon

the earth, too powerful to destroy. But I killed three just this morning;

Arven, the Rhambos strongarm, and the nymph lord Osanos. Probably

more with the lightning storm. And they almost killed me, and Cal,

for that matter. We had to save each other in the arena. And we must

do so again.

Farley is bigger than me, taller and stronger, but I’m more agile.

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Even banged up and half-deaf. One flick of my ankle, one well-timed

shove, and she stumbles backward, letting go. I turn in the same

motion, palms outstretched, feeling for what I need. Naercey has far

less electricity than Archeon or even the Stilts, but I don’t need to leach

power from anything now. I make my own.

The first blast of nymph water pounds against the flames with

the strength of a tidal wave. Most of it flash boils into vapor, but the

rest falls on the wall, extinguishing the great tongues of fire. I answer

the water with my own electricity, aiming for the waves curling and

crashing in midair. Behind the wave, the Silver legion marches for-

ward, lunging for us. At least the chained Reds have been pulled away,

relegated to the back of the line. Maven’s doing. He won’t let them slow

him down.

His soldiers meet my lightning instead of open air, and behind it,

Cal’s fire jumps back up from the embers.

“Move back slowly,” Cal says, gesturing with an open hand. I

mirror his measured steps, careful not to look away from the oncom-

ing doom. Together we alternate back and forth, protecting our own

retreat. When his flame falls, my lightning rises, and so on. Together,

we have a chance.

He mutters little commands: when to step, when to raise a wall,

when to let it drop. He looks more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him,

his veins blue-black beneath pale skin, with gray circles rimming his

eyes. I know I must look worse. But his pacing keeps us from giving

out entirely, allowing little bits of our strengths to return just when we

need.

“Just a little farther,” Farley calls, her voice echoing from behind.

But she’s not running off. She’s staying with us, even though she’s just

human. She’s braver than I gave her credit for.

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“Farther to what?” I growl through gritted teeth, tossing up

another net of electricity. Despite Cal’s commands, I’m getting slower,

and a bit of rubble flies through. It breaks a few yards away, crumbling

into dust. We are running out of time.

But so is Maven.

I can smell the river, and the ocean beyond. Sharp and salty, it

beckons, but to what end, I have no idea. I only know that Farley and

Shade believe it will save us from Maven’s jaws. When I glance behind

me, I see nothing but the avenue, dead-ending at the river’s edge. Far-

ley stands, waiting, her short hair stirring in the hot wind. Jump, she mouths, before plunging off the edge of the crumbled street.

What is it with her and leaping into an abyss?

“She wants us to jump,” I tell Cal, turning back just in time to sup-

plant his wall.

He grunts in agreement, too focused to speak. Like my lightning,

his fires grow weak and thin. We can almost see through them now, to

the soldiers on the other side. Flickering flame distorts their features,

turning eyes into burning coals, mouths into smiling fangs, and men

into demons.

One of them steps up to the wall of fire, close enough to burn. But

he doesn’t. Instead, he draws the flames apart like a curtain.

Only one person can do that.

Maven shakes embers from his silly cape, letting the silk burn away

while his armor holds firm. He has the gall to smile.

And somehow, Cal has the strength to turn away. Instead of tearing

Maven apart with his bare hands, he takes my wrist in his searing-hot

grip. We sprint together, not bothering to defend our backs. Maven is

no match for either of us, and he knows it. Instead, he screams. Despite

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the crown and the blood on his hands, he is still so young.

“Run, murderer! Run, lightning girl! Run fast and far!” His laugh-

ter echoes off the crumbling ruins, haunting me. “There is nowhere I

won’t find you!”

I’m dimly aware of my lightning failing, giving out as I get farther

away. Cal’s own flame crumbles with it, exposing us to the rest of the

legion. But we’re already jumping through midair, to the river ten feet

below.

We land, not with a splash but the resounding clang of metal. I have

to roll to keep from shattering my ankles, but still feel a hollow, aching

pain run up my bones. What? Farley waits, knee-deep in the cold river, next to a cylindrical metal tube with an open top. Without speaking

she clambers into it, disappearing into whatever lies beneath us. We

have no time to argue or ask questions, and follow blindly.

At least Cal has the good sense to close the tube behind us, shutting

out the river and the war above. It hisses pneumatically, forming an

airtight seal. But that won’t protect us for long, not against the legion.

“More tunnels?” I ask breathlessly, whirling to Farley. My vision

spots with the motion and I have to slump against the wall, my legs

shaking.

Like she did on the street, Farley puts one arm under my shoulder,

supporting my weight. “No, this isn’t a tunnel,” she says with a puz-

zling smirk.

And then I feel it. Like a battery humming somewhere, but bigger.

Stronger. It pulses all around us, down the strange hallway swimming

with blinking buttons and low, yellow lights. I glimpse red scarves

moving down the passage, hiding the faces of the Guardsmen. They

look hazy, like crimson shadows. With a groan, the whole hall shudders

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and drops, angling downward. Into the water.

“A boat. An underwater boat,” Cal says. His voice is faraway, shaky,

and weak. Just like I feel.

Neither of us makes it more than a few feet before we collapse

against the sloping walls.

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T H R E E


In the past few days, I’ve woken up in a jail cell and then on a train. Now it’s an underwater boat. Where will I wake up tomorrow?

I’m beginning to think this has all been a dream, or a hallucina-

tion, or worse. But can you feel tired in dreams? Because I certainly do.

My exhaustion is bone-deep, in every muscle and nerve. My heart is

another wound entirely, still bleeding from betrayal and failure. When

I open my eyes, finding cramped, gray walls, everything I want to

forget comes rushing back. It’s like Queen Elara is in my head again,

forcing me to relive my worst memories. As much as I try, I can’t stop

them.

My quiet maids were executed, guilty of nothing but painting my

skin. Tristan, speared like a pig. Walsh. She was my brother’s age, a

servant from the Stilts, my friend— one of us. And she died cruelly, by her own hand, to protect the Guard, our purpose, and me. Even more

died in the tunnels of Caesar’s Square, Guardsmen killed by Cal’s sol-

diers, killed by our foolish plan. The memory of red blood burns, but

so does the thought of silver. Lucas, a friend, a protector, a Silver with a GlassSword_txt_des1_CS6.indd 29

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kind heart, executed for what Julian and I made him do. Lady Blonos,

decapitated because she taught me how to sit properly. Colonel Macan-

thos, Reynald Iral, Belicos Lerolan. Sacrificed for the cause. I almost

retch when I remember Lerolan’s twin boys, four years old, killed in

the explosion that followed the shooting. Maven told me it was an acci-

dent—a punctured gas line, but now I know better. His evil runs too

deep for such coincidence. I doubt he minded throwing a few more

bodies on the blaze, if only to convince the world the Guard was made

of monsters. He’ll kill Julian too, and Sara. They’re probably dead

already. I can’t think of them at all. It’s too painful. Now my thoughts

turn back to Maven himself, to cold blue eyes and the moment I real-

ized his charming smile hid a beast.

The bunk beneath me is hard, the blankets thin, with no pillow to

speak of, but part of me wants to lie back down. Already my headache

returns, throbbing with the electric pulse of this miracle boat. It is a

firm reminder—there is no peace for me here. Not yet, not while so

much more must be done. The list. The names. I must find them. I must keep them safe from Maven and his mother. Heat spreads across my face, my skin flushing with the memory of Julian’s little book of hard-won secrets.

A record of those like me, with the strange mutation that gives us Red

blood and Silver abilities. The list is Julian’s legacy. And mine.

I swing my legs over the side of the cot, almost thwacking my head

on the bunk above me, and find a neatly folded set of clothing on the

floor. Black pants that are too long, a dark red shirt with threadbare

elbows, and boots missing laces. Nothing like the fine clothes I found

in a Silver cell, but they feel right against my skin.

I barely have the shirt over my head when my compartment door

bangs open on great iron hinges. Kilorn waits expectantly on the other

side, his smile forced and grim. He shouldn’t blush, having seen me

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in various stages of undress for many summers, but his cheeks redden

anyway.

“It’s not like you to sleep so long,” he says, and I hear worry in his

voice.

I shrug it off and stand on weak legs. “I guess I needed it.” An odd

ringing in my ears takes hold, piercing but not painful. I shake my

head back and forth, trying to get rid of it, looking like a wet dog in

the process.

“That’ll be the banshee scream.” He crosses to me and takes my

head in gentle but callused hands. I submit to his examination, sighing

in annoyance. He turns me sideways, glancing at ears that ran red with

blood however long ago. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit you head-on.”

“I’m a lot of things, but I don’t think lucky is one of them.”

“You’re alive, Mare,” he says sharply, pulling away. “That’s more

than many can say.” His glare brings me back to Naercey, when I told

my brother I didn’t trust his word. Deep in my heart, I know I still

don’t.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter quickly. Of course I know others have died,

for the cause and for me. But I’ve died too. Mare of the Stilts died the

day she fell onto a lightning shield. Mareena, the lost Silver princess,

died in the Bowl of Bones. And I don’t know what new person opened

her eyes on the Undertrain. I only know what she has been and what

she has lost, and the weight of it is almost crushing.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is that another

secret?” I try to keep the bitterness from my voice, but fail miserably.

Kilorn is polite enough to ignore it and leans back against the door.

“We left Naercey five hours ago, and we’re headed northeast. That’s

honestly all I know.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all?”

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He only shrugs. “What makes you think the higher-ups trust me, or

you, for that matter? You know better than anyone how foolish we’ve

been, and the high cost we’ve paid.” Again, I feel the sting of memory.

“You said yourself, you can’t even trust Shade. I doubt anyone’s going

to be sharing secrets anytime soon.”

The jab doesn’t hurt as much as I expected it to. “How is he?”

Kilorn tosses his head, gesturing out to the hallway. “Farley carved

out a nice little medical station for the wounded. He’s doing better than

the others. Cursing a lot, but definitely better.” His green eyes darken

a bit, and he turns his gaze away. “His leg—”

I draw in a startled breath. “Infected?” At home in the Stilts, infec-

tion was as bad as a severed arm. We didn’t have much medicine, and

once the blood went bad, all you could do was keep chopping, hoping

to outrun fever and blackened veins.

To my relief, Kilorn shakes his head. “No, Farley dosed him good,

and the Silvers fight with clean bullets. So that’s big of them.” He

laughs darkly, expecting me to join him. Instead, I shiver. The air is so

cold down here. “But he’ll definitely be limping for a while.”

“Will you take me to him or do I have to figure out the way

myself?”

Another dark laugh and he extends his arm. To my surprise, I find

that I need his support to help me walk. Naercey and the Bowl of Bones

have certainly taken their toll.

Mersive. That’s what Kilorn calls the strange underwater boat. How

it manages to sail beneath the ocean is beyond both of us, though I’m sure Cal will figure it out. He’s next on my list. I’ll find him after I

make sure my brother is still breathing. I remember Cal being barely

conscious when we escaped, just like me. But I don’t suppose Farley

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will set him up in the medical station, not with injured Guardsmen all

around. There’s too much bad blood and no one wants an inferno in a

sealed metal tube.

The banshee’s scream still rings in my head, a dull whine that I try

to ignore. And with every step, I learn about new aches and bruises.

Kilorn notes my every wince and slows his pace, allowing me to lean

on his arm. He ignores his own wounds, deep cuts hidden beneath yet

another set of fresh bandages. He always had battered hands, bruised

and cut from fishing hooks and rope, but they were familiar wounds.

They meant he was safe, employed, free from conscription. If not for

one dead fish master, little scars would be his only burden.

Once that thought would have made me sad. Now I feel only rage.

The main passage of the mersive is long but narrow, divided by

several metal doors with thick hinges and pressurized seals. To close off

portions if need be, to stop the entire vessel from flooding and sinking.

But the doors give me no comfort whatsoever. I can’t stop thinking

about dying at the bottom of the ocean, locked in a watery coffin. Even

Kilorn, a boy raised on water, seems uncomfortable. The dim lights set

into the ceiling filter strangely, cutting shadows across his face to make

him appear old and drawn.

The other Guardsmen aren’t so affected, coming and going with

great purpose. Their red scarves and shawls have been lowered, reveal-

ing faces set in grim determination. They carry charts, trays of medical

supplies, bandages, food, or even the occasional rifle down the passage,

always hurrying and chattering to each other. But they stop at the sight

of me, pressing back against the walls to give me as much room as pos-

sible in the narrow space. The more daring ones look me in the eye,

watching me limp past, but most stare at their feet.

A few even seem afraid.

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Of me.

I want to say thank you, to somehow express how deeply indebted

I am to every man and woman aboard this strange ship. Thank you for

your service almost slips past my lips, but I clench my jaw to keep it back.

Thank you for your service. It’s what they print in the notices, the letters sent to tell you your children have died for a useless war. How

many parents did I watch weep over those words? How many more

will receive them, when the Measures send even younger children to

the front?

None, I tell myself. Farley will have a plan for that, just like we will come up with a way to find the newbloods—the others like me. We will do something.

We must do something.

The Guardsmen against the wall mutter among themselves as I

pass. Even the ones who can’t stand to look at me whisper to each other,

not bothering to mask their words. I suppose they think what they’re

saying is a compliment.

“The lightning girl” echoes from them, bouncing off the metal

walls. It surrounds me like Elara’s wretched whispers, ghosting into my

brain. Little lightning girl. It’s what she used to call me, what they cal ed me.

No. No, it isn’t.

Despite the pain, I straighten my spine, standing as tall as I can.

I am not little anymore.

The whispers follow us all the way to the medical station, where a

pair of Guardsmen keeps watch at the closed door. They’re also watch-

ing the ladder, a heavy metal thing reaching up into the ceiling. The

only exit and only entrance in this slow bullet of a ship. One of the

guards has dark red hair, just like Tristan, though he’s nowhere near

as tall. The other is built like a boulder, with nut-brown skin, angled

eyes, a broad chest, and massive hands better suited to a strongarm.

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They bow their heads at the sight of me but, to my relief, don’t spare me

much more than a glance. Instead, they turn their attentions to Kilorn,

grinning at him like school friends.

“Back so soon, Warren?” The redhead chuckles, waggling his eye-

brows in suggestion. “Lena’s gone off her shift.”

Lena? Kilorn tenses beneath my arm, but says nothing to betray his

discomfort. Instead, he laughs along, grinning. But I know him better

than any, enough to see the force behind his smile. To think, he’s been

spending his time flirting while I’ve been unconscious and Shade lies wounded and bleeding.

“The boy’s got enough on his plate without chasing pretty nurses,”

the boulder says. His deep voice echoes down the passage, probably

carrying all the way to Lena’s quarters. “Farley’s still making rounds, if

you’re after her,” he adds, jabbing a thumb at the door.

“And my brother?” I speak up, disentangling myself from Kilorn’s

supporting grip. My knees almost buckle, but I stand firm. “Shade Bar-

row?”

Their smiles fade, stiffening into something more formal. It’s

almost like being back in the Silver court. The boulder grips the door,

spinning the massive wheel lock so he doesn’t have to look at me. “He’s

recovering well, miss, er, my lady.”

My stomach drops at the title. I thought I was done with such

things.

“Please call me Mare.”

“Of course,” he replies without any kind of resolve. Though we are

both part of the Scarlet Guard, soldiers together in our cause, we are

not the same. This man, and many others, will never call me by my

given name, no matter how much I want them to.

He swings open the door with a tiny nod, revealing a wide but

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shallow compartment filled with bunks. Sleeping quarters at one time,

but now the stacked beds are full of patients, the single aisle buzzing

with men and women in white shifts. Many have clothes spattered with

crimson blood, too preoccupied setting a leg or administering medica-

tion to notice me limping into their midst.

Kilorn’s hand hovers by my waist, ready to catch me should I need

him again, but I lean on the bunks instead. If everyone’s going to stare

at me, I might as well try to walk on my own.

Shade props up against a single thin pillow, supported mostly by the

sloping metal wall. He can’t possibly be comfortable, but his eyes are

closed, and his chest rises and falls in the easy rhythm of sleep. Judging

by his leg, suspended from the ceiling of his bunk by a hasty sling,

and his bandaged shoulder, he’s surely been medicated a few times. The

sight of him so broken, even though I thought him dead just yesterday,

is shockingly hard to bear.

“We should let him sleep,” I murmur to no one in particular,

expecting no answer.

“Yes, please do,” Shade says without opening his eyes. But his lips

quirk into a familiar, mischievous smile. Despite his grim, injured fig-

ure, I have to laugh.

The trick is a familiar one. Shade would pretend to sleep through

school or our parents’ whispered conversations. I have to laugh at the

memory, remembering how many little secrets Shade picked up in this

particular way. I may have been born a thief, but Shade was born a spy.

No wonder he ended up in the Scarlet Guard.

“Eavesdropping on nurses?” My knee cracks as I sit on the side of

his bunk, careful not to jostle him. “Have you learned how many ban-

dages they’ve got squirreled away?”

But instead of laughing at the joke, Shade opens his eyes. He draws

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Kilorn and me closer with a beckoning hand. “The nurses know more

than you think,” he says, his gaze flickering toward the far end of the

compartment.

I turn to find Farley busying herself over an occupied bunk. The

woman in it is out cold, probably drugged, and Farley monitors her

pulse closely. In this light, her scar stands out rudely, twisting one side

of her mouth into a scowl before cutting down the side of her neck

and under her collar. Part of it has split open, and was hastily stitched

up. Now the only red she wears is the swath of blood across her white

nurse’s shift and the half-washed stains reaching to her elbows. Another

nurse stands at her shoulder, but his shift is clean, and he whispers hur-

riedly in her ear. She nods occasionally, though her face tightens in

anger.

“What have you heard?” Kilorn asks, shifting so that his body

blocks Shade entirely. To anyone else, it looks like we’re adjusting his

bandages.

“We’re headed to another base, this time off the coast. Outside

Nortan territory.”

I strain to remember Julian’s old map, but I can’t think of much

more than the coastline. “An island?”

Shade nods. “Called Tuck. It must not be much, because the Silvers

don’t even have an outpost there. They’ve all but forgotten it.”

Dread pools in my stomach. The prospect of isolating myself on an

island with no means of escape scares me even more than the mersive.

“But they know it exists. That’s enough.”

“Farley seemed confident in the base there.”

Kilorn scoffs aloud. “I remember her thinking Naercey was safe

too.”

“It wasn’t her fault we lost Naercey,” I say. It’s mine.

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“Maven tricked everyone, Mare,” Kilorn replies, nudging my

shoulder. “He got past me, you, and Farley. We all believed in him.”

With his mother to coach him, to read our minds and mold Maven

to our hopes, it’s no wonder we were all fooled. And now he is king.

Now he will fool—and control—our whole world. What a world that

will be, with a monster for its king, and his mother holding his leash.

But I push through such thoughts. They can wait. “Did Farley say

anything else? What about the list? She still has it, doesn’t she?”

Shade watches her over my shoulder, careful to keep his voice low.

“She does, but she’s more concerned with the others we’re meeting in Tuck, Mom and Dad included.” A rush of warmth spreads through

me, an invigorating curl of happiness. Shade brightens at the sight of

my small but genuine smile, and he takes my hand. “Gisa too, and the

lumps we call brothers.”

A cord of tension releases in my chest, but is soon replaced by

another. I tighten my grip on him, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Others? Who? How can that be?” After the massacre beneath Cae-

sar’s Square and the evacuation of Naercey, I didn’t think anyone else

existed.

But Kilorn and Shade don’t share my confusion, electing to

exchange furtive glances instead. Yet again, I’m in the dark, and I don’t

like it one bit. But this time, it’s my own brother and best friend keep-

ing secrets, not an evil queen and scheming prince.

Somehow, this hurts more. Scowling, I glare at them both until

they realize I’m waiting for answers.

Kilorn grits his teeth and has the good sense to look apologetic. He

gestures to Shade. Passing the blame. “You know more than I do.”

“The Guard likes to play things close to the chest, and rightfully

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so.” Shade adjusts himself, sitting up a little more. He hisses at the

motion, clutching at his wounded shoulder, but waves me off before I

can help him. “We want to look small, broken, disorganized—”

I can’t help but snort, eyeing his bandages. “Well, you’re doing a

terrific job.”

“Don’t be cruel, Mare,” Shade snaps back, sounding very much like

our mother. “I’m trying to tell you that things aren’t so bad as they

seem. Naercey was not our only stronghold and Farley is not our only

leader. In fact, she’s not even true Command. She’s just a captain. There

are others like her—and even more above her.”

Judging by the way she orders around her soldiers, I would think

Farley was an empress. When I chance another glance at her, she’s busy

redoing a bandage, all while scolding the nurse who originally set the

wound. But my brother’s conviction can’t be ignored. He knows much

more than I do about the Scarlet Guard, and I’m inclined to believe

what he says about them is true. There’s more to this organization than

what I see here. It’s encouraging—and frightening.

“The Silvers think they’re two steps ahead of us, but they don’t

even know where we stand,” Shade continues, his voice full of fervor.

“We seem weak because we want to.”

I turn back quickly. “They seem weak because they are. Because

Maven tricked you, trapped you, slaughtered you, and ran you out of

your own house. Or are you going to try and tell me that was all part

of another plan?”

“Mare—” Kilorn mumbles, putting his shoulder against mine in

a display of comfort. But I shove him away. He needs to hear this too.

“I don’t care how many secret tunnels and boats and bases you have.

You’re not going to win against him, not like this.” Tears I didn’t know

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I still had sting my eyes, prickling at Maven’s memory. It’s hard to for-

get him as he was. No. As he pretended to be. The kind, forgotten boy.

The shadow of the flame.

“Then what do you suggest, lightning girl?”

Farley’s voice shocks through me like my own sparks, setting every

nerve on edge. For a brief, blistering second, I stare at my hands knot-

ted in Shade’s sheets. Maybe she’ll leave if I don’t turn around. Maybe

she’ll let me be.

Don’t be such a fool, Mare Barrow.

“Fight fire with fire,” I tell her as I stand. Her height used to intim-

idate me. Now glaring up at her feels natural and familiar.

“Is that some kind of Silver joke?” she sneers, crossing her arms.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

She doesn’t reply, and that’s answer enough. In her silence, I realize

the rest of the compartment has gone quiet. Even the injured stifle their

pain to watch the lightning girl challenge their captain.

“You thrive on looking weak and striking hard, yes? Well, they

do everything they can to look strong, to seem invincible. But in the

arena, I proved they are not.” Again, stronger, so everyone can hear you. I call on the firm voice Lady Blonos brought to life in me. “They are not

invincible.”

Farley isn’t stupid, and finds it easy to follow my train of thought.

“You’re stronger than they are,” she says, matter-of-fact. Her eyes stray

to Shade, lying tense in his bunk. “And you’re not the only one who is.”

I nod sharply, pleased that she already knows what I want. “Hun-

dreds of names, hundreds of Reds with abilities. Stronger, faster, better

than they are, with blood as red as the dawn.” My breath catches, as if it

knows it stands on the edge of the future. “Maven will try to kill them,

but if we get to them first, they could be—”

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“The greatest army this world has ever seen.” Farley’s eyes glass at

the thought. “An army of newbloods.”

When she smiles, her scar strains against its stitches, threatening to

split open again. Her grin widens. She doesn’t mind the pain.

But I certainly do. I suppose I always will.

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FOU R


Farley’s not as tall as Kilorn, but her steps are faster, more deliberate, and harder to keep up with. I do my best, almost jogging to match her

pace through the mersive corridor. Like before, the Guardsmen jump

out of our way, but now they salute her as we pass, clasping hands to

their chest or fingers to their brow. I must say Farley cuts an impressive

figure, wearing her scars and wounds like jewels. She doesn’t seem to

mind the blood on her shift, absently wiping her hands against it. Some

of it belongs to Shade. She dug the bullet out of his shoulder without

blinking.

“We didn’t lock him up, if that’s what you think,” she says lightly,

as if talk of imprisoning Cal is casual gossip.

I’m not stupid enough to rise to that bait, not now. She’s feeling

me out, testing my reaction, my al egiance. But I’m no longer the girl who begged for her help. I’m not so easily read anymore. I’ve lived on a

razor wire, balancing lie after lie, hiding myself. It’s nothing to do the

same now and bury my thoughts deep down.

So I laugh instead, pasting on the smile I perfected in Elara’s court.

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“I can tell. Nothing’s been melted,” I reply, gesturing to the metal walls.

I read her as she tries to read me. She masks her expression well, but

surprise still flickers in her eyes. Surprise and curiosity.

I haven’t forgotten the way she treated Cal on the train—with

shackles, armed guards, and disdain. And he took it like a kicked dog.

After his brother’s betrayal and his father’s murder, he had no fight

inside him. I didn’t blame him. But Farley doesn’t know his heart—

or his strength—like I do. She doesn’t know how dangerous he really

is. Or how dangerous I am, for that matter. Even now, despite my many injuries, I feel power deep inside, calling out to the electricity pulsing

through the mersive. I could control it if I wanted. I could shut this

whole thing down. I could drown us all. The lethal idea makes me

blush, embarrassed by such thoughts. But they are a comfort all the

same. I’m the greatest weapon of all on a ship full of warriors, and they

don’t seem to know it.

We seem weak because we want to. Shade was talking about the Guard

when he said that, explaining their motives. Now I wonder if he wasn’t

also trying to convey a message. Like words hidden in a letter long ago.

Cal’s bunk room is at the far end of the mersive, tucked away from

the bustle of the rest of the vessel. His door is nearly hidden behind a

twist of pipes and empty crates stamped with Archeon, Haven, Corvium, Harbor Bay, Delphie, and even Belleum from Piedmont to the south.

What the crates once held, I can’t say, but the names of the Silver cities

send a twinge down my spine. Stolen. Farley notices me staring at the crates, but doesn’t bother to explain. Despite our shaky agreement over

what she calls “newbloods,” I still haven’t entered her inner circle of

secrets. I suppose Cal has something to do with that.

Whatever powers the ship, a massive generator by the feel of it,

rumbles beneath my feet, vibrating into my bones. I wrinkle my nose

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in distaste. Farley might not have locked Cal up, but she’s certainly not

being kind either. Between the noise and the shaking sensation, I won-

der if Cal was able to sleep at all.

“I suppose this is the only place you could put him?” I ask, glaring

at the cramped corner.

She shrugs, banging a hand on his door. “The prince hasn’t com-

plained.”

We don’t wait long, though I’d very much like the time to collect

myself. Instead, the wheel lock spins in seconds, clanking round at great

speed. The iron hinges grate, screaming, and Cal pulls open the door.

I’m not surprised to see him standing tall, ignoring his own aches.

After a lifetime preparing to be a warrior, he’s used to cuts and bruises.

But the scars within are something he doesn’t know how to hide.

He avoids my gaze, focusing instead on Farley, who doesn’t notice

or doesn’t care about the prince with a shattered heart. Suddenly my

wounds seem a bit easier to bear.

“Captain Farley,” he says, as if she’s disturbed him at dinnertime.

He uses annoyance to mask his pain.

Farley won’t stand for it and tosses her short hair with a sniff. She

even reaches to close the door. “Oh, did you not want a visitor? How

rude of me.”

I’m quietly glad I didn’t let Kilorn tag along. He’d be even worse to

Cal, having hated him since they first met back in the Stilts.

“Farley,” I tell her through gritted teeth. My hand stops the door

short. To my delight—and distaste—she flinches away from my touch.

She flushes horribly, embarrassed with herself and her fear. Despite her

tough exterior, she’s just like her soldiers. Afraid of the lightning girl.

“I think we’re fine from here.”

Something twitches in her face, a twinge of irritation as much with

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herself as with me. But she nods, grateful to be out of my presence.

With one last daggered glance at Cal, she turns and disappears back

down the corridor. Her barked orders echo for a moment, indecipher-

able but strong.

Cal and I stare after her, then at the walls, then at the floor, then at

our feet, afraid to look at each other. Afraid to remember the last few

days. The last time we watched each other across a doorway, dancing

lessons and a stolen kiss followed. That might as well be another life.

Because it was. He danced with Mareena, the lost princess, and Mareena is dead.

But her memories remain. When I walk past, my shoulder brushing

one firm arm, I remember the feel and smell and taste of him. Heat and

wood smoke and sunrise, but no longer. Cal smells like blood, his skin

is ice, and I tell myself I don’t want to taste him ever again.

“They’ve been treating you well?” I speak first, reaching for an easy

topic. One glance around his small yet clean compartment is answer

enough, but I might as well fill the silence.

“Yes,” he says, still hovering by the open door. Debating whether

or not to shut it.

My eyes land on a panel in the wall, pried back to reveal a tangle

of wires and switches beneath. I can’t help but smile softly. Cal’s been

tinkering.

“You think that’s smart? One wrong wire . . .”

That draws a weak but still comforting smile from him. “I’ve been

fooling with circuitry for half my life. Don’t worry, I know what I’m

doing.”

Both of us ignore the double meaning, letting it slide past.

He finally decides to shut the door, though he leaves it unlocked.

One hand rests on the metal wall, fingers splayed, looking for some-

thing to hold on to. The flame-maker bracelet still winks on his wrist,

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bright silver against dull, hard gray. He notes my gaze and pulls down

one stained sleeve; I guess no one thought to give him a change of

clothes.

“As long as I stay out of sight, I don’t think anyone will bother with

me,” he says, and goes back to fiddling with the open panel. “It’s kind

of nice.” But the joke is hollow.

“I’ll make sure it stays that way. If that’s what you want,” I add

quickly. In truth, I have no idea what Cal wants now. Beyond vengeance.

The one thing we still have in common.

He quirks an eyebrow at me, almost amused. “Oh, is the lightning

girl in charge now?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond to the jibe,

closing the distance between us in a single long step. “I get the feeling

you’re just as cornered as me.” His eyes narrow. “Only you don’t seem

to know it.”

I flush, feeling angry—and embarrassed. “Cornered? I’m not the

one hiding in a closet.”

“No, you’re too busy being put on parade.” He leans forward, and

the familiar heat between us returns. “Again.”

Part of me wants to slap him. “My brother would never—”

“I thought my brother would never, and look where that got us!” he

thunders, throwing his arms wide. The tips of his fingers touch either

wall, scraping up against the prison he’s found himself in. The prison I put him in. And he’s caged me in with him, whether he knows it or not.

Blazing heat flares from his body, and I have to step back a little.

He doesn’t miss the action and deflates, letting his eyes and arms drop.

“Sorry,” he bites out, brushing a lock of black hair off his forehead.

“Never apologize to me. I don’t deserve it.”

He glances at me sidelong, his eyes dark and wide, but he doesn’t

argue.

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Heaving a breath, I lean back against the far wall. The space

between us gapes like open jaws. “What do you know about a place

called Tuck?”

Grateful for the change in conversation, he pulls himself together,

retreating into a prince’s persona. Even without a crown, he seems regal,

with perfect posture and his hands folded behind his back. “Tuck?” he

repeats, thinking hard. His brow furrows, forming a crease between

his thick, dark brows. The longer it takes him to speak, the better I feel.

If he doesn’t know about the island, then few else will. “Is that where

we’re going?”

“It is.” I think. A cold thought ripples through me, remembering

Julian’s lessons hard learned in the court and the arena. Anyone can betray anyone. “According to Shade.”

Cal lets my uncertainty hang in the air, kind enough not to prod at

it. “I think it’s an island,” he finally says. “One of several off the coast.

It’s not Nortan territory. Nothing to warrant a settlement or base, not

even for defense. It’s just open ocean out there.”

A bit of the weight on my shoulders lifts. We’ll be safe for now.

“Good, good.”

“Your brother, he’s like you.” It’s not a question. “Different.”

“He is.” What else is there to say?

“And he’s all right? I remember he was injured.”

Even without an army, Cal is still a general, caring for the soldiers

and the wounded. “He’s fine, thank you. Took a few bullets for me, but

he’s recovering well.”

At the mention of bullets, Cal’s eyes flicker over me, finally allow-

ing himself to look at me fully. He lingers on my scraped face and the

dried blood around my ears. “And you?”

“I’ve had worse.”

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“Yes, we have.”

We lapse into silence, not daring to speak further. But we still con-

tinue to stare at each other. Suddenly his presence is difficult to stand.

And yet I don’t want to go.

The mersive has other ideas.

Beneath my feet, the generator shudders, its pounding pulse chang-

ing rhythm. “We’re almost there,” I mutter, sensing electricity flow or

ebb to different parts of the craft.

Cal doesn’t feel it yet, unable to, but he doesn’t question my instincts.

He knows my abilities firsthand, better than anyone on the ship. Better

than my own family. For now, at least. Mom, Dad, Gisa, the boys,

they’re waiting for me on the island. I’ll see them soon. They’re here.

They’re safe.

But how long I’ll be with them, I don’t know. I won’t be able to stay

on the island, not if I want to do something for the newbloods. I’ll have

to go back to Norta, use whatever and whoever Farley can give me,

to try and find them. It already seems impossible. I don’t even want to

think about it. And yet my mind buzzes, trying to form a plan.

An alarm sounds overhead, synchronizing with a yellow light that

starts to flash over Cal’s door. “Amazing,” I hear him mutter, dis-

tracted for a moment by the great machine all around us. I don’t doubt

he wanted to explore, but there’s no room for the inquisitive prince

here. The boy who buried himself in manuals and built cycles from

scratch has no place in this world. I kil ed him, just as I kil ed Mareena.

Despite Cal’s mechanically inclined mind and my own electrical

sense, we have no idea what comes next. When the mersive angles, nos-

ing up out of the depths of the ocean, the whole room tips. The surprise

of it knocks us both off our feet. We collide with the wall and each

other. Our wounds bang together, drawing pained hisses from us both.

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The feel of him hurts more than anything else, a deep stab of memory,

and I scramble away quickly.

Wincing, I rub one of my many bruises. “Where’s Sara Skonos when

you need her,” I grumble, wishing for the skin healer who could mend

us both. She could chase away the aches with a single touch, returning

us both to fighting form.

More pain crosses Cal’s face, but not from his injuries. Well done,

Mare. Wonderful job, bringing up the woman who knew his mother was murdered by the queen. The woman no one believed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He waves me off and finds his feet, one arm pressed against the wall

for balance. “It’s fine. She’s—” The words are thick, stilted. “I chose

not to listen to her. I didn’t want to listen. That was my fault.”

I met Sara Skonos only once, when Evangeline almost exposed me

to our entire training session. Julian summoned her—Julian, who loved

her—and watched as she mended my bloody face and bruised back.

Her eyes were sad, her cheeks hollow, her tongue missing entirely.

Taken for words spoken against the queen, for a truth no one believed.

Elara kil ed Cal’s mother, Coriane the Singer Queen. Julian’s own sister, Sara’s best friend. And no one seemed to mind. It was so much easier to look away.

Maven was there too, hating Sara with every breath. I know now

that was a crack in his shield, revealing who he truly was beneath prac-

ticed words and gentle smiles. Like Cal, I didn’t see what was right in

front of me.

Like Julian, she is probably dead already.

Suddenly the metal walls and the noise and the popping of my ears

are too much.

“I need to get off this thing.”

Despite the strange angle of the room and the persistent ringing in

my head, my feet know what to do. They have not forgotten the mud

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of the Stilts, the nights spent in alleys, or the obstacle courses of Train-

ing. I wrench the door open, gasping for breath like a girl drowned.

But the stale, filtered air of the mersive offers me no respite. I need the

smell of trees, water, spring rains, even summer heat or winter snow.

Something to remind me of the world beyond this suffocating tin can.

Cal gives me a head start before following, his footsteps heavy and

slow behind me. He’s not trying to catch up, but give me space. If only

Kilorn could do the same.

He approaches from farther down the corridor, using handholds and

wheel locks to ease himself down the angled craft. His smile fades at the

sight of Cal, replaced not by a scowl but by cold indifference. I suppose

he thinks ignoring the prince will anger him more than outright hos-

tility. Or perhaps Kilorn doesn’t want to test a human flamethrower in

such close quarters.

“We’re surfacing,” he says, reaching my side.

I tighten my grip on a nearby grate, using it to steady myself. “You

don’t say?”

Kilorn grins, leaning against the wall in front of me. He plants his

feet on either side of mine, a challenge if there ever was one. I feel Cal’s heat behind me, but the prince seems to be taking the indifferent path

as well, and says nothing.

I won’t be a piece in whatever game they’re playing. I’ve done that

enough for a lifetime. “How’s what’s-her-name? Lena?”

The name hits Kilorn like a slap. His grin slackens, one side of his

mouth drooping. “She’s fine, I guess.”

“That’s good, Kilorn.” I give him a friendly, if condescending, pat

on the shoulder. The deflection works perfectly. “We should be mak-

ing friends.”

The mersive levels out beneath us, but no one stumbles. Not even

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Cal, who has nowhere near my balance or Kilorn’s sea legs, hard earned

on a fishing boat. He’s taut as a wire, waiting for me to take the lead. It

should make me laugh, the thought of a prince deferring to me, but I’m

too cold and worn to do much of anything but carry on.

So I do. Down the corridor, with Cal and Kilorn in tow, to the

throng of Guardsmen waiting by the ladder that brought us down here

in the first place. The wounded go first, tied onto makeshift stretchers

and hoisted up into the open night. Farley supervises, her shift even

bloodier than before. She makes for a grim sight, tightening bandages

with a syringe between her teeth. A few of the worse off get shots as

they pass, medication to help with the pain of being moved up the nar-

row tube. Shade is the last of the injured, leaning heavily on the two

Guardsmen who teased Kilorn about the nurse. I would push through

to him, but the crowd is too tight, and I don’t want any more atten-

tion today. Still too weak to teleport, he has to fumble on one leg and

blushes furiously when Farley straps him into a stretcher. I can’t hear

what she says to him, but it calms him somewhat. He even waves off

her syringe, instead gritting his teeth against the jarring pain of being

hoisted up the ladder. Once Shade is safely carried up, the process goes

much faster. One after the other, Guardsmen follow each other up the

ladder, slowly clearing the corridor. Many of them are nurses, men and

women marked by white shifts with varying degrees of bloodstains.

I don’t waste time waving others ahead, faking politeness like a lady

should. We’re all going to the same place. So when the crowd clears a

little, the ladder opening to me, I hurry forward. Cal follows, and his

presence combined with mine parts the Guardsmen like a knife. They

step back quickly, some even stumbling, to give us our space. Only Far-

ley stands firm, one hand around the ladder. To my surprise, she offers

Cal and me a nod. Both of us.

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That should’ve been my first warning.

The steps on the ladder burn in my muscles, still strained from

Naercey, the arena, and my capture. I can hear a strange howling up

above, but it doesn’t deter me in the slightest. I need to get out of the

mersive, as fast as possible.

My last glimpse of the mersive, looking back over my shoulder,

is strange, angling over Farley and into the medical station. There

are wounded still in there, motionless beneath their blankets. No, not

wounded, I realize as I pull myself up. Dead.

Higher up the ladder, the wind sounds, and a bit of water drips

down. Nothing to bother with, I assume, until I reach the top and

the open circle of darkness. A storm howls so strongly that the rain

pelts sideways, missing most of the tube and ladder. It stings against

my scraped face, drenching me in seconds. Autumn storms. Though I

cannot recall a storm so brutal as this. It blows through me, filling my

mouth with rain and biting, salty spray. Luckily the mersive is tightly

anchored to a dock I can barely see, and it holds firm against the roiling

gray waves below.

“This way!” a familiar voice yells in my ear, guiding me off the

ladder and onto the mersive hull slick with rain and seawater. Through

the darkness, I can barely see the soldier leading me, but his massive

bulk and his voice are easy to place.

“Bree!” I close my hand on his, feeling the calluses of my oldest

brother’s grip. He walks like an anchor, heavy and slow, helping me off

the mersive and onto the dock. It’s not much better, metal eaten with

rust, but it leads to land and that’s all I care about. Land and warmth, a welcome respite after the cold depths of the ocean and my memories.

No one helps Cal down from the mersive, but he does fine on

his own. Again, he’s careful to keep some distance, walking a few

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respectable paces behind us. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten his first meet-

ing with Bree back in the Stilts, when my brother was anything but

polite. In truth, none of the Barrows cared for Cal, except Mom and

maybe Gisa. But they didn’t know who he was then. Should be an

interesting reunion.

The storm makes Tuck difficult to see, but I can tell the island is

small, covered in dunes and tall grass as tumultuous as the waves. A

crack of lightning out on the water illuminates the night for a moment,

showing the path in front of us. Now out in the open, without the

cramped walls of the mersive or the Undertrain, I can see we num-

ber less than thirty, including the wounded. They head for two flat,

concrete buildings where the dock meets land. A few structures stand

out on the gentle hill above us, looking like bunkers or barracks. But

what lies beyond them, I can’t say. The next bolt of lightning, closer

this time, shivers delightfully in my nerves. Bree mistakes it for cold,

and draws me closer, draping one heavy arm across my shoulders. His

weight makes it hard to walk, but I endure.

The end of the dock cannot come fast enough. Soon I’ll be inside,

dry, on solid ground, and reunited with the Barrows after far too long.

The prospect is enough to get me through the bustle of wet activity.

Nurses load the wounded onto an old transport, its storage bed covered

in waterproof canvas. It was certainly stolen, as was everything else.

The two buildings on land are hangars, their doors ajar enough to reveal

more transports waiting inside. There’s even a few boats anchored to

the dock, bobbing in the gray waves as they ride out the storm. Every-

thing is mismatched—outdated transports in varying sizes, sleek new

boats, some painted silver, black, one green. Stolen or hijacked or both.

I even recognize the clouded gray and blue, the Nortan navy colors,

on one boat. Tuck is like a much larger version of Will Whistle’s old

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wagon, packed with bits and pieces of trade and thievery.

The medical transport putters off before we reach it, fighting

through the rain and up the sandy road. Only Bree’s nonchalance keeps

me from quickening my pace. He isn’t worried about Shade, or what

lies at the top of the hill, so I try not to be too.

Cal doesn’t share my sentiment, and finally speeds up so he can

walk next to me. It’s the storm or the darkness, or maybe simply his

silver blood making him look so pale and afraid. “This can’t last,” he

mutters, low enough so only I can hear.

“What’s that, Prince?” Bree says, his voice a dull roar. I nudge him

in the ribs, but it doesn’t do much more than bruise my elbow. “No

matter, we’ll know soon enough.”

His tone is worse than his words. Cold, brutal, so unlike the laugh-

ing brother I used to know. The Guard has changed him too. “Bree,

what are you talking about?”

Cal already knows and stops in his tracks, his eyes on me. The wind

musses his hair, pasting it to his forehead. His bronze eyes darken with

fear, and my stomach churns at the sight. Not again, I plead. Tell me I haven’t walked into another trap.

One of the hangars looms behind him, its doors opening wide on

strangely quiet hinges. Too many soldiers to count step forward in uni-

son, as regimented as any legion, their guns ready and eyes bright in the

rain. Their leader might as well be a shiver, with almost white-blond

hair and an icy disposition. But he’s red-blooded as I am—one of his

eyes is clouded crimson, bleeding beneath the lens.

“Bree, what is this?!” I yell, rounding on my brother with a visceral

snarl. Instead, he takes my hands in his, and not gently. He holds me

firm, using his superior strength to keep me from pulling away. If he

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were anyone else, I would shock him good. But this is my brother. I

can’t do that to him, I won’t.

“Bree, let me go!”

“We won’t hurt him,” he says, repeating it over and over. “We’re

not going to hurt him, I promise you.”

So this isn’t my cage. But that doesn’t calm me at all. If anything, it makes me more angry and desperate.

When I look back, Cal’s fists are aflame, his arms stretched wide

to face the blood-eyed man. “Well?” he growls in challenge, sounding

more like an animal than a man. A cornered animal.

Too many guns, even for Cal. They’ll shoot him if they must. It

might even be what they want. An excuse to kill the fallen prince. Part

of me, most of me, knows they would be justified in this. Cal was a

hunter of the Scarlet Guard, essentially guaranteeing Tristan’s death,

Walsh’s suicide, and Farley’s torture. Soldiers killed at his orders, wip-

ing out most of Farley’s rebel force. And who knows how many he’s

sent to die on the war front, trading Red soldiers for a few measly miles

of the Lakelands. He owes no allegiance to the cause. He is a danger to

the Scarlet Guard.

But he is a weapon as well as I am, one we can use in the days to

come. For the newbloods, against Maven, a torch to help lift the dark-

ness.

“He can’t fight out of this, Mare.” That’s Kilorn, choosing the

worst of moments to sidle back. He whispers in my ear, acting like his

closeness can influence me. “He’ll die if he tries.”

His logic is hard to ignore.

“On your knees, Tiberias,” the blood-eyed man says, taking bold

steps toward the flaming prince. Steam rises from his fire, as if the

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storm is trying to stamp him out. “Hands behind your head.”

Cal does neither, and he flinches at the mention of his birth name.

He stands firm, strong, proud, though he knows the battle is lost.

Once he might have surrendered, trying to save his own skin. Now he

believes that skin worthless. Only I seem to think otherwise.

“Cal, do as he says.”

The wind carries my voice so that the whole hangar hears. I’m

afraid they can hear my heart too, hammering like a drum in my chest.

“Cal.”

Slowly, reluctantly, a statue crumbling to dust, Cal sinks to his

knees and his fire sputters out. He did the same thing yesterday, kneel-

ing next to his father’s decapitated corpse.

The blood-eyed man grins, his teeth gleaming and straight. He

stands over Cal with relish, enjoying the sight of a prince at his feet.

Enjoying the power it gives him.

But I am the lightning girl, and he knows nothing of true power.

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F I V E


They try to convince me it’s for the best, but their poor excuses fall on unsympathetic ears. Kilorn and Bree quickly use every argument

they’ve been told to say.

He’s dangerous, even to you. But I know better than any that Cal would never hurt me. Even when he had reason to, I feared nothing from him.

He’s one of them. We can’t trust him. After what Maven’s done to his legacy and reputation, Cal has nothing and no one but us now, even if

he refuses to admit it.

He is valuable. A general, a prince of Norta, and the most wanted man in the kingdom. That one gives me pause, and strikes a chord of fear deep down. If the blood-eyed man decides to use Cal as leverage against

Maven, to trade him or sacrifice him, it will take all I have to stop him.

All my influence, all my power—and I don’t know if it will be enough.

So I do nothing but nod along with them, slowly at first, pretend-

ing to agree. Pretending to be controlled. Pretending to be weak. I was right. Shade was warning me before. Once again, he saw the turn of the

tide long before it rolled in. Cal is power, fire made flesh, something to

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be feared and defeated. And I am lightning. What will they try to do to

me if I don’t play my part?

I have not stepped into another jail, not yet, but I can feel the key

in the lock, threatening to turn. Luckily I have experience in this kind

of thing.

The blood-eyed man and his soldiers march Cal into the hangar,

not stupid enough to try and bind his hands. But they never lower their

guns or their guard, careful to keep their distance lest one of them be

burned for their boldness. I can only watch, eyes wide but mouth shut,

when the hangar door slides closed again, separating the two of us.

They won’t kill him, not until he gives them a reason. I can only hope

Cal behaves.

“Go easy on him,” I whisper, leaning into Bree’s warmth. Even in

the cold autumn rain, he feels like a furnace. Long years fighting on the

northern front have made him immune to wet and cold. I think back to

Dad’s old saying. The war never leaves. Now I know it firsthand, though my war is very different from his.

Bree pretends not to hear me, hurrying us both from the docks.

Kilorn follows close behind, his boots catching my heels once or twice.

I resist the urge to kick him, and focus on climbing the wooden steps

leading to the barracks on the hill above. The steps are worn down,

beaten by too many feet to count. How many came this way? I wonder.

How many are here now?

We crest the hill and the island stretches out before us, revealing a

military base larger than I expected. The barracks on the ridge was one

of at least a dozen I see now, organized in two even rows separated by

a long, concrete yard. It’s flat and well-maintained, not like the steps

or the dock. There’s a white line painted down the middle of the yard,

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perfectly straight, leading away into the stormy night. What it goes to,

I have no idea.

The whole island has an air of stillness, momentarily frozen by the

storm. Come the morning, when the rain breaks and the darkness lifts,

I suppose I’ll see the base in all its glory—and finally understand the

people I’m dealing with. I’m developing a bad habit of underestimating

others, particularly where the Scarlet Guard is concerned.

And like Na