EPIGRAPH

Neverdoubtthatyouarevaluableandpowerfulanddeservingofevery

chanceandopportunityintheworldtopursueandachieveyourowndreams.

—HRC

MAP

CONTENTS

EpigraphMap

OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTenElevenTwelveThirteenFourteenFifteenSixteenSeventeenEighteenNineteenTwentyTwenty-OneTwenty-TwoTwenty-ThreeTwenty-FourTwenty-FiveTwenty-SixTwenty-SevenTwenty-EightTwenty-NineEpilogue

AcknowledgmentsBackAdsAbouttheAuthorBooksbyVictoriaAveyardCreditsCopyrightAboutthePublisher

ONEMare

Irisetomyfeetwhenheletsme.

The chain jerks me up, pulling on the thorned collar at my throat. Itspointsdig in,notenough todrawblood—notyet.But I’malreadybleedingfrom thewrists. Slowwounds,worn fromdays of unconscious captivity inrough,rippingmanacles.Thecolorstainsmywhitesleevesdarkcrimsonandbrightscarlet,fadingfromoldbloodtonewinatestamenttomyordeal.ToshowMaven’scourthowmuchI’vesufferedalready.

He stands over me, his expression unreadable. The tips of his father’scrown make him seem taller, as if the iron is growing out of his skull. Itgleams,eachpointacurlingflameofblackmetalshotwithbronzeandsilver.I focus on the bitterly familiar thing so I don’t have to look intoMaven’seyes.Hedrawsmeinanyway,tuggingonanotherchainIcan’tsee.Onlyfeel.

Onewhitehand circlesmywoundedwrist, somehowgentle. In spite ofmyself,myeyessnaptohisface,unabletostayaway.Hissmileisanythingbutkind.Slimand sharp as a razor, biting atmewith every tooth.Andhiseyesareworstofall.Hereyes,Elara’seyes.OnceIthoughtthemcold,madeoflivingice.NowIknowbetter.Thehottestfiresburnblue,andhiseyesarenoexception.

Theshadowoftheflame.Heiscertainlyablaze,butdarknesseatsathisedges.Bruise-likesplotchesofblackandbluesurroundeyesbloodshotwithsilverveins.Hehasnotslept.He’s thinner than I remember, leaner,crueler.His hair, black as a void, has reached his ears, curling at the ends, and hischeeksarestillsmooth.SometimesIforgethowyoungheis.Howyoungwebothare.Beneathmyshiftdress,theMbrandonmycollarbonestings.

Maventurnsquickly,mychaintightinhisfist,forcingmetomovewithhim.Amooncirclingaplanet.

“Bear witness to this prisoner, this victory,” he says, squaring hisshoulders to the vast audience before us. Three hundred Silvers at least,noblesandcivilians,guardsandofficers.I’mpainfullyawareoftheSentinelsontheedgeofmyvision,theirfieryrobesaconstantreminderofmyquickly

shrinking cage.MyArven guards are never out of sight either, their whiteuniforms blinding, their silencing ability suffocating. I might choke on thepressureoftheirpresence.

Theking’svoiceechoesacross theopulentstretchesofCaesar’sSquare,reverberating through a crowd that responds in kind. There must bemicrophones and speakers somewhere, to carry the king’s bitter wordsthroughoutthecity,andnodoubttherestofthekingdom.

“Here is the leader of theScarletGuard,MareBarrow.” In spite ofmypredicament,Ialmostsnort.Leader.Hismother’sdeathhasnotstemmedhislies. “Amurderer, a terrorist, a great enemy to our kingdom.And now shekneelsbeforeus,baretoherblood.”

Thechainjerksagain,sendingmescuttlingforward,armsoutstretchedtocatchmybalance.Ireactdully,eyesdowncast.Somuchpageantry.AngerandshamecurlthroughmeasIrealizetheamountofdamagethissimpleactwilldototheScarletGuard.RedsacrossNortawillwatchmedanceonMaven’sstrings and think us weak, defeated, unworthy of their attention, effort, orhope.Nothingcouldbefurtherfromthetruth.Butthereisn’tanythingIcando,notnow,nothere,standingontheknifeedgeofMaven’smercy.IwonderaboutCorvium, themilitarycitywe sawburningonourway to theChoke.There was rioting after my broadcast message. Was it the first gasp ofrevolution—orthelast?Ihavenowayofknowing.AndIdoubtanyonewillbothertobringmeanewspaper.

Calwarnedmeagainstthethreatofcivilwaralongtimeago,beforehisfatherdied,beforehewasleftwithnothingbutatempestuouslightninggirl.Rebelliononbothsides,hesaid.Butstandinghere, leashedbeforeMaven’scourtandhisSilverkingdom,Iseenodivision.EventhoughIshowedthem,told them ofMaven’s prison, of their loved ones taken away, of their trustbetrayedbyakingandhismother—Iamstill theenemyhere. Itmakesmewanttoscream,butIknowbetter.Maven’svoicewillalwaysbelouderthanmine.

AreMomandDadwatching? The thought of it brings a freshwave ofsorrow,andIbitehardagainstmyliptokeepmoretearsatbay.Iknowthereare video cameras nearby, focused on my face. Even if I can’t feel themanymore,Iknow.Mavenwouldnotmisstheopportunitytoimmortalizemydownfall.

Aretheyabouttoseemedie?

Thecollartellsmeno.Whybotherwiththisspectacleifhe’sjustgoingto

killme?Anothermightfeelrelieved,butmyinsidesturncoldwithfear.Hewillnotkillme.NotMaven.Ifeelitinhistouch.Hislong,palefingersstillclingtomywrist,whilehisotherhandstillholdsmyleash.Evennow,whenIam painfully his, hewon’t let go. Iwould prefer death to this cage, to thetwistedobsessionofamadboyking.

Irememberhisnotes,eachoneendingwiththesamestrangelament.

Untilwemeetagain.

He continues speaking, but his voice dulls inmy head, the whine of ahornetcomingtooclose,makingeverynervestandonedge.I lookovermyshoulder.Myeyesdriftthroughthecrowdofcourtiersbehindus.Allofthemstandproudandvileintheirmourningblack.LordVoloofHouseSamosandhis son, Ptolemus, are splendid in polished, ebony armorwith scaled silversashesfromhiptoshoulder.Atthesightofthelatter,Iseescarlet,ragingred.I fight theurge to lungeandrip theskinfromPtolemus’s face.TostabhimthroughhisheartthewayhedidmybrotherShade.Thedesireshows,andhehas the spine to smirk at me. If not for the collar and the silent guardsrestrictingeverythingIam,Iwouldturnhisbonestosmokingglass.

Somehowhis sister, an enemyof somanymonths ago, isn’t looking atme.Evangeline,hergownspikedwithblackcrystal,isevertheglitteringstarof such a violent constellation. I suppose she’ll be queen soon, havingsufferedherbetrothaltoMavenlongenough.Hergazeisontheking’sback,darkeyesfixedwithburningfocusonthenapeofhisneck.Abreezepicksup,stirringherglossycurtainofsilverhair,blowingitbackfromhershoulders,butshedoesn’tblink.Onlyafteralongmomentdoessheseemtonoticemestaring. And even then, her eyes barely flick to mine. They are empty offeeling.Iamnolongerworthyofherattention.

“MareBarrowisaprisonerofthecrown,andshewillfacethecrownandcouncil’sjudgment.Hermanycrimesmustbeansweredfor.”

Withwhat?Iwonder.

The crowd roars in response, cheering his decree.They areSilvers, but“common,” not of noble descent. While they revel in Maven’s words, hiscourtdoesnotreact.Infact,someofthemturngray,angry,stone-faced.Nonemore so than HouseMerandus, their mourning garb slashed with the darkblue of the dead queen’swretched colors.While Evangeline did not noticeme, they fixonmy facewith startling intensity.Eyesof burningblue fromeverydirection. I expect to hear theirwhispers inmyhead, a dozenvoicesburrowing likeworms througha rottenapple. Instead, there isonly silence.

PerhapstheArvenofficersflankingmearenot just jailers,butprotectorsaswell,smotheringmyabilityaswellastheabilitiesofanyonewhowouldusethemagainstme.Maven’sorders,Iassume.Nooneelsemayhurtmehere.

Noonebuthim.

But everything hurts already. It hurts to stand, hurts to move, hurts tothink.Fromthejetcrash,fromthesounder,fromthecrushingweightofthesilencing guards. And those are only physical wounds. Bruises. Fractures.Painsthatwillhealifgiventhetime.Thesamecannotbesaidoftherest.Mybrother isdead. Iamaprisoner.AndIdon’tknowwhat reallyhappened tomy friendshowevermanydaysagowhen I struck thisdevil’sbargain.Cal,Kilorn,Cameron,mybrothersBree andTramy.We left thembehind in theclearing,buttheywerewounded,immobilized,vulnerable.Mavencouldhavesentanynumberofassassinsback tofinishwhathestarted. I tradedmyselfforthemall,andIdon’tevenknowifitworked.

MavenwouldtellmeifIaskedhim.Icanseeitinhisface.Hiseyesdartto mine after every vile sentence, punctuating every lie performed for hisadoring subjects. To make sure I’m watching, paying attention, looking athim.Likethechildheis.

Iwillnotbeghim.Nothere.Notlikethis.Ihaveprideenoughforthat.

“Mymother and father died fighting these animals,” he rails on. “Theygavetheirlivestokeepthiskingdomwhole,tokeepyousafe.”

DefeatedasIam,Ican’thelpbutglareatMaven,meetinghisfirewithahiss ofmy own.We both remember his father’s death. Hismurder. QueenElarawhisperedherwayintoCal’sbrain,turningtheking’sbelovedheirintoa deadly weapon. Maven and I watched as Cal was forced to become hisfather’skiller,cuttingofftheking’sheadandanychanceCalhadofruling.Ihaveseenmanyhorriblethingssincethen,andstillthememoryhauntsme.

Idon’tremembermuchofwhathappenedtothequeenoutsidethewallsofCorrosPrison.The state of her body afterwardwas testament enough towhatunbridledlightningcandotohumanflesh.IknowIkilledherwithoutquestion,withoutremorse,withoutregret.MyravagingstormfedbyShade’ssudden death. The last clear image I have of the Corros battle is of himfalling, his heart pierced by Ptolemus’s needle of cold, unforgiving steel.SomehowPtolemusescapedmyblindrage,butthequeendidnot.AtleasttheColonelandImadesuretheworldknewwhathappenedtoher,displayinghercorpseduringourbroadcast.

IwishMavenhadsomeofherability,sohecouldlookintomyheadand

seeexactlywhatkindofendingIgavehismother.IwanthimtofeelthepainoflossasterriblyasIdo.

His eyes are on me as he finishes his memorized speech, one handoutstretchedtobetterdisplaythechainbindingmetohim.Everythinghedoesismethodical,performedforanimage.

“I pledge myself to do the same, to end the Scarlet Guard and themonsterslikeMareBarrow,ordieintheattempt.”

Die,then,Iwanttoscream.

Theroarofthecrowddrownsoutmythoughts.Hundredscheeron theirkingandhistyranny.Icriedonthewalkacrossthebridge,inthefaceofsomanyblamingmefortheirlovedones’deaths.Icanstillfeelthetearsdryingonmycheeks.NowIwanttoweepagain,notinsadness,butanger.Howcantheybelievethis?Howcantheystomachtheselies?

Like a doll, I am turned from the sight.With the last ofmy strength, Icranemy neck over one shoulder, hunting for the cameras, the eyes of theworld. Seeme, I beg. See how he lies. My jaw tightens, my eyes narrow,paintingwhat I pray is apictureof resilience, rebellion, and rage. I am thelightninggirl.Iamastorm.Itfeelslikealie.Thelightninggirlisdead.

ButitisthelastthingIcandoforthecause,andforthepeopleIlovestilloutthere.Theywillnotseemestumbleinthisfinalmoment.No,Iwillstand.AndthoughIhavenoideahow,Ihavetokeepfighting,evenhereinthebellyofthebeast.

Anothertugforcesmetospinaroundtofacethecourt.ColdSilversstareback,theirskinundertonedbyblueandblackandpurpleandgray,leachedoflife,withveinsofsteelanddiamondratherthanblood.Theyfocusnotonme,butonMavenhimself.InthemIfindmyanswer.InthemIseehunger.

For a split second, I pity the boy king alone on his throne. Then, deepdown,Ifeeltheteasingbreathofhope.

Oh,Maven.Whatamessyou’rein.

Icanonlywonderwhowillstrikefirst.

TheScarletGuard—or the lords and ladies ready to slitMaven’s throatandtakeeverythinghismotherdiedfor.

HehandsmyleashovertooneoftheArvensassoonaswefleetheWhitefiresteps,retreatingintotheyawningentrancehallofthepalace.Strange.Hewassofixatedongettingmeback,onputtingmeintohiscage,buthetossesmy

chains awaywithout somuch as a glance.Coward, I tellmyself. He can’tbringhimselftolookatmewhenitisn’tforspectacle.

“Did you keep your promise?” I demand, breathless.My voice soundsraspyfromdaysofdisuse.“Areyouamanofyourword?”

Hedoesn’tanswer.

The rest of the court falls in behind us. Their lines and rows are wellpracticed,basedonthecomplicatedintricaciesofstatusandrank.OnlyIamout of place, the first one to follow the king, walking a few steps behindwhereaqueenshouldbe.Icouldnotbefurtherfromthetitle.

Iglanceatthelargerofmyjailers,hopingtoseesomethingbesidesblindloyaltyinhim.Hewearsawhiteuniform,thick,bulletproof,zippedtightuphis throat. Gloves, gleaming. Not silk, but plastic—rubber. I flinch at thesight.Despitetheirsilencingability,theArvenswon’ttakeanychanceswithme. Even if I manage to slip a spark past their continuous onslaught, thegloveswillprotecttheirhandsandallowthemtokeepmecollared,chained,caged.ThebigArvendoesn’tmeetmygaze,hiseyesfocusedaheadwhilehislipspurseinconcentration.Theotherisjustthesame,flankingmeinperfectstepwithhisbrotherorcousin.Theirnakedscalpsgleam,andI’mremindedof Lucas Samos. My kind guard, my friend, who was executed because Iexisted,andbecause Iusedhim. Iwas lucky then, thatCalgavemesuchadecentSilvertokeepmeprisoner.And,Irealize,Iamluckynow.Indifferentguardswillbeeasierformetokill.

Becausetheymustdie.Somehow.Someway.IfIamtoescape,ifIwanttoreclaimmylightning,theyarethefirstobstacles.Therestareeasytoguess.Maven’sSentinels,theotherguardsandofficerspostedthroughoutthepalace,andofcourseMavenhimself.I’mnotleavingthisplaceunlessIleavebehindhiscorpse—ormine.

I think about killing him. Wrapping my chain around his neck andsqueezing the life fromhisbody. Ithelpsme ignore the fact thateverysteptakesmedeeperintothepalace,overwhitemarble,pastgilded,soaringwalls,beneathadozenchandelierswithcrystallightscarvedofflame.AsbeautifulandcoldasIremember.Aprisonofgoldenlocksanddiamondbars.AtleastIwon’thavetofaceitsmostviolentanddangerouswarden.Theoldqueenisdead.Still,Ishiveratthethoughtofher.ElaraMerandus.Hershadowghoststhroughmy head. Once she tore throughmymemories. Now she’s one ofthem.

An armored figure cuts throughmy glare, sidling aroundmy guards to

plant himself between the king and me. He keeps pace with us, a doggedguardian even though he doesn’t wear the robes or mask of a Sentinel. IsupposeheknowsI’mthinkingaboutstranglingMaven.Ibitemylip,bracingmyselfforthesharpstingofawhisper’sassault.

Butno,heisnotofHouseMerandus.Hisarmorisobsidiandark,hishairsilver,hisskinmoonwhite.Andhiseyes,whenhelooksoverhisshoulderatme—hiseyesareemptyandblack.

Ptolemus.

I lungeteethfirst,notknowingwhatI’mdoing,notcaring.SolongasIleavemymark.IwonderifSilverbloodtastesdifferentfromRed.

Ineverfindout.

Mycollarsnapsbackward,pullingmesoviolentlymyspinearchesandIcrashtothefloor.AbitharderandIwould’vebrokenmyneck.Thecrackofmarble on skullmakes theworld spin, but not enough to keepme down. Iscramble,mysightnarrowingtoPtolemus’sarmoredlegs,nowturningtofaceme.AgainIlurchforthem,andagainthecollarpullsmeback.

“Enoughofthis,”Mavenhisses.

Hestandsoverme,haltingtowatchmypoorattemptstorepayPtolemus.Therestoftheprocessionhasstoppedtoo,manycrowdingforwardtoseethetwistedRedratfightinvain.

Thecollarseemstotighten,andIgulpagainstit,reachingformythroat.

Maven keeps his eyes on the metal as it shrinks. “Evangeline, I saidenough.”

Despitethepain,Iturntoseeheratmyback,onefistclenchedatherside.Like him, she stares atmy collar. It pulses as itmoves. Itmustmatch herheartbeat.

“Letmelooseher,”shesays,andIwonderifImisheard.“Letmelooseherrighthere.Dismissherguards,andI’llkillher,lightningandall.”

Isnarlbackather,everyinchthebeasttheythinkIam.“Tryit,”Itellher,wishingwith allmyheart thatMavenwould agree.Evenwithmywounds,mydaysofsilence,andmyyearsofinferioritytothemagnetrongirl,Iwantwhatsheoffers.Ibeatherbefore.Icandoitagain.Itisachance,atleast.AbetterchancethanIcouldeverhopefor.

Maven’seyessnapfrommycollartohisbetrothed,hisfacefallingintoatight,searingscowl.Iseesomuchofhismotherinhim.“Areyouquestioning

theordersofyourking,LadyEvangeline?”

Herteethflashbetweenlipspaintedpurple.Hershroudofcourtlymannerthreatens to fall away,butbefore shecan say something trulydamning,herfathershiftsjustso,hisarmbrushingherown.Hismessageisclear:Obey.

“No,”shegrowls,meaningyes.Herneckbends,incliningherhead.“YourMajesty.”

Thecollarreleases,wideningbacktosizearoundmyneck.Itmightevenbelooserthanbefore.SmallblessingthatEvangelineisnotsometiculousasshestrivestoappear.

“MareBarrowisaprisonerofthecrown,andthecrownwilldowithherasitseesfit,”Mavensays,hisvoicecarryingpasthisvolatilebride.Hiseyessweepthroughtherestofthecourt,makinghisintentionsclear.“Deathistoogoodforher.”

Alowmurmurripplesthroughthenobles.Iheartonesofopposition,butevenmoreagreement.Strange.Ithoughtallofthemwouldwantmeexecutedintheworstway,strunguptofeedvulturesandbleedawaywhatevergroundtheScarletGuardhasgained.ButIsupposetheywantworsefatesforme.

Worsefates.

That’swhatJonsaidbefore.Whenhesawwhatmyfutureheld,wheremypathled.Heknewthiswascoming.Knew,andtoldtheking.BoughtaplaceatMaven’ssidewithmybrother’slifeandmyfreedom.

I find Jon standing in the crowd, given awide berth by the others.Hiseyesarered,livid;hishairprematurelygrayandtiedintoaneattail.AnothernewbloodpetforMavenCalore,butthisonewearsnochainsthatIcansee.BecausehehelpedMavenstopourmissiontosavealegionofchildrenbeforeitcouldevenbegin.ToldMavenourpathsandourfuture.Gift-wrappedmefortheboyking.Betrayedusall.

Jonisalreadystaringatme,ofcourse.Idon’texpectanapologyforwhathedid,anddonotreceiveone.

“Whataboutinterrogation?”

AvoiceIdonotrecognizesoundstomyleft.Still,Iknowhisface.

SamsonMerandus. An arena fighter, a savage whisper, a cousin to thedeadqueen.Heshouldershiswaytowardme,andIcan’thelpbutflinch.InanotherlifeIsawhimmakehisarenaopponentstabhimselftodeath.Kilornsatbymysideandwatched,cheering,enjoyingthelasthoursofhisfreedom.

Thenhismasterdied,andourentireworldshifted.Ourpathschanged.AndnowIsprawlacrossflawlessmarble,coldandbleeding,lessthanadogatthefeetofaking.

“Is she too good for interrogation, Your Majesty?” Samson continues,pointing onewhite hand inmy direction. He catchesme beneath the chin,forcing me to look up. I fight the urge to bite him. I don’t need to giveEvangelineanotherexcusetochokeme.“Thinkofwhatshe’sseen.Whatsheknows.She’stheirleader—andthekeytounravelingherwretchedkind.”

He’swrong,butstillmyheartbeatthrumsinmychest.Iknowenoughtobeofgreatdamage.Tuckflashesbeforemyeyes,aswellastheColonelandthe twins from Montfort. The infiltration of the legions. The cities. TheWhistlesacrossthecountry,nowferryingrefugeestosafety.Precioussecretscarefullykept,andsoontoberevealed.Howmanywillmyknowledgeputindanger?Howmanywilldiewhentheycrackmeopen?

Andthat’s justmilitaryintelligence.Worsestillare thedarkpartsofmyownmind. The corners where I keep my worst demons.Maven is one ofthem.TheprinceIrememberedandlovedandwishedwerereal.Thenthere’sCal. What I’ve done to keep him, what I’ve ignored, and what lies I tellmyselfabouthisallegiances.Myshameandmymistakeseataway,gnawingonmyroots.Ican’tletSamson—orMaven—seesuchthingsinsideme.

Please,Iwanttobeg.Mylipsdonotmove.AsmuchasIhateMaven,asmuch as Iwant to see him suffer, I knowhe’s the best chance I have.Butpleading formercy before his strongest allies andworst enemies will onlyweakenanalready-weakking.SoIkeepquiet,tryingtoignoreSamson’sgriponmyjaw,focusingonlyonMaven’sface.

Hiseyesfindmineforthelongestandshortestofmoments.

“Youhaveyourorders,”hesaysbrusquely,noddingtomyguards.

Theirgripisfirmbutnotbruisingastheyliftmetomyfeet,usinghandsandchainstoguidemeoutofthecrowd.Ileavethemallbehind.Evangeline,Ptolemus,Samson,andMaven.

He turnsonhisheel, heading in theoppositedirection, toward theonlythinghehaslefttokeephimwarm.

Athroneoffrozenflames.

TWOMare

Iamneveralone.

The jailers donot leave.Always two, alwayswatching, alwayskeepingwhat I am silent and suppressed. They don’t need anything more than alockeddoortomakemeaprisoner.NotthatIcanevengetclosetothedoorwithout being manhandled back to the center of my bedchamber. They’restrongerthanIam,andforevervigilant.Myonlyescapefromtheireyesisthesmallbathroom,achamberofwhitetileandgoldenfixings,withaforbiddinglineofSilentStonealongthefloor.Thereareenoughofthepearlygrayslabstomakemyheadpoundandmythroatconstrict.Ihavetobequickinthere,and make use of every strangling second. The sensation reminds me ofCameron and her ability. She can kill someone with the strength of hersilence. As much as I hate my guards’ constant vigil, I will not risksuffocatingonabathroomfloorforafewextraminutesofpeace.

Funny, I used to thinkmygreatest fearwasbeing left alone.Now I amanythingbut,andI’veneverbeenmoreterrified.

Ihavenotfeltmylightninginfourdays.

Five.

Six.

Seventeen.

Thirty-one.

I notch each day in the baseboard next to the bed, using a fork to dig thepassingtime.Itfeelsgoodtoleavemymark,toinflictmyownsmallinjuryontheprisonofWhitefirePalace.TheArvensdon’tmind.Theyignoremeforthemostpart,focusedonlyontotalandabsolutesilence.Theykeeptotheirplacesbythedoor,seatedlikestatueswithlivingeyes.

This is not the same room I slept in the last time I was at Whitefire.Obviouslyitwouldn’tbepropertohousearoyalprisonerinthesameplaceasa royalbride.But I’mnot inacelleither.Mycage iscomfortableandwellfurnished,with a plush bed, a bookshelf stockedwith boring tomes, a few

chairs, a table to eat at, even fine curtains, all in neutral shades of gray,brown,andwhite.Leachedofcolor,astheArvensleachpowerfromme.

Islowlygetusedtosleepingalone,butnightmaresplaguemewithoutCaltokeep themaway.Withoutsomeonewhocares forme.Every timeIwakeup, I touch the earrings dotting my ear, naming each stone. Bree, Tramy,Shade,Kilorn.Brothersinbloodandbond.Threeliving,oneaghost.IwishIhadanearring tomatch theoneIgaveGisa,soIcouldhaveapieceofhertoo.Idreamofhersometimes.Nothingconcrete,butflashesofherface,herhairredanddarkasspilledblood.Herwordshauntmelikenothingelse.Onedaypeoplearegoingtocomeandtakeeverythingyouhave.Shewasright.

There are nomirrors, not even in the bathroom. But I knowwhat thisplace isdoing tome.Despite theheartymealsand the lackofexercise,myface feels thinner.Mybonescutbeneath skin, sharper thaneveras Iwaste.Thereisn’tmuchmoretodothansleeporreadoneofthevolumesonNortantax code, but still, exhaustion set in days ago.Bruises blossom from everytouch.AndthecollarfeelshoteventhoughIspendmydayscold,shivering.Itcouldbeafever.Icouldbedying.

NotthatIhaveanyonetotell.Ibarelyevenspeakthroughthedays.Thedooropensforfoodandwater,forthechangeinmyjailers,andnothingmore.IneverseeaRedmaidorservant,thoughtheymustexist.Instead,theArvensretrievemeals,linens,andclothesdepositedoutside,bringingtheminformetouse.Theycleanupaswell,grimacingastheyperformsuchalowlytask.Isuppose lettingaRed inmyroomis toodangerous.The thoughtmakesmesmile. So the Scarlet Guard is still a threat, enough to warrant such rigidprotocolthatevenservantsaren’tallowednearme.

But then, it seemsnooneelse iseither.Noonecomes togawkorgloatoverthelightninggirl.NotevenMaven.

TheArvensdonottalktome.Theydon’ttellmetheirnames.SoIgivethemsomeofmyown.Kitten,theolderwomansmallerthanme,withatinyfaceandkeen,sharpeyes.Egg,hisheadround,white,andbaldliketherestofhis guardian kin. Trio has three lines tattooed down his neck, like thedragging of perfect claws. And green-eyed Clover, a girl near my age,unwaveringinherduties.Sheistheonlyonewhodareslookmeintheeye.

When I first realized Maven wanted me back, I expected pain, ordarkness,orboth.Mostofall Iexpectedtoseehimandenduremytormentunderhisblazingeyes.ButIreceivenothing.NotsincethedayIarrivedandwasforcedtokneel.Hetoldmethenhewouldputmybodyondisplay.But

no executioners have come. Neither have the whispers, men like SamsonMerandusandthedeadqueen,toprymyheadopenandunspoolmythoughts.Ifthisismypunishment,itisaboringone.Mavenhasnoimagination.

Therearestill thevoicesinmyhead,andsomany,toomanymemories.Theycutwithablade’sedge.Itrytodullthepainwithevendullerbooks,butthe words swim before my eyes, letters rearranging until all I see are thenames of the people I left behind. The living and the dead. And always,everywhere,Shade.

Ptolemusmighthavekilledmybrother,butIwastheonetoputShadeinhispath.BecauseIwasselfish,thinkingmyselfsomekindofsavior.Because,onceagain,IputmytrustinsomeoneIshouldn’thaveandtradedlivesasagambler doesplaying cards.But you liberated a prison. You freed somanypeople—andyousavedJulian.

Aweakthought,anevenweakerconsolation.IknownowwhatthecostofCorrosPrisonwas.AndeverydayIcometotermswiththefactthat,ifgiventhechoice,Iwouldnotpayitagain.NotforJulian,notforahundredlivingnewbloods.Iwouldn’tsaveanyofthemwithShade’slife.

And it was all the same in the end.Maven had askedme to return formonths,beggingwitheverybloodstainednote.Hehadhopedtobuymewithcorpses, with the bodies of the dead. But I’d thought there was no trade Iwouldmake,notevenforathousandinnocentlives.NowIwishI’ddoneasheasked longago.Beforehe thought to come for theones I trulycare for,knowing I would save them. Knowing that Cal, Kilorn, my family—theywere the only bargain I was willing to make. For their lives, I gaveeverything.

I guess he knows better than to torture me. Even with the sounder, amachinemade to usemy lightning againstme, to split me apart, nerve bynerve.

Myagonyisuselesstohim.Hismothertaughthimwell.Myonlycomfortisknowingthattheyoungkingiswithouthisviciouspuppeteer.WhileIamkept here, watched day and night, he is alone at the head of a kingdom,withoutElaraMerandustoguidehishandandprotecthisback.

It’sbeenamonthsinceI’vetastedfreshair,andalmostaslongsinceIsawanythingbuttheinsideofmyroomandthenarrowviewmysinglewindowaffords.

Thewindowlooksoutoveracourtyardgarden,wellpastdeadattheendofautumn. Itsgroveof trees is twistedbygreenwardenhands. In leaf, they

mustlookmarvelous:averdantcrownofblossomswithspiraling,impossiblebranches.Butbare,thegnarledoaks,elms,andbeechescurlintotalons;theirdry, dead fingers scraping against one another like bones. The courtyard isabandoned,forgotten.Justlikeme.

No,Igrowltomyself.

Theotherswillcomeforme.

I dare to hope. My stomach lurches every time the door opens. For amoment, I expect to see Cal or Kilorn or Farley, perhaps Nanny wearinganotherperson’sface.TheColonel,even.NowIwouldweeptoseehisscarleteye.Butnoonecomesforme.Nooneiscomingforme.

It’scrueltogivehopewherenoneshouldbe.

AndMavenknowsit.

Asthesunsetsonthethirty-firstday,Iunderstandwhathemeanstodo.

Hewantsmetorot.Tofade.Tobeforgotten.

Outsideinthecourtyardofbones,earlysnowdriftsinflurriesbornofaniron-graysky.Theglassiscoldtothetouch,butitrefusestofreeze.

SowillI.

Thesnowoutsideisperfectinthemorninglight,acrustofwhitegildingbarertrees. It’llmelt by afternoon.Bymycount, it’sDecember11.Acold, gray,deadtimeintheechobetweenautumnandwinter.Thetruesnowswon’tsetinuntilnextmonth.

Backhomeweusedtojumpofftheporchintosnowdrifts,evenafterBreebroke his leg when he landed on a buried pile of firewood. Cost Gisa amonth’swagestogethimfixedup,andIhadtostealmostofthesuppliesourso-calleddoctorneeded.ThatwasthewinterbeforeBreewasconscripted,thelasttimeourentirefamilywastogether.Thelasttime.Forever.We’llneverbewholeagain.

Mom and Dad are with the Guard. Gisa and my living brothers too.They’re safe. They’re safe. They’re safe. I repeat the words as I do everymorning.Theyareacomfort,eveniftheymightnotbetrue.

Slowly, I push awaymy plate of breakfast. The now-familiar spread ofsugaryoatmeal,fruit,andtoastholdsnocomfortforme.

“Finished,”Isayoutofhabit,knowingnoonewillreply.

Kittenisalreadyatmyside,sneeringatthehalf-eatenfood.Shepicksup

theplateasonewouldabug,holdingitatarm’slengthtocarryittothedoor.I raise my eyes quickly, hoping for a single glimpse of the antechamberoutsidemyroom.Likealways,it’sempty,andmyheartsinks.Shedropstheplateonthefloorwithaclatter,maybebreakingit,butthat’snotherconcern.Someservantwillcleanitup.Thedoorshutsbehindher,andKittenreturnstoherseat.Triooccupiestheotherchair,hisarmscrossed,eyesunblinkingashestares atmy torso. I can feel his ability and hers. They feel like a blanketwrapped too tight, keepingmy lightning pinned and hidden, far away in aplacewhereIcannotevenbegintogo.Itmakesmewanttotearmyskinoff.

Ihateit.Ihateit.

I.Hate.It.

Smash.

I throwmywater glass against the oppositewall, letting it splatter andsplinteragainsthorriblegraypaint.Neitherofmyguardsflinches.Idothisalot.

Andithelps.Foraminute.Maybe.

Ifollowtheusualschedule,theoneI’vedevelopedoverthelastmonthofcaptivity.Wake up. Immediately regret it.Receive breakfast. Lose appetite.Have food taken away. Immediately regret it. Throw water. Immediatelyregretit.Stripbedlinens.Mayberipupthesheets,sometimeswhileshouting.Immediately regret it.Attempt to read a book. Stare outwindow.Stare outwindow.Stareoutwindow.Receivelunch.Repeat.

I’maverybusygirl.

OrIguessIshouldsaywoman.

Eighteen is the arbitrary divide between child and adult. And I turnedeighteenweeksago.November17.Notthatanyoneknewornoticed.IdoubttheArvenscarethattheirchargeisanotheryearolder.Onlyonepersoninthisprisonpalacewould.Andhedidnotvisit,tomyrelief.It’sthesingleblessingtomy captivity.While I am held here, surrounded by theworst people I’lleverknow,Idon’thavetosufferhispresence.

Untiltoday.

The utter silence aroundme shatters, notwith an explosion, butwith aclick.Thefamiliar turnof thedoor lock.Offschedule,withoutwarrant.Myhead snaps to the sound, as do theArvens’, their concentrationbreaking insurprise.Adrenalinebleedsintomyveins,drivenbymysuddenlythrumming

heart.Inthesplitsecond,Idaretohopeagain.Idreamofwhocouldbeontheothersideofthedoor.

Mybrothers.Farley.Kilorn.

Cal.

I want it to be Cal. I want his fire to consume this place and all thesepeoplewhole.

But theman standing on the other side is no one I recognize.Only hisclothes are familiar—black uniform, silver detailing. A Security officer,nameless and unimportant.He steps intomy prison, holding the door openwith his back.More of his like gather outside the doorway, darkening theantechamberwiththeirpresence.

TheArvensjumptotheirfeet,justassurprisedasIam.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Triosneers.It’sthefirsttimeI’veeverheardhisvoice.

Kittendoesassheis trainedtodo,steppingbetweenmeandtheofficer.Another burst of silence knocks intome, fed by her fear and confusion. Itcrasheslikeawave,eatingatthelittlebitsofstrengthIstillhaveleft.Istayrootedinmychair,loathtofalldowninfrontofotherpeople.

TheSecurityofficersaysnothing,staringatthefloor.Waiting.

Sheenters inreply, inagownmadeofneedles.Hersilverhairhasbeencombed and braidedwith gems in the fashion of the crown she hungers towear. I shudder at the sight of her, perfect and cold and sharp, a queen inbearingifnotyettitle.Becauseshe’sstillnotaqueen.Icantell.

“Evangeline,”Imurmur,tryingtohidethetremorsinmyvoice,bothfromfear and disuse. Her black eyes pass over me with all the tenderness of acrackingwhip.Headtotoeandbackagain,notingeveryimperfection,everyweakness.Iknowtherearemany.Finallyhergazelandsonmycollar,takinginthepointedmetaledges.Herlipcurlsindisgust,andalsohunger.Howeasyitwouldbeforhertosqueeze,todrivethepointsofthecollarintomythroatandbleedmebone-dry.

“LadySamos,youarenotpermittedtobehere,”Kittensays,stillstandingbetweenus.I’msurprisedbyherboldness.

Evangeline’seyesflickertomyguard,hersneerspreading.“YouthinkIwoulddisobeytheking,mybetrothed?”Sheforcesacoldlaugh.“Iamhereonhisorders.Hecommandsthepresenceoftheprisoneratcourt.Now.”

Eachwordstings.Amonthofimprisonmentsuddenlyseemsfartooshort.PartofmewantstograbontothetableandforceEvangelinetodragmeoutofmycage.Butevenisolationhasnotbrokenmypride.Notyet.

Notever,Iremindmyself.SoIstandonweaklimbs,jointsaching,handsquivering.AmonthagoIattackedEvangeline’sbrotherwithlittlemorethanmyteeth. I try tosummonasmuchof that fireas Ican, ifonly tostandupstraight.

Kittenkeepsherground,unmoving.Herhead tips toTrio, lockingeyeswithhercousin.“Wehadnoword.Thisisnotprotocol.”

Again Evangeline laughs, showing white, gleaming teeth. Her smile isbeautifulandviolentasablade.“Areyourefusingme,GuardArven?”Asshespeaks,herhandswandertoherdress,runningperfectwhiteskinthroughtheforestofneedles.Bitsof it stick toher likeamagnet, and shecomesawaywith a handful of spikes. She palms the clinging slivers of metal, patient,waiting, one eyebrow raised. The Arvens know better than to extend theircrushingsilencetoaSamosdaughter,letalonethefuturequeen.

The pair of them exchange wordless glances, clearly coming down oneither side of Evangeline’s question. Trio furrows his brow, glaring, andfinallyKittensighsaloud.Shestepsaway.Shebacksdown.

“AchoiceI’llnotforget,”Evangelinemurmurs.

I feelexposedbeforeher,alone in frontofherpiercingeyesdespite theother guards and officers looking on. Evangeline knowsme, knowswhat Iam,what I can do. I almost killed her in the Bowl of Bones, but she ran,afraidofmeandmylightning.Sheiscertainlynotafraidnow.

Deliberate, I take a step forward. Toward her. Toward the blissfulemptinessthatsurroundsher,allowingherability.Anotherstep.Intothefreeair, intoelectricity.WillIfeelit immediately?Willitcomerushingback?Itmust.Ithasto.

Buthersneerbleedsintoasmile.Shematchesmypace,movingback,andIalmostsnarl.“Notsofast,Barrow.”

It’sthefirsttimeshe’seversaidmyrealname.

Shesnapsherfingers,pointingatKitten.“Bringheralong.”

Theydragme like theydid the firstdayIarrived,chainedat thecollar,myleashtightlygraspedinKitten’sfist.HersilenceandTrio’scontinue,beatinglikeadruminmyskull.ThelongwalkthroughWhitefirefeelslikesprinting

miles,thoughwemoveataneasypace.Asbefore,Iamnotblindfolded.Theydon’tbothertotrytoconfuseme.

I recognizemore andmore as we get closer to our destination, cuttingdown passages and galleries I explored freely a lifetime ago. Back then Ididn’tfeeltheneedtosortthem.NowIdomybesttomapthepalaceinmyhead. I’ll certainlyneed toknow its layout if I everplan toget out of herealive.Mybedchamberfaceseast,anditisonthefifthfloor;thatmuchIknowfrom counting windows. I remember Whitefire is shaped like interlockingsquares,witheachwingsurroundingacourtyardliketheonemyroomlooksout on. The view out the tall, arched windows changes with every newpassageway.A courtyard garden,Caesar’s Square, the long stretches of thetraining yard where Cal drilled with his soldiers, the distant walls and therebuilt Bridge of Archeon beyond. Thankfully we never pass through theresidences where I found Julian’s journal, where I watched Cal rage andMavenquietlyscheme.I’msurprisedbyhowmanymemoriestherestofthepalaceholds,despitemyshorttimehere.

We pass a block of windows on a landing, looking west across thebarracks to the Capital River and the other half of the city beyond it. TheBowlofBonesnestlesamong thebuildings, itshulking form too familiar. Iknow this view. I stood in front of thesewindowswithCal. I lied to him,knowinganattackwouldcomethatnight.ButIdidn’tknowwhatitwoulddoto either of us. Cal whispered then that he wished things were different. Isharethelament.

Cameras must follow our progress, though I can no longer feel them.Evangelinesaysnothingaswedescendto themainfloorof thepalacewithherofficersintow,aflockingtroopofblackbirdsaroundametalswan.Musicechoesfromsomewhere.Itpulseslikeaswollenandheavyheart.I’veneverheard such music before, not even at the ball I attended or during Cal’sdancing lessons. It has a life of its own, something dark and twisting andoddlyinviting.Aheadofme,Evangeline’sshouldersstiffenatthesound.

Thecourt level isoddlyempty,withonlyafewguardspostedalongthepassages.Guards,notSentinels,whowillbewithMaven.Evangelinedoesn’tturn right, as I expect, to enter the throne room through the grand, archingdoors.Instead,shesurgesforward,allofusintow,pushingintoanotherroomIknowalltoowell.

Thecouncil chamber.Aperfect circleofmarbleandpolished,gleamingwood. Seats ring the walls, and the seal of Norta, the Burning Crown,dominates the ornate floor. Red and black and royal silver, with points of

burstingflame.Ialmoststumbleatthesightofit,andIhavetoshutmyeyes.Kittenwillpullmethroughtheroom,Ihavenodoubtofthat.I’llgladlyletherdragmeifitmeansIdon’thavetoseeanymoreofthisplace.Walshdiedhere,Iremember.Herfaceflashesbehindmyeyelids.Shewashunteddownlikearabbit.Anditwaswolvesthatcaughther—Evangeline,Ptolemus,Cal.TheycapturedherinthetunnelsbeneathArcheon,followingherordersfromthe Scarlet Guard. They found her, dragged her here, and presented her toQueen Elara for interrogation. It never got that far. Because Walsh killedherself. She swallowed a murderous pill in front of us all, to protect thesecretsoftheScarletGuard.Toprotectme.

Whenthemusictriplesinvolume,Iopenmyeyesagain.

Thecouncilchamberisgone,butthesightbeforemeissomehowworse.

THREEMare

Musicdancesontheair,undercutwiththesweetandsickeningbiteofalcoholasitpermeateseveryinchofthemagnificentthroneroom.Westepoutontoalandingelevatedafewfeetabovethechamberfloor,allowingagrandviewoftheraucousparty—andafewmomentsbeforeanyonerealizeswe’rehere.

Myeyesdart back and forth, on edge, ondefense, searching every faceand every shadow for opportunity, or danger. Silk and gemstones andbeautiful armor wink beneath the light of a dozen chandeliers, creating ahumanconstellationthatsurgesandtwistsonthemarblefloor.Afteramonthofimprisonment,thesightisanassaultonmysenses,butIgulpitin,agirlstarved.Somanycolors,somanyvoices,somanyfamiliarlordsandladies.Fornowtheytakenonoticeofme.Theireyesdonotfollow.Theirfocusisononeanother, theircupsofwineandmulticolored liquor, theharried rhythm,thefragrantsmokecurlingthroughtheair.Thismustbeacelebration,awildone,butforwhat,Ihavenoidea.

Naturally,mymind flies.Have theywon another victory?Against Cal,againsttheScarletGuard?Oraretheystillcheeringmycapture?

OnelookatEvangelineisanswerenough.I’veneverseenherscowlthisway, not even atme.Her catlike sneer turns ugly, angry, full of rage like Ican’timagine.Hereyesdarken,shiftingoverthedisplay.Theyareblacklikeavoid,swallowingupthesightofherpeopleinastateofultimatebliss.

Or,Irealize,ignorance.

Atsomeone’scommand,aflurryofRedservantspushoffthefarwallandmovethroughthechamberinpracticedformation.Theycarrytraysofcrystalgobletswith liquid like ruby,gold, anddiamond starlight.By the time theyreach the opposite side of the crowd, their trays are empty and are quicklyrefilled.Anotherpass,andthetraysemptyagain.HowsomeoftheSilversarestill standing, I have no idea. They continue in their revelry, talking ordancingwithhandsclawedaroundtheirglasses.Afewpuffonintricatepipes,blowingoddlycoloredsmokeintotheair.Itdoesn’tsmellliketobacco,whichmanyoftheeldersintheStiltsjealouslyhoard.Iwatchsparksintheirpipeswithenvy,eachoneapinprickoflight.

Worseisthesightoftheservants,theReds.Theymakemeache.WhatIwould give to take their place. To be only a servant instead of a prisoner.Stupid,Iscoldmyself.Theyareimprisonedsameasyou.Justlikeallofyourkind.TrappedbeneathaSilverboot,thoughsomehavemoreroomtobreathe.

Becauseofhim.

Evangelinedescendsfromthelanding,andtheArvensforcemetofollow.Thestairsleadusdirectlytothedais,anotherelevatedplatformhighenoughtodenoteitsultimateimportance.AndofcourseadozenSentinelsstanduponit,maskedandarmed,terrifyingineveryinch.

IexpectthethronesIremember.Diamondglassflamesfortheking’sseat,sapphire andpolishedwhite gold for the queen’s. Instead,Maven sits uponthesamekindofthroneIsawhimrisefromamonthago,whenheheldmechainedinfrontoftheworld.

No gems, no precious metals. Just slabs of gray stone swirled withsomethingshiny, flat-edged,andbrutallyabsentof insignia. It lookscold tothe touch and uncomfortable, not tomention terribly heavy. It dwarfs him,makinghimseemyoungerandsmaller thanever.To lookpowerful is tobepowerful.AlessonIlearnedfromElara,thoughsomehowMavendidn’t.Heseemstheboyheis,sharplypaleagainsthisblackuniform,theonlycoloronhimthebloodredliningofhiscape,asilverriotofmedals,andtheshiveringblueofhiseyes.

KingMavenofHouseCaloremeetsmygazethemomentheknowsI’mhere.

Theinstanthangs,suspendedonathreadoftime.Acanyonofdistractionsyawnsbetweenus,filledwithsomuchnoiseandgracefulchaos,buttheroommightaswellbeempty.

Iwonder if he notices the difference inme. The sickness, the pain, thetorturemyquietprisonhasputmethrough.Hemust.Hiseyesslideovermypronouncedcheekbones tomycollar,downto thewhiteshift theydressmein.I’mnotbleedingthistime,butIwishIwere.ToshoweveryonewhatIam,whatI’vealwaysbeen.Red.Wounded.Butalive.AsIdidbefore thecourt,beforeEvangelineafewminutesago,Istraightenmyspine,andstarewithallthe strength and accusation I have to give. I take him in, looking for thecracksonly Icansee.Shadowedeyes, twitchinghands,postureso rigidhisspinemightshatter.

Youareamurderer,MavenCalore,acoward,aweakness.

Itworks.He tears his eyes away fromme and springs to his feet, bothhandsstillgrippingthearmsofhisthrone.Hisragefallsliketheblowfromahammer.

“Explainyourself,GuardArven!”heeruptsatmyclosestjailer.

Triojumpsinhisboots.

Theoutburststopsthemusic,thedancing,andthedrinkinginthespanofaheartbeat.

“S-Sir—” Trio sputters, and one of his gloved hands grips my arm. Itbleeds silence, enough to make my heartbeat slow. He tries to find anexplanation that doesn’t place blame on himself, or the future queen, butcomesupshort.

MychaintremblesinKitten’shand,buthergripisstilltight.

Only Evangeline is unaffected by the king’s wrath. She expected thisresponse.

Hedidn’torderhertobringme.Therewasnosummonsatall.

Mavenisnotafool.HewavesahandatTrio,endinghismumblingwithasinglemotion. “Your feeble attempt is answer enough,” he says. “What doyouhavetosayforyourself,Evangeline?”

In the crowd, her father stands tall, watching with wide, stern eyes.Anothermightcallhimafraid,butIdon’tthinkVoloSamoshasthepowertofeel emotion. He simply strokes his pointed silver beard, his expressionunreadable.Ptolemusisnotsogiftedathidinghisthoughts.Hestandsonthedaiswith theSentinels, theonlyonewithoutfieryrobesoramask.Thoughhis body is still, his eyes dart between the king and his sister, and one fistclenches slowly.Good. Fear for her as I feared formy brother.Watch hersufferasIwatchedhimdie.

Because what else can Maven do now? Evangeline has deliberatelydisobeyedhisorders, leapingpast theallowances theirbetrothalallows. If Iknowanything,Iknowthattocrossthekingistobepunished.Andtodoithere,infrontoftheentirecourt?Hemightjustexecuteheronthespot.

IfEvangeline thinks she’s risking death, she doesn’t show it.Her voicenever cracks or wavers. “You ordered the terrorist to be imprisoned, shutawaylikeauselessbottleofwine,andafteramonthofcouncildeliberation,therehasbeennoagreementonwhatis tobedonewithher.Hercrimesaremany,worthyofadozendeaths,athousandlifetimesinourworstjails.She

killedormaimedhundredsof your subjects since shewasdiscovered, yourownparentsincluded,andstillsherestsinacomfortablebedchamber,eating,breathing—alivewithoutthepunishmentshedeserves.”

Maven is his mother’s son, and his court facade is nearly perfect.Evangeline’swordsdon’tseemtobotherhimintheslightest.

“Thepunishment she deserves,” he repeats.Thenhe looks to the room,onecornerofhischinraised.“Soyoubroughtherhere.Really,aremypartiesthatbad?”

A thrum of laughter, both genuine and forced, ripples through the raptcrowd.Most of them are drunk, but there are enough clear heads to knowwhat’sgoingon.WhatEvangelinehasdone.

EvangelinepullsacourtlysmilethatlookssopainfulIexpectherlipstostartbleedingatthecorners.“Iknowyouaregrievingforyourmother,YourMajesty,”shesayswithoutahintofsympathy.“Asweallare.Butyourfatherwouldnotactthisway.Thetimefortearsisover.”

Thoselastarenotherwords,butthewordsofTiberiastheSixth.Maven’sfather,Maven’sghost.Hismaskthreatenstoslipforamoment,andhiseyesflashwithequalpartsdreadandanger.Irememberthosewordsaswellashedoes.Spokenbeforeacrowdjustlikethis,inthewakeoftheScarletGuard’sexecution of political targets. Targets chosen byMaven, fed to him by hismother.Wedidtheirdirtywork,whiletheyaddedtothebodycountwithanatrocious attack of their own. They used me, used the Guard to eliminatesomeoftheirenemiesanddemonizeothersinonefellswoop.Theydestroyedmore,killedmorethananyofuseverwanted.

Icanstill smell thebloodandsmoke. I canstillhearamotherweepingoverherdeadchildren.Icanstillhearthewordsframingtherebellionforitall.

“Strength,power,death,”Mavenmurmurs,histeethclicking.Thewordsscaredmethen,andtheyterrifymenow.“Whatdoyousuggest,mylady?Abeheading?Afiringsquad?Dowetakeherapart,piecebypiece?”

Myheartgallopsinmychest.WouldMavenallowsuchathing?Idon’tknow.Idon’tknowwhathewoulddo.Ihavetoremindmyself,Idon’tevenknowhim.TheboyIthoughthimtobewasanillusion.Butthenotes,brutallyleft,butfullofpleasformetoreturn?Themonthofquiet,gentlecaptivity?Perhaps thosewere false too, another trick to ensnareme.Another kind oftorture.

“Wedoasthelawrequires.Asyourfatherwouldhavedone.”

Theway she says father, using the word as brutally as she would anyknife,isconfirmationenough.Likesomanypeopleinthisroom,sheknowsTiberiastheSixthdidnotendthewaythestoriessay.

Still,Mavengripshisthrone,white-knucklingthegrayslabs.Heglancesatthecourt,feelingtheireyesuponhim,beforesneeringbackatEvangeline.“Not only are you not amember ofmy council, but you did not knowmyfatherwellenoughtoknowhismind.Iamakingashewas,andIunderstandthe things that must be done for victory. Our laws are sacred, but we arefightingtwowarsnow.”

Twowars.

Adrenaline pulses through me so quickly I think my lightning hasreturned.No,notlightning.Hope.Ibitemyliptokeepfromgrinning.WeeksintomycaptivitytheScarletGuardcontinues,andthrives.Notonlyaretheystill fighting, but Maven admits it openly. They are impossible to hide ordismissnow.

Despitetheneedtoknowmore,Ikeepmymouthshut.

MavenburnsastarethroughEvangeline.“Noenemyprisoner,especiallynot one as valuable as Mare Barrow, should be wasted on commonexecution.”

“Youwasteher still!”Evangeline argues, firingback soquickly Iknowshe must have practiced for this argument. She takes a few more stepsforward,closingthedistancebetweenherselfandMaven.Itallseemsashow,anact,somethingplayedoutontheplatformforthecourttowitness.Butforwhose benefit? “She sits collecting dust, doing nothing, giving us nothing,whileCorviumburns!”

Another jewelof information tokeepclose.More,Evangeline.Givememore.

Isawthefortresscity,theheartoftheNortanmilitary,eruptinriotswithmyowneyesamonthago. It’s stillhappening.MentionofCorviumsobersthecrowd.Mavendoesnotmissit,andhefightstokeephiscalm.

“The council is days away from a decision,my lady,” he says throughgrittedteeth.

“Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty. I know you wish to honor yourcouncilasbestyoucan,eventheweakestpartsofit.Eventhecowardswho

cannotdowhatmustbedone.”Anotherstepcloser,andhervoicesoftenstoapurr.“Butyouaretheking.Thedecisionisyours.”

Masterful, I realize. Evangeline is just as adept at manipulation as anyother.Inafewwords,she’snotonlysavedMavenfromappearingweak,butalsoforcedhimtofollowherwilltomaintainanimageofstrength.Inspiteofmyself,Idrawinaharriedbreath.Willhedoasshebids?Orwillherefuse,throwing fuel on the fire of insurrection already blazing through the HighHouses?

Mavenisnofool.HeunderstandswhatEvangelineisdoing,andhekeepshis focus on her. They hold each other’s gaze, communicatingwith forcedsmilesandsharpeyes.

“Queenstrialcertainlydidbringforththemosttalenteddaughter,”hesays,takingherhand.Bothofthemlookdisgustedbytheaction.Hisheadsnapstothe crowd, looking to a lean man in dark blue. “Cousin! Your petition ofinterrogationisgranted.”

SamsonMerandussnapstoattentionandemergesfromthecrowd,clear-eyed.Hebows, almost grinning.Blue robesbillow,dark as smoke. “Thankyou,YourMajesty.”

“No.”

Thewordwrenchesitselffromme.

“No,Maven!”

Samsonmovesquickly, ascending theplatformwith controlled fury.Heclosesthedistancebetweenusinafewdeterminedstrides,untilhiseyesaretheonlythinginmyworld.Blueeyes,Elara’seyes,Maven’seyes.

“Maven!”Igaspagain,beggingeventhoughitwilldonothing.BeggingeventhoughitburnsmypridetothinkI’maskinghimforanything.Butwhatelseistheretodo?Samsonisawhisper.He’lldestroymefromtheinsideout,search everything I am, everything I know. How many people will diebecauseofwhatI’veseen?“Maven,please!Don’tlethimdothis!”

I’m not strong enough to break Kitten’s grasp on my chain, or evenstrugglemuchwhenTrioseizesmyshoulders.Bothofthemholdmeinplacewithease.MyeyesflashfromSamsontoMaven.Onehandonhisthrone,onehandinEvangeline’s.Imissyou,hisnotessaid.Heisunreadable,butatleasthe’slooking.

Good. If he won’t save me from this nightmare, I want him to see it

happen.

“Maven,” Iwhisper one last time, trying to sound likemyself. Not thelightninggirl,notMareena the lostprincess,butMare.Thegirlhewatchedthroughthebarsofacellandpledgedtosave.Butthatgirlisn’tenough.Hedropshiseyes.Helooksaway.

Iamalone.

Samson takesmy throat in his hand, squeezing above themetal collar,forcingme to look intohiswretched, familiareyes.Blueas ice,and justasunforgiving.

“You were wrong to kill Elara,” he says, not bothering to temper hiswords.“Shewasasurgeonwithminds.”

Heleansin,hungry,astarvingmanabouttodevourameal.

“Iamabutcher.”

When the sounder device leveled me, I wallowed in agony for three longdays. A storm of radio waves turned my own electricity against me. Itresounded inmy skin, rattling betweenmynerves like bolts in a jar. It leftscars.Jaggedlinesofwhitefleshdownmyneckandspine,ugly things thatI’m still not used to. They twinge and tug at odd angles, making benignmovementspainful.Evenmysmilesaretainted,smallerinthewakeofwhatwasdonetome.

NowIwouldbegforitifIcould.

Thescreechingclickofasounderasitpeelsmeapartwouldbeaheaven,abliss,amercy.Iwouldratherbebrokeninboneandmuscle,shattereddowntoteethandfingernails,obliteratedineveryinch,thansufferanothersecondofSamson’swhispers.

Icanfeelhim.Hismind.Fillingupmycornerslikeacorruptionora rotor a cancer. He scrapes inside my head with sharp skin and even sharperintentions.Anypartofmenottakenbyhispoisonwrithesinpain.Heenjoysdoing this tome.This is his revenge, after all. Forwhat I did toElara, hisbloodandhisqueen.

Shewasthefirstmemoryhetorefromme.Mylackofremorseincensedhim, and I regret it now. I wish I could’ve forced some sympathy, but theimage of her death was too frightening for much more than shock. Irememberitnow.Heforcesmeto.

In an instant of blinding pain, sucking me backward through my

memories, I findmyself back in themoment I killed her.My ability drawslightningoutoftheskyinraggedlinesofpurple-white.Onestrikesherhead-on,cascadingintohereyesandmouth,downherneckandarms,fromfingerstotoesandbackagain.Thesweatonherskinboilstosteam,herfleshcharsuntil it smokes, and thebuttonsonher jacket turn redhot, burning throughcloth and skin. She jerks, tearing at herself, trying to be rid ofmy electricrage. Her fingertips rip clean, exposing bone, while the muscles of herbeautifulfacegoslack,droopingfromtherelentlesspullofjumpingcurrents.Ash-whitehairburnsblackandsmolders,disintegrating.Andthesmell.Thesound.Shescreamsuntilhervocalcordspullapart.Samsonmakessure thescene passes slowly, his ability manipulating the forgotten memory untileverysecondbrandsitselfintomyconscience.Abutcherindeed.

Hisragesendsmespinningwithnothingtoclingto,caughtinastormIcannotcontrol.AllIcandoispraynottoseewhatSamsonissearchingfor.ItrytokeepShade’snamefrommythoughts.ButthewallsIputuparelittlemore thanpaper.Samson rips through themgleefully. I feeleachonebeingtorn away, another part ofmemangled.Heknowswhat I’m trying to keepfromhim,toneverlivethroughagain.Hechasesthroughmythoughts,fasterthanmybrain,outrunningeveryweakattempttostophim.Itrytoscreamorbeg,butnosoundcomesfrommymouthormind.Heholdseverythinginthepalmofhishand.

“Tooeasy.”Hisvoiceechoesinme,aroundme.

LikeElara’sending,Shade’sdeathiscapturedinperfect,painfuldetail.Imust reliveeveryawful second inmyownbody,unable todoanythingbutwatch,trappedinsidemyself.Radiationtangstheair.CorrosPrisonisontheedgeoftheWash,closetothenuclearwastelandformingoursouthernborder.Coldmist shroudsmorning against a graydawn.For amoment, all is still,suspended in balance. I stare out, unmoving, frozen midstep. The prisonyawns at my back, still shuddering with the riot we began. Prisoners andpursuersbleedfromitsgates.Followingustofreedom,orsomethinglikeit.Cal is alreadygone,his familiar formahundredyardsaway. ImadeShadejump him first, to protect one of our only pilots, and our only manner ofescape. Kilorn is still withme, frozen as I am, his rifle tucked against hisshoulder. He aims behind us, at Queen Elara, her guards, and PtolemusSamos.Abulletexplodesfromthemuzzle,bornofsparksandgunpowder.It,too, hangs in midair, waiting for Samson to release his grip on my mind.Overhead,theskyswirls,heavywithelectricity.Myownpower.ThefeelofitwouldmakemecryifIcould.

Thememorybeginstomove,slowlyatfirst.

Ptolemusforgeshimselfalong,gleamingneedleinadditiontothemanyweaponsalreadyathand.TheperfectedgeglitterswithRedandSilverblood,eachdropletagemstonewarblingthroughtheair.Despiteherability,AraIralis not fast enough to dodge its lethal arc. It slices through her neck in onelingeringsecond.Shefallsafewfeetawayfromme,sluggishly,asifthroughwater.Ptolemusmeanstokillmeinthesamemotion,usingthemomentumofhisblowtoturntheneedleonmyheart. Instead,hefindsmybrother in theway.

Shade jumpsback to us, to teleportme to safety.His bodymaterializesfromthinair:firsthischestandhead,thenhisextremitiespaintintoexistence.Handsoutstretched,eyesfocused,hisattentiononlyonme.Hedoesn’tseetheneedle.Hedoesn’tknowhe’sabouttodie.

ItwasnotPtolemus’s intent tokillShade,buthedoesn’tminddoing it.Anotherenemydeadmakesnodifferencetohim.Justanotherobstacleinhiswar,anotherbodywithnonameandnoface.HowmanytimeshaveIdonethesamething?

Heprobablydoesn’tevenknowwhoShadeis.

Was.

Iknowwhatcomesnext,butnomatterhowhardItry,Samsonwon’tletme shutmy eyes.The needle piercesmybrotherwith clean grace, throughmuscleandorgan,bloodandheart.

Somethinginmeeruptsandtheskyresponds.Asmybrotherfalls,sodoesmy rage. But I never feel the bittersweet release of it. The lightning neverstrikestheearth,killingElaraandscatteringherguardsasitshould.Samsonnever allows me that small mercy. Instead, he pulls the scene backward.Againitplays.Againmybrotherdies.

Again.

Again.

Each timehe forcesme to see somethingelse.Amistake.Amisstep.Achoice I could’vemade to savehim.Small decisions.Stephere, turn there,runabitfaster.Itistortureoftheworstkind.

Lookwhatyoudid.Lookwhatyoudid.Lookwhatyoudid.

Hisvoiceripples,allaroundme.

OthermemoriessplinterthroughShade’sdeath,visionsbleedingintoone

another.Eachplaysonadifferentfearorweakness.There’sthetinycorpseIfound in Templyn, a Red babymurdered byMaven’s newblood hunters atMaven’s command. In another instant, Farley’s fist connectswithmy face.She screams horrible things, blamingme for Shade’s death while her ownanguishthreatenstoconsumeher.SteamingtearsrundownCal’scheeksasaswordtremblesinhishand,thebladeedgedagainsthisfather’sneck.Shade’smeager graveonTuck, alonebeneath the autumn sky.TheSilver officers Ielectrocuted in Corros, in Harbor Bay, men and women who were onlyfollowingorders.Theyhadnochoice.Nochoice.

Irememberallthedeath.Alltheheartache.Thelookonmysister’sfacewhen anofficer brokeher hand.Kilorn’sbleedingknuckleswhenhe foundout he was going to be conscripted. My brothers taken to war. My fatherreturning from the front half aman inmind and body, exiling himself to aricketywheelchair—andalifeapartfromus.Mymother’ssadeyeswhenshetoldmeshewasproudofme.Alie.Alienow.Andfinallythesickache,thehollowtruththatdoggedeverymomentofmyoldlife—thatIwasultimatelydoomed.

Istillam.

Samsonsweepsthroughitallwithabandon.Hepullsmethroughuselessmemories,drawnuponlytosubjectmetomorepain.Shadowsjumpthroughthe thoughts.Moving images behind every painfulmoment. Samson spoolsthrough them, too fast for me to truly grasp. But I gather enough. TheColonel’sface,hisscarleteye,hislipsformingwordsIcan’thear.ButsurelySamsoncan.Thisiswhathe’slookingfor.Intelligence.Secretshecanusetocrushtherebellion.Ifeellikeaneggwithacrackedshell,slowlyseepingmyinnards.Hepullswhateverhewantsfromme.Idon’tevenhavetheabilitytofeelashamedatwhatelsehefinds.

Nights spent curled against Cal. Forcing Cameron to join our cause.Stolen moments rereading Maven’s sickening notes. Memories of who Ithought the forgotten prince was. My cowardice. My nightmares. Mymistakes.EveryselfishstepItookthatledmehere.

Lookwhatyoudid.Lookwhatyoudid.Lookwhatyoudid.

Mavenwillknowitallsoonenough.

Thiswasalwayswhathewanted.

Thewords,scrawledinhisloopinghand,burnthroughmythoughts.

Imissyou.

Untilwemeetagain.

FOURCameron

Istillcan’tbelievewesurvived.Idreamaboutitsometimes.WatchingthemdragMareaway,herbodyheldtightlybetweenapairofgiganticstrongarms.Theywereglovedagainsther lightning,not thatshe tried touse itaftershemade her bargain.Her life for ours. I didn’t expectKingMaven to followthrough. Not with his exiled brother on the line. But he kept his deal. Hewantedhermorethantherest.

Still,Iwakeupfromtheusualnightmares,afraidheandhishuntershavereturned to kill us. The snores from the rest of my bunk room chase thethoughtsaway.

They toldme the newheadquarterswas a bleeding ruin, but I expectedsomethingmorelikeTuck.Aonce-abandonedfacility,isolatedbutfunctional,rebuilt in secretwith all the amenities aburgeoning rebellionmightneed. IhatedTuckonsight.Theblockbarracksandguard-likesoldiers,eveniftheywere Red, reminded me too much of Corros Prison. I saw the island asanotherjail.AnothercellIwasbeingforcedinto,thistimebyMareBarrowinsteadof aSilver officer.But at least onTuck I had the sky aboveme.Aclean breeze in my lungs. Compared to Corros, compared to New Town,comparedtothis,Tuckwasareprieve.

Now I shiverwith the rest in the concrete tunnels of Irabelle, a ScarletGuardstrongholdon theoutskirtsof theLakelandercityofTrial.Thewallsfeelfrozentothetouch,andiciclesdanglefromroomswithoutaheatsource.A fewof theGuard officers have taken to followingCal around, if only totake advantage of his radiating warmth. I do the opposite, avoiding hislumbering presence as best I can. I have no use for the Silver prince,wholooksatmewithnothingbutaccusation.

AsifIcouldhavesavedher.

My barely trained ability was nowhere near enough. And you weren’tenougheither,YourBleedingHighness,Iwanttosnapathimeverytimewecross paths.His flamewas nomatch for the king andhis hunters.Besides,Mareofferedthetradeandmadeherchoice.Ifhe’sangryatanyone,itshouldbeher.

The lightning girl did it to save us, and for that I am always thankful.Even if she was a self-centered hypocrite, she doesn’t deserve what’shappeningtoher.

TheColonelgavetheordertoevacuateTuckthemomentwewereabletoradio back to him.He knew any interrogation ofMareBarrowwould leaddirectlytotheisland.Farleywasabletogeteveryonetosafety,eitherinboatsor the massive cargo jet stolen from the prison. We were forced to traveloverland ourselves, hightailing from the crash site to rendezvous with theColonelacrosstheborder.Isayforcedbecause,onceagain,Iwastoldwhattodoandwheretogo.WehadbeenflyingtotheChokeinanattempttorescuealegionofchildsoldiers.Mybrotherwasoneofthem.Butourmissionhadtobe abandoned.For now, they told me every time I got enough courage torefuseanotherstepawayfromthewarfront.

The memory makes my cheeks burn. I should’ve kept going. Theywouldn’thavestoppedme.Couldn’thavestoppedme.But Iwasafraid.Soclosetothetrenchline,Irealizedwhatitmeanttomarchalone.Iwouldhavediedinvain.Still,Ican’tshaketheshameofthatchoice.Iwalkedawayandleftmybrotheryetagain.

Ittookweeksforeveryonetoreunite.Farleyandherofficersarrivedlastofall.Ithinkherfather,theColonel,spenteverydayshewasgonepacingthefrigidhallsofournewbase.

At the very least, Barrow’s making her imprisonment useful. Thedistractionof such a prisoner, not tomention theboilingmessofCorvium,hasstalledanytroopmovementsaroundtheChoke.Mybrotherissafe.Well,assafeasafifteen-year-oldcanpossiblybewithagunandauniform.SaferthanMarecertainlyis.

Idon’tknowhowmanytimesI’veseenKingMaven’saddress.Caltookoveracornerofthecontrolroomtoplayitagainandagainoncewearrived.The first time we saw it, I don’t think any of us dared to breathe.We allfearedtheworst.WethoughtwewereabouttowatchMareloseherhead.Herbrothers were beside themselves, fighting tears, and Kilorn couldn’t evenlook,hidinghisfaceinhishands.WhenMavendeclaredexecutionwastoogood for her, I think Bree actually fainted in relief. But Cal looked on indeafeningsilence,hisbrowsknittogetherinfocus.Deepdownheknew,likewealldid,thatsomethingmuchworsethandeathwaitedforMareBarrow.

ShekneltbeforeaSilverkingandstoodstillwhileheputacollararoundherthroat.Saidnothing,didnothing.Lethimcallheraterroristandmurderer

before theeyesofourentirenation.Partofmewishesshe’dsnapped,but Iknowshecouldn’tputa toeoutof line.She justglaredat everyonearoundher,eyessweepingbackandforthbetweentheSilverscrowdingherplatform.Theyallwantedtogetclosetoher.Huntersaroundatrophykill.

In spite of the crown,Maven didn’t look so kingly. Tired,maybe sick,definitelyangry.Probablybecausethegirlnexttohimhadjustmurderedhismother.He tuggedatMare’scollar, forcedher towalk inside.Shemanagedone last look over her shoulder, eyes wide and searching. But another tugturnedheraroundforgood,andwehaven’tseenherfacesince.

She’sbeenthere,andI’vebeenhere,rotting,freezing,spendingmydaysrewiringequipmentolderthanIam.Allofitableedingwaste.

I steal one lastminute inmybunk to think aboutmybrother,wherehemightbe,whathe’sdoing.Morrey.My twin innothingbutappearance.Hewas a soft boy in the hard alleys of New Town, constantly sick from thefactory smoke. I don’t want to imagine what military training has done tohim.Dependingonwhoyouask,techieworkerswereeithertoovaluableortooweakforthearmy.UntiltheScarletGuardstartedtheirmeddling,killedafewSilvers,andforcedtheoldkingintosomemeddlingofhisown.Wewereboth conscripted, even though we had jobs. Even though we were onlyfifteen. The bloody Measures enacted by Cal’s own father changedeverything.Wewereselected,toldtobesoldiers,andweweremarchedawayfromourparents.

Theysplitusupalmostimmediately.Mynamewasonsomelistandhiswasn’t.Once,IwasgratefulIwastheonesenttoCorros.Morreywouldhaveneversurvivedthecells.NowIwishwecouldtradeplaces.Himfree,andmeonthelines.ButnomatterhowmanytimesIpetitiontheColonelforanotherattemptattheLittleLegion,healwaysturnsmeaway.

SoImightaswellaskagain.

The tool belt is a familiarweight aroundmy hips, thunkingwith everystep.Iwalkwithpurpose,enoughtodeteranyonewhomightbother tostopme.Butforthemostpart,thehallsareempty.Nooneisaroundtowatchmestalkpast,gnawingonabreakfastroll.Morecaptainsandtheirunitsmustbeoutonpatrolagain,scoutingTrialandtheborder.LookingforReds,Ithink,the ones lucky enough to make it north. Some come here to join up, butthey’re always ofmilitary age orworkerswith skills useful to the cause. Idon’t know where the families are sent: the orphans, the widows, thewidowers.Theoneswhowouldonlybeintheway.

Likeme.ButIgetunderfootonpurpose.It’stheonlywaytogetanykindofattention.

TheColonel’sbroomcloset—Imeanoffice—isonefloorabovethebunkrooms. I don’t bother to knock, trying thedoorknob instead. It turns easily,opening into a grim, cramped room with concrete walls, a few lockedcabinets,andacurrentlyoccupieddesk.

“He’soverincontrol,”Farleysays,notlookingupfromherpapers.Herhandsareink-stained,andthereareevensmudgesonhernoseandunderherbloodshoteyes.SheporesoverwhatlooklikeGuardcommunications,codedmessages and orders. From Command, I know, remembering the constantwhispers about the upper levels of the ScarletGuard.No one knowsmuchabout them, leastof allme.Nobody tellsmeanythingunless I askadozentimes.

I frown at her appearance. Despite the table hiding her stomach, hercondition has begun to show. Her face and fingers look swollen. Not tomentionthethreeplatespiledwithfoodscraps.

“Probablyagoodideatosleepnowandthen,Farley.”

“Probably.”Sheseemsannoyedbymyconcern.

Fine,don’tlisten.Withalowsigh,Iturnbacktothedoorway,puttingherbehindme.

“LethimknowCorviumisontheedge,”Farleyadds,hervoicestrongandcutting.Anorderbutalsosomethingelse.

Iglanceovermyshoulderather,aneyebrowraised.“Edgeofwhat?”

“Therehavebeenriots,sporadicreportsofSilverofficersturningupdead,and ammunition depots have developed a nasty habit of exploding.” Shealmost smirksat that.Almost. Ihaven’t seenher smile sinceShadeBarrowdied.

“Soundslikefamiliarwork.IstheScarletGuardinthecity?”

Finallyshelooksup.“Nottoourknowledge.”

“Then the legions are turning.”Hope flares sharp and raw inmy chest.“TheRedsoldiers—”

“There’s thousandsof themstationedatCorvium.Andmore thana fewhaverealizedtheysubstantiallyoutnumbertheirSilverofficers.Fourtoone,atleast.”

Fourtoone.Justlikethat,myhopesours.I’veseenwhatSilversareandwhattheycandofirsthand.I’vebeentheirprisonerandtheiropponent,abletofightonlybecauseofmyownability.FourRedsagainstasingleSilverisstillsuicide.Stillanoutrightloss.ButFarleydoesn’tseemtoagree.

She sensesmyunease and softens asbest she can.Like a razor turningintoaknife.“Yourbrotherisn’tinthecity.TheDaggerLegionisstillbehindthelinesoftheChoke.”

Stuckbetweenaminefieldandacityonfire.Fantastic.

“It’snotMorreythatI’mworriedabout.”Atthemoment.“Ijustdon’tseehowtheycanexpect to take thecity.Theymighthave thenumbers,but theSilvers are … well, they’re Silvers. A few dozen magnetrons could killhundredswithoutblinking.”

IpictureCorviuminmyhead.I’veonlyseenit inbriefvideos,snippetstaken from Silver broadcasts or report footage filtered down through theScarlet Guard. It’s more fortress than city, walled with foreboding blackstone,amonolithlookingnorthtothebarrenwastesofwar.SomethingaboutitremindsmeoftheplaceIreluctantlycalledhome.NewTownhadwallsofitsown,andsomanyofficersoverseeingour lives.Wewere thousands too,butouronlyrebellionswerebeinglatetoshiftorsneakingoutaftercurfew.There was nothing to be done. Our lives were weak and meaningless assmoke.

Farleyturnsbacktoherwork.“JusttellhimwhatIsaid.He’llknowwhattodo.”

Icanonlynod,shuttingthedoorasshetriesandfailstohideayawn.

“Havetorecalibratethevideoreceivers,CaptainFarley’sorders—”

ThetwoGuardsmenflankingthedoortocentralcontrolstepbackbeforeIevenfinishmysentence,myusuallie.Bothlookaway,avoidingmygaze,andIfeelmyfaceburnwithanashamedflush.

NewbloodsscarepeopleasmuchasSilversdo,ifnotmoreso.Redswithabilitiesarejustasunpredictable,justaspowerful,justasdangerous,intheireyes.

Afterwefirstgothereandmoresoldiersarrived, thewhispersaboutmeandtheothersspreadlikedisease.Theoldwomancanchangeherface.Thetwitchyonecansurroundyouwithillusions.Thetechiegirlcankillyouwiththoughtalone. It feels terrible tobe feared.Andworst of all, I can’tblameanyoneforit.Wearedifferentandstrange,withpowersnotevenSilverscan

claim.We are frayedwires and glitchingmachines, still learning ourselvesandourabilities.Whoknowswhatwemightbecome?

Iswallowthefamiliardiscomfortandstepintothenextroom.

Central control usually buzzes with screens and communicationequipment, but for now the room is oddly quiet.Only a single broadcasterwhirs, spitting out a long strip of correspondence paper printed with adecryptedmessage.TheColonelstandsoverthemachine,readingasthestriplengthens.Hisusualghosts,Mare’sbrothers,sitcloseby,bothofthemjumpyasrabbits.And thefourthoccupantof theroomisall Ineed toknowaboutwhateverreportiscomingin.

ThisisnewsofMareBarrow.

WhyelsewouldCalbeheretoo?

He broods, as usual, his chin resting on interlocked fingers. Long daysundergroundhavetakentheirtoll,palinghisalready-paleskin.Foraprince,hereallyletshimselfgointimesofcrisis.Rightnowhelookslikeheneedsashowerandashave,nottomentionafewwell-aimedslapstowakehimoutofhisstupor.Buthe’sasoldierstill.Hiseyessnaptominebeforetheothers’.

“Cameron,”hesays,doinghisbestnottogrowl.

“Calore.”He’sanexiledprinceatbest.Noneedfortitles.UnlessIreallywanttopisshimoff.

Like father, like daughter. Colonel Farley doesn’t look up from thecommunication, but he acknowledgesmewith a dramatic sigh. “Let’s saveourselves some time, Cameron. I have neither the manpower nor theopportunitytoattemptrescuinganentirelegion.”

Imouththewordsalongwithhim.Hesaysthemtomealmosteveryday.

“AlegionofbarelytrainedchildrenwhoMavenwillslaughteroncegiventheopportunity,”Icounter.

“Soyoukeepremindingme.”

“Because you need to be reminded! Sir,” I add, almost wincing at theword.Sir.I’mnotoathedtotheGuard,nomatterhowmuchtheytreatmelikeamemberoftheirclub.

The Colonel’s eyes narrow in on part of the message. “She’s beeninterrogated.”

Calstandssoquicklyheknocksoverhischair.“Merandus?”

Atremorofheatpulsesthroughtheroom,andIfeelarippleofsicknessinme. Not because of Cal, but because of Mare. Because of the horrorshappeningtoher.Upset,Iknitmyhandstogetherbehindmyhead,pullingthecurlydarkhairatthenapeofmyneck.

“Yes,”theColonelreplies.“AmannamedSamson.”

Theprincecursesquitecolorfullyforaroyal.

“Whatdoesthatmean?”Bree,Mare’sburlyeldestbrother,darestoask.

Tramy,theothersurvivingBarrowson,frownsdeeply.“Merandusisthequeen’shouse.Whispers—mindreaders.They’llpullheraparttofindus.”

“Andforsport,”Calmurmurswitha lowrumble.BothBarrowbrothersflushredat the implication.Breeblinksbackfierce,sudden tears. Iwant totakehisarm,but I stay still. I’ve seenenoughpeople flinchaway frommytouch.

“WhichiswhyMareknowsnothingofouroperationsoutsideTuck,andTuck has been thoroughly left behind,” the Colonel says quickly. It’s true.They abandoned Tuck with blinding speed, casting off anything thatMareBarrow knew of. Even the Silvers we captured from Corros—or rescued,depending onwho you ask—were left at the coast. Too dangerous to keepholdof,toomanytocontrol.

I’veonlybeenwith theScarletGuardamonth,butIalreadyknowtheirwords by heart.Rise, red as the dawn, of course, and know only what youneed.Thefirstisabattlecry,thesecondawarning.

“Whatevershegives themwillbeperipheralatbest,”headds.“NothingimportantaboutCommand,andlittleaboutourdealingsoutsideNorta.”

Noonecares,Colonel. I bitemy tongue to keep from snapping at him.Mare isaprisoner.Sowhat if theydon’tgetanythingabout theLakelands,Piedmont,orMontfort?

Montfort. The distant nation ruled by a so-called democracy, an equalbalanceofReds,Silvers,andnewbloods.Aparadise?Maybe,butIhavelongsincelearnedthatparadisedoesnotexistinthisworld.Iprobablyknowmoreabout the country than Mare now, what with the twins, Rash and Tahir,always squawking aboutMontfort’s merits. I’m not stupid enough to trusttheirword.Nottomentionit’spuretortureholdingaconversationwiththem,always finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences. Sometimes Iwant tousemysilenceonthemboth,tosevertheabilitythatbindstheirthoughtsintoone.Butthatwouldbecruel,nottomentionidiotic.Peoplearealreadywary

ofuswithoutwatchingnewbloodsability-bicker.

“Doeswhattheygetoutofherreallymatterrightnow?”Iforcethroughgritted teeth.Hopefully theColonel understandswhat I’m trying to say.Atleastspareherbrothersthis,Colonel.Havesomeshame.

He just blinks, one good eye and one destroyed. “If you can’t stomachintelligence,thendon’tcometocontrol.Weneedtoknowwhattheygotoutofherininterrogation.”

“SamsonMerandus is an arena fighter, thoughhehas no reason to be,”Calsaysina lowvoice.Tryingtobegentle.“Heenjoysusinghisabilitytoinflictpain. Ifhe is theone to interrogateMare, then…”Hestumblesoverthewords, reluctant to speak. “It’llbe torture,plainandsimple.Mavenhasgivenhertoatorturer.”

EventheColonellooksdisturbedbythethought.

Cal stares at the floor, silent for a long, stoicmoment. “Inever thoughtMavenwoulddothattoher,”hemuttersfinally.“Sheprobablydidn’teither.”

Then you’re both stupid, my brain screams.How many times does onewickedboyhavetobetrayyoupeoplebeforeyoulearn?

“Didyouneedsomethingelse,Cameron?”ColonelFarleyasks.Herollsupthemessage,spoolingitlikeacircleofthread.Therestisclearlynotformyears.

“It’saboutCorvium.Farleysaysit’sontheedge.”

TheColonelblinks.“Thosewereherwords?”

“That’swhatIsaid.”

SuddenlyI’mnolongerthefocusofhisattention.Instead,hiseyessweeptoCal.

“Thenit’stimetopush.”

TheColonellookseager,butCalcouldnotseemmorereluctant.Hekeepsstill, knowing that any twitch might betray his true feelings. The lack ofmovementisjustasdamning.“I’llseewhatIcancomeupwith,”hefinallyforcesout.ThatseemstobeenoughfortheColonel.HeduckshischininanodbeforeturninghisattentiontoMare’sbrothers.

“Bestletyourfamilyknow,”hesays,puttingonashowofbeinggentle.“AndKilorn.”

I shift, uncomfortable watching them digest the painful news of their

sisterandaccept theburdenofcarrying it to the restof their family.Bree’swords stick, but Tramy has strength enough to speak for his older brother.“Yes, sir,” he replies. “Though I don’t know where Warren gets to thesedays.”

“Trythenewbloodbarracks,”Ioffer.“He’stheremoreoftenthannot.”

Indeed,KilornspendsmostofhistimewithAda.AfterKethadied,Adatookonthearduoustaskofteachinghimtoreadandwrite.ThoughIsuspecthe stickswith us because he has no one else. The Barrows are the closestthing he has to family, and they are a family of ghosts now, haunted bymemories.I’veneverevenseenherparents.Theykeeptothemselves,deepinthetunnels.

WetakeourleaveoftheColoneltogether,fourofustroopingoutofthecontrol room in awkward, stilted single file. Bree and Tramy peel awayquickly,stompingtheirwaytowardtheirfamily’squartersontheothersideofthebase.Idonotenvythem.IrememberhowmymotherscreamedwhenmybrotherandIweretakenaway.Iwonderwhathurtsmore—tohearnothingofyour children, knowing they are in danger, or to be fed news of their painpiecebypiece.

Not that I’ll ever find out. There is no place for children, especiallychildrenofmine,inthisstupid,ruinedworld.

I give Cal space, but quickly think better of it.We’re nearly the sameheight,andcatchinguptohisharriedstrideisnoproblem.

“Ifyourheart’snotinthis,you’regoingtogetalotofpeoplekilled.”

Hewhirls,almostknockingmeonmyasswiththespeedandforceofhismovement. Ihaveseenhisfirefirsthand,butneversostronglyas theflameblazinginhiseyes.

“Cameron,my heart is quite literally in this,” he hisses through grittedteeth.

Swooningwords.Aromanticdeclaration.Icanbarelystopmyeyesfromrolling.

“Saveitforwhenwegetherback,”Igrumble.When,notif.HenearlysetthecontrolroomonfirewhentheColoneldeniedhisrequesttoexplorewaysto get messages to Mare within the palace. I don’t need him melting thehallwayoverapoorchoiceofwords.

Hestartswalkingagain,hispacedoubled,butI’mnotaseasilyleftbehind

asthelightninggirl.

“IjustmeantosaythattheColonelhasstrategistsofhisown…peopleatCommand…ScarletGuardofficerswhodon’thave”—Isearchfortheproperterm—“conflictingallegiances.”

Cal huffs loudly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. Clearly anyetiquettelessonshemayhavehadtookabackseattomilitarytraining.

“ShowmeanofficerwhoknowsasmuchasIdoaboutSilverprotocolsandtheCorviumdefensesystemandI’llgladlystepbackfromthismess.”

“I’msurethere’ssomeone,Calore.”

“Who’s foughtwithnewbloods?Knowsyourabilities?Knowshowbesttouseyouinafight?”

Ibristleathis tone. “‘Use,’” I spit.Use indeed. I remember thoseofuswhodidn’tsurviveCorros.NewbloodsrecruitedbyMareBarrow,newbloodsshepromisedtoprotect.Instead,MareandCalthrewusintoabattlewewerenotpreparedfor,anditbecameclearMarecouldn’tevenprotectherself.Nix,Gareth,Ketha,andothersfromtheprisonIdidn’tevenknow.Dozensdead,discardedlikepiecesonagameboard.

That’showit’salwaysworkedwiththeSilvermasters,andthat’showCalwastaughttofight.Winatallcosts.PayforeveryinchinRedblood.

“YouknowwhatImean.”

Isnort.“Maybethat’swhyI’mnotexactlyconfident.”

Harsh,Cameron.

“Listen,”Icontinue,switchingtactics.“IknowI’dburneveryonehereifitmeantgettingmybrotherback.Andluckily,that’snotadecisionIhavetomake.Butyou—youactuallyhavethatoption.Iwanttomakesureyoudon’ttakeit.”

It’s true. We’re here for the same reason. Not blind obedience to theScarletGuard,butbecausetheyareouronlyhopeofsavingtheonesweloveandlost.

Calquirks a crooked smile, the sameone I’ve seenMaremoonover. Itmakeshim look likemoreofa fool.“Don’t try tosweet-talkme,Cameron.I’mdoingeverythingIcantokeepusoutofanothermassacre.Everything.”Hisexpression turnsharsh.“You think it’s justSilverswhocareonlyaboutvictory?” he mutters. “I’ve seen the Colonel’s reports. I’ve seencorrespondence with Command. I’ve heard things. You’re embedded with

peoplewho think exactly the sameway. They’ll burn all of us to getwhattheywant.”

Maybetrue,Ithink,butatleastwhattheywantisjustice.

I think of Farley, theColonel, the oathed soldiers of the ScarletGuard,and the Red refugees they protect. I’ve seen them ferry people across theborderwithmyowneyes.IsatononeoftheirairjetsasitscreamedtowardtheChoke,intentonrescuingalegionofchildsoldiers.Theyhaveobjectiveswithhighcosts,buttheyarenotSilver.Theykill,butnotwithoutreason.

TheScarletGuardarenotpeaceful,butpeacehasnoplaceinthisconflict.NomatterwhatCalmight thinkof theirmethodsandtheirsecrecy, theirs istheonlywayanyonecanhopetofightSilversandwin.Cal’speoplebroughtthisuponthemselves.

“If you’re soworried about Corvium, don’t go,” he sayswith a forcedshrug.

“AndmissthechancetopaintmyhandsinSilverblood?”Isnapathim.Idon’tknowifI’mmakingapoorattempttojokeorthreateninghimoutright.My patience has worn through yet again. I already had to deal with thewhiningofawalkinglightningrod.I’mnotgoingtotoleratetheattitudeofamopeymatchstickprince.

Again his eyes blazewith anger and heat. I wonder if I’m fast enoughwithmyabilitytoincapacitatehim.Whatafightthatwouldbe.Fireagainstsilence.WouldheburnorwouldI?

“Funny thing, you telling me not to be careless with human life. Irememberyoudoingeverythingyoucouldtokillbackintheprison.”

AprisonwhereIwaskept.Starved,neglected,forcedtowatchthepeoplearoundmewitheranddiebecausetheywereborn…wrong.AndevenbeforeI enteredCorros, Iwas a prisoner of another jail. I am a daughter ofNewTown, conscripted to adifferent army since theday Iwasborn,doomed tolive my life in shadow and ash, at the mercy of the shift whistle and thefactory schedule.Of course I tried to kill the oneswho heldme captive. Iwoulddoitagainifgiventhechoice.

“Proudofit,”Itellhim,settingmyjaw.

He despairs of me. That much is clear. Good. There’s no amount ofspeechmakingthatwilleverswaymetohisthinking.Idoubtanyoneelsewilllistenmucheither.CalisaprinceofNorta.Exiled,yes,butdifferentfromusin everyway.His ability is to beused asmuch asmine, but he is a barely

toleratedweapon.Hiswordscanonlytravelsofar.Andeventhentheyfallondeafears.Mineespecially.

Withoutwarning, he sets off down a smaller passage, one of themanyburrowingthroughthewarrenofIrabelle.Itbranchesofffromthewiderhall,anglingupwardtothesurfaceinagentleslope.Ilethimgo,puzzled.There’snothinginthatdirection.Justemptypassages,abandoned,unused.

Yet something tugs. I’ve heard things, he said. Suspicion flares in mychestashewalksaway,hisbroadformgettingsmallerbythesecond.

Foramoment,Ihesitate.Calisnotmyfriend.We’rebarelyonthesameside.

Butheisnothingifnotannoyinglynoble.Hewon’thurtme.

SoIfollow.

Thecorridorisobviouslyunused,clutteredwithscrapsanddarkinplaceswhere the lightbulbs are burned out. Even from a distance, Cal’s presencewarms the close air with every passing second. It’s actually a comfortabletemperature, and I make a mental note to speak with a few other escapedtechies.Maybewecanfigureoutawaytowarmupthelowerpassagesusingpressurizedair.

My eyes trail the cabled wires along the ceiling, counting them.Moretherethanthereshouldbe,tofeedafewlightbulbs.

Ihangback,watchingasCalshoulderssomewoodpalletsandscrapmetalfromawall.Herevealsadoorbeneath,withthecablesrunningoverheadandintowhateverroomithides.Whenhedisappears,pullingthedoorshutbehindhim,Idaretogetalittlecloser.

Thetangleofcablescomesintosharperfocus.Radioarray.NowIseeit,clearas thenoseonmybleedingface.The telltalebraidofblackwires thatmeans the room inside has the ability to communicate beyond thewalls ofIrabelle.

Butwhocouldhepossiblybecommunicatingwith?

MyfirstinstinctistotellFarleyorKilorn.

But then… if Cal thinks thatwhatever he’s doingwill keepme and athousandothersfromasuicideattackonCorvium,Ishouldlethimcontinue.

AndhopeIdon’tregretit.

FIVEMare

Idriftonadarksea,andshadowsdriftwithme.

Theycouldbememories.Theycouldbedreams.Familiarbutstrange,andsomething wrong with each. Cal’s eyes are shot with silver, bleeding hot,smokingblood.Mybrother’s face looksmoreskeleton than flesh.Dadgetsout of hiswheelchair, but his new legs are spindle thin, knobbled, ready tosplinterwitheveryshakingstep.Gisahasmetalpins inbothhands,andhermouth is sewn shut.Kilorn drowns in the river, tangled in his perfect nets.Red rags spill from Farley’s slit throat. Cameron claws at her own neck,struggling to speak, trapped in a silence of her own making. Metal scalesshudder overEvangeline’s skin, swallowingherwhole.AndMaven slumpsonhisoddthrone,lettingittightenandconsumehimuntilheisstonehimself,aseatedstatuewithsapphireeyesanddiamondtears.

Purple eats at the edge of my vision. I try to turn in to its embrace,knowing what it holds. My lightning is so close. If only I could find thememory of it and taste one last drop of power before plunging back intodarkness.Butitfadesliketherest,ebbingaway.Iexpecttofeelcoldas thedarknesspressesin.Instead,heatrises.

Mavenissuddenlytooclosetobear.Blueeyes,blackhair,paleasadeadman.Hishandhovers inches frommycheek. It trembles,wanting to touch,wantingtopullaway.Idon’tknowwhichIwouldprefer.

IthinkIsleep.Darknessandlighttradeplaces,stretchingbackandforth.Itrytomove,butmylimbsaretooheavy.Theworkofmanaclesorguardsorboth.Theyweighmedownworsethanbefore,andtheterriblevisionsaretheonlyescape.Ichasewhatmattersmost—Shade,Gisa,therestofmyfamily,Cal, Kilorn, lightning. But they always dance out of my grip or flicker tonothing when I reach them. Another torture, I suppose—Samson’s way ofrunningmeraggedevenasIsleep.Mavenistheretoo,butInevergotohim,andhenevermoves.Alwayssitting,alwaysstaring,onehandonhistemple,massaginganache.Ineverseehimblink.

Yearsorsecondspass.Thepressuredulls.Mymindsharpens.Whateverfogheldmecaptiverecedes,burningoff.Iamallowedtowakeup.

I feel thirsty, bled dry by bitter tears I do not remember shedding. Thecrushing weight of silence hangs heavy as always. For a moment it’s toodifficulttobreathe,andIwonderifthisishowIdie.Drownedinthisbedofsilk,burnedbyaking’sobsession,smotheredbyopenair.

I’mbackinmyprisonbedchamber.MaybeI’vebeenheretheentiretime.Thewhitelightstreamingfromthewindowstellsmeithassnowedagain,andthe world outside is bright winter.Whenmy sight adjusts to it, letting theroom come into clearer focus, I risk looking around. Flashingmy eyes leftandright,notmovingmorethanIhaveto.Notthatitmatters.

TheArvensstandguardat the fourcornersofmybed,eachonestaringdown.Kitten,Clover,Trio,andEgg.TheyexchangeglanceswithoneanotherasIblinkupatthem.

SamsonisnowhereIcansee,thoughIexpecthimtoloomovermewithamalicious smile and a snappy welcome. Instead, a small woman in plainclothes,withflawlessblue-blackskinlikeapolishedgem,standsatthefootofmybed. I don’t knowher face, but there’s something familiar about herfeatures.Then I realizewhat I thoughtweremanacleswere actually hands.Hers.Eachonetightaroundanankle,soothingagainstmyskinandthebonesbeneath.

I recognize her colors. Red and silver crossed on her shoulders,representingbothkindsofblood.Healer.Skinhealer.She’sofHouseSkonos.The sensation I feel from her touch is healingme—or at least keepingmealiveagainst theonslaughtof fourpillarsofsilence.Theirpressuremustbeenoughtokillme,ifnotforahealer.Adelicatebalancetobesure.Shemustbeverytalented.ShehasthesameeyesasSara.Bright,darkgray,expressive.

But she isn’t looking atme.Her eyes, instead, are on something tomyright.

IflinchwhenIfollowhergaze.

MavensitsasIdreamedhim.Still,focused,onehandonhistemple.Theotherhandwavesinsilentorder.

And then there reallyaremanacles.Theguardsmovequickly, fasteningstrangebraidedmetalstuddedwithsmoothlypolishedorbsaroundmyanklesandwrists. They lock each onewith a single key. I try to follow the key’spath,butinmydaze,itflickersinandoutoffocus.Onlythemanaclesstandout.Theyfeelheavyandcold. Iexpectonemore,anewcollar tomarkmyneck,butmyneckisleftblissfullybare.Thejeweledthornsdon’tcomeback.

Tomyeternalsurprise, thehealerandtheguards taketheir leaveofme,walking from the room. I watch them go in confusion, trying to hide thesuddenleapofexcitementsendingmypulseintooverdrive.Iseveryonereallythisstupid?WilltheyleavemealonewithMaven?DoeshethinkIwon’ttrytokillhiminaheartbeat?

Iturntohim,tryingtogetoutofbed,tryingtomove.Butanythingfasterthan sitting up feels impossible, as if my very blood has turned to lead. Iquicklyunderstandwhy.

“I’mquiteawareofwhatyou’dliketodotome,”hesays,hisvoicebarelyawhisper.

My fists clench, fingers twitching. I reach forwhat stillwon’t respond.Whatcan’trespond.“MoreSilentStone,”Imumble,sayingthewordslikeacurse.Thepolishedorbsofmywearableprisongleam.“Youmustberunninglowbynow.”

“Thankyouforyourconcern,butthesupplyiswellinorder.”

AsIdidinthecellsbeneaththeBowlofBones,Ispitinhisdirection.Itlandsharmlesslyathisfeet.Hedoesn’tseemtomind.Infact,hesmiles.

“Get it out of your system now. The courtwill not take kindly to suchbehavior.”

“AsifI—Court?”Thelastwordsputtersout.

Hissmilespreads.“Ididnotmisspeak.”

Myinsidescringeatthesightofhisgrin.“Lovely,”Isay.“You’retiredofkeepingmecagedupwhereyoucan’tseeme.”

“Actually,Ifinditdifficultbeingthisclosetoyou.”HiseyesflickerovermewithanemotionIdon’twanttoplace.

“Thefeelingismutual,”Isnarl,ifonlytokillthestrangesoftnessinhim.Iwouldratherfacehisfire,hisrage,thananyquietword.

Hedoesn’trisetothebait.“Idoubtthat.”

“Where’smyleash,then?DoIgetanewone?”

“No leash,nocollar.”Heangleshischinatmymanacles. “Nothingbutthosenow.”

What he’s getting at, I cannot begin to fathom. But I’ve long stoppedtryingtounderstandMavenCaloreandthetwistsofhislabyrinthinebrain.SoIlethimkeeptalking.HealwaystellsmewhatIneed,intheend.

“Yourinterrogationwasveryfruitful.Somuchtolearnaboutyou,abouttheterroristscallingthemselvestheScarletGuard.”Mybreathcatchesinmythroat.What did they find?What did I miss? I try to remember the mostimportant pieces of my knowledge, to figure out which will be the mostharmfultomyfriends.Tuck,theMontforttwins,thenewbloodabilities?

“Cruelpeople,aren’tthey?”hecontinues.“Bentondestroyingeverythingandeveryonewhoisnotlikethem.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”TheColonellockedmeup,yes,andfearsmestill,butwearealliesnow.WhatcouldthatmeantoMaven?

“Newbloods,ofcourse.”

Istilldon’tunderstand.There’snoreasonforhimtocareaboutRedswithabilitiesbeyondwhathemustdotogetridofus.Firsthedeniedweexisted,calling me a trick. Now we are freaks, threats. Things to be feared anderadicated.

“It’ssuchashame,toknowyouweretreatedsobadlyyoufelttheneedtorun from that old man calling himself a colonel.” Maven enjoys this,explaininghisplaninslivers,waitingformetopieceittogether.Myheadisstill foggy,my bodyweak, and I trymybest to figure outwhat hemeans.“Worse still, that he debated shipping you off to themountains, discardingyoualllikegarbage.”Montfort.Butthatwasn’twhathappened.Thatwasn’twhat was offered to us. “And of course I was very upset to learn the trueintentionsoftheScarletGuard.TomakeaRedworld,aReddawn,withroomfornothingelse.Nooneelse.”

“Maven.”ThewordquiverswithalltherageIhavestrengthtocall.Ifnotformymanacles,Iwouldexplode.“Youcan’t—”

“Can’twhat?Tell the truth?Tellmycountry theScarletGuard is luringnewbloodstoitssideonlytokillthem?Tomakeagenocideofthem—ofyou—as well as us? That the infamous rebel Mare Barrow came back to mewillingly,andthatthiswasdiscoveredduringaninterrogationwherethetruthisimpossibletohide?”Heleansforward,wellwithinstrikingdistance.ButheknowsIcanbarelyliftafinger.“Thatyouareonoursidenow,becauseyouhaveseenwhattheScarletGuardtrulyis?Becauseyouandyournewbloodsarefearedasweare,blessedasweare,Silverasweare,ineverythingbutthecolorofblood?”

Myjawworks,openingandclosingmymouth.ButIcan’tfindthewordstomatchmyhorror.All this donewithoutQueenElara’swhispers.All thiswithherdeadandcold.

“You’reamonster”isallIcansay.Amonster,allonhisown.

Hedrawsback,stillsmiling.“NevertellmewhatIcannotdo.AndneverunderestimatewhatIwilldo—formykingdom.”

His hand falls on my wrist, drawing one finger down the manacle ofSilentStonekeepingmeprisoner.Itrembleoutoffear,butsodoeshe.

With his eyes on my hand, I’m given time to study him. His casualclothes,blackasalways,arerumpled,andhedoesnotstandonceremony.Nocrown,nobadges.Anevilboy,butaboystill.

OneImustfigureouthowtofight.Buthow?I’mweak,mylightningisgone, and anything I might say will be twisted beyond my control. I canbarelywalk,letaloneescapeunaided.Rescueisallbutimpossible,ahopelessdreamthatIcan’twasteanymoretimeon.I’mstuckhere,trappedbyalethal,conniving king. He dogged me over months, haunting me from afar ineverythingfrombroadcaststohisdeadlynotes.

Imissyou.Untilwemeetagain.

Hesaidhewasamanofhisword.Perhaps,inthisalone,heis.

Withadeepbreath, Ipokeat theonlyweakness Isuspecthemightstillhave.

“Wereyouhere?”

Blueeyessnaptomine.It’shisturntolookconfused.

“Through this.” I glance at the bed, and then far away. It’s painful torememberSamson’storture,andIhopeitshows.“Idreamedyouwerehere.”

Thewarmth of him recedes, drawing back to leave the room coldwithoncoming winter. His eyelids flutter, dark lashes against white skin. For asecond,IremembertheMavenIthoughthewas.Iseehimagain,adreamoraghost.

“Everysecond,”heanswers.

Whenagrayflushspreadsacrosshischeeks,Iknowit’sthetruth.

AndnowIknowhowtohurthim.

Themanaclesmakeittooeasytofallasleep,somerelypretendingtodosoisdifficult.Beneaththeblanket,Iclenchafist,diggingmynailsintomypalm.Icounttheseconds.IcountMaven’sbreaths.Finally,hischaircreaks.Hestands.Hehesitates.Icanalmostfeelhiseyes,theirtouchburningagainstmy still face. And then he goes, footsteps light against the wood floor,

sweeping throughmybedroomwith the grace and quiet of a cat.The doorshutssoftlybehindhim.

Soeasytosleep.

Iwaitinstead.

Twominutespass,buttheArvenguardsdon’treturn.

Isupposetheythinkthemanaclesareenoughtokeepmehere.

Theyarewrong.

My legswobblewhen theyhit the floor, bare feet against coldwood inparquetdesigns.Iftherearecameraswatching,Idon’tcare.Theycan’tstopmefromwalking.Ortryingtowalk.

I don’t like doing things slowly. Especially now, when every momentcounts.EverysecondcouldmeananotherpersonIlovedead.SoIshoveoffthebed,forcingmyself tostandonweak, tremblinglegs.Anoddsensation,withSilentStoneweighingdownmywristsandankles, leachingwhat littlestrengthmyanger givesme. It takes a longmoment to bear thepressure. IdoubtI’llevergetusedtoit.ButIcangetpastit.

The first step is the easiest.A lunge to the little tablewhere I takemymeals. The second is more difficult, now that I know how much effort ittakes. I walk like a man drunk or hobbled. For a split second, I envymyfather’swheelchair.Theshameofsuch thoughtsfuelsmynextsteps,acrossthe length of the room. Panting, I reach the other side, almost collapsingagainstthewall.Theburninmylegsispurefire,sendingaprickleofsweatdownmyspine.Afamiliarfeeling,likeI’vejustrunamile.Thenauseainthepit ofmy stomach is different, though.Another side effect of the Stone. Itmakes every beat ofmy heart feel heavier, andwrong somehow. It tries toemptymeout.

Myforeheadtouchesthepaneledwall,lettingthecoldsoothe.“Again,”Iforceout.

Iturnandstumbleacrosstheroom.

Again.

Again.

Again.

By the timeKittenandTriodelivermy lunch, I’mdrenchedwith sweatand Ihave toeat lyingon the floor.Kittendoesn’t seem tocare, toeing the

plateofevenlybalancedmeatandvegetables towardme.Whatever’sgoingonoutsidethecitywalls,itdoesn’tseemtohaveanyeffectonfoodsupply.Abadsign.Trioleavessomethingelseonmybed,butIfocusoneatingfirst.Iforcedowneverysinglebite.

Gettingupisabiteasier.Mymusclesarealreadyresponding,adjustingtothemanacles.There’sasmallblessinginthem.TheArvensarelivingSilvers,theirabilityfluctuatingwiththeirownconcentration,aschangingascrashingwaves.TheirsilenceismuchhardertoadapttothantheconstantpressoftheStone.

Iripopentheparcelonmybed,discardingthethick,luxuriouswrapping.Thegownslithersout,fallingagainstmyblankets.Itakeastepbackslowly,my body going cold as I’m seized by the familiar urge to jump out thewindow.ForasecondIshutmyeyes,tryingtowillthedressaway.

Notbecause it’sugly.Thedress is shockinglybeautiful, agleamof silkandjewels.Butitforcesmetorealizeaterribletruth.Beforethedress,Iwasable to ignoreMaven’swords, his plan, andwhat hemeans to do. Now itstaresme in the face, amocking piece of artistry.The fabric is red.As thedawn,mymindwhispers.Butthat iswrongtoo.ThisisnotthecoloroftheScarletGuard.Ours is a lurid, bright, angry red, something to be seen andrecognized, almost shocking to the eye. This gown is different.Worked indarker shades, crimsonand scarlet, beadedwithchipsofgemstones,wovenwith intricateembroidery. Itshimmers in thedarkestway,catchingthe lightoverheadlikeapoolofredoil.

Likeapoolofredblood.

Thedresswillmakeme—andwhatIam—impossibletoforget.

I laugh bitterly to myself. It’s almost funny. My days as Maven’sbetrothedwere spent hiding, pretending to be Silver. At least now I won’thavetobepaintedintooneofthem.Avery,verysmallmercyinthelightofallelse.

So,Iamgoingbeforehiscourt,andtheworld,thecolorofmybloodbareforalltosee.IwonderifthekingdomwillrealizeIamnothingmorethanalurehidingasteel-sharphook.

Hedoesn’tcomebackuntil thenextmorning.Whenheenters,hefrownsatthedress,balledupinthecorner.Icouldn’tstandtolookatit.Ican’treallylookathimeither,soIkeepatmyexercises:currentlyaverystunted,slowversionof sit-ups. I feel likeaclumsy toddler,myarmsheavier thanusual,butIforcethroughit.Hetakesafewstepscloser,andIclenchafist,willing

myself to send a spark in his direction. Nothing happens, just as nothinghappenedthelastdozentimesItriedtousemyelectricity.

“Goodtoknowtheygotthebalanceright,”hemuses,settlingintohisseatat the table.Todayhelookspolished,withhisbadgesbrightandshiningonhis chest.Hemust’ve come fromoutside.There’s snow in his hair, and heremoveshisleathergloveswithhisteeth.

“Ohyes, thesebraceletsare just lovely,” Ibitebackathim,wavingoneheavyhandinhisdirection.Themanaclesarelooseenoughtospin,buttightenough that I could never pull them off, even if I dislocated a thumb. Iconsideredit,untilIrealizeditwouldbepointless.

“I’llgiveEvangelineyourcompliments.”

“Ofcourseshemadethem,”Iscoff.Shemustbesopleasedtoknowsheistheliteralcreatorofmycage.“Surprisedshehasthetime,though.Shemustbe spendingevery secondmakingcrownsand tiaras towear.Dresses too. Ibetyoucutyourselfeverytimeyouhavetoholdherhand.”

A muscle in his cheek ticks. Maven has no feelings for Evangeline,somethingI’vealwaysknown.SomethingIcaneasilyexploit.

“Haveyousetadate?”Iask,sittingup.

Blueeyesflashtomine.“What?”

“I doubt a royal wedding is something you can do on short notice. Iassumeyouknowexactlywhenyou’remarryingSamos.”

“Oh,that.”Heshrugs,brushingitoffwithawave.“Planningtheweddingisherbusiness.”

Iholdhisgaze.“If itwereherbusiness, she’dhavebeenqueenmonthsago.”Whenhedoesn’treply,Ipushharder.“Youdon’twanttomarryher.”

Insteadofcrumbling,hisfacadestrengthens.Heevenchuckles,projectingan imageof abject disinterest. “That’s notwhySilvers getmarried, aswellyouknow.”

I tryadifferent tactic,playingonthepiecesofhimIusedtoknow.ThepiecesIhopearestillreal.“Well,Idon’tblameyouforstalling—”

“Itisn’tstallingtopostponeaweddinginwartime.”

“She’snotwhoyouwould’vechosen—”

“Asifthere’schoiceinthematter.”

“NottomentionthefactthatshewasCal’sbeforeshewasyours.”

Thementionofhisbrotherstillshislazyprotesting.Icanalmostseethemusclestightenbeneathhisskin,andonehandflicksthebraceletathiswrist.Everygentletingofthemetalringsasloudasawarningbell.Onesparkfromitandhewillburn.

Butfiredoesn’tscaremeanymore.

“Basedonyourprogress,itshouldtakeanotherdayorsoforyoutolearnhow to walk properly with those.” His words are measured, forced,calculated.He probably rehearsed thembefore he came in here. “And thenyou’llfinallybeofsomeusetome.”

AsIdoeveryday,Iglancearoundtheroom,lookingforcameras.Istilldon’tseethem,buttheymustbethere.“Doyouspendalldayspyingonme,ordoesaSecurityofficergiveyouasummary?Somekindofwrittenreport?”

Mavenletstheremarkglanceoff.“TomorrowyouwillstandupandsayexactlywhatItellyouto.”

“Orwhat?”IforcemyselftomyfeetwithoutanyofthegraceoragilityIusedtoclaim.Hewatcheseveryinch.I lethim.“I’malreadyyourprisoner.Youcankillmewheneveryoulike.Andquitefrankly,I’dpreferthattoluringnewbloodsintoyournettodie.”

“I’mnotgoingtokillyou,Mare.”Eventhoughhe’sstillsitting,Ifeellikehetowersoverme.“AndIdon’twanttokillthemeither.”

Iunderstandwhatthewordsmean,butnotwhentheycomefromMaven’smouth.Itmakesnosense.Nosenseatall.“Why?”

“You’llneverfight forus, Iknowthat.Butyourkind…they’restrong,stronger thanmanySilverscouldeverbe. Imaginewhatwewilldowithanarmyofthem,combinedwithanarmyofmine.Whentheyhearyourvoice,they’ll come. How they are treated once they arrive depends on yourbehavior,ofcourse.Andyourcompliance.”Finally,hestands.He’sgrowninthepastfewmonths.Tallerandleaner,takingafterhismother,ashedoesinmostthings.“SoIhavetwochoices,andyougettopickwhichoneIfollow.Eitheryoubringmenewbloods,andtheyjoinwithus,orIcontinuefindingthemonmyown,andkillingthem.”

My slap lands weakly, barely moving his jaw at all. My other handsmacksagainsthischest,justasinconsequential.Healmostrollshiseyesattheeffort.Hemightevenenjoyit.

Ifeelmyfaceturnbrightred,flushingbothinangerandhelplesssorrow.“Howcanyoubelikethis?”Icurse,wishingIcouldtearhimapart.Ifnotforthemanacles,mylightningwouldbeeverywhere.Instead,wordspouroutofme.WordsIcanbarelythinkaboutbeforetheyragefromme.“Howcanyoustill be like this?She’sdead. I killedher.You are free fromher.You—youshouldn’tbehersonanymore.”

His hand gripsmy chin hard, shockingme into silence. The force of itmakesmebend,leanbackward,almostlosebalance.IwishIwould.IwishIcouldfalloutofhishands,hitthefloor,andsplinterintoathousandpieces.

BackattheNotch,inthewarmthofthecotIsharedwithCal,deepinthenight,Ithoughtofmomentslikethis.BeingalonewithMavenagain.GettingthechancetoseewhathetrulywasbeneaththemaskIrememberedandthepersonhismotherforcedhimtobe.In thatstrangeplacebetweensleepandwaking, his eyes followed me. Always the same color, but somehowchanging.Hiseyes,hereyes,eyesIknewandeyesIcouldneverknow.Theylookthesamenow,burningwithacoldfire,threateningtoconsumeme.

Knowingit’swhathewantstosee,Iletthetearsoffrustrationoverwhelmmeandfall.Hetrackstheirpathswithhunger.

Thenheshovesmeaway.Istaggertoaknee.

“Iamwhatshemademe,”hewhispers,leavingmebehind.

Before thedoorshutsbehindhim,Inoticeguardsoneitherside.CloverandEggthistime.SotheArvensarenotfaraway,evenifIsomehowmanagetofreemyself.

Isinkslowlytothefloorandsitbackonmyheels.Iputonehandovermyface, hiding the fact that my eyes are suddenly dry. As much as I wishedElara’sdeathwouldchangehim, Iknewitwouldnot. I’mnot that stupid. IcannottrustanythingwhereMavenisconcerned.

Thesmallestofhisceremonialbadgesbitesinmyotherhand,hiddenbymy curling fingers. Even Silent Stone cannot take away a thief’s instincts.Thebadge’smetalpindigsintoskin.I’mtemptedtolet itbreakthrough, tobleedcrimsonandscarlet,toremindmyselfandanyonewatchingwhatIam,andwhatIamcapableof.

Under theguiseofstraighteningup, Islip thebadgeundermymattress.Along with the rest of my plunder: hairpins, broken fork tines, shards ofshatteredglassandporcelainplates.Myarsenal,humbleasitis,willhavetodo.

Iglareat thedress in thecorner, as if thedress is somehowat fault forthis.

Tomorrow,hesaid.

Ireturntomysit-ups.

SIXMare

Thecardsarecarefullytyped,outliningwhatImustsay.Ican’tevenlookatthem,andleavethemlyingonmybedsidetable.

I very much doubt I’ll get the benefit of maids to make me up intowhateverMaven imagines presenting to the court. It looks like an arduoustask,buttoningandzippingmyselfintothescarletgown.Ithasahighcollar,trailing hem, and long sleeves to hide not just Maven’s brand on mycollarbonebutthemanaclesstillattachedtomywristsandankles.

No matter how many times I escape this elegant pageantry, I seemdoomedtoplayaroleinit.ThedresswillbetoobigwhenIfinallygetiton,loose around the arms and waist. I’m thinner here, nomatter howmuch Iforce myself to eat. Based on what I can glean from my reflection in thewindow,myhairandskinhavealsosufferedundertheweightofsilence.Myfaceisyellowedandsunken,sickly-looking,whileredrimsmyeyes.Andmydarkbrownhair, still tingedby theslowcreepofgrayat theends, is rattierthan ever, tangled to the root. I braid it back hastily, working the knottedstrands.

NoamountofsilkcanchangewhatIlooklikebeneathMaven’scostume.Butit’snomatter.I’llneverwearit,ifallgoestoplan.

Thenextstepinmypreparationmakesmyheartpound.Idomybest tolookcalm,forthecamerasinmybedroomat least.TheycannotknowwhatI’mabout todo,not if it’sgoingtowork.Andevenif Imanagetofoolmyguards,there’sanotherratherlargeobstacle.

Thiscouldkillme.

Mavendidnotputcameras inmybathroom.Not toprotectmyprivacy,buttoplacatehisownjealousy.Iknowenoughofhimtorealizehewon’tletanotherpersonseemybody.TheaddedweightofSilentStone,theslabssetinto walls, is confirmation. Maven made sure guards would never have areasontoescortmeinhere.Myheartbeatssluggishlyinmychest,butIpushthroughit.Ihaveto.

Theshowerhissesandsteams,scaldinghotassoonasIturnitontofull

blast.IfnotforthebathroomStone,Iwouldhavespentmanydaysenjoyingthe singular comfort of a hot wash. I must work quickly, or let myself besmothered.

Backat theNotchwewere lucky tobathe incoldrivers,whileonTucktheshowersweretimedandlukewarm.Ilaughatthethoughtofwhatpassedfor bathing at home. A tub filled from the kitchen faucet, warm in thesummer,coldinthewinter,withstolensoaptocleanwith.Istilldon’tenvymymother’sjobofhelpingmyfatherwash.

Withanyluck—lotsofluck—I’llseethemagainsoon.

Ipushtheshowerhead,anglingitawayfromthebasinandontothefloorof thebathroom.Thewaterpelts againstwhite tile, drenching it.The sprayhitsmybarefeet,andtheheatshiversmyskin,gentleandinvitingasawarmblanket.

Aswaterseepsoutbeneaththebathroomdoor,Iworkquickly.FirstIputthelongshardofglassonthecounter,wellwithinarm’slength.ThenIreachforthetrueweapon.

Whitefire Palace is a marvel in every inch, and my bathroom is noexception.It’slitbyamodestchandelier, if thereissuchathing:workedinsilver,withcurlingarmsliketreebranchesgivingbudtoadozenlightbulbs.Ihavetostandonthesink,precariouslybalanced, togetat it.Afewforcefulbutfocusedtugspullthedanglingfixtureforward,itswiringpeelingthroughtheceiling.OnceIhaveenoughslack,Icrouch,thestill-litchandelierinhand.Ibraceitonthesinktowait.

Thepoundingstartsa fewminutes later.Whoever iswatchingmy roomhas noticed thewater spilling out from underneathmy bathroom door. Tensecondslater,twosetsoffeettroopintomybedroom.WhichArvens,I’mnotsure,butitdoesn’treallymatter.

“Barrow!” a man’s voice calls, accompanied by a fist knocking on thebathroomdoor.

TheywastenotimewhenIdon’trespond,andneitherdoI.

Eggpushesthedoorin,hiswhitefacealmostblendingintothetiledwallsashestepsinside,sloshingthrough.Cloverdoesnotfollow,butstandswithonefootinthebathroom,theotherinmybedchamber.Itdoesn’tmatter.Bothherfeetareinthepuddleofsteamingwater.

“Barrow…?”Eggsays,slack-jawedatthesightofme.

Itdoesn’ttakemuchtoletthechandelierdrop,buttheactionfeelsheavyallthesame.

Itsmashesagainstthewettile.Whentheelectricityhitsthewater,asurgepulsesthroughtheroom,shortingoutnotjusttheotherbathroomlights,butthelightsinmybedroom.Probablythisentirewingofthepalace.

Both Arvens jump and twitch as the sparks dance through their flesh.Theycrumplequickly,musclesseizing.

Ivaultoverthewaterandtheirbodies,almostgaspingastheweightofthebathroom’sSilentStonemeltsaway.Themanaclesstillweighonmylimbs,andIwastenotimesearchingtheArvens,carefultokeepoutofthewater.IturnouttheirpocketsasquicklyasIcan,searchingforthekeythathauntsmywakingmoments.Shaking, I feelacurlofmetalbeneathEgg’scollar, lyingflush to his breastbone. With trembling hands, I yank it free and set tolooseningmymanaclesonebyone.Astheydropaway,thesilencelifts,bitbybit.Igaspdownair,tryingtoforcelightningintomyself.It’scomingback.Itmust.

ButIstillfeelnumb.

Egg’sbodyisatmymercy,warmandalivebeneathmyhands.IcouldcuthisthroatandClover’s,slicetheirjugularswithanyoneofthejaggedbitsofglassIkeepwellhidden.Ishoulddoit,Itellmyself.ButI’vealreadywastedtoomuchtime.Ileavethemliving.

Asexpected,theArvensaretrainedenoughintheirdutiestohavelockedmybedroomdoorbehindthem.Nomatter.Ahairpinisjustasgoodasakey.Ipopthelockinasecond.

It’s been a few days since I stepped outsidemy prison, and then IwasleashedtoEvangeline,guardedonallsides.Nowthehallwayisempty.Deadlightbulbs march down the hall overhead, taunting in their emptiness. Myelectrical sense isweak, barely a spark across the darkness. It has to comeback.Thiswon’tworkifitdoesn’tcomeback.Ifightaswellofpanic—whatifit’sgoneforgood?WhatifMaventookmylightningfromme?

I sprint as fast as I can, holding on to what I know of Whitefire.Evangeline tookmeleft, to theballroomsandthegreathallsand the throneroom.Thoseplaceswillbecrawlingwithguardsandofficers,nottomentionthenobilityofNorta,dangerousontheirown.SoIgoright.

Camerasfollow,ofcourse. Ispot themateverycorner. Iwonder if theyshorted out too, or if I’m entertainment for a few officers. They might be

makingbetsonhowfarIget.Thedoomedendeavorofadoomedgirl.

A service stair takes me down a landing, and I almost knock over aservantinmyhaste.

Myheartleapsatthesightofhim.Aboy,myage,maybe,hisfacealreadyflushingasheholdsontohisteatray.Flushingred.

“It’sa trick!” Ishoutathim.“What they’regoing tomakemedo, it’satrick!”

At the top of the stairs, and the bottom, a pair of doors bang open insuccession.Corneredagain.AbadhabitI’vedeveloped.

“Mare—”theboysays,mynametremblingonhislips.Ifrightenhim.

“Find away; tell the ScarletGuard. Tellwhoever you can. It’s anotherlie!”

Someone seizes me around my middle, pulling me backward, up andaway.Ikeepmyfocusontheservingboy.Theuniformedofficersascendingfrom below shove him away, pressing him up against the wall withoutthought.Histrayclatterstothefloor,spillingtea.

“It’sallalie!”Imanagetogetoutbeforeahandclampsovermymouth.

I try to spark, reaching for lightning that I still barely feel. Nothinghappens,soIbitedownhardenoughtotasteblood.

TheSecurityofficerdropshishand,swearing,whileanothercomesupinfrontofme,deftlygrabbingmykickinglegs.Ispitbloodinherface.

Whenshebackhandsme,theactionfullofdeadlygrace,Irecognizeher.

“Goodtoseeyou,Sonya,”Ihiss.Itrytokickherinthestomach,butshedodgeswithboredom.

Please, I beg in my mind, as if the electricity can hear me. Nothingresponds,andIchokebackasob.I’mtooweak.It’sbeentoolong.

Sonyaisasilk,tooswiftandagiletobebotheredwiththeresistanceofaweakgirl.Iglanceatheruniform.Blackpipedwithsilver,withtheblueandredofHouseIralonhershoulders.Judgingbythebadgesonherchestandthepinsonhercollar, she’sa rankingofficerofSecuritynow.“Congratulationsonthepromotion,”Igrowlinfrustration,lashingoutbecauseit’sallIcando.“DonewithTrainingsosoon?”

Shetightenshergriponmyfeet,herhandslikepincers.

“Toobad you never finishedProtocol.” Still carryingmy legs, she rubsherfaceonhershoulder,tryingtowipeawaythesilverbloodonhercheek.“Youcouldusesomemanners.”

It’s only been a few months since I last saw her. Standing with hergrandmotherAraandEvangeline,dressedinmourningblackfortheking.ShewasoneofmanywhowatchedmeintheBowlofBones,whowantedtoseemedie.Herhouseisfamedfortheirskillnotjustinbody,butinmind.Spiesall, trained to discover secrets. I doubt she believed Maven when he toldeveryoneIwasa trick,aScarletGuardcreationsent to infiltrate thepalace.AndIdoubtshe’llbelievewhat’sabouttohappen.

“Isawyourgrandmother,”Itellher.Adaringcardtoplay.

Her flawlesscomposuredoesnotchange,but I feelhergriponmy legsweaken,ifonlyalittle.Thenshedipsherchin.Continue,she’stryingtosay.

“InCorrosPrison.Starved,weakenedbySilentStone.”LikeIamnow.“Ihelpedfreeher.”

Anothermightcallmealiar.ButSonyaremainsquiet,hereyesanywherebutme.Toanyoneelse,shelooksdisinterested.

“Idon’tknowhowlongshespentinthere,butsheputupmoreofafightthananyoneelse.”Irememberhernow,flashingacrossmymemories.Anoldwoman with the vicious strength of her namesake, the Panther. She evensavedmylife,pluckingarazor-sharpwheeloutoftheairbeforeitcouldtakemy head. “Ptolemus got her in the end, though. Right before he killedmybrother.”

Her gaze falls to the floor, brow furrowed slightly. Every inch of hertightens.Fora second I think shemightcry,but the threatening tearsneverspill.“How?”Ibarelyhearher.

“Throughtheneck.Quickly.”

Hernextslapiswellaimed,butwithoutmuchstrengthbehindit.Ashow,likeeverythingelseinthishellishplace.

“Keep your filthy lies to yourself, Barrow,” she hisses, ending ourconversation.

Iendup inaheaponmybedroomfloor,bothcheeksstinging,with thecrushingweightoffourArvenguardswashingoverme.EggandCloverlookabit rumpled,buthealershavealreadyseen to their injuries,whatever theywere.PityIdidn’tkillthem.

“Shockedtoseeme?”Idrawlatthem,chucklingatthehorrificjoke.

In response,Kitten forcesme into the scarlet gown,makingme strip infrontofthemall.Shetakeshertimeinthehumiliation.Thedresssmartsasitpullsacrossmybrand.MforMaven,Mformonster,Mformurder.

IcanstilltastetheSecurityofficer’sbloodwhenKittenshovesthespeechcardsintomychest.

ThefullstrengthoftheSilvercourthasbeensummonedtothethroneroom.TheHighHousespresstogetherintheirusualriot.Everycolorisanassault,afirework of gems and brocade. I join the chaos, adding blood red to thecollection.Thedoors to the throne roomseal shutbehindme,cagingme inwith the worst of them. The houses part to let me pass, forming a longcorridorfromtheentrancetothethrone.TheywhisperasIgo,notingeveryimperfectionandeveryrumor.Icatchsnippets.Ofcoursetheyallknowaboutmylittleadventurethismorning.TheArvenguards,twoinfront,twobehind,areconfirmationenoughofmycontinuedstatusasprisoner.

SoMaven’s newest lie is not for them this time. I try to puzzle out hismotives, the turnsofhis labyrinthinemanipulations.Hemusthaveweighedthecostsofwhattotellthem—anddecidedbringinghisclosestnoblesinonsuchadelicioussecretwasworththerisk.Theywon’tmindhisliesifheisn’tlyingtothem.

Asbefore,hesitsonhisthroneofgraystoneslabs,bothhandsclawedtothe armrests. Sentinels have his back, lining the wall behind him, whileEvangeline takes his left, standing proud. She glitters, a lethal star, with acape and slashed gown of intricate silver scales. Her brother, Ptolemus,matchesinanewsuitofarmor,closeasaguardianforbothhissisterandtheking.Another bitterly familiar face holdsMaven’s right.He does notweararmor.Hedoesnotneedarmor.Hismindisweaponandshieldenough.

SamsonMerandusgrinsatme,avisionindarkblueandwhitelace,colorsIhateaboveallothers.Evensilver.Iamabutcher,hewarnedmebeforemyinterrogation.Hewasnot lying. Iwill never fully recover from thewayhecarvedmeup:apigonahook,bleddry.

Maven notes my appearance, pleased with it. The same Skonos healerattemptedtodosomethingwithmyhair,pullingitbackintoaneattailwhileswipingabitofmakeupacrossmyfrazzledfeatures.Shedidn’ttakelong,butIwishshe’d lingered.Her touchwascoolandsoothing, fixingupwhateverbruisesIearnedinmydoomedescape.

IfeelnofearasIapproach,walkingbeforetheeyesofdozensofSilvers.

There are far worse things to be afraid of. Like the cameras ahead, forexample.Theyaren’t trainedonmeyet,but theywillbesoon. Icanhardlystomachthethought.

Maven stops us short with a single gesture, holding up his palm. TheArvensknowwhatitmeansandpeelaway, leavingmetowalkthelastfewyards bymyself. That’swhen the cameras switch on.To showmewalkingalone,unguarded,unleashed,afreeRedstandingwithSilvers.Theimagewillbebroadcasteverywhere,toeveryoneIlove,andanyoneIcouldeverhopetoprotect.This simpleactionmightbeenough todoomdozensofnewbloods,andstrikeaheavyblowagainsttheScarletGuard.

“Comeforward,Mare.”

ThatisMaven’svoice.NotMaven,butMaven.TheboyIthoughtIknew.Gentle,tender.Hekeepsthatvoicestoredaway,readytobedrawnandusedagainstmelikeasword.Itstrikesmetomycore,asheknowsitwill.Inspiteofmyself,Ifeelthefamiliarlongingforaboywhodoesnotexist.

Myfootstepsechoonthemarble.InProtocol,thelateLadyBlonostriedto teachme how to holdmy face at court. Her ideal expressionwas cold,emotionless,beyondunfeeling.Iamnoneofthosethings,andIfighttheurgetoslipbehindsuchamask.Instead,ItrytoschoolmyfeaturesintosomethingthatwillbothsatisfyMavenandsomehowletthecountryknowthisisnotmychoiceatall.Ahardlinetowalk.

Still grinning, Samson takes a step sideways, leaving space next to thethrone.Ishiverattheintention,butdoasImust.ItakeMaven’srightside.

Whatapicturethismustbe.Evangelineinsilver,meinred,withthekinginblackbetween.

SEVENCameron

Theso-called“lightningalert”echoesthroughthemainfloorofIrabelle,upanddownthescaffoldedlandings,backandforthbetweenpassages.Runnersgoout,seekingthoseofusdeemedimportantenoughtogetupdatesonMare.Usually I’mnot apriority.Noonedragsmedown tobedebriefedwith therest of her club. The kids findme later on, at work, and handme a paperdetailing whatever snippets the Guard spies gathered on precious Barrow’scell time.Uselessstuff.Whatsheate,herguardrotation, thatkindof thing.Buttodaytherunner,alittlegirlwithslick,straightblackhairandrussetskin,tugsonmyarm.

“Lightning alert, Miss Cole. Come with me,” she says, adamant andcloying.

Iwanttosnapthatmypriorityistogettheheatworkinginmybarracks,not findouthowmany timesMareused thebathroom today,buther sweetfacestopstheimpulse.Farleymust’vesentthecutestbleedingkidinthebase.Damnher.

“Allright,I’llgo,”Ihuff,tossingmytoolsbackintotheircase.Whenshetakesmy hand, I’m reminded ofMorrey.He’s shorter than I am, and backwhenwewerekidsworkingtheassemblyline,heusedtoholdmyhandwhenthenoisymachinesfrightenedhim.Butthislittlegirlshowsnosignsoffear.

She pulls me through curling passages, proud of herself for knowingwhichway to go. I frown at the red scrap tied around herwrist. She’s tooyoungtobeoathedtorebels,letalonelivingintheirtacticalheadquarters.Butthen, Iwassent toworkwhenIwasfive,sortingscrapfromthe junkpiles.She’stwicethatage.

Iopenmymouthtoaskwhatbroughtherhere,butthinkbetterofit.Herparents,obviously,eitherbytheirlife’schoicesortheirlife’sending.Iwonderwheretheymightbe.JustlikeIwonderaboutmine.

Passages4and5andSub7needwirestripping.BarracksAneedsheat.Irepeat the always-growing list of tasks to dull the sudden pain. My ownparents fade frommy thoughts as Ipushaway their faces.Daddydrivinga

transport truck, his hands sure as ever on the wheel.Mama in the factoryalongsideme,quickerthanI’lleverbe.Shewassickwhenweleft,herhairthinningwhileherdarkskinseemedtogray.Ialmostchokeonthememory.Bothofthemareoutofmyreach.ButMorreyisn’t.MorreyIcangetto.

Passages4and5andSub7needwirestripping.BarracksAneedsheat.MorreyColeneedstobesaved.

We reach the passage to central control the same timeKilorn does.Hisown runner trails behind, sprinting to keep up with the lanky boy tearingaround the corner. Kilornmust have been topside, out in the frozen air ofoncomingwinter.Hischeeksbloomredfromthecold.Ashewalks,hepullsoffaknithat,upendinguneventawnylocks.

“Cam.”Henodsatme,stoppingwhereourpathscross.Hevibrateswithfear,eyesvividlygreeninthefluorescentlightsofthepassage.“Anyideas?”

Ishrug.Iknowless thananyonewhereMareisconcerned.Idon’tevenknowwhy they bother to keep me in the loop. Probably to make me feelincluded.EveryoneknowsIdon’twanttobehere,butIhavenowhereelsetogo.NotbacktoNewTown,nottotheChoke.I’mstuck.

“None,”Ireply.

Kilorn glances back at his runner, offering a smile. “Thanks,” he says,kindly dismissive. The kid takes a hint, turning away with relief. I do thesametomine,gesturingwithabobofmyheadandagratefulsmile.Shetakesoffintheotherdirection,disappearingaroundabend.

“Startingthemyoung,”Ican’thelpbutwhisperundermybreath.

“Notasyoungaswewere,”Kilornreplies.

Ifrown.“True.”

Inthepastmonthorso,I’velearnedenoughaboutKilorntoknowIcantrust him as much anyone down here. Our lives are similar. He startedapprenticingatayoungage,and,likeme,hehadtheluxuryofajobtokeephimfromconscription.Untiltheruleschangedonusboth,andweendeduppulledintothelightninggirl’sorbit.Kilornwouldarguethathispresencehereisbychoice,butIknowbetter.HewasMare’sbestfriend,andhefollowedher into the Scarlet Guard. Now blind stubbornness—not to mention hisfugitivestatus—keepshimhere.

“But we weren’t indoctrinated into something, Kilorn,” I continue,hesitating to take the next few steps. The control-room guards wait a few

yardsaway,silentintheirdutiesatthedoor.They’rewatchingusboth.Idon’tlikethefeeling.

Kilorn offers a strange, sad twitch of a smile. His eyes lower to mytattooedneck,whereIampermanentlymarkedwithmyprofessionandplace.Theblackinkstandsout,evenagainstmydarkskin.“Yes,wewere,Cam,”hesaysquietly.“Comeon.”

He slips an arm around my shoulders, moving us both forward. Theguardsstandaside,lettinguspassthroughthedoor.

This time, thecontrol roomismorecrowded than I’veeverseen.Everytechniciansitsinraptattention,theirfocusontheseveralscreensatthefrontoftheroom.Eachdisplaysthesamething:theBurningCrown,theemblemofNorta, its flames of red, black, and silver. Usually the symbol bookendsofficial broadcasts, and I assume I’m about to be subjected to the latestmessagefromKingMaven’sregime.I’mnottheonlyonetothinkso.

“Wemight see her,”Kilorn breathes, his voice tempered by equal partslongingandfear.On-screen,theimagejumpsalittle.Frozen,paused.“Whatarewewaitingfor?”

“Morelikewho,”Ireply,castingalookabout theroom.AsfarasIcansee,Calisherealready,stoicallyfoldedatthebackoftheroom,keepinghisdistance from everyone. He feels mewatching, but doesn’t domuchmorethannod.

Tomydismay,Kilornwaveshimover.Afterasecondofhesitation,Calcomplies,moving gently through the room as it crowds full. For whateverreason,thislightningalerthasdrawnmanytocontrol,allofthemasonedgeasKilorn.MostofthemIdon’trecognize,butafewnewbloodsjointhemix.I spot Rash and Tahir at their usual position, seated with their radioequipment,whileNannyandAdastickclosetogether.LikeCal,theyoccupythe backwall, reluctant to draw any attention to themselves.As the princegetscloser,Redofficersallbutjumpoutofhisway.Hepretendstoignoreit.

Cal andKilorn tradeweak smiles.Their usual rivalry is long gone, butreplacedbytrepidation.

“WishtheColonelwouldmovehisassalittlefaster,”avoicesaysonmyright.

IturntoseeFarleysidleuptous,doingherbesttoremaininconspicuousdespiteherbelly.It’smostlyhiddenbyherlargejacket,butit’shardtokeepsecretsinaplacelikethis.She’sclosetofourmonthsanddoesn’tcarewho

knows.Evennow,shebalancesaplateoffriedpotatoesinonehand,aforkintheother.

“Cameron,boys,”sheadds,noddingatusinturn.Idothesame,asdoesKilorn. She gives Cal amock salute with her fork, and he barely grunts aresponse.Hisjawclenchessotightlyhisteethmightshatter.

“ThoughttheColonelsleptinhere,”Ireply,fixingmygazeonthescreen.“Typical.Theonetimeweneedhimaround.”

Anyotherday,Iwouldwonderifhisabsencewasaploy.Maybetoletusknowwho’sincharge.Asifanyofuscouldforget.EvennexttoCal,aSilverprinceandgeneral,orahostofnewbloodswithaterrifyingarrayofabilities,he somehow manages to hold all the cards. Because here, in the ScarletGuard, in thisworld, information ismore important thananything,andhe’stheonlyonewhoknowsenoughtokeepcontrolofusall.

Icanrespectthat.Partsofamachinedon’tneedtoknowwhattheotherpiecesaredoing.ButI’mnotjustagear.Notanymore.

The Colonel enters, flanked by Mare’s brothers. Still no sign of herparents,who remain stowed away somewhere, alongsideher sisterwith thedarkredhair.I thoughtIsawheronce,asmart,quickthingdartingthroughthe mess hall, but I never got close enough to ask. I’ve heard rumors, ofcourse.Whispers from theother techniciansandsoldiers.ASecurityofficercrushed the girl’s foot, forcing Mare to beg at the summer palace. Orsomething like that. I have a feeling that asking Kilorn for the real storywouldbeinconsiderate.

Thecontrolcenter turns towatch for theColonel,eager forhim tostartwhateverwe’rehere tosee.Sowereact together,stiflinggaspsorsurprisedexpressionswhenanotherSilverfollowstheColonelintothealready-crowdedroom.

EverytimeIseehim,Iwanttohatehim.HewasthereasonMareforcedme to join her, forcedme to return tomy prison, forcedme to kill, forcedothers to die so this insignificant dry twig of a man could live. But thosechoicesweren’this.HewasaprisonerasmuchasIwas,doomedtothecellsofCorrosand theslow,crushingdeathofSilentStone. It’snothis fault thelightninggirlloveshim,andhemustbearthecursethatlovebringswithit.

JulianJacosdoesnotshrinkagainstthebackwallwiththenewbloods,andhedoesn’ttakethespotnexttohisnephewCaleither.Instead,hekeepsclosetotheColonel,allowingthecrowdtopartsothathemightseethisbroadcastasbesthecan. I focusonhisshouldersashesettles intoplace.Hisposture

reeks of Silver decadence. Straight-backed, perfect. Even in the hand-me-downuniform,fadedbyuse,withgrayinhishairandthepallid,coldlookweall take on underground, there’s no denying what he is. Others share mysentiments.Thesoldiersaroundhimtouchtheirholsteredguns,keepingoneeyeontheSilverman.Therumorsaremorepointedwhereisheconcerned.He’sCal’s uncle, a dead queen’s brother,Mare’s old tutor.Woven into ourrankslikeathreadofsteelamongwool.Embedded,butdangerousandeasilypulledfree.

Theysayhecancontrolamanwithhisvoiceandhiseyes.Likethequeencould.Likemanystillcan.

OnemorepersonIwillnever,everturnmybackon.It’salonglist.

“Let’s see it,” the Colonel barks, cutting off the low murmur born ofJulian’spresence.Thescreensrespondinkind,jitteringintomotion.

Noonespeaks,andthesightofKingMaven’sfacecutsthroughusall.

Hebeckonsfromthathulkingthrone,deepintheheartoftheSilvercourt,eyeswideandinviting.Iknowhe’sasnake,soIcanignorehiswell-chosendisguise.ButIimaginemostofthecountrycannotseethroughthemaskofayoungboycalledtogreatness,dutifullydoingwhathecanforakingdomontheedgeofchaos.He’sgood-looking.NotbroadlikeCal,butfinelyshaped,asculpture of sweeping cheekbones and glossy black hair. Beautiful, nothandsome. I hear someone scratching notes, probably recording everythingon-screen.Allowingtherestofustowatchunfettered,focusedonlyonwhathorrorMavenisabouttoperform.

Heleansforward,onehandextended,ashestandstocallsomeonetohim.

“Comeforward,Mare.”

Thecameras turn, revolvingsmoothly toshowMarestandingbefore theking. I expected rags, but instead shewears finery I could never dreamof.Everyinchofheriscoveredinbloodredgemstonesandembroideredsilk.Itall shimmers as shewalks down a grand aisle parting the crowd of Silversassembled forwhatever this is.Nomore collar, nomore leash.Again I seethrough themask.Again I hope thekingdomdoes too—buthowcan they?Theydon’tknowherlikewedo.Theydon’tseetheshadowsinherdarkeyes,flickering with every step. Her hollow cheeks. The purse of her lips. Thetwitchingfingers.Atighteningjaw.Andthat’sonlywhatInotice.WhoknowswhatCalorKilornorherbrotherscanseeinthelightninggirl?

The dress covers her from just below her neck to wrist and ankle.

Probablytohidebruises,scars,andthebrandshebearsfromtheking.It’snotadressatall,butacostume.

I’mnottheonlyonetosuckinabreathoffearwhenshereachestheking.Hetakesherhandinhis,andshehesitatestocloseherfingers.Onlyafractionof a second, but enough to cement what we already know. This is not herchoice.Orifitis,thealternativewasmuch,muchworse.

A current of heat ripples on the air. Kilorn does his best to sidle awayfromCalwithoutdrawingattention,bumpingintome.ImakeroomasbestIcan.Noonewantstobetooclosetothefireprinceifthingsgosouth.

Mavendoesnothave togesture.Mareknowshimandhisschemeswellenoughtounderstandwhathewantsfromher.Thecameraimagepullsbackas she moves to the right of his throne.What we see now is a display ofultimatestrength.EvangelineSamos, theking’sbetrothed,a futurequeen inpowerandappearance,ononeside,withthelightninggirlontheother.SilverandRed.

Othernobles, thegreatestof theHighHouses, stand inassemblyon thedais.Names and faces I don’t know, but I’m suremany here do.Generals,diplomats,warriors, advisers.Everyoneof themdedicated to our completeannihilation.

Thekingtakeshisthroneagain,slowly,eyeslockeddeepintothecamera,andsointous.

“Before I say anything else, before I begin this speech”—he gestures,confident and almost charming—“I want to thank the fighting men andwomen,SilverandRed,whoservetoprotectourborders,whoarecurrentlydefendingusfromenemiesoutsidethisnation,andtheenemieswithin.TothesoldiersofCorvium, the loyalwarriorsresisting theconstantanddeplorableterroristattacksoftheScarletGuard,Isaluteyou,andIamwithyou.”

“Liar,”someonesnarlsintheroom,butthey’requicklyhushed.

On-screen,Marelookslikeshesharesthesentiment.Shedoesherbestnottotwitchorletherfacebetrayheremotions.Itworks.Almost.Aflushcreepsup her neck, partially hidden by her high collar. Not high enough.Mavenwouldhavetoputabagoverherheadtohideherfeelings.

“Inrecentdays,aftermuchdeliberationwithmycouncilandthecourtsofNorta,MareBarrow of the Stiltswas sentenced for her crimes against thiskingdom.Shestoodaccusedofmurderandterrorism,andwebelievedhertobetheworstoftheratsgnawingatourroots.”Mavenglancesupather,face

stillandfocused.Howmanytimeshe’spracticedthis,Idon’twanttoknow.“Herpunishmentwastofacealifetimeinprison,afterfirstbeinginterrogatedbymyowncousinsofHouseMerandus.”

Attheking’sbidding,amanindarkbluestepsforward.HecomeswithininchesofMare,closeenoughtobrushahandagainstwhateverpartofherhechose. She freezes in place, snapping every centimeter still to keep fromflinching.

“IamSamsonofHouseMerandus,andIperformed the interrogationofMareBarrow.”

Ahead ofme, Julian raises a hand to hismouth.The only indication ofhowaffectedheis.

“Asawhisper,myabilityallowsmetobypasstheusualliesandtwistsofspeechthatmostprisonersrelyon.SowhenMareBarrowtoldusthetruthoftheScarletGuardanditshorrors,IconfessIdidnotbelieveher.Itestifyhere,on record, that Iwaswrong todoubther.What I saw inhermemorieswaspainfulandchilling.”

Another roundofwhispers through the room,another roundofhushing.The tension is still palpable, though, aswell as the confusion.TheColonelstraightens,armscrossed.I’msurethey’reallthinkingontheirsins,andwhatthisSamsonfoolcouldberattlingonabout.Ononeside,Farleytapsherforkagainst her lip, eyes narrowed.She curses under her breath, but I can’t askwhy.

Mareliftsherchin,lookinglikeshemightvomitontheking’sboots.Ibetshewantsto.

“I went to the Scarlet Guard willingly,” she says. “They told me mybrotherhadbeenexecutedwhileservinginthelegions,foracrimehedidnotcommit.” Her voice cracks at the mention of Shade. Next to me, Farley’sbreathquickensandherhandcurlsoverherstomach.“TheyaskedifIwantedvengeanceforhisdeath.Idid.SoIsworemyallegiancetotheircause,andIwasplacedasaservantinsidetheroyalresidenceattheHalloftheSun.

“I came to the palace as a Red spy, but even I did not know I wassomething else entirely. During the right of Queenstrial, I discovered Isomehow possessed electrical ability. After consultation, the late KingTiberiasandQueenElaradecidedtotakemein,toquietlystudywhatIwasand,hopefully,teachmewhatmyabilitycouldbecome.TheydisguisedmeasaSilvertoprotectme.TheyrightfullyknewthataRedwithanabilitywouldbe considered a freak at best, an abomination at worst, and they hid my

identitytokeepmesafefromtheprejudicesofbothRedandSilver.Mybloodstatuswasknowntoafew,Mavenincluded,aswellasCa—PrinceTiberias.

“ButtheScarletGuarddiscoveredwhatIwas.Theythreatenedtoexposemepublicly,bothtoruinthecredibilityofthekingandtoputmeindanger.Iwasforcedtoservethemasaspy,tofollowtheirorders,andtofacilitatetheirinfiltrationoftheking’scourt.”

Thenextoutcryfromtheroomislouder,andnoteasilyputdown.

“Thisissomeimpressivebullshit,”Kilorngrowls.

“MyultimatemissionwastogainSilveralliesfortheScarletGuard.Iwasinstructed to target Prince Tiberias, a cunning warrior and the heir to thethroneofNorta.Hewas…”Shehesitates, her eyesboring intoours.Theyshiftbackandforth,searching.Outofthecornerofmyeye,IseeCallowerhishead.“Hewaseasilyconvinced.OnceIfiguredouthowtoconvincehim,IalsoaidedtheScarletGuardintheirplansfortheSunShooting,whichleftelevendead,andthebombingoftheBridgeofArcheon.

“When Prince Tiberias killed his father, King Maven acted swiftly,makingtheonlychoicehethoughthecould,”hervoicewarbles.Nexttoher,Mavendoeshisbest to looksadat thementionofhismurderedfather.“Hewasgrieving,andweweresentenced toexecution in thearena.Weescapedwith our lives only because of the ScarletGuard. They took us both to anislandstrongholdofftheNortancoast.

“Iwasheldprisonerthere,aswerePrinceTiberiasand,Idiscovered,thebrother I thought I’d lost. Likeme, he had an ability, and likeme, hewasfeared by the Scarlet Guard. They intended to kill us, the ones they callnewbloods.When I discovered that others likeme existed, and the ScarletGuardwashuntingthemdowntoexterminatethem,Imanagedtoescapewithmybrotherandafewothers.PrinceTiberiascamewithus.Iknownowthathe intended to build himself an army to challenge his brother.After a fewmonths, the Scarlet Guard caught up with us all, and they killed the fewabilitiedRedswewereabletofind.Mybrotherwasmurderedintheconflict,butIescapedalone.”

Foronce,theheatintheroomisn’tcomingfromCal.Everyoneboilswithrage.Thisisn’tMare.Thesearen’therwords.ButstillIfeelangerasmuchasthe rest.Howcan she even let this out of hermouth? I’d spit bloodbeforespeakingMaven’slies.Butwhatchoicedoesshehave?

“Withnowhereelsetogo,IturnedmyselfintoKingMavenandwhateverjustice he saw to give me.” Her resolve breaks piece by piece, until tears

coursedownhercheeks.I’mashamedtosaytheyhelpherlittlespeechmorethananythingelse.“Istandherenowawillingprisoner.IamsorryforwhatI’vedone,butIamreadytodowhateverIcantostoptheScarletGuardandtheirterrifyinghopeforthefuture.Theystandfornoonebutthemselvesandthepeopletheycancontrol.Theykilleveryoneelse,everyonewhostandsintheirway.Everyonewhoisdifferent.”

Thelastwordsstick,refusingtocomeout.Onthethrone,Mavensitsstill,buthisthroatworksalittle.Emittinganoisethecameracannothear,urginghertofinishashedemands.

Mare Barrow raises her chin and glares forward. Her eyes seem blackwithrage.“We,thenewbloods,arenotfitfortheirdawn.”

Shoutsandprotestseruptthroughtheroom,hurlingobscenitiesatMaven,attheMeranduswhisper,evenatthelightninggirlforspeakingthewords.

“—vilebeastofaking—”

“—wouldratherkillmyselfthansay—”

“—barelyapuppet—”

“—traitor,plainandsimple—”

“—notherfirsttimesingingtheirsong—”

Kilorn is the first tobreak,bothhandscurling into fists.“You thinkshewantedtodothis?”hesays,hisvoiceloudenoughtocarry,butnotharsh.Hisface reddenswith frustration,andCalputsahandonhisshoulder, standingwithhim.Itsilencesmorethanafew,particularlytheyoungerofficers.Theylookembarrassed,apologetic,even,shamedbythereprimandofaneighteen-year-oldboy.

“Quiet, all of you!” theColonel rumbles, shutting up the rest.He turnsoncetoglarewithhismismatchedeyes.“Thebratisstillspeaking.”

“Colonel…,”Calgrowls.Histoneisathreatplainasday.

Inreply,theColonelpointson-screen.AtMaven,notMare.

“…offerrefugetoanyfleeingtheterroroftheScarletGuard.Andtothenewbloods among you, hiding from what seems to be little more thangenocide, my own doors are open. I have instructed the royal palaces ofArcheon,HarborBay,Delphie,andSummerton,aswellasthemilitaryfortsofNorta,toprotectyourkindfromslaughter.Youwillhavefood,shelter,and,ifyouwishit,trainingforyourabilities.Youaremysubjectstoprotect,andIwilldoitwitheveryresourceIhavetogive.MareBarrowisnotthefirstof

youtojoinus,andshewillnotbethelast.”Hehasthesmugaudacitytolayahandonherarm.

So this is how barely more than a boy becomes a king. He’s not onlyruthlessandremorseless,butjustplainbrilliant.Ifnotfortheragecurlinginme, Iwould be impressed.His ploywill cause problems for theGuard, ofcourse.Personally,I’mmoreconcernedwiththenewbloodsstilloutthere.WewererecruitedtoMareandherrebellionwithlittlechoiceinthematter.Nowthere’sevenless.TheGuardortheKing.Bothseeusasweapons.Bothwillgetuskilled.Butonlyonewillkeepusinchains.

I glance overmy shoulder, seeking outAda.Her eyes are glued to thescreen, effortlessly memorizing every tick and inflection to be scrutinizedlater.Likeme,shefrowns,thinkingaboutthedeeperworrynomemberoftheScarletGuardhasyet.Whatwillhappentothepeoplelikeus?

“TotheScarletGuard,Isayonlythis,”Mavenadds,standingupfromhisthrone. “Your dawn is littlemore than darkness, and itwill never take thiscountry.Wefighttothelast.Strengthandpower.”

Onthedais,andacrosstherestofthethroneroom,thechantechoesfromeverymouth.IncludingMare’s.“Strengthandpower.”

Theimageholdsforasecond,burningthesightintoeverybrain.RedandSilver,thelightninggirlandKingMaven,unitedagainstthegreatevilthey’vemadeusouttobe.Iknowitisn’tMare’schoice,butitisherfault.Didn’tsherealizehewoulduseherifhedidn’tkillher?

She didn’t think he would do it. Cal said that before, about herinterrogation. They are both weak where Maven is concerned, and thatweaknesscontinuestoplagueusall.

BackattheNotch,Maredidherbesttoschoolmeinmyability.IpracticeherewhenIcan,togetherwiththeothernewbloodslearningtheirlimits.CalandJulianJacosattempttohelp,butIandmanyothersareloathtotrusttheirtutelage.Besides,I’vefoundsomeoneelsetohelpme.

I know my ability has grown in strength, if not control. I feel it now,proddingbeneathmyskin,ablissfulemptinesstostillthechaosaroundme.Itbegs,andIclenchafistagainstit,keepingthesilenceback.Ican’tturnmyangeronthepeopleinthisroom.Theyaren’ttheenemy.

Whenthescreencutstoblack,signalingtheendoftheaddress,adozenvoicessoundatonce.Cal’spalmslamsagainstthedeskinfrontofhim,andheturns,mutteringtohimself.

“I’veseenenough,” I thinkhesaysbeforehepusheshiswayoutof theroom.Stupid.Heknowshisownbrother.HecandissectMaven’swordsbetterthananyofus.

TheColonelknowsittoo.“Gethimbackhere,”hesaysunderhisbreath,leaningintospeaktoJulian.TheSilvernods,movingsmoothlytoretrievehisnephew.Manystoptalkingtowatchhimgo.

“Captain Farley, your thoughts?” the Colonel says, his sharp voicedrawingattentionbackwhereitbelongs.Hecrosseshisarmsandturnstofacehisdaughter.

Farleysnapstofocus,seeminglyunaffectedbythespeech.Sheswallowsa bite of potato. “The natural response would be a broadcast of our own.RefutingMaven’sclaims,showingthecountrywhowesaved.”

Usingusaspropaganda.DoingexactlywhatMavenisdoingtoMare.Mystomachtightensatthethoughtofbeingshovedinfrontofacamera,forcedtosingthepraisesofthepeopleIbarelytolerateandcannotfullytrust.

Herfathernods.“Iagree—”

“ButIdon’tthinkthat’stherightcourseofaction.”

TheColonelraisesthebrowofhisruinedeye.

She takes itasan invitation tocontinue.“It’ll justbewords.Nothingofuseintheend,intheschemeofwhat’sgoingon.”Herfingerstapagainstherlips, and I can almost see thewheels turning inherhead. “I thinkwekeepMaventalking,whilewekeepondoing.AlreadyourinfiltrationofCorviumisplacing strainon theking.Seehowhe singledout the city? Itsmilitary?He’sbolsteringmorale.Whydothatiftheydon’tneedit?”

At the back of the room, Julian returns, one hand on Cal’s shoulder.They’reofthesameheight,thoughCallooksaboutfiftypoundsheavierthanhisuncle.CorrosPrisoncertainlytookasmuchofatollonJulianasitdidtherestofus.

“Wehave a gooddeal of information regardingCorvium,”Farley adds.“AnditsimportancetoNortanmilitary,nottomentionSilvermorale,makesittheperfectplace.”

“Forwhat?” Ihearmyself ask, surprisingeveryone in the room,myselfincluded.

Farley is good enough to address me directly. “The first assault. TheScarletGuard’sofficialdeclarationofwaragainstthekingofNorta.”

A strangled sort of yelp erupts from Cal, not the kind anyone wouldexpectfromaprinceandsoldier.Hisfacepales,eyeswidewithwhatcanonlybefear.“Corviumisafortress.Acitybuiltwiththesolepurposeofsurvivingawar.ThereareathousandSilverofficersinthere,soldierstrainedto—”

“To organize. To fight Lakelanders. To stand behind a trench andmarkplacesonamap,”Farleyfiresback.“TellmeI’mwrong,Cal.Tellmeyourkindispreparedtofightinsideitsownwalls.”

The glare he levels at her would cut through anyone else, but Farleystandsfirm.Ifanything,shestrengthensinheropposition.

“It’ssuicide,foryouandforanyoneinyourway,”hetellsher.Shelaughsat the blatant dodge, inciting him further. He controls himself well, a fireprince reluctant to burn. “I’m not part of this,” he snarls. “Good luckassaultingCorviumwithoutwhateverintelligenceyoucountedonfromme.”

Farley’semotionsarenotsohinderedbyaSilverability.The roomwillnot burn with her, no matter how red her face flushes. “Thanks to ShadeBarrow,IalreadyhaveeverythingIneed!”

The name usually has a sobering effect. To remember Shade is torememberhowhedied,andwhatitdidtothepeopleheloved.ForMare, itturned her cold, empty, into the personwilling to trade herself to keep herfriendsandfamilyfromthesamefate.ForFarley,itleftheralone,singularinher pursuits, focused only on the Scarlet Guard and nothing else. I didn’tknoweitherofthemforverylongbeforeShadedied,butevenIlamentwhotheywere.Thelosschangedthemboth,andnotforthebetter.

She forces herself through the pain Shade’s memory brings, if only toshoveCal’s nose in it. “Beforewe fakedhis execution,Shadewasour keyoperativeinCorvium.Heusedhisabilitytofeedusasmuchinformationashe couldgive.Don’t think for one secondyou areour only card toplay inthis,”Farleysaysevenly.ThensheturnsbacktotheColonel.“Iadviseafullassault, utilizing newbloods in conjunction with Red soldiers and ourinfiltratorsalreadyinsidethecity.”

Utilizingnewbloods.Thewordssting,stab,andburn,leavingabittertasteinmymouth.

Iguessit’smyturntostormfromtheroom.

Calwatchesmego,mouthpressedintoagrim,firmline.

You’re not the only one who can be dramatic, I think as I leave himbehind.

EIGHTMare

ImakeiteasyfortheArvenstoremovemefromthedais.EggandTriotakemy arms, leaving Kitten and Clover behind. My body goes numb as theyescortmeoutofsight.WhathaveIdone?Iwonder.Whatwillthisdo?

Somewheretheotherswatched.Cal,Kilorn,Farley,myfamily.Theysawthat.Theshamealmostmakesmevomitallovermywretched,magnificentgown.IfeelworsethanwhenIreadtheMeasuresofMaven’sfather,doomingsomanytoconscriptioninpaymentfortheScarletGuard’saction.Butthen,everyoneknewtheMeasureswerenotmydoing.Iwasonlythemessenger.

TheArvenspushme forward.Notback theway Icame,butbehind thethrone,throughadoorway,toroomsI’veneverseen.

The first isclearlyanothercouncilchamber,witha long table topped inmarble,surroundedbymorethanadozenplushchairs.Oneseatisstonework,acoldconstructionofgray.ForMaven.Theroomisbrightlylit,floodedbythe setting sun on one side. The windows face west, away from the river,lookingover thepalacewallsand thegentlyslopinghills covered in snowyforest.

Last yearKilorn and I cut river ice for spare coins, risking frostbite infavorofhonestwork.That lastedaboutaweek,until I realizedcoppers forbreaking up ice thatwould only refreezewas a poor use of our time.Howstrange,toknowthatwasonlyayearago,andalifetimeaway.

“Yourpardon,”asoftvoicesays,soundingfromtheonlyseatinshadow.IturntoitandwatchJonunfoldhimselffromhischair,abookinonehand.

Theseer.HisredeyesglowwithsomeinnerlightIcan’tname.Ithoughthewas an ally, a newbloodwith an ability as strange asmine.He ismorepowerfulthananeye,abletoseefartherintothefuturethananySilvercan.Now he stands beforeme as an enemy, having betrayed us toMaven. Hisstarefeelslikehotneedlesprickingskin.

He is the reason I ledmy friends to Corros Prison, and the reasonmybrotherisdead.Thesightofhimchasestheicynumbnessaway,replacingallthatemptinesswithlivid,electricheat.Iwantnothingmorethantobeathim

acrossthefacewithwhateverIcan.Isettleforsnarlingathim.

“GoodtoseeMavendoesn’tkeepallhispetsonaleash.”

Jon just blinks at me. “Good to see you are not so blind as you oncewere,”herepliesasIpasshim.

Whenwefirstmethim,Calwarnedus thatpeoplegomadpuzzlingoutriddlesof thefuture.Hewasabsolutelyright,andIwon’t fall into that trapagain.Iturnaway,resistingtheurgetodissecthiscarefullychosenwords.

“Ignoremeallyouwant,MissBarrow. I’mnotyourconcern,”headds.“Onlyonepersonhereis.”

Iglanceovermyshoulder,mymusclesmovingbeforemybraincanreact.OfcourseJonspeaksbeforeIdo,stealingthewordsfrommythroat.

“No,Mare,Idon’tmeanyourself.”

We leave him behind, continuing on to wherever I am being led. ThesilenceisatortureasmuchasJon,givingmenothingtofocusonexcepthiswords. He means Maven, I realize. And it’s not difficult to guess theimplication.Andthewarning.

Therearepiecesofme,smallpieces,still inlovewithafiction.Aghostinsidea livingboyIcannotbegin to fathom.TheghostwhosatbymybedwhileIdreamedinpain.TheghostwhokeptSamsonfrommymindaslongashecould,Iknow,delayinganinevitabletorture.

Theghostwholovesme,inwhatpoisonedwayhecan.

AndIfeelthatpoisonworkinginme.

AsIsuspect,theArvensdon’ttakemebacktomyprisonofabedroom.Itrytomemorizeourpath,notingdoorsandpassagesbranchingoffthemanycouncilchambersandsalonsinthiswingofthepalace.Theroyalapartments,everyinchmoredecoratedthanthelast.ButI’mmoreinterestedinthecolorsdominating the rooms rather than the furniture itself.Red, black, and royalsilver—that’s easy to understand. The colors of reigning House Calore.There’s navy aswell.The shade givesme a sick feeling inmy stomach. ItstandsforElara.Dead,butstillhere.

Wefinallystopinasmallbutwell-stockedlibrary.Sunsetanglesthroughthe heavy curtains, drawn against the light. Dust motes dance in the redbeams,ashaboveadyingfire.IfeellikeIaminsideaheart,surroundedbybloodyred.ThisisMaven’sstudy,Irealize.Ifighttheurgetotaketheleatherseatbehindalacquereddesk.Toclaimsomethingofhisasmyown.Itmight

makemefeelbetter,butonlyforamoment.

Instead,IobservewhatIcan,lookingaroundwithwide,absorbingeyes.Scarlettapestriesworkedwithblackandglintingsilverthreadhangbetweenportraits and photographs of Calore ancestors. House Merandus is not soevidenthere,representedonlybyaflagofblueandwhitehangingfromthevaultedceiling.Thecolorsofotherqueensare there too,somebright,somefaded,someforgotten.ExceptforthegoldenyellowofHouseJacos.It isn’tthereatall.

Coriane,Cal’smother,hasbeenerasedfromthisplace.

I search the pictures quickly, though I don’t really know what I’msearchingfor.Noneofthefaceslookfamiliar,exceptforMaven’sfather.Hispainting,largerthantherest,gloweringovertheemptyfireplace, isdifficulttoignore.Stilldrapedinblack,asignofmourning.He’sbeendeadonlyafewmonths.

I see Cal in his face, and Maven too. The same straight nose, highcheekbones,and thick,glossyblackhair.Family traits, judgingby theotherpictures of Calore kings. The one labeled Tiberias the Fifth is particularlygood-looking, almost startlingly so.But then, painters arenot paid tomaketheirsubjectslookugly.

I’m not surprised to see Cal isn’t represented. Like his mother, he hasbeenremoved.Afewspacesareconspicuouslyempty,andIsupposeheusedtooccupythem.Whywouldn’the?Calwashisfather’sfirstborn,hisfavoriteson. It’s no wonderMaven took down his brother’s pictures. No doubt heburnedthem.

“How’sthehead?”IaskEgg,offeringasly,emptysmile.

Herespondswithaglare,andmysmilespreads.I’lltreasurethememoryofhimflatonhisback,electrocutedintounconsciousness.

“Nomoreshakes?”Ipresson,flutteringahandthewayhisbodyflopped.Again no response, but his neck colors blue-gray in an angry flush. That’sentertainmentenoughforme.“Damn,thoseskinhealersaregood.”

“Havingfun?”

Mavenentersalone,hispresenceoddlysmallincomparisontothefigurehe cuts on the throne.HisSentinelsmust be close, though, just outside thestudy.He’snotfoolishenoughtogoanywherewithoutthem.Withonehandhe gestures, sweeping theArvens from the room.They go swiftly, quiet asmice.

“Idon’thavemuchelseforamusement,”Isaywhentheydisappear.Forthe thousandth time today, I curse the presence of the manacles. Withoutthem, Maven would be as dead as his mother. Instead, they force me totoleratehiminallhisdisgustingglory.

He grins at me, enjoying the dark joke. “Good to see not even I canchangeyou.”

To that I have no response at all. I can’t count the ways Maven haschangedme,anddestroyedthegirlIusedtobe.

As I suspected, he flounces to the desk and sits with a cool, practicedgrace.“Imustapologizeformyrudeness,Mare.”Ithinkmyeyesbugoutofmyhead,becausehelaughs.“Yourbirthdaywasmorethanamonthago,andIdidn’tgetyouanything.”AswiththeArvens,hegestures,motioningformetotakeaseatinfrontofhim.

Surprised, shaken, still numb from my little performance, I do as hecommands.“Trustme,”Imutter,“I’mfinewithoutwhatevernewhorroryouplantogifttome.”

Hissmilewidens.“You’lllikethis,Ipromise.”

“SomehowIdon’tbelievethat.”

Grinning, he reaches into a drawer of his desk. Without ceremony, hetossesmeascrapofsilk.Black,onehalfofitembroideredwithredandgoldflowers.Isnatchitupgreedily.Gisa’shandiwork.Irunitbetweenmyfingers.It still feels smooth and cool, though I expect something slimy, corrupted,poisonedbyMaven’spossession.Buteverytwistofthreadisapieceofher.Perfectinitsfiercebeauty,flawless,areminderofmysisterandourfamily.

Hewatchesmeturnthesilkoverandover.“Wetookitoffyouwhenwefirstapprehendedyou.Whileyouwereunconscious.”

Unconscious. Imprisonedinmyownbody, torturedbytheweightof thesounder.

“Thankyou,”Iforceoutstiffly.AsifIhaveanyreasontothankhimforanything.

“And—”

“And?”

“Iofferyouonequestion.”

Iblinkathim,confused.

“Youmayaskonequestion,andIwillanswerittruthfully.”

Forasecond,Idon’tbelievehim.

I’mamanofmyword,whenIwanttobe.Hesaidthatonce,andstandsbyit.Itreallyisagift,ifheholdstohispromise.

The first question riseswithout thought.Are they alive?Did you reallyleavethemthere,andletthemgetaway?ItalmostslipspastmylipsbeforeIthink better ofwastingmy question.Of course they got away. If Calweredead,Iwouldknowit.Mavenwouldstillbegloating,orsomeonewouldhavesaid something.And he is far too concernedwith the ScarletGuard. If theothershadbeencapturedafterme,hewouldknowmoreandfearless.

Maven tipshishead,watchingme thinkasacatwatchesamouse.He’senjoyingthis.Itmakesmyskincrawl.

Whygivemethis?Whyevenletmeask?Anotherquestionalmostwasted.BecauseIknowtheanswertothistoo.MavenisnotwhoIthoughthewas,butthatdoesn’tmeanIdon’tknowpartsofhim.Icanguesswhatthisis,asmuchasIwanttobewrong.It’shisversionofanexplanation.Awaytomakemeunderstandwhathe’sdoneandwhyhecontinuestodoit.HeknowswhatquestionIwilleventuallysummonthecouragetoask.Heisaking,butaboytoo,aloneinaworldofhisownmaking.

“Howmuchofitwasher?”

Hedoesn’tflinch.Heknowsmetoowelltobesurprised.Amorefoolishgirlwoulddaretohope—wouldbelievehimapuppettoanevilwoman,nowabandoned,nowadrift.Continuingonacoursehehasnoideahowtochange.Luckily,I’mnotthatstupid.

“Iwasslowtowalk,youknow.”Heisn’tlookingatmeanymore,butattheblueflagaboveus.Adornedinwhitepearlsandcloudygems,arichthingdoomed to collect dust in Elara’smemory. “The doctors, even Father, theytoldMotherIwouldbefine inmyowntime. Itwouldhappenoneday.But‘one day’ wasn’t fast enough for her. She couldn’t be the queen with thecrippled, slow son. Not after Coriane gave the kingdom a prince like Cal,always smiling and talking and laughing and perfect. She had my nursediscarded,blamedherformyshortcomings,andtookituponherselftomakemestand.Idon’trememberit,butshetoldmethestorysomanytimes.Shethoughtitshowedhowmuchshelovedme.”

Dreadpools inmy stomach, though I don’t understandwhy.Somethingwarnsmetogetup,towalkfromthisroomandintothewaitingarmsofmy

guards.Anotherlie,anotherlie,Itellmyself.Artfullywoven,asonlyhecando.Mavencannotlookatme.Itasteshameontheair.

Hisperfecteyesmadeoficeglossover,butI’velonghardenedmyselftohistears.Thefirstgetsstuckinhisdarklashes,awobblingdropofcrystal.

“Iwasababy,andshehammeredherway intomyhead.Shemademybodystand, andwalk, and fall.Shedid it everyday,until I criedwhensheenteredaroom.UntilIlearnedtodoitmyself.Outoffear.Butthatwouldnotdoeither.Ababycryingwheneverhismotherheldhim?”Heshakeshishead.“Eventually she took the fear away too.” His eyes darken. “Like so manyotherthings.

“Youaskhowmuchofitwasme,”hewhispers.“Some.Enough.”

Butnotall.

I can’t stand this any longer. With unbalanced motions, tipped by theweightofmymanaclesandthesickclenchingofmyheart,Iclamberfromthechair.

“Youcan’tstillblamethisonher,Maven,”Ihissathim,steppingback.“Don’tlietomeandsayyou’redoingthisbecauseofadeadwoman.”

As fast as his tears came, they disappear.Wiped away, as if they neverexisted.Thecrack inhismasksealsshut.Good. Ihavenodesire tosee theboybeneath.

“I’mnot,”hesaysslowly,sharply.“Sheisgonenow.Mychoicesaremyown.OfthatIaminfinitelysure.”

Thethrone.Hisseatinthecouncilchamber.Plainthingscomparedtothediamondglassartistryorvelvethisfatherusedtosit.Hewnofblockedstone,simple,withoutgemsorpreciousmetal.AndnowIunderstandwhy.“SilentStone.Youmakeallyourdecisionssittingthere.”

“Wouldn’tyou?WithHouseMerandusleeringsoclose?”Heleansback,propping his chin on one hand. “I’ve had enough of thewhispers they callguidance.Enoughtolastalifetime.”

“Good,”Ispitathim.“Nowyouhavenooneelsetoblameforyourevil.”

One side of hismouth lifts in a weak, patronizing smile. “You’d thinkthat.”

I fight the urge to seize whatever I can and bash his head in with it,erasinghissmilefromthefaceoftheearth.“IfonlyIcouldkillyouandbedonewiththis.”

“Howyouwoundme.”Hecluckshis tongue,amused.“And thenwhat?Run back to your Scarlet Guard? To my brother? Samson saw him manytimesinyourthoughts.Dreams.Memories.”

“Still fixatedonCal,evennow,whenyou’vewon?”It’saneasycardtoplay.Hisgrins annoyme,butmy smirkvexeshim just asmuch.Weknowhowtoneedleeachother.“Strange,then,thatyou’retryingsohardtobelikehim.”

It’sMaven’sturntostand,hishandslandinghardonthedeskasherisesup tomeetmy eye.A corner of hismouth twitches, pulling his face into abittersneer.“I’mdoingwhatmybrothernevercould.Calfollowsorders,buthe can’t make choices. You know that as well as I do.” His eyes flicker,findinganempty spoton thewall.Looking forCal’s face. “Nomatterhowwonderful youmight think he is, so gallant, brave, and perfect. He wouldmakeaworsekingthanIevercould.”

I almost agree. I’ve spent toomanymonthswatchingCalwalk the linebetweenScarletGuardandSilverprince,refusingtokillbutrefusingtostopus,neverleaningtoonesideor theother.Eventhoughhe’sseenhorrorandinjustice,hestillwon’ttakeastand.ButheisnotMaven.HeisnotoneinchtheevilthatMavenis.

“I’ve only heard one person describe him as perfect. You,” I tell himcalmly. It only maddens him further. “I think you may have a bit of anobsession where Cal is concerned. Are you going to blame that on yourmothertoo?”

It was meant to be a joke, but to Maven it is anything but. His gazewavers,onlyforaninstant.Ashockingone.Inspiteofmyself,Ifeelmyeyeswiden and my heart drop in my chest. He doesn’t know. He truly doesn’tknowwhatpartsofhismindarehisownandwhatpartsweremadebyher.

“Maven,”Ican’thelpbutwhisper,terrifiedbywhatImayhavestumbledupon.

He draws one hand through dark hair, pulling at the strands until theystand on end.An odd silence stretches, one that exposes us both. I feel asthoughIhavewanderedsomewhereIshouldnotbe,trespassedintoaplaceIreallydon’twanttogo.

“Leave,”hefinallysays,thewordquivering.

I don’t move, drinking in what I can.For use later, I tell myself. NotbecauseI’mtoonumbtowalkaway.NotbecauseIfeelonemoreincredible

surgeofpityfortheghostprince.

“Isaidleave.”

I’musedtoCal’sangerheatinguparoom.Maven’sangerfreezes,andachillrunsdownmyspine.

“The longer you make them wait, the worse they’ll be.” EvangelineSamoshasthebestandworsttiming.

Sheblazesthroughinherusualstormofmetalandmirrors,herlongcapetrailing. It picksup the red color of the room,glinting crimson and scarlet,flashingwith every step.As Iwatchher, heart hammering inmychest, thecape splits and re-forms before my eyes, each half wrapping around amuscled leg. She smirks, lettingme watch, as her court dress becomes animposingsuitofarmor.It,too,islethallybeautiful,worthyofanyqueen.

Asbefore,Iamnotherproblem,andsheturnsherattentionfromme.Shedoesn’t miss the strange current of tension on the air, or Maven’s harriedmanner.Hereyesnarrow.Likeme,shetakesinthesight.Likeme,shewillusethistoheradvantage.

“Maven,didyouhearme?”Shetakesafewboldsteps,roundingthedesktostandalongsidehim.Mavenangleshisbody,ghostingswiftlyfromoneofherhands.“Thegovernorsarewaiting,andmyfatherhimself—”

Withaviciouswill,Mavengrabsasheetofpaperfromhisdesk.Judgingby the florid signatures at thebottom, itmust be somekindofpetition.HeglaresatEvangeline,holding thepaperawayfromhisbodyashe flickshiswrist, drawing sparks fromhis bracelet.They light into twin arcs of flame,dancing through the petition like hot knives through butter. It disintegratesintoash,dustingthegleamingfloor.

“TellyourfatherandhispuppetswhatIthinkofhisproposition.”

Ifshe’ssurprisedbyhisactions,shedoesnotshowit.Instead,shesniffs,inspectshernails.Iwatchhersidelong,wellawarethatshe’llattackmeifIsomuchasbreathetooloudly.Ikeepquietandwide-eyed,wishingI’dnoticedthepetitionbefore.WishingIknewwhatitsaid.

“Careful,my dear,” Evangeline says, sounding anything but loving. “Akingwithoutsupportersisnokingatall.”

He turnsonher,movingquicklyenough tocatchheroffguard.They’reclose to the sameheight, and they standalmost eye to eye.Fire and iron. Idon’texpecthertoflinch,notforMaven,theboy,theprincesheusedtorun

lapsaroundinourTraininglessons.MavenisnotCal.Buthereyelidsflicker,blacklashesagainstsilver-whiteskin,betrayingasliveroffearshewantstohide.

“Don’tassumeyouknowwhatkindofkingIam,Evangeline.”

Ihearhismotherinhim,anditfrightensusboth.

Thenheturnshiseyesbackonme.Theconfusedboyofamomentagoisgone again, replacedby living stone and a frozenglare.The same goes foryou,hisexpressionsays.

Even though I want nothing more than to run from the room, I standrooted.Hehastakeneverythingfromme,butIwon’tgivehimmyfearormydignity.Iwon’trunawaynow.EspeciallynotinfrontofEvangeline.

She looks atme again, eyes flitting over every inch ofmy appearance.MemorizingwhatIlooklike.Shemustseemebeneaththehealer’stouch,thebruises earned in my escape attempt, the permanent shadows beneath myeyes. When she focuses on my collarbone, it takes me a moment tounderstandwhy.Herlipspart,justalittle,inwhatcanonlybesurprise.

Angry,ashamed,Ipullthecollarofmydressbackupovermybrand.ButIneverlookawayfromherasIdo.Shewillnottakemyprideeither.

“Guards,” Maven finally says, pitching his voice at the door. As theArvensanswer,glovesoutstretchedtohurrymeaway,MavenpointshischinatEvangeline.“Youtoo.”

Shedoesn’ttakewelltothat,ofcourse.

“Iamnotsomeprisonertobeorderedaround—”

I smile as theArvenspullme awayandout thedoor. It eases shut, butEvangeline’svoiceechoesbehindus.Goodluck, I think.Mavencaresevenlessaboutyouthanhedoesaboutme.

Myguardssetaquickpace,forcingmetokeepup.Moreeasilysaidthandone,intherestrictingdress,butImanage.ThescrapofGisa’ssilkfeelssoftagainstmyskin,clenchedtightlyinafist.Ifighttheurgetosmellthefabric,tochaseany remnantofmysister. I steal aglanceback,hoping toglimpseexactlywhomightbewaitingforanaudiencewithourwickedking.Instead,Isee only Sentinels, black-masked and flame-robed, standing guard at thestudydoor.

Itwrenchesopenviolently,quiveringonjumpinghingesbeforeslammingclosedwithasmack.Foragirlraisedanoble,Evangelinehasadifficulttime

controllinghertemper.Iwonderifmyoldetiquetteinstructor,LadyBlonos,evertriedtoteachherotherwise.Theimagealmostmakesmelaugh,bringingararesmiletomylips.Itstings,butIdon’tcare.

“Saveyoursmirks,lightninggirl,”Evangelinesnarls,doublingherspeed.

Her reactiononlygoadsmeon,despite thedanger. I laughoutrightas Iturnbackaround.Neitherofmyguardssaysaword,but theyquicken theirpacealittle.Eventheydon’twanttotestanirritablemagnetronitchingforascuffle.

She catches us anyway, smoothly sidestepping Egg to plant herself infrontofme.Theguardsstopshort,holdingmewiththem.

“Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed, I’mabitbusy,” I tellher,gesturing to theguardsholdingbothmyarms. “There isn’t really room forbickering inmyschedule.Gobothersomeonewhocanfightback.”

Hersmileflashes,sharpandbrightasthescalesofherarmor.“Don’tsellyourselfshort.You’vegotplentyoffightleftinyou.”Thensheleansforward,steppingintomyspaceasshedidwithMaven.Aneasywaytoshowsheisunafraid. I stand firm,willingmyselfnot towince,evenwhensheplucksarazoredscalefromherarmorlikeapetalfromaflower.

“AtleastIhopeso,”shesaysunderherbreath.

Withacarefulflickofherhand,shecutsthecollarofmydress,strippingbackapieceofembroideredscarlet.IfighttheurgetocovertheMbrandonmyskin,feelingahotflushofembarrassmentcreepupmythroat.

Hereyeslinger,tracingtheroughlinesofMaven’smark.Againsheseemssurprised.

“Thatdoesn’tlooklikeanaccident.”

“Anyotherwonderfulobservationsyou’dliketoshare?”Imutterthroughgrittedteeth.

Grinning, she replaces the scale on her bodice. “Not with you.” It is areprieve when she pulls back, putting a few precious inches between us.“Elane?”

“Yes,Eve,”avoicesays.Fromnowhere.

InearlyjumpoutofmyskinwhenElaneHavenmaterializesbehindher,seeminglyfromthinair.Ashadow,abletomanipulatelight,powerfulenoughtomakeherselfinvisible.Iwonderhowlongshe’sbeenstandingwithus.Orifshewasinthestudy,eitherwithEvangelineorbeforesheevenwalkedin.

Shecould’vebeenwatching theentire time.Forall Iknow,Elanecould’vebeenmyghostsincethemomentIgothere.

“Hasanyoneevertriedtoputabellonyou?”Isnap, ifonlytohidemyowndiscomfort.

Elane offers a pretty, tight-lipped smile that does not reach her eyes.“Onceortwice.”

Like Sonya, Elane is familiar to me.We spent many days in Trainingtogether, alwaysatodds.She is anotherofEvangeline’s friends,girls smartenoughtoallythemselvestoafuturequeen.AsaladyofHouseHaven,hergownandjewelryaredeepestblack.Notinmourning,butindeferencetoherhouse colors.Herhair is as red as I remember, bright copper in contrast todark, angled eyes and skin that seems blurred, perfected, and flawless.Thelightaroundheriscarefullymanipulated,givingheraheavenlyglow.

“We’refinishedhere,”Evangelinesays,turningherlaserfocusonElane.“Fornow.”Shethrowsbackonedaggeredglancetomakeherpointclear.

NINEMare

Beingadollisanoddthing.Ispendmoretimeontheshelfthanatplay.Butwhen I’m forced to, I dance atMaven’s command—heupholdshis bargainwhileIdo.Afterall,he’samanofhisword.

ThefirstnewbloodseeksrefugeatOceanHill,theHarborBaypalace,andasMavenpromised,heisgivenfullprotectionfromtheso-calledterroroftheScarlet Guard. A few days later the poor man, Morritan, is escorted toArcheon and introduced to Maven himself. It is well broadcast. Both hisidentityandhisabilityarenowcommonlyknownincourt.Tothesurpriseofmany,Morritan is aburner like the scionsofHouseCalore.ButunlikeCalandMaven,hehasnoneedfora flamemakerbracelet,orevenaspark.Hisfirecomesfromabilityandabilityalone,sameasmylightning.

Ihavetositandwatch,perchedonagildedchairwiththerestofMaven’sroyalentourage. Jon, the seer, sitswithme, red-eyedandquiet.As the firsttwonewbloods to joinwith theSilverking,weareaffordedplacesofgreathonoratMaven’sside,secondtoEvangelineandSamsonMerandus.ButonlyMorritan pays us any attention.As he approaches, before the eyes of courtand a dozen cameras, his gaze is always on me. He trembles, afraid, butsomething about my presence keeps him from running away, keeps himwalking forward. Obviously he believes what Maven made me say. Hebelieves theScarletGuardhuntedusall.Heevenkneelsandswears to joinMaven’s army, to train with Silver officers. To fight for his king and hiscountry.

Keepingsilentandstillisthemostdifficultpart.DespiteMorritan’slankylimbs,goldenskin,andhandscallusedbyyearsofservantwork,helookslikenothing more than a little rabbit scurrying directly into a trap. One wrongwordfrommeandthetrapwillspring.

Morefollow.

Dayafterday,weekafterweek.Sometimesone,sometimesadozen.Fromeverycornerofthenationtheycome,fleeingtothesupposedsafetyoftheirking.Mostbecausetheyareafraid,butsomebecausetheyarefoolishenoughtowantaplacehere.Toleavetheirlivesofoppressionbehindandbecomethe

impossible.Ican’tblamethem.Afterall,we’vebeentoldourentirelivesthattheSilversareourmasters,ourbetters,ourgods.Andnowtheyaremercifulenoughtoletusliveintheirheaven.Whowouldn’ttrytojointhem?

Mavenplayshispartwell.Heembracesthemallasbrothersandsisters,smiling broadly, showing no shame or fear in an act thatmost Silvers findrepulsive.Thecourtfollowshislead,butIseetheirsneersandscowlshiddenbehindjeweledhands.Eventhoughthisispartofthecharade,awell-aimedblow against the Scarlet Guard, they dislike it. What’s more, they fear it.Many of the newbloods have untrained abilities more powerful than theirown,orbeyondSilvercomprehension.Theywatchwithwolfeyesandreadyclaws.

For once, I am not the center of attention. It ismy only respite, not tomention an advantage. No one cares about the lightning girl without herlightning.IdowhatIcan,whichislittle,butnotinconsequential.Ilisten.

Evangelineisrestlessdespiteaniron-facedfacade.Herfingersdrumthearmsof her seat, still onlywhenElane is near,whisperingor touchingher.Butthenshedoesnotdaretorelax.Sheremainsonanedgeassharpasherknives.It’snothardtoguesswhy.Evenforaprisoner,I’veheardverylittletalkofaroyalwedding.Andthoughsheiscertainlybetrothedtotheking,sheis still not a queen. It scares her. I see it in her face, in hermanner, in herconstant parade of glittering outfits, each one more complicated and regalthan the last.Shewears a crown in all but name,yet thename iswhat shewants more than anything. Her father wants it too. Volo haunts her side,resplendentinblackvelvetandsilverbrocade.Unlikehisdaughter,hedoesn’twearanymetalthatIcansee.Notachainorevenaring.Hedoesn’tneedtowearweaponrytoseemdangerous.Withhisquietmanneranddarkrobes,helooksmore like an executioner than anoble. I don’t knowhowMaven canstandhispresence,orthesteady,focusedhungerinhiseyes.HeremindsmeofElara.Alwayswatchingthethrone,alwayswaitingforachancetotakeit.

Mavennotices,anddoesnotcare.HegivesVolotherespectherequires,but little more. And he leaves Evangeline to Elane’s dazzling company,obviously glad that his future wife has no interest in him. His focus isdecidedlyelsewhere.Notonme,strangely,butonhiscousinSamson.Ialsohaveahardtimeignoringthewhisperwhotorturedthedeepestpartsofme.Iamconstantlyawareofhispresence,tryingtofeelouthiswhispersifIcan,thoughIhardlyhavethestrengthtoresistthem.Mavendoesn’thavetoworryaboutthat,notwithhischairofSilentStone.Itkeepshimsafe.Itkeepshimempty.

WhenIwasfirsttrainedtobeaprincess,alaughablethinginitself,Iwasengaged to the second prince, and I attended very few meetings of court.Balls,yes,feastsmany,butnothinglikethisuntilmyconfinement.NowI’vealmost lost count of howmany times I’ve been forced to sit likeMaven’swell-trainedpet,listeningtopetitioners,politicians,andnewbloodspledgingallegiance.

Today looks tobemoreof thesame.Thegovernorof theRift region,alord of House Laris, finishes a well-rehearsed plea for Treasury funds torepairSamos-ownedmines.AnotheroneofVolo’spuppets,hisstringsclearlyvisible.Maven defers him easily,with awave and a promise to reviewhisproposal.ThoughMavenisamanofhiswordwithme,heisnotatcourt.Thegovernor’sshouldersslumpindejection,knowingitwillneverberead.

Mybackalreadyhurtsfromthestiffchair,nottomentiontherigidpostureI have to maintain in my latest court ensemble. Crystal and lace. Red, ofcourse,asalways.Maven lovesme in red.Hesays itmakesme lookalive,evenaslifeisleachedfrommewitheverypassingday.

A full court is not required for the daily hearings, and today the throneroom is half empty. The dais is still crowded, though. Those chosen toaccompany the king, flanking his left and right, take great pride in theirposition,nottomentiontheopportunitytobefeaturedinyetanothernationalbroadcast. When the cameras roll, I realize that more newbloods must becoming.Isigh,resigningmyselftoanotherdayofguiltandshame.

Myguttwistswhenthetalldoorsopen.Ilowermyeyes,notwantingtoremembertheirfaces.MostwillfollowMorritan’sdamningexampleandjoinMaven’swarinanattempttounderstandtheirabilities.

Nexttome,Jontwitchesinhisusualway.Ifocusonhisfingers,longandthin, drawing lines against his pant leg. Sweeping back and forth, like apersonrifflingthroughpagesofabook.Heprobablyis,readingthetentativethreadsofthefutureastheyformandchange.Iwonderwhathesees.NotthatIwouldeverask.Iwillneverforgivehimforhisbetrayal.Atleasthedoesn’ttrytotalktome,notsinceIpassedhiminthecouncilchambers.

“Welcome all,” Maven tells the newbloods. His voice is practiced andsteady,carrying throughthe throneroom.“Not toworry.You’resafenow.Ipromiseyouall,theScarletGuardwillneverthreatenyouhere.”

Toobad.

I keepmy head bowed, hidingmy face from the cameras. The rush ofbloodroarsinmyears,hammeringintimewithmyheart.Ifeelnauseous;I

feelsick.Run!Iscreaminmyhead,eventhoughnonewbloodcouldescapethe throne room now. I look anywhere but at Maven and the newbloods,anywherebutattheinvisiblecagedrawinginaroundthem.MyeyeslandonEvangeline,onlytofindherstaringbackatme.Sheisn’tsmirkingforonce.Herfaceisblank,empty.ShehasmuchmorepracticeatthisthanIdo.

Mynailsareragged,cuticlespickedrawduringlongnightsofworryandlongerdaysof thispainless torture.TheSkonoshealerwhomakesme lookhealthy always forgets to check my hands. I hope anyone watching thebroadcastsdoesnot.

Nexttome,thekingkeepsatthishorriddisplay.“Well?”

Fournewbloodspresentthemselves,eachonemorenervousthanthelast.Theirabilitiesareoftenmetwithastonishedgaspsorharriedwhispers.Itfeelslike a grimmirror toQueenstrial. Insteadof performing their abilities for abridalcrown,thenewbloodsareperformingfortheirlives,toearnwhattheythink is sanctuary at Maven’s side. I try not to watch, but find my eyesstrayingoutofpityandfear.

Thefirst,aheavysetwomanwithbicepstorivalCal’s, tentativelywalksthroughawall.Juststraightthrough,asifthegildedwoodandornatemoldingwereair.AtMaven’sfascinatedencouragement,shethendoesthesametoaSentinelguard.Heflinches,theonlyindicationofhumanitybehindhisblackmask,butisotherwiseunharmed.Ihavenoideahowherabilityworksatall,andIthinkofJulian.He’swiththeScarletGuardtoo,andhopefullywatchingevery one of these broadcasts. If the Colonel allows it, that is. He’s notexactlyafanofmySilverfriends.

Twooldmenfollowthewoman,white-hairedveteranswithfarawayeyesandbroadshoulders.Theirabilitiesarefamiliartome.Theshorteronewithmissing teeth is like Ketha, one of the newbloods I recruited months ago.Thoughshecouldexplodeanobjectorpersonwiththoughtalone,shedidnotsurvive our raid on Corros Prison. She hated her ability. It is bloody andviolent.Eventhoughthenewbloodmanonlydestroysachair,blinking it tosplinters, he doesn’t look happy about it either. His friend is soft-spoken,introducing himself as Terrance before telling us he canmanipulate sound.LikeFarrah.Anotherrecruitofmine.ShedidnotcometoCorros.Ihopesheisstillalive.

Thelastisanotherwoman,probablymymother’sage,herbraidedblackhair streakedwithgray.She is graceful inmovement, approaching thekingwiththequiet,elegantstridesofawell-trainedservant.LikeAda,likeWalsh,

likeme once. Like somany of uswere and still are.When she bows, shebowslow.

“YourMajesty,”shemurmurs,hervoicesoftandunassumingasasummerbreeze.“IamHalley,aservantofHouseEagrie.”

Maven gestures for her to rise, donning his false smile. She does ascommanded.“YouwereaservantofHouseEagrie,”hesaysgently.Thenhenodsoverhershoulder,findingthecommandingheadofEagrieinthesmallcrowd.“Mythanks,LadyMellina,forbringinghertosafety.”

The tall, bird-faced woman is already curtsying, knowing the wordsbefore he speaks them.As an eye, she can see the immediate future, and Iassumeshesawherservant’sabilitybeforeherservantevenrealizedwhatshewas.

“Well,Halley?”

Hereyes flick tomine for a singlemoment. Ihope Iholdupunderherscrutiny.Butsheisn’tlookingformyfear,orwhatIhidebeneathmymask.Hereyesturnfaraway,seeingthroughandseeingnothingatthesametime.

“She can control and create electricity, great and small,” Halley says.“Youhavenonameforthisability.”

ThenshelooksatJon.Thesamelookslidesoverher.“Heseesfate.Asfarasitspathgoes,foraslongasapersonwalksit.Youhavenonameforthisability.”

Mavennarrowshis eyes,wondering, and I loathemyself for feeling thesamewayhedoes.

Butshekeepsgoing,staringandspeakingassheturns.

“She can controlmetalmaterials through themanipulation ofmagneticfields.Magnetron.”

“Whisper.”

“Shadow.”

“Magnetron.”

“Magnetron.”

DownshegoesthroughthelineofMaven’sadvisers,pointingandnamingtheir abilities with little difficulty. Maven leans forward, quizzical, headtipped to one side in animal curiosity.Hewatches closely, barely blinking.Many think him stupid without his mother, not a military genius like his

brother,sowhatishegoodfor?Theyforgetthatstrategyisnotonlyforthebattlefield.

“Eye.Eye.Eye.”Shegesturestoherformermasters,namingthemaswellbefore dropping her hand to her side. Her fist clenches and unclenches,waitingfortheinevitabledisbelief.

“So your ability is to sense other abilities?” Maven finally says, oneeyebrowraised.

“Yes,YourMajesty.”

“Aneasythingtoplayat.”

“Yes,YourMajesty,”sheadmits,evensofternow.

It could be donewithoutmuch difficulty, especially by someone in herposition.SheservesaHighHouse,presentatcourtmoreoftenthannotthesedays. It would be easy for her tomemorizewhat others can do—but evenJon?AsfarasIknow,heislaudedasthefirstnewbloodtojoinMaven,butIdon’t thinkmanyknowhisability.Mavenwouldn’twantpeople to thinkhereliesonsomeonewithredbloodtoadvisehisdecisions.

“Keepgoing.”Heraisesdarkeyebrows,goadingheron.Perform.

Shedoesashecommands,namingOsanosnymphs,Wellegreenwardens,aloneRhambosstrongarm.Oneafteranother,butthey’rewearingcolors,andsheisaservant.She’ssupposedtoknowthesethings.Herabilityisaparlortrick at best, a lie and a death sentence at the worst. I know she feels theswordhangingoverherhead,growingcloserwitheverytickofMaven’sjaw.

Attheback,anIralsilkinredandbluegetstohisfeet,adjustinghiscoatashewalks.Ionlynoticebecausehisstepsarestrange,notasfluidasasilk’sshouldbe.Odd.

AndHalleynoticestoo.Shetrembles,onlyforasecond.

Itcouldbeherlifeorhis.

“Shecanchangeherface,”shewhispers,herfingerquivering in theair.“Youhavenonameforthisability.”

The usual whispers of court end without an echo, snuffed out like acandle. Silence falls, broken only by the rising beat of my heart. She canchangeherface.

Mybodybuzzeswithadrenaline.Run!Iwanttoyell.Run!

And when the Sentinels take the Iral lord by the arms, marching him

forward,Ibegtomyself,Pleasebewrong.Pleasebewrong.Pleasebewrong.

“IamasonofHouseIral,”themangrowls,tryingtobreakthegripoftheSentinelsoldiers.AnIralwouldbeabletodoit,twistingawaywithasmile.Butwhoeverheorsheisdoesnot.Mystomachdropstomyfeet.“YoutakethewordofalyingRedslaveabovemine?”

SamsonreactsbeforeMavencanevenask,quickasaswift.Hedescendsthestepsofthedais,hiselectric-blueeyescracklingwithhunger.Iguesshehasn’t had many brains to feed on since mine. With a yelp, the Iral sonstumblestohisknees,headbowed.Samsonslamsintohismind.

Andthenhishairbleedsgray,shortens,recedestoadifferentheadwithadifferentface.

“Nanny,” I hearmyself gasp.The oldwoman dares look up, eyeswideandscaredandfamiliar.Irememberrecruitingher,bringinghertotheNotch,watching her wrangle the newblood kids and tell stories of her owngrandchildren.Wrinkledasawalnut,olderthananyofus,andalwaysupforamission.Iwouldruntoembraceherifthatwereremotelypossible.

Instead,Ifall tomyknees,myhandslatchingontoMaven’swrist.IbeglikeIhaveonlyoncebefore,mylungsfullofashandcoldair,myheadstillspinningfromthecontrolledcrashofajet.

Thedressripsalongaseam.Itisnotmeantforkneeling.Notlikeme.

“Please, Maven. Don’t kill her,” I ask him, gulping at air, grasping atwhateverIcantosaveherlife.“Shecanbeused;sheisvaluable.Lookwhatshecando—”

Hepushesmeaway,hispalmagainstmybrand.“Sheisaspyinmycourt.Aren’tyou?”

Still I beg, speaking beforeNanny’s smartmouth can get herwell andtrulykilled.Andforonce,Ihopethecamerasarestillwatching.

“Shehasbeenbetrayed,liedto,misledbytheScarletGuard.It’snotherfault!”

Thekingdoesnotcondescendtostand,notevenforamurderathisfeet.Becausehe’safraid to leavehisSilentStone, tomakeadecisionbeyond itscircleofemptycomfortandsafety.“Therulesofwarareclear.Spiesaretobedealtwithswiftly.”

“Whenyouare sick,whodoyoublame?” Idemand.“Yourbodyor thedisease?”

HeglaresdownatmeandIfeelhollow.“Youblamethecurethatdidn’twork.”

“Maven, I ambeggingyou…” Idon’t remember starting to cry, butofcourse Iam.Theyareshameful tears,because Iweepformyselfaswellasher. This was the beginning of a rescue. This was forme. Nannywasmychance.

My vision blurs, fogging the edge of my sight. Samson raises a hand,eagertodiveintowhatsheknows.IwonderhowdevastatingthiswillbetotheScarletGuard—andhowstupidtheyweretodothis.Whatarisk,whatawaste.

“Rise.Redasthedawn,”shemutters,spitting.

Thenherfacechangesonelasttime.Toafaceweallrecognize.

Samson fallsbackahalf step, surprised,whileMavengives a strangledsortofcry.

Elarastaresbackatusfromthefloor,alivingghost.Herfaceismangled,destroyedbylightning.Oneeyeisgone,theotherbloodshotwithvilesilver.Her mouth curls into an inhuman sneer. It triggers terror in the pit of mystomach,thoughIknowshe’sdead.IknowIkilledher.

It’sacleverploy,buyingherenough time to raiseahand toher lips, toswallow.

I’veseensuicidepillsbefore.EventhoughIshutmyeyes,Iknowwhathappensnext.

It’s better than what Samson would have done. And her secrets staysecrets.Forever.

TENMare

Itearaparteverybookonmyshelf, rip themtoshreds.Thebindingssnap,thepagestear,andIwishtheywouldbleed.IwishIcouldbleed.She’sdeadbecause I’m not. Because I’m still here, bait in a trap, a lure to draw theScarletGuardoutoftheirsanctuaries.

After a few hours of pointless destruction, I realize I’m wrong. TheScarletGuardwouldn’tdothis.NottheColonel,notFarley,notforme.

“Cal,youstupid,stupidbastard,”Isaytonoone.

Becauseofcourse thiswashis idea.It’swhathelearned.Victoryatanycost.Ihopehedoesn’tcontinuetopaythisimpossiblepriceforme.

Outside,it’ssnowingagain.Ifeelnoneofitscold,onlymyown.

In the morning, I wake up on my bed, still in my dress, though I don’tremember getting up from the floor. The ruined books are gone too,meticulouslysweptfrommylife.Eventhesmallestpiecesoftornpaper.Buttheshelvesaren’tempty.Adozenleather-boundbooks,newandold,occupythespaces.Theurgetoruinthemtooconsumesme,andIstumbletomyfeet,lunging.

ThefirstoneIgrabisratty,itscovertornandaged.Ithinkitusedtobeyellow,ormaybegold.Itdoesn’treallymattertome.Iflipitopen,onehandgrabbingforasheafofpages,readytotearthemtobitsliketherest.

Familiar handwriting freezes me to the spot. My heart leaps inrecognition.

PropertyofJulianJacos.

Mykneesstopworkingbeneathme.Ilandwithasoftthud,bentoverthemost comforting thing I’ve seen inweeks.My fingers trace the linesofhisname,wishing hewould spring from them,wishing I could hear his voicesomewhereotherthaninmyhead.Iflipthroughthepages,lookingformoreevidenceofhim.Thewordsskimby,eachoneechoingwithhiswarmth.AhistoryofNorta,herformation,andthreehundredyearsofSilverkingsandqueensblazepast.Somepiecesareunderlinedorannotated.Eachnewburst

of Julian makes my chest constrict with happiness. In spite of mycircumstances,mypainfulscars,Ismile.

The other books are the same. All Julian’s, pieces of his much largercollections.Ipawthroughthemlikeagirlstarved.Hefavorsthehistories,butthere are sciences too.Evenanovel.Thatonehas twonames inside.FromJulian,toCoriane.Istareattheletters,theonlyevidenceofCal’smotherinthisentirepalace. Iput thatonebackwithcare,my fingers lingeringon itsunbrokenspine.Sheneverreadit.Maybeshedidn’tgetthechance.

Deepdown,Ihatethatthesemakemehappy.IhatethatMavenknowsmewellenoughtoknowwhattogiveme.Becausethesearecertainlyfromhim.Theonlykindofapologyhecanmake,theonlyoneIcouldpossiblyaccept.ButIdon’t.OfcourseIdon’t.Asquickasitcame,mysmilefades.Ican’tletmyself feel anything but hatred where the king is concerned. Hismanipulations aren’t as perfect as hismother’s, but I feel them still, and Iwon’tletthempullmein.

For a second, I debate ripping the books apart like I did the others.ShowingMavenwhatIthinkofhisgift.ButIjustcan’t.Myfingerslingeronthepages,soeasytotear.AndthenIshelvethemcarefully,onebyone.

Iwillnotdestroy thebooks,soIsettle for thedress instead, ripping theruby-encrustedfabricfrommybody.

Someone like Gisa probablymade this dress. A Red servant with keenhandsandanartist’seye,perfectlysewingsomethingsobeautifulandterriblethatonlyaSilvercouldwear it.The thoughtshouldmakemesad,butonlyangerbleedsthroughme.Ihavenomoretears.Notafteryesterday.

Whenthenextoutfitisdeliveredbysilent,stone-facedCloverandKitten,I pull it on without hesitation or complaint. The blouse is flecked with atreasuretroveofruby,garnet,andonyx,withlong,trailingsleevesstripedinblacksilk.Thepantsareagifttoo,looseenoughtopassforcomfortable.

The Skonos healer comes next. She focuses her efforts on my eyes,healing both the puffiness and my throbbing headache from last night’sfrustrated tears. Like Sara, she is quiet and skilled, her blue-black fingersflutteringalongmyaches.Sheworksquickly.SodoI.

“Canyouspeak,ordidQueenElaracutyourtongueouttoo?”

SheknowswhatI’mtalkingabout.Hergazewavers, lashesflutteringinquickblinksofsurprise.Still,shedoesn’tspeak.Shehasbeentrainedwell.

“Gooddecision.Last timeIsawSara, Iwasrescuingherfromaprison.

Seemsevenlosinghertonguewasn’tenoughpunishment.”Iglancepasther,toClover andKitten lookingon.Like thehealer, theyconcentrateonme. Ifeelthecoldrippleoftheirability,pulsingintimewiththeconstantsilenceofmymanacles.“TherewerehundredsofSilversinthere.ManyfromtheHighHouses.Haveanyfriendsgomissinglately?”

Idon’thavemanyweaponsinthisplace.ButIhavetotry.

“Keepyourmouthshut,Barrow,”Clovergrowls.

Justgettinghertospeakisvictoryenoughforme.Ipushon.

“I find it odd that no one seems to mind that the little king is abloodthirstytyrant.ButthenI’mRed.Idon’tunderstandyoupeopleatall.”

I laughasClovershovesmeawayfromthehealer,fumingnow.“That’senoughhealingforher,”shehisses,pullingmefromtheroom.Hergreeneyesspark with anger, but also confusion. Self-doubt. Little cracks I intend towheedlemywaythrough.

Nooneelseshouldriskrescuingme.Ihavetodoitmyself.

“Ignore her,” Kitten mutters back at her comrade, her voice high andbreathyanddrippingvenom.

“Whatanhonor itmustbeforyoutwo.”Ikeep talkingas they leadmedownlong,familiarcorridors.“BabysittingsomeRedbrat.Cleaningupafterhermeals,tidyingherroom.AllsoMavencanhavehisdollaroundwhenhewants.”

Itonlymakesthemangrierandrougherwithme.Theyquickentheirpace,forcingmetokeepup.Suddenlyweturnleftinsteadofright,intoanotherpartofthepalaceIdimlyremember.Residencehalls,wheretheroyalslive.Ilivedhereoncetoo,ifonlyforalittlewhile.

Myheartbeatquickensaswepassastatueinanalcove.Irecognizeit.Myroom—my old bedchamber—is a few doors away. Cal’s room too, andMaven’s.

“Notsotalkativenow,”Cloversays,hervoicesoundingfaraway.

Light streams in through the windows, doubly bright from the sun onfreshsnow.Itdoesnothingtocomfortme.IcanhandleMaveninthethroneroom, in his study,when I amondisplay.But alone—truly alone?Beneathmyclothes,hisbrandsmartsandburns.

Whenwestopatadoorandpushthroughtothesaloninside,Irealizemymistake. Relief washes over me.Maven is king now. His living chambers

aren’thereanymore.

ButEvangeline’sare.

Shesitsinthecenteroftheoddlybaresalon,surroundedbytwistedpiecesofmetal.Theyvary in color andmaterial—iron,bronze, copper.Herhandswork diligently, shaping flowers from chrome, curling them into a braidedsilver and gold band.Another crown for her collection.Another crown shecan’twearyet.

Twoattendantswait onher.Aman and awoman, plainlydressed, theirclothesstripedwiththecolorsofHouseSamos.Withajolt,IrealizetheyareRed.

“Make her presentable, please,” Evangeline says, not bothering to lookup.

TheRedsdescend,wavingmetothesinglemirrorintheroom.AsIstareinto it, I realizeElane ishere aswell, lazingona longcouch in abeamofsunlightlikeasatisfiedcat.Shemeetsmygazewithoutquestionorfear,onlydisinterest.

“Youmaywaitoutside,”Elanesayswhenshebreakseyecontact,turningbacktomyArvenguards.Herredhaircatchesthelight,ripplinglikeliquidfire. Even though I have an excuse for looking horrible, I still feel self-consciousinherpresence.

Evangelinenods,agreeing,andtheArvensfileout.Bothcastdisgruntledglancesinmydirection.Igreedilydrinkthemintotreasurelater.

“Anyonecaretoexplain?”Iaskthequietroom,expectingnoanswer.

The other two laugh together, exchanging pointed glances. I take theopportunity to assess the room and the situation. There’s another door,probably leading to Evangeline’s bedroom, while the windows are lockedtight against the cold. Her room looks out on a familiar courtyard, and Irealizemycellofabedroommustfacehers.Therevelationshiversme.

To my surprise, Evangeline drops her work with a clatter. The crownshatters,unabletoholditsshapewithoutherability.“Itisthequeen’sdutytoreceiveguests.”

“Well,I’mnotaguestandyou’renotaqueen,so…”

“Ifonlyyourbrainwereasquickasyourmouth,”shesnapsback.

TheRedwomanblinks rapidly, flinching likeourwordsmighthurther.Actually, theymight, and I resolve to be less stupid. I bitemy lip to keep

more foolish thoughts from spillingout, letting the twoRed servantswork.Themanattends tomyhair,brushing it throughandcoiling it intoa spiral,whileshedoesupmyface.NoSilverpaint,butsheusesblush,abitofblacktolinemyeyes,andstrikingredformylips.Agarishsight.

“That will do,” Elane says from her back. The Reds are quick to pullaway,droppingtheirhandsto theirsidesandbowingtheirheads.“Wecan’thaveherlookingtoowelltreated.Theprinceswon’tunderstandit.”

My eyes widen. Princes.Guests. Who am I being paraded in front ofnow?

Evangelinenotices.Shehuffsaloud,flickingabronzefloweratElane.Itembedsinthewallaboveherhead,butElanedoesn’tseemtomind.Sheonlysighsdreamily.

“Mindwhatyousay,Elane.”

“She’llfindoutinafewmoments,mydear.What’stheharm?”Shegetsup from her pillows, extending long limbs that glow with her ability.Evangeline’seyestrackhereverymovement,sharpeningwhenElanecrossestheroomtomyside.

She joinsmeat themirror, looking intomy face. “You’ll behave today,won’tyou?”

IwonderhowquicklyEvangelinewouldskinmeifIslammedmyelbowintoElane’sperfectteeth.

“I’llbehave.”

“Good.”

And then shedisappears,wiped fromsightbutnot sensation. I still feelherhandonmyshoulder.Awarning.

IlookthroughwhereElane’sbodywas,backtoEvangeline.Shegetsupfrom the floor, her dress pooling around her, fluid asmercury. It verywellcouldbe.

When she strides toward me, I can’t help but recoil. But Elane’s handkeepsmefrommoving,forcingmetostandupstraightandallowEvangelinetoleanoverme.Acornerofhermouthlifts.Shelikesseeingmeafraid.WhensheraisesahandandIflinch,shesmilesopenly.Butinsteadofstrikingme,shetucksastrandofhairbehindmyear.

“Makenomistake,thisisallformybenefit,”shesays.“Notyours.”

Ihavenoideawhatshe’stalkingabout,butInodalonganyway.

Evangelinedoesn’tleadustothethroneroom,buttoMaven’sprivatecouncilchambers.TheSentinelsguardingthedoorslookmoreimposingthanusual.When I enter, I realize they’re even manning the windows. An extraprecautionafterNanny’sinfiltration.

The last time I passed through, the roomwas empty save for Jon.He’sstillhere,quietinthecorner,unassumingnexttothehalf-dozenothersaroundtheroom.IshiveratthesightofVoloSamos,aquietspiderinblackwithhisson,Ptolemus,athisside.Ofcourse,SamsonMerandusisheretoo.HeleersatmeandIlowermyeyes,avoidinghisgazeasifIcanshieldmyselffromthememoryofhimcrawlingintomybrain.

IexpecttoseeMavenseatedaloneatthefarendofthemarbletable,butinstead, twomen flankhimclosely.Both aredraped inheavy furs and softsuede, dressed to withstand arctic cold even though we are well shelteredfromthewinter.Theyhavedeep,blue-blackskinlikepolishedstone.Theoneontherighthasbitsofgoldandturquoisebeadedintotheintricatewhorlsofhisbraids,whiletheoneontheleftsettlesforlong,gleaminglockstoppedbyacrownofblossomshewnfromwhitequartz.Royalty,clearly.Butnotours.NotfromNorta.

Maven raises a hand, gesturing toEvangeline as she approaches. In thelightofawintersun,shegleams.“Mybetrothed,LadyEvangelineofHouseSamos,” he says. “She was integral to the capture of Mare Barrow, thelightninggirlandtheleaderoftheScarletGuard.”

Evangelineplaysherpart,bowingbeforethetwo.Theybowtheirheadsinturn,theirmotionslongandfluid.

“Ourcongratulations,LadyEvangeline,”theonewiththecrownsays.Heevenextendsahand,gesturingforherown.She letshimkissherknuckles,beamingattheattention.

Whensheglaresatme,IrealizeEvangelinemeansformetojoinher.Idoso reluctantly. I intrigue the two newcomers, and they watch me infascination.Irefusetosomuchasnodmyhead.

“This is the lightning girl?” the other prince says.His teeth flashmoonwhiteagainstnight-darkskin.“This is theonegivingyousomuch trouble?Andyouletherlive?”

“Ofcoursehedid,”hiscompatriotcrows.Hegetstohisfeet,andIrealizehe must be almost seven feet tall. “She’s marvelous bait. Though I’m

surprisedherterroristshaven’tattemptedarealrescue,ifshe’sasimportantasyousay.”

Mavenshrugs.Heexudesanairofquiet satisfaction. “Mycourt iswelldefended.Infiltrationisallbutimpossible.”

Iglanceathim,meetinghiseyes.Liar.Healmostsmirksatme,likeit’saprivatejokebetweenus.Ifightthefamiliarurgetospitathim.

“InPiedmontwewouldmarchherthroughthestreetsofeverycity,”theprince with the quartz crown says. “Show our citizens what becomes ofpeoplelikeher.”

Piedmont. The word rings like a bell in my head. So these are thePiedmontprinces.Irackmybrain,tryingtorememberwhatIknowoftheircountry.AnallyofNorta,formingpartofoursouthernborder.Governedbyacollectionofprinces.AllthatIknowfromJulian’slessons.ButIknowotherthings too. I remember finding shipments on Tuck, supplies stolen fromPiedmont. And Farley herself hinted that the Scarlet Guardwas expandingthere,intentonspreadingtheirrebellionthroughNorta’sclosestally.

“Does she speak?” the prince continues, looking between Maven andEvangeline.

“Unfortunately,”shereplieswithapointedsmirk.

Bothprinces laughat that,asdoesMaven.Therestof theroomfollowssuit,panderingtotheirlordandmaster.

“Wellthen,PrinceDaraeus?PrinceAlexandret?”Mavensweepshisgazeovereach in turn.Heproudlyplays thepartofking,despite the two royalstwicehisageandsize.Somehowhemeasuresupagainstthem.Elaratrainedhimsowell.“Youwantedtoseetheprisoner.Andyou’veseenher.”

Alexandret, already standing so close, takes my chin in soft hands. Iwonderwhathisabilityis.IwonderhowafraidofhimIshouldbe.“Indeed,YourMajesty.Wehaveafewquestions,ifyouwouldbesokindastoallowit?”

Though he frames the words as a request, this is little more than ademand.

“YourMajesty,I’vealreadytoldyouwhatsheknows.”Samsonspeaksupfromhischair,leaningacrossthetablesohecangesturetome.“NothinginMareBarrow’smindescapedmysearch.”

Iwouldnodinagreement,butAlexandret’sgripkeepsmestill.Istareup

at him, trying to deduce exactly what he wants fromme. His eyes are anabyss,unreadable.Idon’tknowthismanandfindnothinginhimIcanuse.MyskincrawlsathistouchandIwishformylightning,toputalittledistancebetween us.Over his shoulder,Daraeus shifts so he can seeme better.Hisgoldbeadingcatchesthewinterlight,fillinghishairwithdazzlingbrightness.

“KingMaven,wewouldliketohearitfromherownlips,”Daraeussays,leaning in to Maven. Then he smiles, all ease and charisma. Daraeus isbeautifulanduseshislookswell.“PrinceBracken’srequest,youunderstand.Weonlyneedafewminutes.”

Alexandret,Daraeus,Bracken.Icommitthenamestomemory.

“Askwhatyouwill.”Maven’shandsgriptheedgeofhisseat.Neitheronestopssmiling,andnothinghaseverlookedsofalse.“Righthere.”

After a long moment, Daraeus relents. He inclines his head in adeferentialbow.“Verywell,YourMajesty.”

Thenhisbodyblurs,movingsoquicklyIbarelyseehismovements.Heissuddenlyrightbesideme.Swift.Notasfastasmybrother,butfastenoughtosend a shock of adrenaline coursing through me. I still don’t know whatAlexandretcando.Icanonlyprayheisn’tawhisper,thatIwon’thavetofacesuchtortureagain.

“Is the Scarlet Guard operating in Piedmont?” Alexandret asks as heloomsoverme,hisdeepeyesboring intomine.UnlikeDaraeus, there isnosmileinhim.

Iwaitforthetelltalestingofanothermindcrashingintomyown.Itnevercomes.Themanacles—theywon’tallowanabilitytopenetratemycocoonofsilence.

Myvoicecracks.“What?”

“I want to hear what you know of the Scarlet Guard’s operations inPiedmont.”

Every interrogation I’ve been subjected to has been performed by awhisper. It’s odd to have someone ask me questions freely, and trust myanswerswithoutsplittingopenmyskull. IsupposeSamsonhasalreadytoldtheprinceseverythinghelearnedfromme,buttheydon’ttrustwhathesaid.Smart,then,toseeifmystorymatchesupwithhis.

“The Scarlet Guard is good at keeping secrets,” I reply,my thoughts ablur.DoIlie?DoIthrowmorefueltothefireofdistrustbetweenMavenand

Piedmont?“Iwasn’tallowedmuchinformationregardingtheiroperations.”

“Youroperations.”Alexandretfurrowshisbrow,formingadeepcreaseinthecenterofhisforehead.“Youweretheirleader.Irefusetobelieveyoucanbesouselesstous.”

Useless.TwomonthsagoIwasthelightninggirl,astorminhumanform.ButbeforethatIwasashesays.Uselesstoeveryoneandeverything,evenmyenemies.BackintheStiltsIhatedit.NowI’mglad.I’mapoorweaponforaSilvertowield.

“Iamnottheirleader,”ItellAlexandret.Behindme,IhearMavenshift,settling back into his seat. I hope he’s squirming. “I never even met theirleaders.”

Hedoesn’tbelieveme.Buthedoesn’tbelievewhathe’salreadybeentoldeither.“HowmanyofyouroperativesareinPiedmont?”

“Idon’tknow.”

“Whoisfundingyourendeavors?”

“Idon’tknow.”

Itstartsasaprickleinmyfingersandtoes.Atinysensation.Notpleasantbutnotuncomfortable.Likewhenalimbgoesnumb.Alexandretneverletsgoofmyjaw.Themanacles,Itellmyself.Theywillprotectmefromhim.Theymust.

“WherearePrinceMichaelandPrincessCharlotta?”

“Idon’tknowwhothosepeopleare.”

Michael, Charlotta.More names tomemorize. The prickling continues,nowinmyarmsandlegs.Idrawhissingbreaththroughmyteeth.

Hiseyesnarrowinconcentration.Ibracemyselfforanexplosionofpainborn ofwhatever ability hewill subjectme to. “Have you had any contactwiththeFreeRepublicofMontfort?”

Still the prickling is bearable. Only his tight grip on my jaw is trulypainful.

“Yes,”Ibiteout.

Then he pulls back, lettingmy chin gowith a sneer.He glances atmywrists,thenforciblyraisesonesleevetoseemybindings.Thebuzzinginmyarmsandlegsrecedesashescowls.

“Your Majesty, I wonder if I might question her without manacles ofSilentStone?”Anotherdemanddisguisedasarequest.

This time,Maven denies him.Withoutmymanacles, his abilitywill beunbound.Itmustbeenormousforittohavepenetratedevenalittlethroughmycageofsilence.I’llbetortured.Again.

“Youmaynot,YourHighness.Sheisfartoodangerousforthat,”Mavensayswithacurtshakeofhishead.Inspiteofallmyhatred,Ifeelthesmallestbloom of gratitude. “And, as you said, she’s valuable. I can’t have youbreakingher.”

Samsondoesn’tbothertohidehisdisgust.“Someoneshould.”

“Is there anything else I can do for Your Highnesses, or for PrinceBracken?”Mavenpusheson,speakingoverhisdemoniccousin.Heunfoldshimself fromhischair,usingonehand tosmoothhisdressuniformstuddedwithmedalsandbadgesofhonor.Buthekeepsonehandontheseat,clawedaroundanarmofSilentStone.Itishisanchorandhisshield.

Daraeus bows low enough for both princes, smiling again. “I did hearrumorsofafeast.”

“Foronce,”Mavenreplieswithasharpgrininmydirection,“therumorsaretrue.”

LadyBlonosnevertaughtmetheprotocolforentertainingroyaltyofanallynation.I’veseenfeastsbefore,balls,aQueenstrialIinadvertentlyruined,butnever anything like this. Perhaps because Maven’s father was not soconcernedwithappearance,butMavenishismother’ssoninfleshandbone.Tolookpowerfulistobepowerful,shesaidonce.Todayhetakesthatlessontoheart.His advisers, hisPiedmontguests, and I are seated at a long tablewherewecanoverlookalltherest.

I’veneversetfootinthisballroombefore.Itdwarfsthethroneroom,thegalleries,andthefeastingchambersoftherestofWhitefire.Itfitstheentireassembled court, all the lords and ladies and their extended families, withease. The chamber is three stories tall, towering windows of crystal andcoloredglass,eachonedepictingthecolorsoftheHighHouses.Theresultisadozenrainbowsarcingoveramarblefloorveinedwithblackgranite,eachbeam of light a prism shifting through the diamond facets of chandeliersworkedintotrees,birds,sunbeams,constellations,storms,infernos,typhoons,andadozenothersymbolsofSilverstrength.Iwouldspendtheentiremealstaringat theceilingifnotforownmyprecariousposition.AtleastI’mnotnexttoMaventhistime.Theprinceshavetosufferhimtonight.ButJonison

myleftandEvangelineonmyright.Ikeepmyelbowstuckedsharplytomysides,notwantingtoaccidentallytoucheitherofthem.Evangelinemightstabme,andJonmightshareanothernauseatingpremonition.

Luckily,thefoodisgood.Iforcemyselftoeat,andIkeepawayfromtheliquor.Redservantscirculate,andnoglassiseverempty.Aftertenminutesoftryingtocatchsomeone’seye,Iabandonthepursuit.Theservantsaresmart,andnotwillingtorisktheirlivesforaglanceatme.

I fixmyeyesahead,counting the tables,counting theHighHouses.Allarehere,plusHouseCalore,representedbyMavenalone.Hehasnocousinsor other family that I know of, though I assume theymust exist. Like theservants, they’re probably smart enough to avoid his jealous wrath andtremulousgriponthethrone.

HouseIralseemssmaller,dulleddespitetheirvibrantblue-and-redoutfits.Therearenowherenearasmanyofthem,andIwonderhowmanyIralsweresent toCorrosPrison.Ormaybetheyfledcourt.Sonyaisstillhere, though,her posture elegant and practiced but strangely tense. She’s traded herofficer’s uniform for a sparkling gown and sits beside an older man,resplendentinacollarofrubiesandsapphires.Probablythenewlordofherhousesincehispredecessor,thePanther,wasmurderedbyamansittingonlya few feet away. I wonder if Sonya told them what I said about hergrandmotherandPtolemus.Iwonderiftheycare.

IjoltwhenSonyalooksupsharply,catchingmyeye.

Nexttome,Jonsighslongandlow.Hepicksuphisglassofscarletwinewithonehandandshuntshisdinnerknifeawaywiththeother.

“Mare,couldyoudomeasmallfavor?”hesayscalmly.

Evenhisvoicedisgustsme.Sneering, I turn to lookathimwith all thevenomIcanmuster.“Excuseme?”

Something cracks, and pain sears along my cheekbone, cutting skin,burningflesh.Ijerkfromthesensation,fallingsideways,shyingawaylikeaspooked animal. My shoulder collides with Jon, and he pitches forward,spillingwineandwaterover the fine tablecloth.Blood too.There’sa lotofblood.Ifeelit,warmandwet,butIdon’tlookdowntoseethecolor.MyeyesareonEvangeline,standingfromthetable,onearmoutstretched.

A bullet shudders on the air in front of her, held in place. I assume itmatchestheonethatcutmycheek—andcouldhavedonemuchworse.

Herfistclenchesandthebulletrocketsbackwardtowhereitcamefrom,

chasedonbysplintersofcoldsteelastheyexplodefromherdress.Iwatchinhorror as blue-and-red figures weave through the metallic storm, dodging,dipping,dartinginandoutofeveryblow.Theyevencatchpiecesofhermetalprojecticles and hurl them back, beginning the cycle again in a violent,glitteringdance.

Evangelineisnottheonlyonetoattack.Sentinelspitchforward,surgingover thehigh table, formingawallbeforeus.Theirmovementsareperfect,made through years of relentless training. But their ranks have gaps. Andsomethrowtheirmasksaway,discardingtheirflamelikerobes.Theyturnononeanother.

TheHighHousesdothesame.

I’ve never felt so exposed, so helpless, and that’s saying quite a bit. Infrontofme,godsduel.Myeyeswiden, trying to see it all.Trying tomakesense of this. I’ve never imagined anything like it. An arena battle in themiddleofaballroom.Jewelsinsteadofarmor.

IralandHavenandLarisintheirshockingyellowseemtoformonesideof whatever this is. They back one another, aid one another. LariswindweaverstossIralsilksfromonesideoftheroomtotheotherwithsharpgusts,wieldingthemlikelivingarrowswhiletheIralsfirepistolsandthrowknives with deadly precision. The Havens have disappeared entirely, but afewSentinelsinfrontofusdrop,felledbyinvisibleattacks.

Andtherest, therestdon’tknowwhat todo.Some—Samos,Merandus,mostof theguardsandSentinels—rally to thehigh table, rushing todefendMaven,whoIcan’tsee.Butmostfallback,surprised,betrayed,notwillingtowadeintosuchamessandrisktheirownnecks.Theydefendanddonothingelse.Theywatchtoseethedirectionofthetide.

Myheartleapsinmychest.Thisismychance.Inthechaos,noonewillnoticeme.Themanacleshavenottakenawaymythief’sinstinctsortalents.

Ipushoffthefloor,findingmyfeet,notbotheringtowonderaboutMavenor anyone. I focus only onwhat’s in front ofme.The closest door. I don’tknowwhereitgoes,butitwillgetmeawayfromhere,andthat’senough.AsImove,Igrabaknifeoffthetableandsetittowork,tryingtopickthelocksofmymanacles.

Someonefleesaheadofme,leavingatrailofscarletblood.Helimpsbutmovesfast,duckingthroughadoor.Jon,Irealize.Makinghisescape.Heseesthefuture.Surelyhecanseethebestwayoutofhere.

IwonderifI’llbeabletokeepup.

Igetmyanswerafteragrandtotalofthreesteps,whenaSentinelseizesmefrombehind.Hepinsmyarmstomysides,holdingtight.Igroanlikeanannoyedchild,exasperatedbeyondfrustration,asmyhanddropstheknife.

“No,no,no,”Samsonsaysashestepsintomypath.TheSentinelwon’tevenletmeflinch.“Wecan’thavethis.”

Now I can see what this is. Not a rescue. Not for me. A coup, anassassinationattempt.They’vecomeforMaven.

Iral,Haven, andLaris cannotwin this battle.They’re outnumbered, buttheyknowthat.Theypreparedforit.TheIralsareschemersandspies.Theirplaniswellexecuted.Alreadythey’remakinganescapethroughtheshatteredwindows.Iwatch,dumbfounded,as theythrowthemselvesout intothesky,catchinggalesofwindthatflingthemoutandaway.Notallofthemmakeit.Nornus swifts catch a few, as does Prince Daraeus, despite a long knifeprotrudingfromhisshoulder.IassumetheHavensarelonggonetoo,thoughoneortwoflickerbackintomyvision,eachonebleeding,dying,assaultedbyaMeranduswhisper’sonslaught.Daraeushimselfputsoutoneblurringarmand catches someone by the neck.When he squeezes, aHaven blinks intoexistence.

TheSentinelswho turned, all Laris and Iral, don’tmake it either.Theykneel, angrybutunafraid,burningwithdetermination.Without theirmasks,theydon’tlooksoterrifying.

Agurglingsounddrawsourattention.TheSentinelturns,allowingmetosee the center ofwhatwas once the feasting table.A crowd clusterswhereMaven’s seatwas, someonguard, somekneeling.Through their legs, I seehim.

Silver blood bubbles from his neck, gushing through the fingers of thenearestSentinel,whois tryingtokeeppressureonabulletwound.Maven’seyesrollandhismouthmoves.Hecan’tspeak.Hecan’tevenscream.Awet,gaspingsortofnoiseisallhecanmake.

I’mgladtheSentinelholdsmestill.OrelseImightruntohim.Somethinginmewants to run to him.Whether to finish the jobor comfort himas hedies,Idon’tknow.Idesirebothinequalmeasure.Iwanttolookintohiseyesandseehimleavemeforever.

ButIjustcan’tmove,andhejustwon’tdie.

TheSkonosskinhealer,myskinhealer,skids tohisside,slidingonher

knees.IthinkhernameisWren.Anaptname.Sheissmallanddartingashernamesake.Shesnapsherfingers.“Takeitout;Ihavehim!”sheshouts.“Out,now!”

PtolemusSamoscrouches,abandoninghisguardingvigil.Hetwitcheshisfingers and a bullet pulls free of Maven’s neck, bringing with it a freshfountainofsilver.Maventriestoscream,garglinghisownblood.

Brow furrowed, the skin healer works, holding both hands over hiswound.Shebendsasiftoputherweightonhim.Fromthisangle,Ican’tseethe skin beneath, but the blood stops gushing. The wound that should’vekilledhimheals.Muscleandveinandfleshknitbacktogether,goodasnew.Noscarbutthememory.

Afteralong,gaspingmoment,Mavenhurtlestohisfeet,andfireexplodesfromboth hands, sending his entourage reeling backward.The table beforehim flips, blasted back by the strength and rage of his flame. It lands in aresounding heap, spitting puddles of blue-burning alcohol. The rest ignites,fedbyMaven’sanger.And,Ithink,terror.

OnlyVolohasthespinetoapproachhiminsuchastate.

“YourMajesty,shouldweevacuateyoutothe—”

With wicked eyes, Maven turns. Above him, the lightbulbs in thechandeliersburst,spittingflameinsteadofsparks.“Ihavenoreasontorun.”

Allthisinafewmoments.Theballroomisinshambles,fullofshatteredglass,upendedtables,andafewverymangledbodies.

PrinceAlexandretisamongthem,slumpeddeadinhisseatofhonorwithabulletholebetweenhiseyes.

Idon’tmournhisloss.Hisabilitywaspain.

Naturally,theyinterrogatemefirst.Ishouldbeusedtoitbynow.

Exhausted, emotionally spent, I slump to the cold stone floor whenSamsonletsmego.Mybreathingcomeshard,likeI’vejustrunarace.Iwillmy heartbeat to normalize, to stop panting, to hold on to some shred ofdignityandsense.IcringeastheArvenslockmymanaclesbackintoplace;thentheypassthekeyaway.Themanaclesareareliefandaburdenboth.Ashieldandacage.

We’veretreatedtothegrandcouncilchambersthistime,thecircularroomwhere I sawWalshdie toprotect theScarletGuard.More roomhere,morespace to try the dozen captured assassins. The Sentinels have learned their

lesson,andtheykeepfirmgripsontheprisoners,notallowinganymovement.Mavenleersdownfromhiscouncilseat,flankedoneithersidebyVoloandDaraeus. The latter fumes, torn between livid rage and sorrow. His fellowprince is dead, killed inwhat I now knowwas an assassination attempt onMaven.Anattemptthat,sadly,failed.

“Sheknewnothingofthis.NeitherthehouserebellionnorJon’sbetrayal,”Samson tells the room.The terrible chamber seems small,withmostof theseats empty and the doors firmly locked. Only Maven’s closest advisersremain,lookingon,gearsturningintheirheads.

Inhisseat,Mavensneers.Almostbeingmurdereddoesn’tseemtorattlehim.“No,thiswasnottheScarletGuard’sdoing.Theydon’tworklikethis.”

“You don’t know that,” Daraeus snaps, forgetting all his manners andsmiles.“Youdon’tknowanythingaboutthem,nomatterwhatyoumightsay.IftheScarletGuardhasalliedwith—”

“Corrupted,” Evangeline snaps from her place behind Maven’s leftshoulder. She doesn’t have a council seat or a title of her own and has tostand,despitethemanyemptychairs.“Godsdonotallywithinsects,buttheycanbeinfectedbythem.”

“Prettywords fromaprettygirl,”Daraeussays,dismissingheroutright.Shefumes.“Whatoftherest?”

At Maven’s gesture, the next interrogation begins in earnest. A Havenshadow, grasped tightly by Trio himself to keep the woman from fleeing.Withoutherability, sheseemsdim,anechoofherbeautifulhouse.Her redhair is darker, duller,without its usual scarlet gleam.When Samson puts ahandtohertemple,sheshrieks.

“Herthoughtsareofhersister,”Samsonsayswithoutanyfeeling.Exceptmaybeboredom.“Elane.”

Isawheronlyhoursago,glidingaroundEvangeline’ssalon.Shegavenoindicationthatsheknewofanimpendingassassination.Butnogoodschemerwould.

Maven knows it too.He glares at Evangeline, seething. “I’m toldLadyElane escapedwith themajority of her house, fleeing the capital,” he says.“Doyouhaveanyideawheretheymighthavegone,mydearest?”

Shekeepsher eyes forward,walkingaquickly thinning line.Evenwithher father and brother so close, I don’t think anyone could save her fromMaven’swrathifhefeltinclinedtounleashit.“No,whywouldI?”shesays

airily,examiningherclawlikenails.

“Because she was your brother’s betrothed and your whore,” the kingreplies,matter-of-fact.

If she’s ashamedor even apologetic,Evangelinedoesnot show it. “Oh,that.”Sheevenscoffs,takingtheaccusationinstride.“Howcouldshelearnmuchofanythingfromme?Youconspiresowell tokeepmefromcouncilsand politics. If anything, she did you a favor in keeping me pleasantlyoccupied.”

Theirbickeringremindsmeofanotherkingandanotherqueen:Maven’sparents, fighting after the ScarletGuard attacked a party at theHall of theSun.Eachrippingattheother,leavingdeepwoundstobeexploitedlater.

“Thensubmittointerrogation,Evangeline,andwe’llsee,”hefiresback,pointingwithonejeweledhand.

“Nodaughterofminewilleverdosuchathing,”Volorumbles,thoughithardly seems a threat. Merely a fact. “She had no part in this, and shedefended youwith her own life.Without Evangeline’s andmy son’s quickaction—well, even to say it is treason.” The old patriarch pulls a frown,wrinklinghiswhiteskin,asifthethoughtissodisgusting.Asifhewouldn’tcelebrateifMavendied.“Longlivetheking.”

In the center of the floor, theHavenwoman snarls, trying to shove offTrio.Heholdsfirm,keepingheronherknees.“Yes,longlivetheking!”shesays,glaringatus.“TiberiastheSeventh!Longlivetheking!”

Cal.

Mavenstands,slamminghisfistsagainstthearmsofhisseat.Iexpecttheroomtoburn,butnofirespringstolife.Itcan’t.NotwhilehesitsonSilentStone.His eyes are the only thing aflame.And then, slowly,with amanicgrin,hebeginstolaugh.

“Allthis…forhim?”hesays,smirking.“Mybrothermurderedtheking,our father, helped murder my mother, and now he tries to murder me.Samson, if you would continue”—he inclines his head in his cousin’sdirection—“Ihavenomercyorremorsefortraitors.Especiallystupidones.”

The rest turn towatch the interrogation continue, to listen to theHavenwomanasshespoutssecretsofherfaction,theirgoals,theirplans.ToreplaceMavenwithhis brother.TomakeCal king as hewasborn tobe.To returnthingstothewaytheywere.

Throughitall,Istareattheboyonthethrone.Hemaintainshismask.Jawclenched,lipspressedintoathin,unforgivingline.Stillfingers,straightback.But his gazewavers. Something in his eyes has gone far away.And at hiscollar,theslightestgrayflushrises,paintinghisneckandthetipsofhisears.

He’sterrified.

Forasecond, itmakesmehappy.ThenI remember—monstersaremostdangerouswhenthey’reafraid.

ELEVENCameron

Eventhoughitwouldhaveturnedmeintoanicicle,IwantedtostaybehindinTrial.Notoutoffear,buttoproveapoint.I’mnotsomeweapontobeused,notlikeBarrowallowedherselftobe.Noonegetstotellmewheretogoorwhattodo.I’mdonewiththat.I’velivedmyentirelifethatway.AndeveryinstinctinmetellsmetostayawayfromtheGuard’soperationinCorvium,afortresscitythatswallowseverysoldierandspitsouttheirbones.

Exceptthatmybrother,Morrey,isonlyafewmilesawaynow,stillfirmlystuckinatrench.Evenwithmyability,I’llneedhelptogettohim.AndifIwantanythingfromthisstupidGuard,I’mgoingtohavetostartgivingthemsomethinginreturn.Farleymadethatclearenough.

Ilikeher,morenowaftersheapologizedforthe“utilizing”comment.Shesayswhatshemeans.Shedoesn’tmope,thoughshehaseveryright.NotlikeCal, who broods around every corner, refusing to help and then relentingwhenhefeelslikeit.Thefallenprinceisexhausting.Idon’tknowhowMarecould standhimor his inability to choose a damned side—especiallywhenthere’sonlyone sidehecanpossiblypick.Evennowheblusters,waveringbetweenwanting to protect the Silvers ofCorvium andwanting to tear thecityapart.

“Youneed to control thewalls,” hemutters, standingbeforeFarley andthe Colonel. We’re operating from our headquarters in Rocasta, a less-defendedsupplycityafewmilesawayfromourobjective.“Ifyoucontrolthewalls, you can turn the city inside out—or take the walls down entirely.RenderCorviumuseless.Toeveryone.”

Isit idlyby in thesparse room, listening to theback-and-forth frommyplacenext toAda.Farley’s idea.We’re twoof themorevisiblenewbloods,well known to both kinds of Reds. Including us in these meeting sends astrong message to the rest of the unit. Ada watches with wide eyes,memorizing everyword and gesture.UsuallyNannywould sitwith us, butNannyisgone.Shewasasmallwoman,butsheleavesaverylargehole.AndIknowwhosefaultthatis.

MyeyesburnintoCal’sback.I feel the itchofmyability,andfight the

urge tobringhim tohisknees.He’llkillus forMare,andhewon’tkillhisownfortherestoftheworld.ItwasNanny’schoicetoinfiltrateArcheononherown,buteveryoneknowsitwasn’theridea.

Farley is just as angry as I am. She can barely look atCal, evenwhenspeakingtohim.“Thequestionnowishowtoeffectivelydispatchourown.Wecan’tfocuseveryoneonthewalls,importantastheyare.”

“Bymycount, ten thousandRed soldiers occupyCorviumat anygiventime.”IalmostlaughatAda’shumbleness.Bymycount.Hercountisperfect,and everyoneknows it. “Military protocol dictates oneofficer to every ten,giving us at least one thousand Silvers inside the city, not accounting forcommand units and administration. Neutralizing them should be ourobjective.”

Cal crosses his arms, unconvinced even by Ada’s perfect, inarguableintelligence. “I’m not so sure. Our goal is to destroy Corvium, to strikeMaven’s army at its heart. That can be done without”—he stumbles—“withoutamassacreonbothsides.”

As ifhecareswhathappens toourside.As ifhecares ifanyoneofusdies.

“HowdoyouplantodestroyacitywithathousandSilverslookingon?”Iwonderaloud,knowingIwon’tgetmuchofananswer.“Willtheprinceaskthemtositquietlyandwatch?”

“Ofcoursewefightthosewhoresist,”theColonelbreaksin.HestaresatCal,daringhimtoargue.“Andtheywillresist.Weknowthis.”

“Dowe?”Cal’s tone is quietly smug. “Members ofMaven’s own courttriedtokillhimlastweek.Ifthere’sdivisionintheHighHouses,thenthere’sdivision in the armed forces. Attacking them outright will only serve as aunifier,inCorviumatleast.”

Myscoffechoesaroundtheroom.“So,what,wewait?LetMavenlickhiswoundsandregroup?Givehimtimetocatchhisbreath?”

“Givehimtimetohanghimself,”Calsnapsback.Hematchesmyscowl.“Give him time to make even more mistakes. Now he’s on thin ice withPiedmont,hisonlyally,andthreeHighHousesareinopenrebellion.OneofthemallbutcontrolstheAirFleet,anotheravastintelligencenetwork.NottomentionhestillhasusandtheLakelanderstoworryabout.He’sscared;he’sscrambling.Iwouldn’twanttobeonhisthronerightnow.”

“Isthattrue?”Farleyasks,hervoicecasual.Butthewordsmovethrough

the room like knives. They sting him. Anyone can see that. His royalteachingsareenoughtokeephisfacestill,buthiseyesbetrayhim.Theyflashinthefluorescentlight.“Don’tlietousandsayyou’reunconcernedwiththeothernewsoutofArcheon.ThereasonLarisandIralandHaventriedtokillyourbrother.”

Hestares.“TheyattemptedacoupbecauseMavenisatyrantwhoabuseshispowerandmurdershisown.”

I slammy fist against the armofmychair.He’snotgoing todancehiswayaroundthisone.“Theyrevoltedbecausetheywanttomakeyouking!”Ishout. To my surprise, he flinches. Maybe he’s expecting more than justwords.ButIkeepmyabilityincheck,hardasitmaybe.“‘LongliveTiberiasthe Seventh.’ That’s what the assassins said to Maven. Our operatives inWhitefirewereclear.”

He expels a long, frustrated sigh. He seems aged by this conversation.Browfurrowed, jaw tight.Muscles standoutathisneckandhishandscurlintofists.He’samachineabouttobreak—orexplode.

“It’s not unexpected,”hemutters, as if itmakes anythingbetter. “Therewasbound to be a succession crisis eventually.But there’s no feasiblewayanyonecanputmebackonthethrone.”

Farley tips her head. “And if they could?”Silently, I cheer her on. Shewon’tlethimoffaseasilyasMareusedto.“Iftheyofferedthecrown,yourso-calledbirthright,inexchangeforanendtoallthis—wouldyoutakeit?”

ThefallenprinceofHouseCalorestraightenstolookherdeadintheeye.

“No.”

He’snotasgoodaliarasMareis.

“AsmuchasIhatetoadmitit,hehasapointaboutwaiting.”

IalmostcoughuptheteaFarleypouredme.QuicklyIsetthechippedcupbackdownonher ramshackle table.“You’renotseriouslysaying that.Howcanyoutrusthim?”

Farley paces back and forth, crossing her tiny room in only a few longsteps.Onehandmassagesherbackasshemoves,workingoutanotherofheraches.Herhair is longereveryday,andshekeeps itbraidedback fromherfaceatoddlengths.Iwouldofferhermyseat,butshedoesn’tliketositmuchthese days. She has to keep moving, for her own comfort and her ownnervousenergy.

“Of course I don’t trust him,” she replies, kickingweakly at oneof thepaint-peelingwalls.Herfrustrationrunsashighasheremotions.“ButIcantrust things about him. I can trust him to act a certain way where certainpeopleareconcerned.”

“YoumeanMare.”Obviously.

“Mareandhisbrother.Hisaffectionforoneplaysnicelyoffhishatredfortheother.Itmightbeouronlywaytokeephimaround.”

“Isaylethimgo,lethimrileupafewmoreSilversandbeanotherthorninMaven’sside.Wedon’tneedhimhere.”

Shealmostlaughs,abittersoundnowadays.“Yes,I’lljusttellCommandthatwekickedoutourmostwellknownand legitimateoperative.Thatwillgooververywell.”

“He’snotevenreallywithus—”

“Well,Mare’snotreallywithMaven,butpeopledon’tseemtounderstandthateither,dothey?”Eventhoughshe’sright,Ihavetoscowl.“Aslongaswehave Cal, people take notice. No matter how badly we botched that firstattemptatArcheon,westillendedupwithaSilverprinceonourside.”

“Ableedinguselessprince.”

“Annoying,frustrating,averitablepainintheass—butnotuseless.”

“Ohyeah?What’shedoneforuslatelybesidesgetNannykilled?”

“Nannywasn’tforcedtogotoArcheon,Cameron.Shemadeachoiceandshedied.That’showitworkssometimes.”

Nurturing as she sounds, Farley isn’tmuch older thanme.Twenty-two,maybe,atmost.Ithinkhermaternalinstinctsarekickinginearly.

“Besidesthefactthathewinsuspointswithless-hostileSilvers,Montforthasaninterestinhim.”

Montfort.ThemysteriousFreeRepublic.Thetwins,RashandTahir,painttheplaceasahavenoflibertyandequality,whereReds,Silvers,andArdents—what theycallnewbloods—live inpeace together.Animpossibleplace tobelievein.Butevenso,Ihavetobelieveintheirmoney,theirsupplies,theirsupport.Mostofourresourcescomefromtheminsomeway.

“Whatdotheywant?”Iswirltheteainmycup,lettingtheheatwashovermyface.It’snotascoldhereasinIrabelle,butwinterstillcreepsthroughtheRocastasafehouse.“Aposterboy?”

“Somethinglikethat.There’sbeenlotsofchatterwithCommand.Idon’thaveclearanceformostofit.TheywantedMarebut—”

“She’sabitpreoccupied.”

MentionofMareBarrowdoesn’taffectFarleyasmuchasthememoryofShade,butaflickerofpainwashesoverherfaceanyway.Shetriestohideit,ofcourse.Farleydoesherbesttoappearimpenetrable,andusuallysheis.

“Sothere’sreallynochanceofrescuingher,”Iwhisper.Whensheshakesherhead,Ifeelasurprisingpangofsadnessinmyownchest.InfuriatingasMaremightbe,Istillwantherback.Weneedher.Andoverthelongmonths,I’verealizedIneedhertoo.Sheknowswhatitistobedifferentandinsearchofsomeonelikeyou,tofearandbefearedinthesamemeasure.Evenifshewasacondescendingtwitmostofthetime.

Farleystopspacingtopourherselfanothercupoftea.Itsteams,fillingtheroomwithahot,herbalscent.Shetakesitinhandbutdoesn’tdrink,crossinginsteadtothefoggywindowsethighinherwall.Itbleedsdaylight.“Idon’tseehowwecanwithwhatwehave.InfiltrationofCorviumiseasycomparedto Archeon. It would take a full-scale assault, the kind we can’t muster.Especially now, after Nanny and an assassination attempt. Security atMaven’scourtwillbeatitshighest—worsethanaprison.Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Caltellsustowait.TolettheSilversinCorviumturnoneachother.ToletMavenmakehismistakesbeforewedoanythingelse.”

“AnditwillhelpMaretoo.”

Farleynods. “Theweak,dividedcourtofaparanoidkingwillbeeasierforhertoescape.”Shesighs,staringatheruntouchedtea.“She’stheonlyonewhocansaveherselfnow.”

Theconversationiseasyto twist.AsmuchasIwantMareback,Iwantsomeoneelsemore.“HowmanymilesarewefromtheChoke?”

“Thisagain?”

“Thisalways.”Ipushbackfromthetabletogetup.IfeellikeIshouldbestanding. I’m just as tall asFarley,but shealways seems like she’s lookingdown at me. I’m young, untrained. I don’t know much about the worldoutside my slum. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and followorders.“I’mnotasking foryourhelpor theGuard’s. I justneedamapandmaybeagun.I’lldothebleedingrestmyself.”

Shedoesn’tblink. “Cameron,yourbrother is embedded ina legion. It’snotlikepullingoutatooth.”

My fist clenches atmy side. “You think I came all theway here to sitaround andwatchCal spin hiswheels?” It’s an old argument by now. Sheeasilyshutsmedown.

“Well,Icertainlydon’tthinkyoucameallthewayheretogetkilled,”sherepliescalmly.Herbroadshouldersrisejusta little, inchallenge.“Which ispreciselywhatwill happen, nomatter how strongor deadlyyour ability is.AndevenifyoutakeadozenSilverswithyou,I’mnotgoingtoletyoudiefornothing.Isthatclear?”

“Mybrother isnotnothing,” Igrumble.She’s right,but Idon’twant toadmitit.Instead,Iavoidhereyesandturntothewall.Myfingerspickatthepeeling paint, ripping away pieces in annoyance. A childish thing, but itmakesmefeelabitbetter.“You’renotmycaptain.Youdon’tgettotellmewhattodowithmylife.”

“That’strue.I’mjustafriendwhofeelsinclinedtopointsomethingout.”Ihearhershift,herfootstepsheavyonthecreakingfloor.Buthertouchislight,abrushofherhandonmyshoulder.She’sroboticinthemovement,notreallyknowing how to comfort another person. Bleakly, I wonder how she andwarm,smilingShadeBarroweversharedaconversation, letaloneabed.“IrememberwhatyoutoldMare.Whenwefirstfoundyou.Onthejet,yousaidthathersearchfornewbloods,tosavethem,waswrong.Acontinuationoftheblooddivide.FavoringonekindofRedoveranother.Andyouwereright.”

“Thisisnotthesame.Ijustwanttosavemybrother.”

“Howdoyouthinktherestofusgothere?”shescoffs.“Tosaveafriend,a sibling, aparent.Tosaveourselves.Weall camehere for selfish reasons,Cameron.Butwecan’tbedistractedbythem.Wehavetothinkofthecause.Thegreatergood.Andyoucandosomuchmorehere,withus.Wecan’tloseyou…”

Too.We can’t lose you too. The lastword hangs in the air, unspoken. Ihearitanyway.

“You’rewrong.Ididn’tcomeherebychoice.Iwastaken.MareBarrowforcedmetofollow,andyouallwentalongwithit.”

“Cameron, that’s a cardyouhaveplayed toomany times.You chose tostayalongtimeago.Youchosetohelp.”

“Andwhatwouldyouchoosenow,Farley?”Iglareather.Shemaybemy

friend,butthatdoesn’tmeanIhavetobackdown.

“Excuseme?”

“Wouldyouchoosethegreatergood?OrwouldyouchooseShade?”

When she doesn’t respond, her eyes sliding out of focus, I have myanswer.IrealizeIdon’twanttoseehercryandturnmyback,makingforthedoor.

“Ihavetotrain,”Isaytonoone.Idoubtshe’sstilllistening.

Training is harder in theRocasta safehouse.Wedon’t have anywherenearenough space, not to mention most of the operatives I know were left inIrabelle.Kilorn,forexample.Eagerasheis,he’snowherenearreadyforall-outbattle,andhedoesn’thaveanabilitytoleanon.Hewasleftbehind.Butmytrainerwasnot.Afterall,she’sSilver,andtheColonelwasn’tabouttoletheroutofhissight.

SaraSkonoswaitsinthebasementofourreinforcedwarehouse,inaroomdedicated to newblood exercises. It’s dinnertime, so theother newbloods inthisparticularsanctuaryareupstairseatingwiththerest.Wehavethespacetoourselves,notthatweneedmuchspaceatall.

She sits cross-legged, palms flat on a concrete floor that matches theconcretewalls.Hernotepadistheretoo,readytobeusedifneedbe.Hereyestrackmy entrance, the only greeting I’ll get.As of yet,we have not foundanotherskinhealertojoinus,andsheremainsmute.EventhoughI’musedtoit, the sightofher sunkencheeks andmissing tonguemakesmecringe.Asusual,shepretendsnottonoticeandgesturestothespaceinfrontofher.

Isitassheinstructs,andfightthefamiliarurgetorunorattack.

She’sSilver.She’severythingI’vebeenraisedtofear,hate,andobey.ButIcan’tfinditinmyselftodespiseSaraSkonosthewayIdoJulianorCal.It’snotthatIpityher.Ithink…Iunderstandher.Iunderstandthefrustrationofknowingwhat is right and being ignored or punished because of it. I can’tcounthowmanytimesIreceivedhalfrationsforlookingataSilveroverseerincorrectly.Fortalkingoutofturn.Shedidthesame,exceptherwordswereagainstareigningqueen.Andsoherwordsweretakenawayforever.

Eventhoughshecan’tspeak,Sarahasawayofcommunicatingwhatshewants. She tapsme on the knee, forcingme tomeet her cloudy gray eyes.Thenshedipsherfaceandputsahandoverherheart.

I follow the motions, knowing what she wants. I match her breathing:

steady, deep breaths in even succession. A calming mechanism that helpsdrown out all the thoughts swirling around my head. It clears my mind,allowingmetofeelwhatIusuallyignore.Myabilityhumsbeneathmyskin,constant as always, but now I let myself notice it. Not to use it, but toacknowledgeitsexistence.Mysilenceisstillnewtome,andIhavetogettoknowitlikeanyotherskill.

After longminutesofbreathing,shetapsmeagain,makingmelookup.Thistimeshepointsatherself.

“Sara,I’mreallynotintherightmood,”Istarttotellher,butshedrawsonehandthroughtheairinachoppingmotion.Shutup,plainasday.

“Imeanit.Icouldhurtyou.”

Shescoffsdeep inher throat,oneof theonly truevocalizationsshecanmake.Italmostsoundslikelaughter.Thenshetapsherlips,smirkingdarkly.She’sbeenhurtfarworse.

“Fine, I warned you,” I sigh. I wiggle a little, settling deeper into myposition. Then I furrow my brow, letting the ability swim around me,deepening,expanding.Untilittouchesher.Andsilencedescends.

Hereyeswidenwhenithits.Atwingeatfirst.At leastIhopeit’s justatwinge. I’m only practicing, and I don’t intend to pummel her intosubmission. I think of Mare, able to call up storms, while Cal can makeinfernos, but both find it difficult to have a simple conversation withoutexploding.Controltakesmorepracticethanbruteforce.

My ability deepens, and she holds up one finger to denote the level ofdiscomfort. I try to keep the silence in place, constant but steady. It’s likeholdingbackatide.Idon’tknowwhatitfeelsliketobesilenced.TheSilentStonedidn’tworkonmeinCorrosPrison,butitstifled,drained—andslowlykilled—allthepeoplearoundme.Icandothesame.Afteraboutaminute,sheputsupasecondfinger.

“Sara…?”

Withherotherhandshegesturesformetocontinue.

Irememberoursessionyesterday.Shewasontheflooratfive,thoughIknewIcouldpushharder.But incapacitatingouronlyskinhealer isneithersmartnorsomethingIwanttodo.

A flush paints her cheeks, but the door to the basement swings openbeforeshecanholdupanotherfinger.

Myconcentrationandmysilencebreak,drawingarelievedgaspfromher.Bothofuswhirl to faceourdisrupter.Whileshebreaks intoa raresmile, Iscowl.

“Jacos,” I mutter in his direction. “We’re training, in case you haven’tnoticed.”

Onesideofhismouthtwitches,beggingtopull intoasneerofhisown,but Julian refrains. Like the rest of us, he looks better here in Rocasta.Supplies are easier to come by. Our clothes are higher quality, quilted andlinedagainstthecold.Thefoodisheartier,theroomswarmer.Julian’scolorhas returned, and his gray-flecked hair looks glossier. He’s Silver. He wasborntothrive.

“Oh, how foolish ofme. I thought youwere down here sitting on coldconcrete for the funof it,”he replies.Clearlyno love lostbetweenus.Saraglares at him, aweak reproach, but it softens him anyway. “My apologies,Cameron,”headdsquickly.“IjustwantedtotellSarasomething.”

Sara quirks an eyebrow, a question.When I get up to go, she stopsmeand,withadipofherhead,asksJuliantocontinue.Healwaysobeyswheresheisconcerned.

“There’s been an exodus from court.Maven expelled dozens of nobles,mostlyhisfather’soldadvisersandthosewhomightstillharborloyaltiestoCal. It’s… I didn’t believe the intelligence report at first. I’ve never seenanythinglikeitbefore.”

JulianandSaraholdeachother’sgaze,bothponderingwhatthismeans.Idon’tcareatallaboutafewSilverlordsandladies,oldfriendsofJulianandSara’s.“AndMare?”Iwonderaloud.

“She’sstillthere,stillaprisoner.Andanyfurtherfractureswemayhaveexpectedfromtherebellinghouses…”Hesighs,shakinghishead.“Mavenisalreadyatwar,andnowhepreparesforastorm.”

Ishiftonthefloor,movingmyweightintoamorecomfortableposition.He’s right. Cold concrete isn’t pleasant. Good thing I’m used to it. “Wealreadyknewrescuingherwasimpossible.Whatelsedoesthisdoforus?”

“Well, it’s good and it’s bad. More enemies for Maven give us moreopportunity to work beyond his reach. But he’s closing ranks, retreatingfurtherintohisenclaveofprotection.We’llnevergettohimpersonally.”

Next tome, Sara hums low in her throat. She can’t saywhatwe’re allthinking,soIdo.

“OrtoMare.”

Juliannodswithsoberingeyes.

“Howisyourtrainingcomingalong?”

Hechangestopicswithwhiplashspeed,andIstutteroutareply.

“As—asgoodasitcan.Wedon’thavemanyteachershere.”

“Becauseyourefusetotrainwithmynephew.”

“The others can,” I say, not bothering to keep the bite frommy voice.“ButIcan’tpromiseIwon’tkillhim,soit’sbetterIdon’ttemptmyself.”

Sara tsks,but Julianbrushesheroffwithawaveofhishand.“It’s fine,really.YoumaythinkIdon’tunderstand,thatIcan’tunderstandyourpointofview,andyou’reright.ButI’mcertainlydoingmybesttotry,Cameron.”Hetakesadaringsteptowardus,stillcross-leggedonthefloor.Idon’tlikeitonebit andscramble tomy feet, lettingmydefensive instincts takeover. If I’mgoingtobethisclosetoJulianJacos,Iwanttobeready.“There’snoneedtobeafraidofme,Ipromiseyou.”

“Silver promises mean nothing.” I don’t have to snap. The words areharshenough.

Tomysurprise,Juliansmiles.But theexpressionishollow,empty.“Oh,don’t Iknowthat,”hemutters,more tohimselfandSara.“Holdon toyouranger.Saramightnotagree,but itwillhelpyoumorethananythingelse, ifyoucanlearntoharnessit.”

AsmuchasIdon’twantadvicefromsuchaman,Ican’thelpbuttuckitaway.He trainedMare. I’d be stupid to deny he can helpmy ability grow.AndangerissomethingIhaveinspades.

“Anyothernews?”Iask.“FarleyandtheColonelseemtobestalling,oryournephewisstallingthem.”

“Yes,itseemsheis.”

“Odd.Thoughthewasalwaysupforafight.”

Julian offers that strange smile again. “Calwas raised towar the sameway you were raised to machines. But you don’t want to go back to thefactory,doyou?”

Ananswer,anyanswer,sticksinmythroat.Iwasaslave;Iwasforced;itwasallIknew.

“Don’tgetsmartwithme,Julian”grindsoutinstead,searingbetweenmyclenchedteeth.

Heonly shrugs. “I’m trying tounderstandyourperspective.Doabit tounderstandhis.”

On another day, I might storm from the room, angry, defensive. Findsolace inabroken fuse,a strippedwire. I sitbackdown instead, takingmyplace next to Sara. Julian Jacos will not send me scurrying away like ascoldedchild.I’vedealtwithoverseersfarworsethanhim.

“Iwatchedbabiesdiewithoutseeingthesun.Withoutbreathingfreshair.Slavestoyourkind.Haveyou?Whenyouhave,thenyoucanlecturemeonperspective, Lord Jacos.” I turn from him. “Letme knowwhen the princefinallypicksaside.Andifhepickstherightone.”

ThenInodatSara.“Readytogoagain?”

TWELVEMare

Monthsago,whentheSilversfledtheHalloftheSun,frightenedbyaScarletGuardattackon theirpreciousball, itwasaunitedact.We left together, asone,headingdownriverinsuccessiontoregroupinthecapital.Thisisnotthesame.

Maven’sdismissalscomeinpacks.I’mnotprivytothem,butInoticeasthenumbersdwindle.Afewolderadvisersmissing.Theroyaltreasurer,somegenerals,membersofvariouscouncils.Relievedoftheirposts,therumorssay.ButIknowbetter.TheywereclosetoCal,closetohisfather.Mavenissmartnottotrustthem,andruthlessintheirremoval.Hedoesn’tkillthemormakethemdisappear.He’snotstupidenoughtotriggeranotherhousewar.Butit’sadecisivemove,tosaytheleast.Sweepingawayobstacleslikepiecesfromachess board. The results are feasts that look like mouths of missing teeth.Gapsappear,morewitheverypassingday.Mostofthoseaskedtoleaveareolder, men and women with ancient allegiances, who remember more andtrusttheirnewkingless.

SomestarttocallittheCourtofChildren.

Manylordsandladiesaregone,sentawaybytheking,buttheirsonsanddaughtersareleftbehind.Arequest.Awarning.Athreat.

Hostages.

Not even House Merandus escapes his growing paranoia. Only HouseSamos remains in their entirety, not one of them falling prey to histempestuousdismissals.

Thosestillherearedevout in their loyalty.Orat least theymake it looklikeit.

That’sprobablywhyhesummonsmemorenow.WhyIseesomuchofhim. I’m the only one with loyalties he can trust. The only one he reallyknows.

He reads reportsoverourbreakfast, eyes skimmingbackand forthwithblisteringspeed.It’suselesstotrytoseewhattheyare.He’scarefultokeepthemtohissideofthetable,turnedoverwhenfinished,andwelloutofmy

reach.Insteadofreadingthereports,Ihavetoreadhim.Hedoesn’tbothertosurroundhimselfwithSilentStone,nothereinhisprivatediningroom.EventheSentinelswaitoutside,postedateverydoorandontheothersideof thetallwindows. I see them, but they can’t hear us, as isMaven’s design.Hisuniform jacket is unbuttoned, his hair unkempt, and he doesn’t put on hiscrown this early in themorning. I think this is his little sanctuary, a placewherehecantrickhimselfintofeelingsafe.

HealmostlooksliketheboyIimagined.Asecondprince,contentwithhisplace,unburdenedbyacrownthatwasneverhis.

Over the rimofmywaterglass, Iwatchevery tick and flashacrosshisface. Narrowed eyes, a tightening jaw. Bad news. The dark circles havereturned,andwhileheeatsenoughfortwopeople,tearingthroughtheplatesinfrontofus,heseemsthinnedbythedays.Iwonderifhehasnightmaresofthe assassination attempt.Nightmares of hismother, dead bymy hand.Hisfather,deadbyhisaction.Hisbrother, inexilebutaconstant threat.Funny,Maven called himself Cal’s shadow, but Cal is the shadow now, hauntingeverycornerofMaven’sfragilekingdom.

Therearereportsoftheexiledprinceeverywhere,soprevalentthatevenIhear about them. They place him in Harbor Bay, Delphie, Rocasta; there’seven shaky intelligence hinting that he escaped across the border into theLakelands.Ihonestlydon’tknowwhich,ifany,oftheserumorsaretrue.HecouldbeinMontfortforallIknow.Gonetothesafetyofafarawayland.

Eventhoughthis isMaven’spalace,Maven’sworld, IseeCal in it.Theimmaculate uniforms, drilling soldiers, flaming candles, gilded walls ofportraitsandhousecolors.Anemptysalonremindsmeofdancelessons.IfIglance at Maven from the corner of my eye, I can pretend. They’re halfbrothersafterall.Theysharesimilarfeatures.Thedarkhair,theelegantlinesofaroyalface.ButMavenispaler,sharper,askeletonincomparison,bodyandsoul.Heishollowedout.

“You stare so much I wonder if you can read reflections in my eyes,”Mavensuddenlymusesaloud.Heflipsthepageinfrontofhim,hidingwhatitholds,ashelooksup.

His attempt to startle me fails. Instead, I continue spreading anembarrassingamountofbutterontomytoast.“IfonlyIcouldseesomethinginthem,”Ireply,meaningallthings.“You’reanemptyboy.”

Hedoesn’tflinch.“Andyou’reuseless.”

Irollmyeyesandidlytapmymanaclesagainstthebreakfasttable.Metal

andstonerapagainstwoodlikeknockingonadoor.“Ourtalksaresofun.”

“Ifyoupreferyourroom…,”hewarns.Anotheremptythreathemakeseveryday.Webothknowthisisbetterthanthealternative.AtleastnowIcanpretendI’mdoingsomethingofuse,andhecanpretendheisn’tentirelyaloneinthiscagehebuiltforhimself.Forbothofus.

It’shardtosleephere,evenwiththemanacles,whichmeansIhavealotoftimetothink.

Andplan.

Julian’sbooksarenotonlyacomfort,buta tool.He’sstill teachingme,eventhoughwe’rewhoknowshowmanymilesapart. Inhiswell-preservedtexts, there are new lessons to be learned andutilized.The first—andmostimportant—isdivideandconquer.Maven’salreadydoneittome.NowImustreturnthefavor.

“AreyoueventryingtohuntforJon?”

Maven is actually startled at my question, the first mention of thenewbloodwhousedtheassassinationattempttoescape.AsfarasIknow,hehasn’tbeencaptured.Partofmeisbitter.JonescapedwhereIcouldn’t.Butatthesametime,I’mglad.JonisaweaponIwantfarawayfromMavenCalore.

Afterasplit-secondrecovery,Mavenreturnstoeating.Heshovesapieceofbaconinhismouth,throwingetiquettetothewind.“YouandIbothknowthat’snotamanwhoiseasilyfound.”

“Butyouarelooking.”

“He had knowledge of an attack on his king and did nothing,”Mavenstates,matter-of-fact.“That’stantamounttomurderitself.Forallweknow,heconspiredwithHousesIral,Haven,andLaristoo.”

“Idoubtit.Ifhe’dhelpedthem,theywouldhavesucceeded.Pity.”

Hedutifullyignoresthejab,continuingtoreadandeat.

I tipmy head, lettingmy dark hair spill across one shoulder. The grayends are spreading, leaching upward despitemy healer’s best efforts. EvenHouseSkonoscannothealwhatisalreadydead.

“Jonsavedmylife.”

Blueeyesmeetmine,holdingfirm.

“Seconds before the attack, he gotmy attention. Hemademe turnmyhead.Orelse…”Irunafingeralongmycheekbone.Wherethebulletonly

grazedmycheek,insteadofleavingmyskullaruin.Thewoundhealed,butnotforgotten.“Imusthaveaparttoplayinwhateverfuturehesees.”

Maven focuses onmy face. Notmy eyes, but the placewhere a bulletwouldhaveobliteratedmyskull.“Forsomereason,you’readifficultpersontoletdie.”

Forhim,forthepageantry,Iforceasmall,bitterlaugh.

“What’ssofunny?”

“Howmanytimeshaveyoutriedtokillme?”

“Justtheonce.”

“And the sounder was what?”My fingers tremble at the memory. Thepainofthedeviceisstillfreshinmymind.“Justpartofagame?”

Another report flutters in the sunlight, landing facedown. He licks hisfingers before raising the next. All business. All for show. “The sounderwasn’t designed to kill you, Mare. Just incapacitate you, if need be.” Astrange look crosses his face.Almost smug, but not exactly. “I didn’t evenmakethatthing.”

“Clearly.You’renotoneforideas.Elara,then?”

“ActuallyitwasCal.”

Oh. Before I can stopmyself, I look down, away from him, needing amomentofmyown.Thestingofbetrayalpricksatmyinsides,ifonlyforasecond.It’snousebeingangrynow.

“Ican’tbelievehedidn’ttellyou.”Mavenpresseson.“He’susuallyveryproudofhimself.Abrilliantthingtoo.ButIdon’tcareforit.Ihadthedevicedestroyed.” His eyes are on my face. Hungry for a reaction. I keep myexpression from changing, despite the sudden skip in my heartbeat. Thesounderisgone.Anothersmallgift,anothermessagefromtheghost.

“It can easily be rebuilt, though, if you decide to stop cooperating.CalwaskindenoughtoleavethedeviceplansbehindwhenheranoffwithyourbandofRedrats.”

“Escaped,” I mumble.Move on. Don’t let him throw you off. Feigningdisinterest,Ipushtherestofmyfoodaroundmyplate.Idomybesttolookhurt,asMavenwantsmetobe,butnotletmyselffeelit.Ihavetosticktotheplan.TwisttheconversationasIwanttotwistit.“Youforcedhimaway.Allsoyoucouldtakehisplace,andbeexactlylikehim.”

Likeme,Mavenforcesalaughtohidehowannoyedheis.“Youhavenoideawhathewould’vebeenlike,withthecrownonhishead.”

Icrossmyarms,settlingbackinmychair.ThisisplayingoutexactlyasIwant it to. “I know he would have married Evangeline Samos, continuedfighting auselesswar, andkept ignoring a country full of angry, oppressedpeople.Doesthatsoundatallfamiliar?”

Hemaybeasnakeinhumanform,butevenMavendoesn’thavearetortforthat.Heslapsdownthereportinfrontofhim.Tooquickly.Itfacesup,justfora second,beforehe turns itover. Iglimpseonlya fewwords.Corvium.Casualties.Mavenseesmeseethem,andhehissesoutasighofannoyance.

“Asifthatwillhelpyou,”hesaysquietly.“You’renotgoinganywhere,sowhybother?”

“Isupposethat’strue.Mylifeprobablywon’tlastmuchlonger.”

Hetipshishead.Concernfurrowshisbrow,asIhopeitwill.AsIneeditto.“Whatmakesyousaythat?”

Iglareupattheceiling,studyingtheelaboratemoldingandthechandelieraboveus.Itflickerswithtinyelectricbulbs.IfonlyIcouldfeelthem.

“YouknowEvangelinewon’tletmelive.Onceshe’squeen…I’mdonefor.” My voice trembles, and I push all my fear into the words. I hope itworks.Hehastobelieveme.“It’swhatshe’swantedsincethedayIfellintoherlife.”

Heblinksatme.“Youdon’tthinkI’llprotectyoufromher?”

“Idon’tthinkyoucan.”Myfingerspickatmygown.Notasbeautifulastheonesmadeforcourt,butjustasoverwrought.“YouandIbothknowhoweasyitisforaqueentobekilled.”

Theair rippleswithheatashecontinues tostare,daringmetomeethisgaze.Mynaturalinstinctistoglareback,butIleanaway,refusingtolookathim.Itwillonlyincensehimfurther.Mavenlovesanaudience.Themomentstretches,andIfeelbarebeforehim,preyinthepathofapredator.That’sallIamhere.Caged,restrained,leashed.AllIhaveleftismyvoice,andthepiecesofMavenIhopeIknow.

“Shewon’ttouchyou.”

“And what about the Lakelanders?” I snapmy head back up. Tears ofanger spring tomyeyes,bornof frustration,not fear. “When they ripapartyouralready-splinteringkingdom?Whathappenswhentheywinthisendless

warandburnyourworldtoembers?”Iscofftomyself,heavingashudderingbreath.Thetearsfallfreelynow.Theymust.Ihavetosellthiswitheveryinchofmyself.“Iguessthenwe’llendupintheBowlofBonestogether,executedsidebyside.”

Bythewayhepales,thelittlecolorhehasdrainingfromhisface,Iknowhe’sthoughtthesamething.Itplagueshimendlessly,ableedingwound.SoItwisttheknife.

“You’reon theedgeofcivilwar.Even Iknow that.What’s thepoint inpretending there’s a scenario where I make it out of this alive? EitherEvangelinekillsmeorthewardoes.”

“Itoldyoualready,Iwon’tletthathappen.”

The snarl I throwhiswaydoesn’t need tobe faked. “Inwhat life can Itrustanythingoutofyourmoutheveragain?”

Whenhestands,thecoldfearpoolinginmystomachisn’tfakeeither.Ashe rounds the table, crossing to me in lean, elegant strides, I lock everymuscle,tensingupsoIdon’tshake.ButIquiveranyway.Ibracemyselfforablowashetakesmyfaceindisturbinglysofthands,boththumbstightundermyjaw,inchesawayfromdiggingintomyjugular.

Hiskissburnsworsethanhisbrand.

Thesensationofhis lipsonmine is theworstkindofviolation.But forhim,forwhatIneed,Ikeepmyhandsfistedinmylap.Mynailsdigintomyfleshinsteadofhis.Heneedstobelieveashisbrotherbelieved.Heneedstochooseme,thewayItriedtomakeCalchoosemebefore.Still,Ican’tfinditinmetoopenmymouth,andmyjawremainslockedshut.

Hebreaksthekissfirst,andIhopehecan’tfeelmyskincrawlbeneathhisfingers.Instead,hiseyessearchmine,lookingforthelieIkeepwellhidden.

“IlosteveryotherpersonIeverloved.”

“Andwhosefaultisthat?”

Somehow,hetremblesworsethanIdo.Hestepsback,lettingmego,andhisfingersscratchatoneanother.I’mshockedbecauseIrecognizetheaction.Ido it too.When thepain inmyhead is sohorrible Ineedanotherkind todrawmeaway.Hestopswhenhenoticesmestaring,claspingbothhandstohissidesastightlyashecan.

“Shebrokea lotofmyhabits,”headmits.“Neverbrokethatone.Somethingsalwayscomeback.”

“She.”Elara.Iseeherhandiworkrightinfrontofme.Theboysheshapedintoakingthroughatortureshecalledlove.

Hesitsbackdown,slowly.Ikeepstaring,knowingitunsettleshim.Iputhimoffbalance,andstillIdon’tunderstandexactlywhy.

EveryotherpersonIeverloved.

I don’t know why I’m included in that statement. But I know it’s thereasonI’mstillbreathing.Careful,IedgetheconversationbacktoCal.

“Yourbrotherisalive.”

“Unfortunatelyso.”

“Andyoudon’tlovehim?”

Hedoesn’tbothertolookup,buthiseyeswaveronthenextreport,fixedon a single spot. Not because he’s surprised, or even sad. He looks moreconfused than anything, a little boy trying to solve a puzzlewith toomanymissingpieces.“No,”hesaysfinally,lying.

“Idon’tbelieveyou,”Itellhim.Ievenshakemyhead.

BecauseIrememberthemastheywere.Brothers,friends,raisedtogetheragainst the rest of the world. Even Maven can’t shut himself off fromsomethinglikethat.EvenElaracan’tbreakthatkindofbond.NomatterhowmanytimesMaventriedtokillCal,hecan’tdenywhattheywereonce.

“Believewhatyouwant,Mare,”hereplies.Asbefore,heputsonanairofdisinterest, violently trying to convince me this means nothing to him. “IknowforafactthatIdon’tlovemybrother.”

“Don’tlie.Ihavesiblingstoo.It’sacomplicatedthing,especiallybetweenme and my sister. She’s always been more talented, better at everything,kinder,smarter.Everyoneprefershertome.”Imumblemyoldfears,spinningthemintoawebforMaven.“Takeitfromapersonwhoknows.Losingoneofthem—losing a brother …” My breath hitches, and my mind flies. Keepgoing.Usethepain.“Ithurtslikenothingelse.”

“Shade.Right?”

“Keephisnameoutofyourmouth,”Isnap,forgettingforamomentwhatI’mtryingtodo.Thewoundistoofresh,tooraw.Hetakesitinstride.

“Mymothersaidyouused todreamabouthim,”hesays. I flinchat thememory,andthethoughtofherinsidemybrain.Icanstillfeelher,clawingatthewallsofmyskull.“ButIsupposethoseweren’tdreamsatall.Itwasreally

him.”

“Did she do thatwith everyone?” I reply. “Was nothing safe from her?Evenyourdreams?”

Hedoesn’trespond.Ipushharder.

“Didyoueverdreamofme?”

AgainIcuthimwithoutrealizingit.Hedropshisgaze,lookingdowntotheemptyplateinfrontofhim.Heraisesahandtograbathiswaterglass,butthinks better of it.His fingers tremble for a second before he shoves themaway,outofsight.

“Iwouldn’tknow,”hefinallysays.“Idon’tdream.”

Iscoff.“That’simpossible.Evenforapersonlikeyou.”

Somethingdark,somethingsad,twitchesacrosshisface.Hisjawtightensandhisthroatbobs,tryingtoswallowwordsheshouldn’tspeak.Theyburstfromhimanyway.Hishandsreappear,tappingweaklyonthetable.

“I used to havenightmares.She took that part awaywhen Iwas a boy.Like Samson said, my mother was a surgeon with minds. She cut outwhateverdidn’tsuit.”

Inrecentweeks,aferocious,fieryangerhasreplacedthecoldhollownessIusedtofeel.ButasMavenspeaks, theicereturns.Itbleedsthroughme,apoison,aninfection.Idon’twanttohearwhathehastosay.Hisexcusesandexplanationsarenothingtome.Heisamonsterstill,amonsteralways.Andyet I can’t stopmyself from listening.Because I couldbeamonster too. Ifgiventhewrongchance.Ifsomeonebrokeme,likeheisbroken.

“Mybrother.My father. Iknow I loved themonce. I remember it.”Hishandsclencharoundabutterknife,andheglaresatthedulledge.Iwonderifhewantstouseitonhimselforhisdeadmother.“ButIdon’tfeelit.Thatloveisn’tthereanymore.Foranyofthem.Formostthings.”

“Thenwhykeepmehere?Ifyoudon’tfeelanything.Whynotjustkillmeandbedonewiththis?”

“She has a hard time erasing … certain kinds of feeling,” he admits,meetingmyeye.“ShetriedtodoitwithFather,tomakehimforgethisloveforCoriane. Itonlymade thingsworse.Besides,”hemumbles,“shealwayssaid it was better to be heartbroken. The pain makes you stronger. Lovemakesyouweak.Andshe’sright.IlearnedthatbeforeIevenknewyou.”

Anothernamelingersintheair,unspoken.

“Thomas.”

Aboyat thewar front.AnotherRed lost to auselesswar.My first realfriend,Maven toldmeonce. I realizenow thespacesbetween thosewords.Thethingsunsaid.Helovedthatboyasheclaimstoloveme.

“Thomas,”Mavenechoes.Hisgripontheknifetightens.“Ifelt…”Thenhisbrowfurrows,deepcreases formingbetweenhiseyes.Heputshisotherhandtohistemple,massaginganacheIcan’tunderstand.“Shewasn’tthere.She never met him. She didn’t know. He wasn’t even a soldier. It was anaccident.”

“Yousaidyoutriedtosavehim.Thatyourguardsstoppedyou.”

“An explosion at headquarters. The reports said it was Lakelanderinfiltration.” Somewhere, a clock ticks as theminutes slide by. His silencestretches as he decides what to say, how far to let the mask slip. But it’salreadygone.He’sbare as he canonlybewithme. “Wewere alone. I lostcontrol.”

Iseeitinmymind’seye,fillinginwhathecan’twillhimselftotellme.Anammunitionsdepotmaybe.Orevenagas line.Bothneedonly flame tokill.

“Ididn’tburn.Hedid.”

“Maven—”

“Even my mother could not cut that memory away. Even she couldn’tmakemeforget,nomatterhowIbeggedherto.Iwantedhertotakethatpainfromme,andshetriedsomanytimes.Instead,italwaysgotworse.”

Iknowhowhe’sgoingtoanswermyquestion,butIaskallthesame.

“Pleaseletmego?”

“Iwon’t.”

“Thenyou’regoingtoletmedietoo.Likehim.”

Theroomcrackleswithheat,sendingsweatdownmyspine.Hestandssoquickly,heknocksbackhischair,lettingitcrashtothefloor.Onefistcollideswiththetabletopbeforerakingsideways,throwingplates,glasses,andreportsto thefloor.Thepapersfloat foramoment,suspendedinairbeforedriftingdowntotheshatteredpileofcrystalandporcelain.

“Iwon’t,”hegrowlsunderhisbreath,solowIalmostdon’thearhimashestalksfromtheroom.

TheArvensenterandseizemebeneathmyarms,pullingmeawayfromthetableofpapers,allofthemslippingfromreach.

I’msurprised to learn thatMaven’susuallymeticulousscheduleofhearingsand court gatherings is suspended for the rest of the day. I guess ourconversationhadastrongereffectthanIexpected.Hisabsenceconfinesmetomyroom, toJulian’sbooks. I forcemyself to read, ifonly toblockoutanymemoriesofthemorning.Mavenisatalentedliar,andIdon’ttrustasinglewordhespeaks.Evenifhewastellingthetruth.Evenifheisaproductofhismother’s meddling, a thorned flower forced to grow a certain way. Thatdoesn’tchangethings.Ican’tforgeteverythinghe’sdonetomeandsomanyothers.WhenI firstmethim,Iwasseducedbyhispain.Hewas theboy inshadow, a forgotten son. I sawmyself in him. Second always to Gisa, thebrightstarinmyparents’world.Iknownowthatwasbydesign.Hecaughtmebackthen,ensnaringmeinaprince’strap.NowI’minaking’scage.Butsoishe.MychainsareSilentStone.Hisisthecrown.

The country of Norta was forged from smaller kingdoms andlordships, ranging in size from theSamoskingdomof theRift to thecity-state Delphie. Caesar Calore, a Silver lord of Archeon and atalentedtactician,unitedfracturedNortaagainsttheloomingthreatofjoint invasion by Piedmont and the Lakelands. Once he crownedhimselfking,hemarriedhisdaughterJulianatoGarionSavanna,therulinghighprinceofPiedmont.Thisactcementeda lastingalliancebetweenHouseCaloreandtheprincesofPiedmont.ManychildrenofCalore and Piedmont royalty upheld the marriage alliance for thefollowing centuries. King Caesar brought an age of prosperity toNorta,and as such,Nortan calendars consider the beginning of hisreignthedemarcationofthe“NewEra,”orNE.

Ittakesmethreetriestogetthroughtheparagraph.Julian’shistoriesaremuchdenser thanwhat Ihad to learn in school.My thoughtskeepdrifting.Blackhair,blueeyes.TearsMavenrefusestoshow,eventome.Isitanotherperformance?WhatdoIdoifitis?WhatdoIdoifitisn’t?Myheartbreaksforhim;myhearthardensagainsthim.Ipushontoavoidsuchthoughts.

In contrast, relations between newly founded Norta and theextensiveLakelandsdeteriorated.Followinga series of borderwarswith Prairie in the second century NE, the Lakelands lost vitalagriculturalterritoryintheMinnowanregionaswellascontroloftheGreatRiver(alsoknownastheMiss).Taxationfollowingthewar,aswellasthethreatoffamineandRedrebellion,forcedexpansionalong

the Nortan border. Skirmishes sparked on either side. To preventfurtherbloodshed,KingTiberiastheThirdofNortaandKingOnekadCygnet of theLakelandsmet in a historic summit at the crossing ofMaiden Falls. Negotiations fell apart quickly, and in 200 NE, bothkingdomsdeclaredwar,eachblamingtheotherforthebreakdownintheirdiplomaticrelations.

Ican’thelpbutlaugh.Nothingeverchanges.

KnownastheLakelanderWarinNorta,andtheAggressionintheLakelands, the conflict is still ongoing at the time of writing. TotalSilverdeathtollsnumberapproximatelyfivehundredthousand,mostin the firstdecadeofwar.Accurate records forRedsoldiersarenotkept, but estimates put the total death toll in excess of fiftymillion,with casualties more than twice that number. Both Lakelander andNortan casualties are equal in proportion to their native Redpopulations.

IttakeslongerthanIcaretoadmit,butIscratchoutthemathinmyhead.Almostonehundredtimesmore.IfthisbookbelongedtoanyoneotherthanJulian,Iwouldthrowitawayinrage.

Acenturyofwarandwastefulbloodshed.

Howcananyonechangesomethinglikethat?

ForonceIfindmyselfcountingonMaven’sabilitytotwistandscheme.Perhaps he can see a way—forge a path—that no one before him hasimagined.

THIRTEENMare

AweekpassesuntilIleavemyroomagain.Eventhoughthey’reagiftfromMaven, a reminder of his strange obsessionwithme, I’m glad for Julian’sbooks.They’remy only company.A piece of a friend in this place. I keepthemclose,alongsideGisa’ssilkscrap.

Pages pass with the days. I work back through the histories, travelingthroughwords thatbecomelessand lessbelievable.ThreehundredyearsofCalorekings, centuriesofSilverwarlords—this is aworld I recognize.ButthefartherIgo,themurkierthingsbecome.

Written records of the so-called Reformation Period are scarce,thoughmost scholars agree that the period began sometime around1500OldEra(orOE)bythemodernNortancalendar.MostrecordsdatingbeforetheReformation,immediatelyfollowing,during,orpriorto the Calamities that befell the continent, were almost entirelydestroyed, were lost, or are impossible to read at present. Thoserecoveredarecloselystudiedandguardedwithin theRoyalArchivesinDelphie,aswellassimilarfacilitiesinneighboringkingdoms.TheCalamities themselves have been studied at length, using fieldinvestigationpairedwithpre-Silverianmythtopostulateevents.Atthetime ofwriting,many believe that a combination of ultimate humanwar, geologic shift, climate change, and other natural catastrophesresultedinthenearextinctionofthehumanrace.

The earliest discovered, translatable records date fromapproximately 950 OE, but the exact year cannot be verified. Onedocument,TheTrialofBarrRambler,isanincompleteaccountoftheattempted court trial of an accused thief in reconstructed Delphie.Barrwasaccusedofstealinghisneighbor’swagon.Duringthecourseofthetrial,Barrreportedlybrokehischainsofbinding“asifmadeoftwigs”andescapeddespitea fullguard. It isbelieved tobe the firstrecordofaSilverdisplayinghisability.Tothisday,HouseRhambosclaimstotraceitsstrongarmbloodlinefromhim.However,thisclaimis refuted by another court record, The Trial of Hillman, Tryent,Davids,wherein threemenofDelphiewere tried for the subsequent

murderofBarrRambler,whowasreported tohavenochildren.ThethreemenwereacquittedandlaterpraisedbythecitizensofDelphiefor their work in destroying “the Rambler abomination” (DelphieRecordsandWritings,Vol.1).

ThetreatmentofBarrRamblerwasnotanisolatedincident.Manyearlywritingsanddocumentsdetail fearandpersecutionofarisingpopulationofabilitiedhumanswithsilver-coloredblood.Mostbandedtogether for protection, forming communities outsideRed-dominatedcities.TheReformationPeriodendedwiththeriseofSilversocieties,some living in conjunction with Red cities, though most eventuallyovertooktheirred-bloodedcounterparts.

SilverspersecutedbyReds. Iwant to laughat the thought.Howstupid.Howimpossible.I’velivedeverydayofmylifeknowingtheyaregodsandweareinsects.Icannotevenbegintofathomaworldwherethereversewastrue.

TheseareJulian’sbooks.Hesawenoughmeritheretostudythem.Still,Ifeeltoounsettledtocontinue,andIkeepmyreadingtolateryears.TheNewEra,theCalorekings.NamesandplacesIknowinacivilizationIunderstand.

Onedaymydelivered clothes are plainer than ever.Comfortable,madeforutilityratherthanstyle.Myfirst indicationofsomethingamiss.Ialmostlook like a Security officer, with stretchy pants, a black jacket sparselyembellishedwith pinprickwhorls of ruby beading, and shockingly sensibleboots.Polishedbutwornleather,noheel,justtherightamountofpinch,andenough room for my ankle manacles. The ones at the wrist are hidden asusual,coveredbygloves.Fur-lined.Forthecold.Myheartleaps.I’veneverbeensoexcitedaboutgloves.

“AmIgoingoutside?”IaskKittenbreathlessly,forgettinghowgoodsheisatignoringme.Shedoesn’tdisappoint,staringstraightaheadassheleadsmefrommyluxuriouscell.Cloverisalwayseasiertoread.Thetwitchofherlips and narrowed green eyes are affirmation enough. Not to mention thatthey,too,arebothwearingthickcoatsaswellasgloves,albeittherubberonestoprotecttheirhandsfromelectricityInolongerpossess.

Outside.Ihaven’ttastedmuchmorethanabreezefromanopenwindowsincethatdayonthestepsofthepalace.IthoughtMavenwasgoingtotakemy head off, so obviously my mind was elsewhere. Now I wish I couldrememberthecoldairofNovember,thesharpwindbringingwinterwithit.Inmyhaste,IalmostoutpacetheArvens.They’requicktoyankmeinlineand

make me match their steps. It’s a maddening descent, down stairs andcorridorsIknowbyheart.

Familiarpressureripplesagainstme,andIglanceovermyshoulder.EggandTriojoinourranks,bringinguptherearofmyArvenguard.TheymoveinunisonwithKittenandClover,stepsmatching,aswemakeourwaytotheentrancehallandCaesar’sSquare.

Quickasmyexcitementcame,itbleedsaway.

Feargnawsatmyinsides.ItriedtomanipulateMavenintomakingcostlymistakes,tomakehimdoubt,toburnthelastbridgeshehasleft.ButmaybeIfailed.Maybehe’sgoingtoburnmeinstead.

Ifocusontheclickofmybootsonmarble.Somethingsolidtoanchormyfear.Myfistscurlinmygloves,beggingforasparktotidemeover.Itnevercomes.

The palace seems strangely empty, evenmore so than usual.Doors areshutfast,whileservantsflutterthroughtheroomsthataren’tclosedyet,quickand quiet as mice. They flutter white sheets over furniture and artwork,covering themup instrangeshrouds.Fewguards, fewernobles.Theones Ipassareyoungandwide-eyed.Iknowtheirhouses,theircolors,andIcanseenakedfearontheirfaces.Allaredressedlikeme,forthecold,forfunction.Formovement.

“Where is everyone going?” I ask no one, because no one is going toanswer.

Cloverharshlyyanksonmyponytail,forcingmetolookstraightahead.Itdoesn’t hurt, but the action is jarring. She never handles me this way, notunlessIgiveheragoodreason.

I spin through the possibilities. Is this an evacuation? Has the ScarletGuard attempted another assault onArcheon?Or have the rebelling housesreturned tofinishwhat theystarted?No, itcan’tbeeither.This is toocalm.We’renotrunningfromanything.

Aswecrossthehall,Itakeadeepbreath,lookingaround.Marblebeneathme, chandeliers aboveme, tall glimmeringmirrors and gilded paintings ofCaloreancestorsmarchingupthewallsoneitherside.Redandblackbanners,silverandgoldandcrystal.Ifeellikeit’sallgoingtocrashdownandcrushme.Fearcreepsdownmyspinewhenthedoorsaheadswingopen,metalandglasseasingongianthinges.Thefirstbreathofcoldwindhitsmehead-on,makingmyeyeswater.

Thewinter sun shines bright on thegleaming square, blindingme for asecond.Iblinkrapidly,tryingtomakemyeyesadjust.Ican’taffordtomissasecondof this.Theoutsideworldcomes intofocussteadily.Snowliesdeepon the rooftops of the palace and the surrounding structures of Caesar’sSquare.

Soldiers line either side of the steps leading down from the palace,immaculateintheirneatrows.TheArvensleadmethroughthedoublerowofsoldiers,pasttheirgunsanduniformsandunblinkingeyes.IturntolookovermyshoulderasIwalk,stealingaglanceattheopulentpalehulkofWhitefirePalace. Silhouettes prowl the roof. Officers in black uniforms, soldiers inclouded gray. Even from here, their rifles are clearly visible, silhouettedagainstacoldbluesky.AndthosearejusttheguardsIcansee.Theremustbemorepatrollingthewalls,manningthegates,concealedandreadytodefendthis wretched place. Hundreds, probably, kept for their loyalty and lethalability.Wecrossthesquarealone,fornoone,fornothing.Whatisthis?

I note the buildingswe pass.TheRoyalCourt, a circular buildingwithsmoothmarblewalls,spiraledcolumns,andacrystaldome,hasgoneunusedsince Maven’s coronation. It is a symbol of power, a massive hall largeenough to seat the assembled High Houses and their retainers, as well asimportantmembers of the Silver citizenry. I’ve never been inside. I hope Inever am.The judiciary courts,whereSilver law ismade and enactedwithbrutal efficiency, branchout from thedomed structure.Next to their archesandcrystaltrappings,theTreasuryHalllooksdull.Slabwalls—moremarble,andIhavetowonderhowmanyquarriesthisplacesuckeddry—nowindows,sitting like a block of stone among sculptures. The wealth of Norta issomewhere in there, more defended than the king, locked in vaults drilleddeepintothebedrockbelowus.

“Thisway,”Clovergrowls,pullingmetowardtheTreasury.

“Why?”Iask.Again,nooneanswers.

Myheartbeatquickens,hammeringagainstmyribcage,andIstruggletokeepmybreathingeven.Eachcoldgaspfeelslikethetickofaclock,steadilycountingdownthemomentsbeforeI’mswallowedup.

Thedoorsarethick,thickerthantheonesIrememberfromCorrosPrison.Theyopenwide as a yawningmouth, flankedby guards in liveried purple.The Treasury has no grand entrance hall, in sharp contrast to every otherSilver structure I’ve ever seen. It’s just a long white corridor, curving andslopingdownwardinasteadyspiral.Guardsstandatattentioneverytenyards

orso,flushagainstpurewhitestone.Wherethevaultsmightbe,orwhereI’mgoing,Ican’tsay.

Afterexactlysixhundredsteps,westopinfrontofaguard.

Withoutawordhestepsforwardandtotheside,puttinghisfingerstothewallbehindhim.Hepushesandthemarbleglidesbackwardafoot,revealingthe silhouette of a door. It slides easily at his touch, widening to create athree-footgapinthestone.Thesoldierdoesn’tstrainatall.Strongarm,Inote.

Thestoneisthickandheavy.Myfeartriples,andIswallowhard,feelingmyhandsstart tosweat inmygloves.Mavenis finallyputtingmeinarealcell.

KittenandClovershoveme, tryingtotakemeoffguard,butIplantmyfeet,lockingeveryjointagainstthem.“No!”Ishout,drivingashoulderbackinto one of them. Kitten grunts but doesn’t stop, continuing to push whileClovertakesmearoundthemiddle,liftingmecleanoffthefloor.

“Youcan’tputmedownhere!”Idon’tknowwhatcardtoplay,whatmasktoputon.DoIcry?DoIbeg?DoIactliketherebelqueentheythinkIam?Which one will save me? Fear overrules my senses. I gasp like a girldrowning.“Please,Ican’t—Ican’t—”

Ikickatopenair,tryingtotoppleClover,butshe’sstrongerthanIexpect.Egg takesmy legs,cleanly ignoringmyheelas itcracks intohis jaw.Theycarrymelikeapieceoffurniture,withoutthoughtorattention.

Twisting,ImanagetocatchsightoftheTreasuryguardasthedoorslidesbackintoplace.Hehumstohimself,nonchalant.Anotherdayonthejobforhim.Iforcemyselftolookforward,atwhateverfateawaitsmeinthesewhitedepths.

This vault is empty; itswalkway corkscrews like the corridor, albeit intightercircles.Nothingmarksthewalls.Nodistinguishingfeatures,noseams,notevenguards.Justlightsoverheadandstoneallaround.

“Please.” My voice echoes in the silence, alone with the sound of myracingheartbeat.

Istareupattheceiling,willingthisalltobeadream.

Whentheydropme,Igasp,thewindknockedfrommylungs.Still,Irolltomy feet as quickly as I can.As I stand, fists clenched, teeth bared, I’mreadytofightandwillingtolose.Iwon’tbeabandonedherewithouttakingsomeone’steeth.

TheArvensstandback,sidebyside,unamused.Uninterested.Theirfocusisbeyondme,behindme.

Iwhirltofindmyselfstaring,notatanotherblankwall,butatawindingplatform. Newly built, joining with other corridors or vaults or secretpassages.Itoverlookstracks.

Beforemybraincanattempttoconnectthedots,beforeeventhebriefestwhisperofexcitementcanrippleinmymind,Mavenspeaks,andsmashesmyhopetopieces.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” His voice echoes from my left, fartherdowntheplatform.Hestandsthere,waiting,aguardofSentinelsaroundhim,alongwithEvangelineandPtolemus.Allofthemwearcoatslikemine,withamplefurtokeepthemwarm.BothSamoschildrenareresplendentinblacksable.

Maven steps toward me, grinning with the confidence of a wolf. “TheScarletGuardaren’ttheonlyonescapableofbuildingtrains.”

TheUndertrainrattledandsparkedandrustedallover,atinheapthreateningtosplitapartatitswelds.Still,Ipreferittothisglamorousslug.

“Your friendsgaveme the idea, of course,”Maven says fromhis plushseat across fromme.He lazes, proud of himself. I see none of his psychicwoundstoday.They’recarefullyhidden,eitherpushedasideorforgottenforthemoment.

I fight the urge to curl up inmy own seat, and I keep both feet firmlyplantedonthefloor.Ifsomethinggoeswrong,Ihavetobereadytorun.Asinthe palace, I note every inch of Maven’s train, looking for any kind ofadvantage. I find none. No windows, and Sentinels and Arven guards areplantedateitherendofthelongcompartment.It’sfurnishedlikeasalon,withpaintings,upholsteredchairsandcouches,evencrystallightstinklingwiththemotionofthetrain.ButaswitheverythingSilver,Iseethecracks.Thepainthasbarelydried.Icansmellit.Thetrainisbrand-new,untested.Attheotherendofthecompartment,Evangeline’seyesdartbackandforth,betrayingherattempttoseemcalm.Thetrainrattlesher.Ibetshecanfeeleverypieceofitmoving at high speed. It’s a hard sensation to get used to. I never could,alwayssensingthepulseofmachinesliketheUndertrainortheBlackrunjet.Iusedtofeeltheelectricblood—Iguessshecanfeelthemetalveins.

Her brother sits beside her, glowering at me. He shifts once or twice,nudginghershoulder.Herpainedexpressionrelentseverytime,calmedbyhispresence.Iguessifthenewtrainexplodes,they’restrongenoughtosurvive

theshrapnel.

“TheymanagedtoescapesoquicklyfromtheBowlofBones,ridingtheancientrailsallthewaytoNaerceybeforeevenIcouldgetthere.Ifigureditwouldn’t be so bad to have a little escape route of my own,” Mavencontinues, drumming his fingers on his knee. “You never know what newconcoctionmybrothermaydreamupinhisattempttooverthrowme.Besttobeprepared.”

“Andwhatareyouescapingfromrightnow?”Imumble, trying tokeepmyvoicelow.

Heonlyshrugsandlaughs.“Don’tactsoglum,Mare.I’mdoingusbothafavor.”Grinning,hesinksbackinhisseat.Hekickshisfeetup,puttingthemontotheseatbesideme.Iwrinklemynoseattheaction,anglingaway.“OnecanonlytoleratetheprisonofWhitefirePalaceforsolong.”

Prison. I bite back a retort, forcingmyself to humor him.You have noideawhataprisonis,Maven.

Withoutwindowsoranykindofbearing, Ihavenowaytoknowwherewemay be headed or how far this infernalmachine can travel. It certainlyfeelsas fastas theUndertrain, ifnot faster. Idoubtwe’reheadingsouth, toNaercey, a ruined city now abandoned even by the Scarlet Guard. MavenmadesuchashowofdestroyingthetunnelsaftertheinfiltrationofArcheon.

He lets me think, watching as I puzzle out the picture around us. HeknowsIdon’thaveenoughpiecestomakeitwhole.Still,heletsmetry,anddoesn’tofferanymoreexplanation.

Theminutestickby,andIturnmyfocustoPtolemus.Myhateforhimhasonlygrownover the last fewmonths.Hekilledmybrother.He tookShadefromthisworld.HewoulddothesametoeveryoneIloveifgiventhechance.Foronce,he’swithouthisscaledarmor.Itmakeshimseemsmaller,weaker,more vulnerable. I fantasize about cutting his throat and stainingMaven’sfreshlypaintedwallswithSilverblood.

“Somethinginterestyou?”Ptolemussnarls,meetingmygaze.

“Letherstare,”Evangelinesays.She leansback inherseatand tipsherhead,neverbreakingeyecontact.“Shecan’tdomuchmorethanthat.”

“We’llsee,”Igrowlback.Inmylap,myfingerstwitch.

Mavencluckshistongue,chiding.“Ladies.”

BeforeEvangelinecanretort,herfocusshiftsandshelooksaway,atthe

walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. Ptolemusmatches her action. They sensesomething Ican’t.And then the trainaroundusstarts to slow, itsgearsandmechanismsscreechingagainstirontracks.

“Nearlythere,then,”Mavensays,easingtohisfeet.Heoffersmeahand.

Foramoment,Ientertaintheideaofbitinghisfingersoff.Instead,Iputmyhandinhis,ignoringthecrawlingsensationundermyskin.WhenIstand,his thumbgrazes the raised edgeofmymanaclebeneathmyglove.A firmreminderofhisholdoverme.Ican’tstanditandpullaway,foldingmyarmsovermychesttocreateabarrierbetweenus.Somethingdarkensinhisbrighteyes,andheputsupashieldofhisown.

Maven’strainstopssosmoothlyIbarelyfeel it.TheArvensdo, though,andsnaptomyside,surroundingmewithexhaustingfamiliarity.AtleastI’mnotchaineduporleashed.

Sentinels flankMaven as theArvens flankme, their flaming robes andblack masks foreboding as always. They let Maven set the pace, and hecrosses the length of the compartment. Evangeline and Ptolemus follow,forcingmeandmyguardstotakeupthebackofthestrangeprocession.Wefollowthemthroughthedoor,intoavestibuleconnectingonecompartmenttothenext.Anotherdoor,anotherlongstretchofopulentfurnishings,thistimeinadiningroom.Stillnowindows.Stillnohintastowherewemightbe.

At the next vestibule, a door opens, not ahead, but to the right. TheSentinelsduckthroughfirst,disappearing,thenMavengoes,thentherest.Weexit onto another platform, illuminated by harsh lights overhead. It’sshockingly clean—another new construction, no doubt—but the air feelsdamp.Despite themeticulousorderof the emptyplatform, somethingdripssomewhere, echoing aroundus. I look left and right along the tracks.Theyfadeintoblacknessoneitherside.Thisisn’ttheendoftheline.IshuddertothinkhowmuchprogressMavenhasmadeinonlyafewmonths’time.

Up we go, ascending a set of stairs. I resign myself to a long climb,remembering how deep the vault entrancewas. So I’m surprisedwhen thestairs level off quickly at another door. This one is reinforced steel, aforebodingomenofwhatmightbebeyond.ASentinelgraspsthebarlockandturnsitwithagrunt.Thegroanofamassivemechanismanswers.Evangelineand Ptolemus don’t lift a finger to help. Like me, they watch with thinlyveiledfascination.Idon’tthinktheyknowmuchmorethanIdo.Strange,forahousesocloselytiedtotheking.

Daylight streams through as the steel swings back, revealing gray and

bluebeyond.Deadtrees,theirbranchessplayedlikeveins,reachintoaclearwintersky.Aswestepoutfromthetrainbunker,Itakeadeepbreath.Pine,the sharp cleanness of cold air.We’re standing in a clearing surroundedbyevergreensandnakedoaks.Theearthbeneathmeisfrozen,hard-packeddirtbeneathafewinchesofsnow.Itchillsmytoesalready.

I dig inmyheels, earningonemore secondof open forest.TheArvenspushmealong,makingmeskid.Idon’tfightsomuchasmethodicallyslowthemdown,all thewhilewhippingmyheadbackandforth. I try togetmybearings. Judging by the sun, now beginning its western descent, north isdirectlyaheadofme.

Four military transports, polished to unnatural shine, idle in the pathbefore us.Their engines hum,waiting, the heat of them sending plumes ofsteaminto theair. It’seasy to figurewhichbelongs toMaven.TheBurningCrown, red, black, and royal silver, is stampedon the sidesof thegrandestone.Itstandsalmosttwofeetofftheground,withmassivewheelsandwhatmustbea reinforcedbody.Bulletproof, fireproof,deathproof.Everything toprotecttheboyking.

Heclimbsinsidewithouthesitation,hiscapetrailingbehind.Tomyrelief,the Arvens don’t make me follow, and I’m bodily shoved into anothertransport.Mine isunmarked.As Iduck in, straining forone lastglimpseoftheopensky,InoticeEvangelineandPtolemusapproachtheirowntransport.Black and silver, its metal body covered in spikes. Evangeline probablydecorateditherself.

WelurchforwardasEggshutsthedoorbehindhim,lockingmeintothetransportwithfourArvenguards.There isasoldierbehind thewheelandaSentinelintheseatnexttohim.Iresignmyselftoanotherjourney,crammedinwiththeArvens.

At least the transporthaswindows.Iwatch,notwanting toblink,aswespeedthroughanachinglyfamiliarforest.Whenwereachtheriver,and thewidelypavedroadrunningnexttoit,alongingburnsthroughmychest.

That is the Capital River.My river.We’re driving north, on the RoyalRoad.Theycouldthrowmefromthetransportrightnow,leavemeinthedustwithnothing,andIcouldfindmywayhome.Tearsspringtomyeyesatthethought.WhatIwoulddo,tomyselforanyoneelse,forthechancetogobackhome?

But no one is there. No one I care about. They’re gone, protected, faraway.Home is no longer the placewe’re from.Home is safewith them. I

hope.

I jump as other transports join our convoy.Military-grade, their bodiesmarkedbytheblackswordofthearmy.Icountalmostadozeninsight,andmorestretchingintothedistancebehindus.ManyhaveSilversoldiersvisible,eitherleaningoffthesideorperchedontopinspecialseatsandharnesses.Allofthemareonalert,readytoact.TheArvensdon’tlooksurprisedbythenewadditions.Theyknewtheywerecoming.

TheRoyalRoadwindsthroughtownsontheriverbank.Redtowns.We’retoofarsouthforustopassthroughtheStiltsyet,butthatdoesn’tdampenmyexcitement.Brickmillscomeintoviewfirst,juttingoutintotheshallowsofthe river.We speed right for them, entering the outskirts of a thrivingmilltown.Asmuchas Iwant to seemore, Ihopewedon’t stop. IhopeMavenpassesrightthroughthisplacewithoutdisruption.

Imostlygetmywish.Theconvoyslowsbutneverstops,rollingthroughthe heart of the town in all its glittering menace. Crowds line the street,wavinguson.Theycheerfortheking,shoutinghisname,strainingtoseeandbeseen.Redmerchantstomillworkers,theoldandyoung,hundredsofthempressingforwardtogetabetterlook.IexpecttoseeSecurityofficerspushingthemon,forcingsucharaucouswelcome.Ileanbackagainstmyseat,willingmyself not to be seen. They’re already forced towatchme sit byMaven’sside.Idon’twanttoaddmorefueltothatmanipulativefire.Tomyrelief,nooneputsmeondisplay.Imerelysitandstareatmyhandsinmylap,hopingforthetowntopassbyasquicklyaspossible.Inthepalace,seeingwhatIseeofMaven,knowingwhatIdoabouthim,it’seasytoforgethehasmostofthecountryinhispocket.HisgrandeffortstoturnthetideofopinionagainsttheScarlet Guard and his enemies seem to be working. These people believewhathesays,orperhapshavenoopportunitytofight.Idon’tknowwhichoneisworse.

When the town recedesbehindus, thecheers still echo inmyhead.AllthisforMaven,forthenextstepinwhateverplanhehasputinmotion.

Wemust bebeyondNewTown; thatmuch is clear.There’s nopollution insight.Therearen’tanyestateseither. I rememberpassingRiverRowonmyfirst journey south, backwhen I was pretending to beMareena.We saileddownriverfromtheHalloftheSunallthewaytoArcheon,passingvillages,towns,andtheluxuriousstretchofbankwheremanyHighHouseskepttheirfamilymansions.ItrytorememberthemapsJulianusedtoshowme.Instead,Ionlygivemyselfaheadache.

Thesundipslowerastheconvoyturnsoffafterthethirdcheeringtown,movinginpracticedformationontoaconnectingroadway.Headingwest.Itrytoswallowthedipofsadnessrisinginside.Northpullsatme,beckoningeventhoughIcannotfollow.TheplacesIknowstretchfartherandfartheraway.

Itrytokeepthecompassinmyhead.WestistheIronRoad.ThewaytotheWestlakes,theLakelands,theChoke.Westiswarandruin.

EggandTriodon’tletmemovemuch,soIhavetocranemynecktosee.Ibitemylipaswepassthroughasetofgates,tryingtospotasignorasymbol.Thereisn’tanything,justbarsofwroughtironbeneathshockinglygreenvinesoffloweringivy.Welloutofseason.

Theestateispalatial,atthefarendofaroadlinedbyimmaculatehedges.Wespitoutintoawidesquareofstone,withtheestatehouseoccupyingoneside.Ourconvoycirclesinfrontofit,stoppingwiththetransportssplayedoutinanarcedrow.Nocrowdshere,butguardsarealreadywaitingoutside.TheArvensmovequicklyandI’musheredfromthetransport.

Iglareupatcharmingredbrickandwhitetrim,rowsofpolishedwindowshungwithblooming flowerboxes, flutedcolumns, floridbalconies, and thelargest tree I’ve ever seen bursting from the middle of the mansion. Itsbranchesarcoverthepointedroof,growinginconjunctionwiththestructure.Not a twig or leaf out place, perfectly sculpted like a piece of living art.Magnolia,Ithink,judgingbythewhiteflowersandtheperfumedsmell.Foramoment,Iforgetit’swinter.

“Welcome,YourMajesty.”

Thevoiceisn’toneIrecognize.

Anothergirl,myagebuttall,lean,paleasthesnowthatshouldbehere,stepsdownfromoneofthemanytransportsthatjoinedours.HerattentionisonMaven,nowclamberingoutofhisowntransport,andsheglidesbymetocurtsyinfrontofhim.Iknowherataglance.

HeronWelle.ShecompetedinQueenstriallongago,drawingmightytreesout of earth while her house cheered her on. Like so many, she hoped tobecome a royal bride, chosen to marry Cal. Now she stands at Maven’scommand,eyesdowncast,waitingforhisorder.Shepullshergreen-and-goldcoattighteraroundherself,adefenseagainstthecoldandMaven’sstare.

HersisoneofthefewhousesIknewbeforeIwasforcedintotheSilverworld.HerfathergovernstheregionIwasbornin.Iusedtowatchhisshippassbyontheriver,andwaveatitsgreenflagswithotherstupidchildren.

Maven takes his time, needlessly donning his gloves for the shortwalkbetween his transport and the mansion. As he moves, the simple crownnestledinhisblackcurlscapturesthewaningsunlight,winkingredandgold.

“Charming place, Heron,” he says, making idle small talk. It soundssinistercomingfromhim.Athreat.

“Thankyou,YourMajesty.Alliswellinorderforyourarrival.”

AsI’mmaneuveredcloser,Heronsparesasingleglanceforme.Heronlyacknowledgment of my existence. She has birdlike features, but on herangularfigure they lookelegant, refined,andsharplybeautiful. Iexpecthereyes to be green, like everything else about her family and ability. Instead,theyareavibrantdeepblue,setoffbyporcelainskinandauburnhair.

The rest of the transports empty their passengers. More colors, morehouses,moreguardsandsoldiers.IspotSamsonamongthem,lookingfoolishinleatherandfurdyedblue.Thecolorandthecoldmakehimpalerthanever,ablondicicleofbloodlust.TheothersgivehimawideberthasheprowlstoMaven’sside.Icountafewdozencourtiersataglance.EnoughtomakemewonderifevenGovernorWelle’smansioncanholdusall.

MavenacknowledgesSamsonwithanodofhisheadbeforehesetsoffata brisk pace, trotting toward the ornate stairs leading up from the square.Heronfollowsathisheels,asdotheSentinelsintheirusualflock.Everyoneelsefollows,pulledalongbyaninvisibletether.

Amanwho can only be the governor rushes from oak-and-gold doors,bowing as he walks. He seems bland in comparison to his home,unremarkablewithhisweakchin,dirty-blondhair,andabodyneitherfatnorthin.Hisclothesmakeup for it,and thensome.Hewearsboots,butter-softleather pants, and a jacket worked in ornate brocade, set with flashingemeralds at the collar and hems.They are nothing compared to the ancientmedallionaroundhisneck.Itbouncesagainsthischestashewalks,ajeweledemblemofthetreeguardinghishome.

“Your Majesty, I can’t tell you how pleased we are to host you,” heblusters, bowing one last time. Maven purses his lips into a thin smile,amusedbythedisplay.“It’ssuchanhonortobethefirstdestinationonyourcoronationtour.”

Disgust curls in my stomach. I’m seized by the image of me paradingthroughthecountry,afewstepsbehindMaven,alwaysathisbeckandcall.On-screen, in front of cameras, it feels degrading, but in person? Beforecrowdsofpeopleliketheonesinthetown?Imaynotsurviveit.SomehowI

thinkIwouldprefertheprisonofWhitefire.

Mavenclaspshandswiththegovernor,hissmilespreadingintosomethingthat could pass for genuine. He’s good at the act, I’ll give him that. “Ofcourse,Cyrus,Icouldthinkofnobetterplacetostart.Heronspeakssohighlyofyou,”headds,wavinghertohisside.

She steps quickly, eyes flashing to her father. A look of relief passesbetween them. Like everything Maven does, her presence is a carefulmanipulationandamessage.

“Shallwe?”Mavengesturestothemansion.Hesetsoff,makingtherestof us keep up. The governor hurries to flankMaven, still trying to at leastlooklikehehassomemannerofcontrolhere.

Inside,drovesofRedservantslinethewallsintheirbestuniforms,theirshoespolishedandeyesonthefloor.Nonelookatme,andIkeeptomyself,musing instead on the governor’smansion. I expected greenwarden artistryand I am not disappointed. Flowers of every kind dominate the foyer,blooming from crystal vases, painted on the walls, molded on the ceiling,workedinglassinthechandeliersorinstonemosaiconthefloor.Thesmellshouldbeoverwhelming.Instead,it’sintoxicating,calmingwitheverybreath.Iinhaledeeply,allowingmyselfthisonesmallpleasure.

More ofHouseWellewait to greet the king, falling over themselves toboworcurtsyorcomplimentMavenoneverythingfromhislawstohisshoes.Ashesuffersthemall,Evangelinejoinsus,havingalreadydiscardedherfurswithsomepoorservant.

Itenseasshepausesnexttome.Allthegreeneryreflectsinherclothing,givingherasicklyhue.Withajolt,Irealizeherfatherisn’there.HeusuallyhoversbetweenherandMavenateventslikethis,quicktostepinwhenhertemperthreatenstoboilover.Butheisn’therenow.

Evangeline says nothing, content to stare atMaven’s back. Iwatch herwatchhim.HerfistclencheswhenthegovernorleanstowhisperinMaven’sear.ThenhebeckonstooneoftheSilverswaiting,atall,thinwomanwithjet-blackhair,swoopingcheekbones,andcool,ocherskin.Ifshe’spartofHouseWelle,shedoesn’tlookit.Notascrapofgreenonher.Instead,herclothesaregray-blue. The woman bows her head stiffly, careful to keep her eyes onMaven’s face.Hisdemeanorchanges,his smilewidening foran instant.Hemutters something back, his head bobbing in excitement. I catch a singleword.

“Now,”hesays.Thegovernorandthewomanoblige.

They walk away together, Sentinels in tow. I glance at the Arvens,wonderingifwe’remeanttogotoo,buttheydon’tmove.

Evangelinedoesn’teither.Andforwhateverreason,hershouldersdroopandherbodyrelaxes.Someweighthasfallenaway.

“Stopstaringatme,”shesnaps,knockingmefrommyobservations.

Idropmyhead,lettingherwinthissmall, insignificantexchange.AndIcontinuetowonder.Whatdoessheknow?WhatdoessheseethatIdon’t?

AstheArvensleadmeawaytowhatevermycellfortheeveningmaybe,myheart sinks inmychest. I left Julian’sbooks inWhitefire.Nothingwillcomfortmetonight.

FOURTEENMare

Beforemycapture,Ispentmonthscrisscrossingthecountry,evadingMaven’shunters and recruitingnewbloods. I sleptonadirt floor, atewhatwecouldsteal, spentallmywakinghourseither feeling toomuchor too little, tryingmybesttostayaheadofallourdemons.Ididn’thandlethepressurewell.Ishutdownandshutoutmyfriends,myfamily,everyoneclosetome.Anyonewhowanted tohelporunderstand.Ofcourse I regret it.Ofcourse Iwish IcouldgobacktotheNotch,toCalandKilornandFarleyandShade.Iwoulddothingsdifferently.Iwouldbedifferent.

Sadly,noSilverornewbloodcanchangethepast.Mymistakescannotbeundone, forgotten, or ignored.But I canmake amends. I can do somethingnow.

I’ve seen Norta, but as an outlaw. From the shadows. The view fromMaven’s side, as part of his extensive entourage, is like the differencebetweennightandday.Ishiverbeneathmycoat,handsclaspedtogetherforwarmth.Between the crushing power of theArvens andmymanacles, I’mmoresusceptibletothetemperature.Despitemyhatredforhim,IfindmyselfinchingclosertoMaven,ifonlytotakeadvantageofhisconstantheat.Onhisother side,Evangelinedoes theopposite, keepingher distance.She focusesmoreonGovernorWellethantheking,andmutterstohimoccasionally,hervoicelowenoughnottodisturbMaven’sspeech.

“I’mhumbledbyyourwelcome,aswellasyoursupportforayounganduntestedking.”

Maven’s voice echoes, magnified by microphones and speakers. Hedoesn’t read fromanypaperand somehowseems tomakeeyecontactwithevery person crowding the city square below the balcony. Like everythingabouttheking,eventhelocationisamanipulation.Westandabovehundreds,looking down, elevated beyond the reach of mere humans. The assembledpeopleofArborus,GovernorWelle’sowncapitalwithinhisdomain,stareup,faces raised in away thatmakesmy skin itch.TheReds jostle for a betterlook.They’reeasy topickout,standing inbunches,covered inmismatchedlayers,theirfacesflushedredwithcold,whiletheSilvercitizenrysitinfurs.

Black-uniformed Security officers dot the crowd, vigilant as the Sentinelspostedonthebalconyandneighboringrooftops.

“It is my hope that this coronation tour allows me not only a deeperunderstanding of my kingdom, but a deeper understanding of you. Yourstruggles.Yourhopes.Yourfears.BecauseIamcertainlyafraid.”Amurmurgoesthroughthecrowdbelow,aswellastheassembledpartyonthebalcony.EvenEvangelineglancessidelongatMaven,eyesnarrowedovertheflawlesswhitecollarofherfurwrap.“Weareakingdomonthebrink,threateningtoshatterundertheweightofwarandterrorism.Itismysolemndutytopreventthis fromhappening, and saveus from thehorrors ofwhatever anarchy theScarletGuardwishestoinstill.Somanyaredead,inArcheon,inCorvium,inSummerton. My own mother and father among them. My own brothercorrupted by the insurrectionist forces.But even so, I amnot alone. I haveyou.IhaveNorta.”Hesighsslowly,amuscletickinginhischeek.“Andwewillstandtogetheragainsttheenemiesseekingtodestroyourwayoflife,Redand Silver. I pledge my life to eradicating the Scarlet Guard, in any waypossible.”

Thecheersbelowsoundlikemetalonmetaltome,screeching,ahorrificnoise.Ikeepmyfacestill,expressioncarefullyneutral.Itservesmeaswellasanyshield.

Every day his speech becomes firmer, his words carefully chosen andwieldedlikeknives.Notoncedoeshesaythewordrebelorrevolution.TheScarlet Guard are always terrorists. Always murderers. Always enemies toour way of life, whatever that may be. And unlike his parents, he ismasterfullycarefultonotinsultReds.ThetourmovesthroughSilverestatesand Red cities alike. Somehow he seems at home in both, never flinchingfrom the worst his kingdom has to offer.We even visit one of the factoryslums, the kind of place Iwill never forget. I try not to cringe aswe passthrough the teetering dormitory buildings or when we step out into thepolluted air.Maven alone seemsunfazed, smiling for theworkers and theirtattooed necks.He doesn’t cover hismouth like Evangeline or retch at thesmell like somany others, myself included. He’s better at this than I everexpected.Heknows, ashisparents couldnotor refused tounderstand, thatseducingRedstohisSilvercauseisperhapshisbestchanceofvictory.

In another Red city, on the steps of a Silvermansion, he lays the nextbrick in a deadly road. One thousand poor farmers look on, not daring tobelieve,notdaringtohope.EvenIdon’tknowwhathe’sdoing.

“Myfather’sMeasureswereenactedafteradeadlyattackthat leftmany

governmentofficialsdead.ItwashisattempttopunishtheScarletGuardfortheirevil,and,tomyshame,itonlypunishedyouinstead.”Beforetheeyesofsomany,hedipshisface.Itisastirringsight.ASilverkingbowinginfrontoftheRedmasses.IhavetoremindmyselfthatthisisMaven.Thisisatrick.“As of today, I decree the Measures lifted and abolished. They were themistakesofawell-meaningking,butmistakesallthesame.”

Heglancesatme,justforamoment,butthemomentisenoughformetoknowthathecaresaboutmyreaction.

The Measures. Conscription age lowered to fifteen. Restrictive curfew.Lethal punishment for any crime. All to turn the Red population of NortaagainsttheScarletGuard.Allgoneinaninstant,inonebeatofaking’sblackheart.Ishouldfeelhappy.Ishouldfeelproud.He’sdoingthisbecauseofme.Somepartofhimthinksthiswillpleaseme.Somepartthinksitwillkeepmesafe.Butwatching theReds,myownpeople,cheerfor theiroppressoronlyfillsmewithdread.Ilookdowntofindthatmyhandsareshaking.

Whatishedoing?Whatisheplanning?

Tofindout,ImustflyasclosetotheflameasIdare.

He ends his appearances bywalking through the crowd, shaking handswith as many Reds as he does Silvers. He cuts through them with ease,Sentinelsflankinghimindiamondformation.SamsonMerandusalwayshashis back, and I wonder howmany feel the brush of hismind against theirown. He’s a better deterrent to a would-be assassin than anything else.EvangelineandItrailbehind,bothofuswithguards.Asalways,Irefusetosmile,tolook,totouchanyone.It’ssaferforthemthisway.

The transportswait forus, their enginesworked to an idlepurr.Above,the overcast sky darkens and I smell snow.While our guards close ranks,tightening formation to allow the king to enter his transport, I quickenmypaceasbestIcan.Myheartracesandmybreathpuffswhiteonthecoldair.

“Maven,”Isayaloud.

Despitethecheeringcrowdbehindus,hehearsmeandpausesonthestepof his transport.He turnswith fluid grace, long capewhirling out to showbloodred lining.Unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t need towear fur to keepwarm.

Idrawmycoattighter,ifonlytogivemynervoushandssomethingmoretodo.“Didyoureallymeanthat?”

Athisowntransport,Samsonstares,eyesboringintomine.Hecan’tread

mymind,notwhileIwearthemanacles,butthatdoesn’tmakehimuseless.IrelyonmyrealconfusiontocreatethemaskIwanttowear.

IhavenoillusionswhereMavenisconcerned.Iknowhis twistedheart,andthatitfeelssomethingforme.Somethinghewantstogetridof,butcanneverpartwith.Whenhewavesmetohistransport,beckoningformetojoinhim,IexpecttohearEvangelinescofforprotest.Shedoesneither,sweepingaway to her own transport. In the cold, she doesn’t glitter so brightly. Sheseemsalmosthuman.

TheArvensdonotfollow,thoughtheytry.Mavenstopsthemwithalook.

HistransportisdifferentfromanyotherI’vebeenin.Thedriverandfrontguard are separated from the passengers by a glass window, sealing us intogether.Thewalls andwindowsare thick,bulletproof.TheSentinelsdon’tslideineither,insteadclimbingdirectlyontothetransportskeleton,takingupdefensivepositionsateverycorner.It’sunsettling,toknowthere’saSentinelwithagunsittingdirectlyaboveme.Butnotasunsettlingasthekingsittingacrossfromme,staring,waiting.

Heeyesmyhands,watchingmerubmyfrozenfingerstogether.

“Areyoucold?”hemurmurs.

QuicklyItuckmyhandsundermylegstowarmthemup.Thetransportacceleratesforward.“Areyoureallygoingtodoit?EndtheMeasures?”

“YouthinkIwouldlie?”

Ican’thelpbutlaughdarkly.Inthebackofmymind,Iwishforaknife.IwonderifhecouldincineratemebeforeIslithisthroat.“You?Never.”

Hesmirksandshrugs,shiftingtogetmorecomfortableontheplushseats.“ImeantwhatIsaid.TheMeasureswereamistake.Enactingthemdidmoreharmthangood.”

“ToReds?Ortoyou?”

“Toboth,ofcourse.AlthoughIwouldthankmyfatherifIcould.Iexpectrighting his wrongs will win me support among your people.” The colddetachment in his voice is discomforting, to say the least. I know now itcomesfrommemoriesofhis father.Poisoned things,drainedofany loveorhappiness.“I’mafraidyourScarletGuardwon’thavemanysympathizersleftbythetimethisisdone.I’mgoingtoendthemwithoutanotheruselesswar.”

“You think giving people crumbs is going to placate them?” I growl,gesturingtothewindowswithmychin.Farms,barrenforthewinter,stretch

out to the hills. “Oh, lovely, the king has givenme back two years ofmychild’s life. Doesn’t matter that they’re still going to be taken awayeventually.”

Hissmirkonlywidens.“Youthinkthat?”

“Ido.That’showthiskingdomis.That’showit’salwaysbeen.”

“We’llsee.”Leaningfarther,heputsafootupontheseatnexttome.Heevenremoveshiscrown,spinsitbetweenhishands.Bronzeandironflamesglint in the low light, reflecting my face and his. Slowly, I edge away,crowdingmyselfintothecorner.

“IsupposeItaughtyouahardlesson,”hesays.“Youmissedsomuchlasttime, and now you trust nothing. You’re always watching, looking forinformation you’re never going to use. Have you figured out where we’regoingyet?Orwhy?”

Itakeabreath.IfeellikeI’mbackinJulian’sclassroom,beingtestedonamap. The stakes feel much higher here. “We’re on the Iron Road now,headingnorthwest.ToCorvium.”

Hehasthegalltowink.“Close.”

“We’renot…”Iblinkquickly,tryingtothink.Mybrainbuzzesthroughall thepieces I’ve jealouslycollectedover thedays.Shardsofnews,bitsofgossip.“Rocasta?AreyougoingafterCal?”

Maven settles back farther, amused. “So small-minded. Why would Iwaste timechasingrumorsofmyexiledbrother? Ihaveawar toendandarebelliontoprevent.”

“Awarto…end?”

“Yousaidyourself,theLakelandswilloverthrowusifgiventhechance.I’mnotgoingtoletthathappen.EspeciallywithPiedmontfocusedelsewhere,on their ownmultitude of troubles. I have to handle thesemattersmyself.”Despitethewarmthofthetransport,dueinlargeparttothefirekingsittinginfrontofme,Ifeelafingeroficetraildownmyspine.

I used to dream of the Choke. The placewheremy father lost his leg,wheremybrothersalmostlosttheirlives.WheresomanyRedsdie.Awasteofashandblood.

“You’renotawarrior,Maven.You’renotageneralorasoldier.Howcanyoupossiblyhopetodefeatthemwhen—”

“Whenotherscouldn’t?WhenFathercouldn’t?WhenCalcouldn’t?”he

snaps.Eachwordsounds like thecrackofbone.“You’re right, I’mnot likethem.WarisnotwhatIwasmadefor.”

Made.He says itwith suchease.MavenCalore isnothisown self.Hetoldmeasmuch.Heisaconstruct,acreationofhismother’sadditionsandsubtractions.Amechanical, amachine, soulless and lost.What a horror, toknowthatsomeonelikethisholdsourfatesinthepalmofhisquiveringhand.

“It will be no loss, not truly,” he drones on to distract us both. “OurmilitaryeconomywillsimplyturnitsattentiontotheScarletGuard.Andthenwhoever we decide to fear next. Whatever avenue is best for populationcontrol—”

Ifnotforthemanacles,myragewouldcertainlyturnthetransportintoaheapofelectrifiedscrap.Instead,Ijumpforward,lunging,handsstretchedouttograbhimby thecollar.Myfingerswormbeneath the lapelsofhis jacketandIseizefabricinbothfists.Withoutthinking,Ishove,pushing,smashinghimbackintohisseat.Heflinches,ahand’sbreadthfrommyface,breathinghard.He’s justas surprisedas Iam.Noeasy thing. I immediatelygonumbwithshock,unabletomove,paralyzedbyfear.

Hestaresupatme,eyetoeye,lashesdarkandlong.I’msoclosetohimIcanseehispupilsdilate.IwishIcoulddisappear.IwishIwereontheothersideoftheworld.Slowly,steadily,hishandsfindmine.Theytightenonmywrists,feelingmanacleandbone.Thenhepriesmyfistsfromhischest.Ilethimmoveme, too terrified for anything else.My skin crawls at his touch,evenbeneathgloves.Iattackedhim.Maven.Theking.Oneword,onetaponthewindow,andaSentinelwillripoutmyspine.Orhecouldkillmehimself.Burnmealive.

“Sit back down,” hewhispers, everyword sharp.Givingme one singlechance.

Likeascramblingcat,Idoashesays,retreatingtomycorner.

HerecoversfasterthanIdoandshakeshisheadwiththeghostofasmile.Quicklyhesmoothshisjacketandbrushesbackalockofrumpledhair.

“You’re a smart girl, Mare. Don’t tell me you never connected thoseparticulardots.”

Mybreathcomeshard,asifthere’sastonesittingonmychest.Ifeelheatrise inmycheeks,bothoutofangerandshame.“Theywantourcoast.Ourelectricity.Wewanttheirfarmlands,resources…”IstumbleoverthewordsIwas taught in a ramshackle schoolhouse. The look on Maven’s face only

becomesmoreamused.“InJulian’sbooks…thekingsdisagreed.Twomenarguing over a chessboard like spoiled children. They’re the reason for allthis.Forahundredyearsofwar.”

“I thoughtJuliantaughtyoutoreadbetweenthelines.Toseethewordsleftunsaid.”Heshakeshishead,despairingofme.“Isupposeevenhecouldnot undo your years of poor education. Another well-used tactic, I mightadd.”

ThatIknew.ThatI’vealwaysknown,andlamented.Redsarekeptstupid,keptignorant.Itmakesusweakerthanwealreadyare.Myownparentscan’tevenread.

Iblinkawayhottearsoffrustration.Youknewallthis,Itellmyself,tryingtocalmdown.Thewar is a ruse, a cover to keepRedsunder control.Oneconflictmayend,butanotherwillalwaysbegin.

It twists my insides to realize how rigged the game has been, foreveryone,forsoverylong.

“Stupidpeopleareeasier tocontrol.Whydoyou thinkmymotherkeptmyfatheraroundforsolong?Hewasadrunk,aheartbrokenimbecile,blindtosomuch,contenttokeepthingsastheywere.Easytocontrol,easytouse.Apersontomanipulate—andblame.”

Furious,Iswipeatmyface,tryingtohideanyevidenceofmyemotions.Maven watches anyway, his expression softening a little. As if that helpsanything. “So what are two Silver kingdoms going to do once they stopthrowingRedsateachother?”Ihiss.“Startmarchingusoffcliffsatrandom?Pullnamesoutofalottery?”

Herestsahandonhischin.“Ican’tbelieveCalnevertoldyouanyofthis.Althoughhewasn’t really jumping at the opportunity to change things, notevenforyou.Probablydidn’tthinkyoucouldhandleit—or,well,perhapshedidn’tthinkyouwouldunderstandit—”

My fist slams against the bulletproof glass of the window. It smartsinstantly,andIburymyselfinthepain,usingittokeepanythoughtsofCalatbay. I can’t letmyself fall into that drowning spiral, even if it’s true. EventhoughCalwasoncewillingtoupholdthesehorrors.“Don’t,”Isnapathim.“Don’t.”

“I’mnotafool,littlelightninggirl.”Hissnarlmatchesmyown.“Ifyou’regoingtoplayinmyhead,I’mgoingtoplayinyours.It’swhatwe’regoodat.”

Iwascoldbefore,butnowtheheatofhisangerthreatenstoconsumeme.

Feelingsick,Ipressmycheekagainstthecoolglassofthewindowandshutmyeyes.“Don’tcomparemetoyou.We’renotthesame.”

“Peoplelikeus,”hescoffs.“Welietoeveryone.Especiallyourselves.”

Iwanttopunchthewindowagain.Instead,Ituckmyfiststightundermyarms, trying to make myself smaller. Maybe I’ll just shrink away anddisappear. With every breath, I regret getting into his transport more andmore.

“You’llnevergettheLakelandstoagree,”Isay.

Ihearhimlaughdeepinhisthroat.“Funny.Theyalreadyhave.”

Myeyesflyopeninshock.

He nods, looking pleased with himself. “Governor Welle facilitated ameetingwithoneof their topministers.Hehascontacts in thenorthand iseasily…persuaded.”

“Probablybecauseyouholdhisdaughterhostage.”

“Probably,”heagrees.

Sothat’swhat this touris.Asolidifyingofpower, thecreationofanewalliance. A twisting of arms and bending of wills by whatever meansnecessary. Iknewitwasforsomethingother thanspectacle,but this—thisIcould not fathom. I think of Farley, the Colonel, their Lakelander soldierspledgedtotheScarletGuard.Whatwillatrucedotothem?

“Don’t look so glum. I’m ending awarmillions died for, and bringingpeacetoacountrythatnolongerknowsthemeaningoftheword.Youshouldbeproudofme.Youshouldbethankingme.Don’t—”HeputshishandsupindefenseasIspitathim.

“You really need to figure out another way to express your anger,” hegrumbles,wipingathisuniform.

“TakeoffmymanaclesandI’llshowyouone.”

Hebarksoutalaugh.“Yes,ofcourse,MissBarrow.”

Outside,theskydarkensandtheworldfadestogray.Iputapalmtotheglass,willingmyselftofallthrough.Nothinghappens.I’mstillhere.

“Imustsay,Iamsurprised,”headds.“WehavefarmoreincommonwiththeLakelandsthanyouthink.”

MyjawtightensandIspeakthroughgrittedteeth.“YoubothuseRedsas

slavesandcannonfodder.”

HesitsupsoquicklyIflinch.“WebothwanttoendtheScarletGuard.”

It’s almost comical. Every step I take explodes inmy face. I tried to saveKilornfromconscriptionandmaimedmysister instead.Ibecameamaidtohelp my family and within hours became a prisoner. I believed Maven’swordsandMaven’sfalseheart.ItrustedCaltochooseme.IraidedaprisontofreepeopleandendedupclutchingShade’scorpse.IsacrificedmyselftosavethepeopleIlove.IgaveMavenaweapon.Andnow,tryasImighttothwarthisreignfromtheinside,IthinkI’vedonesomethingmuchworse.WhatwillaunitedLakelandsandNortalooklike?

DespitewhatMavensaid,weheadtoRocastaanyway,barrelingonaftermorecoronationstopsthroughouttheWestlakesregion.Wewon’tstay.Eitherthere isn’t a stately home suitable enough forMaven’s court, or he simplydoesn’t want to be there. I can see why. Rocasta is a military city. Not afortress like Corvium, but built to support the army all the same. An uglything,formedforfunction.Thecitysitsseveralmilesoff thebanksofLakeTarion, and the Iron Road runs through its heart. It bisects Rocasta like ablade,separatingthewealthierSilversectorofthecityfromtheRed.Withnowalls to speak of, the city creeps up on me. The shadows of houses andbuildingsappearoutofthewhiteblindnessofablizzard.Silverstormsworktokeepourroadclear,battlingtheweathertokeepthekingonschedule.Theystandontopofourtransports,directingthesnowandicearounduswithevenmotions. Without them, the weather would be much worse, a hammer ofbrutalwinter.

Still, snow blasts against the windows of my transport, obscuring theworldoutside.TherearenomorewindweaversfromthetalentedHouseLaris.They’reeitherdeadorgone,havingfledwiththeotherrebellinghouses,andtheSilversremainingcanonlydosomuch.

From what little I can see, Rocasta carries on despite the storm. Redworkersmove toand fro,clutchingat lanterns, their lightsbobbing throughthe haze like fish inmurkywater. They’re used to this kind ofweather soclosetothelakes.

Isettledownintomylongcoat,gladforthewarmth,evenifthecoatisabloodredmonstrosity.IglanceattheArvens,stillcladintheirusualwhite.

“Are you scared?” I chatter to the empty air. I don’t wait for theirnonexistentresponse,allofthemquietlyfocusedonignoringmyvoice.“Wecould lose you in a storm like this.” I sigh to myself, crossing my arms.

“Wishfulthinking.”

Maven’stransportrollsaheadofmine,spottedwithSentinelguards.Likemy coat, they stand out sharply in the snowstorm, their flaming robes abeacontotherestofus.I’msurprisedtheydon’ttakeofftheirmasksdespitethe low visibility. They must revel in looking inhuman and frightening—monsterstodefendanothermonster.

OurconvoyturnsofftheIronRoadsomewherenearthecenterofthecity,speeding down a wide avenue crisscrossed with twinkling lights. Opulenttownhouses andwalled citymanors rise up from the street, theirwindowswarm and inviting. Up ahead, a clock tower fades in and out of visibility,occasionallyobscuredbydriftinggustsofsnow.It tolls threeo’clockasweapproach,gongingpealsofsoundthatseemtoreverberateinsidemyribcage.

Dark shadows plunge along the street, deepening with every passingsecondasthestormgetsstronger.We’reintheSilversector,evidencedbythelackoftrashandbedraggledRedsroamingthealleys.Enemyterritory.AsifI’mnotalreadyasdeeplybehindenemylinesaspossible.

Atcourt, therewere rumorsaboutRocasta,andCal inparticular.A fewsoldiers had received a tip that he was in the city, or some old man hadthought he’d seen him andwanted rations in exchange for the information.Butthesamecouldbesaidofsomanyplaces.He’dbestupidtocomehere,toa city still firmlyunderMaven’s control.EspeciallywithCorvium so closeby.Ifhe’ssmart,heisfaraway,wellhidden,helpingtheScarletGuardasbesthe can. Strange to think that House Laris, House Iral, and House Havenrebelled inhis honor, for an exiledprincewhowill never claim the throne.Whatawaste.

TheadministrativebuildingbeneaththeclocktowerisornatecomparedtotherestofRocasta,moreakintothecolumnsandcrystalofWhitefirePalace.Ourconvoyglidestoahaltbeforeit,spittingusoutintothesnow.

I hustle up the steps as quickly as I can, drawingup the infuriating redcollar against the cold. Inside, I expect warmth and a waiting audience tohangonMaven’severycalculatedword.Instead,wefindchaos.

This was once a grand meeting hall: the walls are lined with plushbenchesandseating,nowpushedaside.Mosthavebeenstackedontopofoneanother,clearedtomakeroomonthemainfloor.I’mseizedbythescentofblood.AstrangethingforahallfullofSilvers.

ButthenIsee:itisnotsomuchahallasahospital.

Allthewoundedareofficers,laidoutoncotsinneatrows.Icountthreedozen at a glance. Their liveried uniforms and neat medals mark them asmilitary of varying ranks, with insignia from any number ofHighHouses.Skinhealersattendasfastastheycan,butonlytwoareonduty,markedbythe red-and-silver crosses on their shoulders. They sprint back and forth,seeingtoinjuriesinorderofseriousness.Onejumpsupfromamoaningmantokneeloverawomancoughingupsilverblood,herchinmetal-brightwiththeliquid.

“SentinelSkonos,”Mavensaysgravely.“Helpwhoyoucan.”

Oneofhismaskedguardsreactswithastiltedbow,breakingrankwiththerestoftheking’sdefenders.

Moreofusfilein,crowdinganalready-crowdedroom.Afewmembersofcourtabandonproprietytosearchthesoldiers,lookingforfamily.Othersaresimplyhorrified.Theirkindaren’tmeanttobleed.Notlikethis.

Aheadofme,Mavenlooksbackandforth,handsonhiships.IfIdidn’tknowhimbetter,Iwouldthinkhimaffected,angryorsad.Butthisisabouttobeanotherperformance.EventhoughtheseareSilverofficers,Ifeelapangofpityforthem.

The hospital hall is proof my Arvens are not made of stone. To mysurprise,Kitten is theone tobreakfirst,hereyeswateringwith tearsasshelooks around. She fixes her gaze on the far end of the hall.White shroudscoverbodies.Corpses.Adozendead.

Atmyfeet,ayoungmanhissesoutabreath.Hekeepsahandpressedtohis chest, putting pressure onwhatmust be an internalwound. I lock eyeswith him, noting his uniform and his face. Older than me, classicallyhandsome beneath streaks of silver blood. Black-and-gold house colors.HouseProvos,a telky. Itdoesn’t takehim long to recognizeme.Hisbrowsraise a little in realization, andhe struggles for anotherbreath.Beneathmygaze,heshakes.He’safraidofme.

“What happened?” I ask him. In the din of the hall,myvoice is barelymorethanawhisper.

Idon’tknowwhyheresponds.MaybehethinksI’llkillhimifhedoesn’t.Maybehewantssomeonetoknowwhat’sreallygoingon.

“Corvium,” he murmurs back. The Provos officer wheezes, fighting topushoutthewords.“ScarletGuard.It’samassacre.”

Fearshiversinmyvoice.“Forwho?”

Hehesitates,andIwait.

Finallyhedrawsaraggedbreath.

“Both.”

FIFTEENCameron

Ididn’tknowwhatcouldpossiblyspurtheexiledprincetoaction—untilKingMavenbeganhisbleedingcoronationtour.Clearlyaruse,definitelyanotherplot.Anditwasheadedstraightforus.Everyonesuspectedanattack.Andwehadtostrikefirst.

Calwasrightaboutonething.TakingthewallsofCorviumwasourbestplanofaction.

Sohedidittwodaysago.

Working in conjunction with the Colonel and rebels already inside thefortress city,Cal led a strike forceofScarletGuard andnewblood soldiers.Theblizzardwas theircover,and theshockofanassault served themwell.Calknewbetterthantoaskmetojoin.IwaitedbackinRocastawithFarley.Bothofuspacedbytheradio,eagerfornews.Ifellasleep,butsheshookmeawake before dawn, grinning. We held the walls. Corvium never saw itcoming.Thecityboiledinchaos.

Andwecouldnolongerstaybehind.Notevenme.Admittedly,Iwantedtogo.Nottofight,buttoseewhatvictoryactuallylookedlike.Andofcourseto get one step closer to the Choke, my brother, and some semblance ofpurpose.

So here I am, shrouded in the tree line with the rest of Farley’s unit,lookingoutatblackwallsandblackersmoke.Corviumburnsfromwithin.Ican’t see much, but I know the reports. Thousands of Red soldiers, somespurred on by the Guard, turned on their officers as soon as Cal and theColonelattacked.Thecitywasalreadyapowderkeg.Fittingthatafireprincelitthefuseandletitexplode.Evennow,adaylater,thefightingcontinuesaswe take thecity, streetby street.Theoccasionalburstofgunfirebreaks therelativesilence,makingmeflinch.

Ilookaway,tryingtoseefartherthanhumanreach.Theskyhereisdarkalready, the sun obscured by a cloudy gray sky. To the northwest, in theChoke, thecloudsareblack,heavywithashanddeath.Morreyisout there,somewhere. Even thoughMaven released the underage conscripts, his unit

hasn’tmoved,accordingtoour last intelligencereports.They’rethefarthestaway, deep in a trench. And the Scarlet Guard happens to be currentlyoccupyingtheplacehisunitwouldreturnto.Itrytoblockouttheimageofmy twin huddled against the cold, his uniform too big, his eyes dark andsunken. But the thought is burned into my brain. I turn away, back toCorvium, to the taskathand. Ineed tokeepmyfocushere.Thesoonerwetakethecity,thesoonerwecangettheconscriptsmoving.Andthenwhat?Iaskmyself.Sendhimhome?Toanotherhellhole?

Ihavenoanswersforthevoiceinmyhead.Icanbarelystomachtheideaof sending Morrey back to the factories of New Town, even if it meanssendinghimbacktoourparents.They’remynextgoal,afterIgetmybrotherback.Oneimpossibledreamafteranother.

“TwoSilvers just threwaRedsoldier froma tower.”Adasquints intoapairofbinoculars.Nexttoher,Farleyremainsstill,armscalmlyfoldedacrossherchest.

Ada continues to scan the walls, reading signals. In the gray light, hergoldenskintakesonasallowhue.Ihopesheisn’tgettingsick.

“They’re solidifying their position, retreating and regrouping into thecentral sector, behind the second ring wall. I calculate fifty at least,” shemurmurs.

Fifty.Itrytoswallowmyfear.Itellmyselfthere’snoreasontobeafraid.There’sanarmybetweenusandthem.AndnooneisstupidenoughtotrytoforcemeanywhereIdon’twanttogo.Notnow,notwithmonthsoftrainingbehindme.

“Casualties?”

“AhundredoftheSilvergarrisondead.Mostoftheinjuredescapedwiththerestintothewilderness.ProbablytoRocasta.Andtherewerelessthanathousandinthecity.ManyhaddefectedtotherebellinghousesbeforeCal’sassault.”

“What about Cal’s newest report?” Farley asks Ada. “The Silversdeserting?”

“Iincludedthatinmycalculations.”Shealmostsoundsannoyed.Almost.Ada has a calmer disposition than any of us. “Seventy-eight are in holdingnow,underCal’sprotection.”

I put my hands on my hips, setting my weight. “There’s a differencebetweendefectionandsurrender.Theydon’twanttojoinus;theyjustdon’t

wanttoendupdead.TheyknowCalwillshowmercy.”

“Would you rather he kill them all? Set everyone against us?” Farleysnaps back, turning tome.After a second, shewaves a hand dismissively.“There’s over five hundred of them still out there, ready to comeback andslaughterusall.”

Ada ignores our jabbering and keeps her vigil. Up until she joined theScarletGuard,shewasahousemaidtoaSilvergovernor.She’susedtomuchworsethanus.“IseeJulianandSaraabovethePrayerGate,”shesays.

Ifeelasqueezeofcomfort.WhenCalradioedin,hedidn’tmentionanycasualtiesonhisteam,butnothingisevercertain.I’mgladSaraisallright.Isquint toward the forbidding Prayer Gate, looking for the black-and-goldentryontheeastendoftheCorviumwalls.Ontopoftheparapets,aredflagwavesbackandforth,barelyaglimmerofcoloragainsttheovercastsky.Adatranslates.“They’resignalingforus.Safepassage.”

SheglancesatFarley,waitingforherorder.WiththeColonelinthecity,she’stherankingofficerhere,andherwordisgoodaslaw.Thoughshegivesno indication of it, I realize shemust beweighingher options.Wehave tocrossopengroundtogettothegates.Itcouldeasilybeatrap.

“DoyouseetheColonel?”

Good.Shedoesn’ttrustaSilver.Notwithourlives.

“No,”Adabreathes.Shescansthewallsagain,herbrighteyestakingineveryblockofstone.IwatchhermotionsasFarleywaits,stillandstern.“Caliswiththem.”

“Fine,” Farley says suddenly, her eyes lividly blue and resolute. “Let’smoveout.”

Ifollowherbegrudgingly.AsmuchasImayhatetoadmitit,Calisn’tthetypetodouble-crossus.Notfatally,atleast.He’snothisbrother.ImeetAda’seyesoverFarley’sshoulder.Theothernewbloodinclinesherheadalittleaswewalk.

Ishoveclenchedfists intomypockets.IfI looklikeasullenteenager,Idon’t care.That’swhat I am: a scared, sullen teenagerwho can killwith alook.Feareatsmeup.Fearofthecity—andfearofmyself.

I haven’t used my ability outside training in months, not since themagnetronbastardspulledourjetoutofthesky.ButIrememberwhatitfeelslike, to use silence as a weapon. In Corros Prison, I killed people with it.

Horriblepeople.Silverskeepingotherslikemetrappedtoslowlydie.Andthememorystillmakesmesick.Ifelttheirheartsstop.Ifelttheirdeathsliketheywere happening tome. Such power—it frightensme. It makesmewonderwhatIcouldbecome.IthinkofMare,thewayshericochetedbetweenviolentrageandnumbdetachment.Isthatthepriceofabilitieslikeours?Dowehavetochoose—becomeempty,orbecomemonsters?

Wesetoutinsilence,allofushyperawareofourprecariousposition.Westandoutsharplyinthefreshsnow,pickingalonginoneanother’sfootprints.ThenewbloodsinFarley’sunitareparticularlyonedge.OneofMare’sown,Lory,leadsuswiththeawarenessofabloodhound,herheadwhippingbackand forth.Her senses are incredibly heightened, so if there’s any imminentattack, she’ll see it, hear it, or smell it coming. After the raid on CorrosPrison, afterMarewas taken, she starteddyeingher hair bloodred. It lookslikeawoundagainstthesnowandironsky.Ilevelmygazeonhershoulderblades,readytorunifshesomuchashesitates.

Evenpregnant,Farleymanages to lookcommanding.Shepulls the riflefrom her back, holds it in both hands. But she isn’t as alert as the others.Againhereyesslideinandoutoffocus.Ifeelafamiliarpangofsadnessforher.

“DidyoucomeherewithShade?”Iaskherquietly.

Shesnapsherheadinmydirection.“Whydoyousaythat?”

“Foraspy,you’reprettyeasytoreadsometimes.”

Herfingersdrumalongthebarrelofhergun.“LikeIsaid,ShadeisstillourmainsourceofinformationonCorvium.Iranhisoperationhere.That’sall.”

“Sure,Farley.”

Wecontinueoninsilence.Ourbreathmistsontheairandthecoldsetsin,taking my toes first. In New Town we had winter, but never like this.Something todowith thepollution.And theheat fromthefactorieskeptussweatingatwork,eveninthedepthsofwinter.

FarleyisaLakelanderbybirth,bettersuitedto theweather.Shedoesn’tseem to notice the snow or the prickling cold. Hermind is still obviouslysomewhereelse.Withsomeoneelse.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go aftermy brother,” Imutter to thesilence.Bothformyselfandforher.Somethingelsetothinkabout.“I’mgladheisn’there.”

Sheglancesatmesidelong.Hereyesnarrowwithsuspicion.“IsCameronColeadmittingshewaswrongaboutsomething?”

“Icandothatmuch.I’mnotMare.”

Anotherpersonmightthinkthatrudetosay.Farleygrinsinstead.“Shadewasstubborntoo.Familytrait.”

Iexpecthisnametoactasananchor,draggingherdown.Instead,itkeepshermoving,onefootinfrontoftheother.Onewordafterthenext.“Imethima fewmiles from here. I was supposed to be recruitingWhistle operativesfrom theNortan blackmarket.Use organizations already in place to betterfacilitatetheScarletGuard.TheWhistleintheStiltsgavemealeadonsomesoldiersupherewhomightbewillingtocoordinate.”

“Shadewasoneofthem.”

She nods, thoughtful. “He was assigned to Corvium with the supporttroops.Anofficer’saide.Agoodpositionforhim,evenbetterforus.Hefedthe Scarlet Guard miles of information, all funneled through me. Until itbecameclearhecouldn’tstayanylonger.Hewasbeingtransferredtoanotherlegion.Someoneknewhehadanability,andtheyweregoingtoexecutehimforit.”

I’ve never heard this story. I doubt few have. Farley is not exactlyforthcomingwithherpersonalhistory.Whyshe’stellingmenow,Ican’tsay.ButIcanseesheneedsto.Ilethertalk,givingherwhatshewants.

“Andthenwhenhissister…I’veneverseenhimsoterrified.WewatchedQueenstrialtogether.Watchedherfall,watchedherlightning.HethoughttheSilversweregoingtokillher.Youknowtherestofthat,Iassume.”Shebitesalip,lookingdownthelengthofherrifle.“Itwashisidea.Wealreadyhadtoget him out of the army to protect him. So he faked his execution report.Helped with the paperwork himself. Then he was gone. Silvers don’t careenoughtofollowthroughondeadReds.Ofcourse,hisfamilyminded.Thatpartstuckhimforawhile.”

“Buthestilldidit.”Itrytobeunderstanding,butIcan’timagineputtingmyownfamilythroughsomethinglikethat,notforanything.

“He had to. And—and it served as a goodmotivation.Mare joined upaftershefoundout.OneBarrowforanother.”

“So that part of her speechwasn’t a lie.” I think aboutwhatMarewasforcedtosay,glaringdownacameralikeitwasafiringsquad.TheyaskedifIwantedvengeanceforhisdeath.“Nowondershehaspersonality issues.No

onetellsthegirlthetruthaboutanything.”

“It’llbealongroadbackforher,”Farleymurmurs.

“Foreveryone.”

“Andnowshe’sonthatinfernaltourwiththeking,”Farleyrattleson.Shespools up like a machine, her voice gaining momentum and strength witheverypassingsecond.Shade’sghostdisappears.“Itwillmake things easier.Stillhorriblydifficult,ofcourse,buttheknotisloosened.”

“Isthereaplaninplace?She’sgettingcloserbytheday.Arborus,theIronRoad—”

“ShewasinRocastayesterday.”

The silence around us shifts. If the rest of our unit weren’t listeningbefore, they certainly are now. I look back to lock my gaze on Ada. Herliquid-ambereyeswiden,andIcanalmostseethecogsturninginherflawlessmind.

Farleypresseson.“Thekingvisitedthewoundedsoldiersevacuatedfromthefirstwaveofattack.Ididn’tknowuntilwewerehalfwayhere. If Ihad,maybe…”shebreathes.“Well,it’stoolateforthatnow.”

“The king practically travels with an army,” I tell her. “She’s guardednightandday.Therewasnothingyoucouldhavedone,notwithjustus.”

Stillhercheeksflush,andnotfromthecold.Herfingerskeeptappingidlyonthestockofhergun.“Probablynot,”shereplies.“Probablynot.”Softer,toconvinceherself.

Corviumcastsashadowoverus,andthetemperaturedropsinthegloomyshade. I pull up the neck of my collar farther, trying to burrow into itswarmth.Theblack-walledmonstrosityseemstohowlatus.

“There.ThePrayerGate.”Farleypoints toanopenmouthof iron fangsandgoldenteeth.BlocksofSilentStonelinethearch,butIcan’tfeel them.They don’t affectme. Tomy relief, Red soldiersman the gate,marked byrust-coloreduniformsandwornboots.Wemoveforward,offthesnowyroadandintothejawsofCorvium.FarleylooksupatthePrayerGateaswepassthrough, her eyes wide, blue, and trembling. Under her breath, I hear herwhispersomethingtoherself.

“Asyouenter,youpraytoleave.Asyouleave,youpraynevertoreturn.”

Eventhoughnooneislistening,Ipraytoo.

Cal bends over a desk, knuckles pressed against the flat of the wood. Hisarmorpilesinaheapinthecorner,platesofblackleatherdiscardedtoshowthemuscledhulkoftheyoungmanbeneath.Sweatplastersblackhairtohisforeheadandpaintsglisteninglinesofexertiondownhisneck.Notfromheat,though his ability warms the room better than any fire. No, this is fear.Shame.IwonderhowmanySilvershewasforcedtokill.Notenough,partofmewhispers.Still,thesightofhim,thehorrorsofthesiegeplainlywrittenonhis face, gives evenme enough reason to pause. I know this is not easy. Itcan’tbe.

Hestaresatnothing,bronzeeyesboringholes.Hedoesn’tmovewhenIentertheroom,trailingbehindFarley.ShegoestotheColonel,sittingacrossfromhim,onehandonhistemple,theothersmoothingamaporschematicofsomekind.ProbablyCorvium,judgingbytheoctagonalshapeandexpandingringsthatmustbewalls.

IfeelAdaatmyback,hesitanttojoinus.Ihavetogiveheranudge.She’sbetteratthisthananyone,herexquisitebrainagifttotheScarletGuard.Butamaid’strainingishardtobreak.

“Goon,”Imurmur,puttingahandonherwrist.Herskinisn’tasdarkasmine,butintheshadowsweallstarttoblendtogether.

Shegivesmeatinynodandaneventiniersmile.“Whichringaretheyin?Central?”

“Coretower,”theColonelreplies.Herapsthecorrespondingplaceonthemap. “Well fortified, even at the subterranean levels. Learned that the hardway.”

Ada sighs. “Yes, the core is built for something like this.A final stand,wellarmedandprovisioned.Sealedtwiceover.Andstuffedtothebrimwithfifty trained Silvers.With the bottleneck, theremight aswell be five timesthatnumberinthere.”

“Likespidersinahole,”Imutter.

TheColonelscoffs.“Maybethey’llstarttoeateachother.”

Cal’s wince does not go unnoticed. “Not while a common enemyhammersatthedoor.NothingunitesSilverssomuchassomeonetohate.”Hedoesn’t look up from the desk, keeping his eyes fixed on the wood. Themeaningisclear.“Especiallynowthateveryoneknowsthekingisnear.”Hisfacedarkens,astormcloud.“Theycanwait.”

Withalowgrowl,Farleyfinishesthethoughtforhim.“Andwecan’t.”

“Ifordered,thelegionsoftheChokecanhardmarchbackhereinaday’stime.Lessif…motivated.”Adawaversoverthelastword.Shedoesn’tneedtoelaborate.Icanalreadyseemybrother,technicallyfreedbyMaven’snewlaws,beingdrivenonbySilverofficers,forcedtorunthroughthesnow.Onlytothrowhimselfagainsthisown.

“SurelytheRedswouldjoinus,”Isay,thinkingaloud,ifonlytocombattheimagesinmyhead.“LetMavensendhisarmies.Itwillonlybolsterours.Thesoldierswillturnliketheonesheredid.”

“She might have a point—” the Colonel begins, agreeing with me foronce.Astrangesensation.ButFarleycutshimoff.

“Might.ThegarrisoninCorviumhasbeenstirredupformonths,incitingitsownhavoc,pushedandproddedandboiled to thisexplosion. Ican’tsaythe same for the legions. Or the amount of Silvers he’ll convince intoservice.”

Adaagreeswithher,noddingalong.“KingMavenhasbeencarefulwiththeCorviumnarrative.Hepaintseverythinghereasterrorism,notrebellion.Anarchy.Theworkofabloodthirsty,genocidalScarletGuard.TheRedsofthelegions,theRedsofthekingdom,havenoideawhat’shappeninghere.”

Seething,Farleyputsaprotectivehandonherbelly.“I’velostenoughonifsandmaybes.”

“Weallhave,”Calsays,hisvoicedistant.Finallyhepullsawayfromthedesk and turns his back on us all.He crosses to thewindow in a few longstrides,lookingoutoveracitystillburning.

Smokedriftsontheicywind,spittingblackintothesky.Itremindsmeofthefactories.Ishuddertorememberthem.Thetattooonmyneckitches,butIdon’tscratchwithmycrookedfingers.Brokentoomanytimestocount.Saraaskedtofixthemonce.Ididn’tlether.Likethetattoo,likethesmoke,theyremindmeofwhatIcamefrom,andwhatnooneelseshouldendure.

“Idon’tsupposeyouhaveanyideasforthis?”Farleyasks,takingthemapfromherfather’shands.Sheglancessidelongattheexiledprince.

Calshrugs,hisbroadshouldersrollinginsilhouette.“Toomany.Allbad.Unless—”

“I’m not going to let them walk out of here,” the Colonel snaps. Hesounds annoyed. I suppose they argued this through already. “Maven is tooclose. They’ll run to his side and come backwith a vengeance,withmorewarriors.”

The gleaming bracelet atCal’swrist flickers, birthing sparks that travelalonghisarminaquickburstofredflame.“Maveniscominganyway!Youheard the reports.He’salready inRocastaandmovingwest.He’smarchinghere in aparade,wavingand smiling tohide thathe’s coming to takebackCorvium.And he’ll do it if you fight him in a broken citywith our backsagainstacageofwolves!”HespinsaroundtofacetheColonel,shouldersstillsmolderingwithembers.Usuallyhecancontrolhimself enough to savehisclothes. Not so now. Smoke clings to him, revealing charred holes in hisundershirt.“Abattleontwofrontsissuicide.”

“Andwhatabouthostages?Youmeantotellmethere’snooneofvalueinthattower?”theColonelbarksback.

“Not to Maven. He already has the only person he would ever tradeanythingfor.”

“Sowecan’tstarvethem,can’treleasethem,can’tbargain.”Farleyticksoffwordsonherhand.

“Andyoucan’tkill themall.”I tapafingeragainstmylip.Cal looksatme, surprised. I simplyshrug.“If therewasaway, if itwasacceptable, theColonelwouldhavedoneitalready.”

“Ada?”Farleyprodssoftly.“Canyouseeanythingwecan’t?”

Her eyes fly back and forth, scanning the schematic as well as hermemories. Figures, strategies, everything at her mammoth disposal. Hersilenceisnotatallcomforting.

“Whatweneedisthatbleedingseer,”Imumble.InevermetJon,theonewhomade it possible forMare to find and captureme. But I’ve seen himenoughonMaven’sbroadcasts.“Makehimdotheworkforus.”

“Ifhewantedtohelp,he’dbehere.Butthatdamnedghostisinthewind,”Cal curses. “Didn’t evenhave the decency to takeMarewith himwhenheescaped.”

“No use dwelling on what we can’t change.” Farley scuffs her bootagainst thecold floor. “So isbrute force theonly thing left tous?Take thetowerdownstonebystone?Payforeveryinchwithagallonofblood?”

BeforeCalcanexplodeagain,thedoorwrenchesopen.JulianandSaraallbut tumble inside, both of themwide-eyed and silver-flushed. TheColoneljumpstohisfeet,insurpriseanddefense.NoneofusarefoolswhereSilversareconcerned.Ourfearofthemisbone-deep,bredintoourblood.

“What is it?” he asks, his red eye a scarlet gleam. “Done with theinterrogationsosoon?”

Julian bristles at the word interrogation, sneering. “My questions are amercycomparedtowhatyouwoulddo.”

“Pah,”Farley scoffs.SheeyesCalandhe shifts, embarrassedunderhergaze.“Don’ttellmeaboutSilvermercy.”

I care little for Julian and trust him less, but the look on Sara’s face isstartling.Shestaresatme,hergrayfacefullofpityandfear.“Whatisit?”Iaskher,thoughIknowonlyJuliancananswer.EveninCorvium,shehasn’tyetfoundanotherskinhealerwillingtoreturnhertongue.Allofthemmustbeinthecoretower,ordead.

“GeneralMacanthosoverseestrainingcommand,”Juliansays.LikeSara,heglancesatmewithhesitation.Mypulsepoundsinmyears.Whateverhe’sabouttosay,Iwon’tlike.“Beforethesiege,partofalegionwasrecalledforfurtherinstruction.Theywereunfittomanthetrenches.EvenforReds.”

My rushing blood starts to howl inmy ears, a gale that almost drownsJulianout.IfeelAdasteptomyside,hershoulderbrushingmine.Sheknowswherethisisgoing.Idotoo.

“We retrieved the rolls. A few hundred children of the Dagger Legion,called back to Corvium. Unreleased, even after Maven’s decree. Weaccounted for most, but some …” Julian forces himself on, though hestumblesoverthewords.“They’rehostages.Inthecore,withtheremainingSilverofficers.”

Iputahandtothecoolofficewall,lettingitsteadyme.Mysilencebegs,pushingbeneathmyskin,wantingtoexpandanddragdowneverythingintheroom.Ihavetosaythewordsmyself,becauseapparentlyJulianwon’t.“Mybrotherisinthere.”

TheSilverbastardhesitates,drawingitout.Finally,hespeaks.“Wethinkso.”

Theroarofmythrummingheartoverpowerstheirvoices.Ihearnothingas I run from the room, evading their hands, sprinting down through theadministrativeheadquarters.Ifanyonefollows,Idon’tknow.Idon’tcare.

The only thing onmymind isMorrey.Morrey and the fifty soon-to-becorpsesstandingbetweenus.

IamnotMareBarrow.Iwillnotgivemybrothertothis.

My silence curls aroundme, heavy as smoke, soft as feathers, drippingfrom every pore like sweat. It isn’t a physical thing. Itwon’t tear the coredownforme.Myabilityisforfleshandfleshalone.I’vebeenpracticing.Itscares me, but I need it. Like a hurricane, the silence churns around me,surroundingtheeyeofagrowingstorm.

Idon’tknowwhereI’mgoing,butCorviumiseasytonavigate.Andthecore is self-explanatory. The city is orderly, well planned, a giant gear. Iunderstand that.My feet slam against the pavement, propellingme throughtheouterward.Onmyleft, thehighwallsofCorviumscrapeat thesky.Tothe right, barracks,offices, training facilitiespile against the second ringofgranitewalls.Ihavetofindthenextgate,startworkinginward.Mycrimsonscarf is camouflage enough. I look like Scarlet Guard. I could be ScarletGuard.TheRedsoldiersletmerun,toodistractedortooexcitedortoobusyto care about another wayward rebel tearing through their midst. They’veoverthrowntheirmasters.I’masgoodasinvisibletothem.

ButnottoHisBleedingRoyalHighness,TiberiasCalore.

Hegrabsmyarm,forcingmetospin.Ifnotformysilencepulsingaroundus,Iknowhewouldbeonfire.Theprinceissmart,usingourmomentumtotossmeback—andkeephimselfoutofmydeadlyhands.

“Cameron!” he shouts, one hand outstretched. His fingers flicker, theflames on them gasping for air.When he takes another step back, plantinghimself firmly inmypath, theyblaze stronger, lickingup tohis elbow.Hisarmor is back on. Interlocking plates of leather and steel thicken hissilhouette.“Cameron,you’lldieifyougointhetoweralone.They’llripyouapart.”

“Whatdoyoucare?”Isnarlback.Myboneslock,jointstightening,andIpushabitmore.Thesilencereacheshim.Hisfireguttersandhisthroatbobs.Hefeelsit.I’mhurtinghim.Holdit.Rememberyourconstant.Nottoomuch,nottoolittle.Ipushabitmoreandhetakesanotherstepback,anotherstepinthe direction Imust go.The secondgate tauntsme fromover his shoulder.“I’mhereforonereason.”Idon’twanttofighthim.Ijustwanthimtostandaside.“I’mnotlettingyourpeoplekillhim.”

“I know!”hegrowls back, his voiceguttural. Iwonder if all of his firekindhaveeyeslikehis.Eyesthatburnandsmolder.“Iknowyou’regoinginthere.SowouldIif—sowouldI.”

“Thenletmego.”

He sets his jaw, a picture of determination. A mountain. Even now, in

burnedclothes,bruised,hisbodyawreckandhismindaruin,helookslikeaking.Calisexactlythekindofpersonwhowillneverkneel.It’snotinhim.Hewasnotmadethatway.

ButI’vebeenbrokentoomanytimestobreakagain.

“Cal,letmego.Letmegethim.”Itsoundslikebegging.

Thistimehestepsforward.Andtheflamesonhisfingersturnblue,sohotthey singe the air. Still they waver before my ability, fighting to breathe,fightingtoburn.IcouldsnuffthemoutifIwantedto.Icouldseizeallthatheisand tearhimapart,killhim, feeleverycentimeterofhimdie.Partofmewantsto.Afoolishpart,ruledbyangerandrageandblindvengeance.Iletitfuelmyability,letitmakemestrong,butIdon’tletitcontrolme.JustasSarataught.It’sathinlinetowalk.

Hiseyesnarrow,asifheknowswhatI’mthinking.SoI’msurprisedwhenhesaysthewords.Ialmostdon’thearthemoverthesoundofmyhammeringheart.

“Letmehelp.”

BeforetheScarletGuard,Iusedtothinkalliesoperatedonexactlythesamepage.Machinesintandem,workingtowardthesamegoal.Hownaiveofme.CalandIareseeminglyonthesameside,butweabsolutelydonotwantthesamething.

He’sopenwithhisplan.Detailingitfully.Enoughformetorealizehowheintendstousemyrage,usemybrother,tofulfillhisownends.Distracttheguards, get into the core tower, use your silence as a shield, andmake theSilvershandovertheirhostagesinexchangeforfreedom.Julianwillopenthegates;I’llescortthemmyself.Nobloodshed.Nomoresiege.Corviumwillbeentirelyours.

A good plan. Except the Silver garrisonwill go free, released to rejoinMaven’sarmy.

Igrewupinaslum,butI’mnotstupid.AndI’mcertainlynotsomemoon-eyedgirlabouttoswoonoverCal’sangledjawandcrookedsmileeither.Hischarmhasitslimits.He’susedtobewitchingBarrow,notme.

Ifonlytheprincehadabitmoreedge.Calistoosoftheartedforhisowngood.Hewon’tleavetheSilversoldierstotheColonel’snonexistentmercy,eveniftheonlyalternativeislettingthemgojusttofightusagain.

“Howlongdoyouneed?”Iask.Lyingtohisfaceisn’tdifficult.Notwhen

Iknowhe’stryingtotrickmetoo.

Hegrins.He thinkshe’swonmeover.Perfect. “A fewhours togetmyducksinarow.Julian,Sara—”

“Fine. I’ll be at the outer barracks when you’re ready.” I turn away,forcinganoh-so-thoughtfulstareintothedistance.Thewindpicksup,stirringmybraids.Itfeelswarmer,notbecauseofCal,butfromthesun.Springwillbehereeventually.“Needtoclearmyhead.”

Theprincenodsinunderstanding.Heclapsafieryhandonmyshoulder,givingitasqueeze.Inreply,Iforceasmilethatfeelsmorelikeagrimace.AssoonasIturnmyback,Iletitdrop.Hestaysbehind,hiseyesburningholesintomybackuntilthegentlecurveoftheringwallobstructsmefromview.Despite the rising temperature,ashiver tremblesdownmyspine. Ican’t letCaldothis.ButI’mnotgoingto letMorreyspendonemoresecondin thattower.

Upahead,Farleymarchesinmydirection,movingasfastasherbodywillallow.Herfacedarkenswhenshespotsme,herbrowfurrowingsointenselyherentirefaceturnsbeetred.Itmakesthepearlywhitescaratthesideofhermouthstandoutworsethanusual.Allinall,anintimidatingsight.

“Cole,” she snaps, her voice as stern as her father’s. “Iwas afraid youwereabouttogoanddosomethingreallystupid.”

“Notme,”Ireply,droppingtoamutter.Shecocksherhead,andImotionforhertofollow.

Oncewe’resafelyinsideastoreroom,ItellhereverythingasfastasIcan.She huffs through it all, as if Cal’s plan is just an annoyance and notcompletelydangeroustousall.

“He’sputtingtheentirecityatrisk,”Ifinish,exasperated.“Andifhegoesthroughwithit—”

“Iknow.ButItoldyoubefore:MontfortandCommandwantCalwithus,at almost any cost.He’s all but bulletproof.Anyone elsewouldbe shot forinsurrection.”Farleyscratchesbothhandsalongherscalp,pullingatstraybitsofherblondhair.“Idon’twanttodothat,butasoldierwhohasnoincentivetotakeordersandharborshisownagendaisnotsomeoneIwantwatchingmyback.”

“Command.” I hate the word, and whoever the hell it stands for.“Beginningtothinktheymaynothaveourbestinterestsatheart.”

Farleydoesn’tdisagree.“It’shard,puttingallourfaithinthem.Buttheyseewhatwe don’t,whatwe can’t.And now…”She heaves a breath.Hereyeslockonthefloorwithlaserfocus.“IhearMontfortisabouttogetalotmoreinvolved.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”

“I’mnotentirelysure.”

Iscoff.“Don’thavethefullpicture?I’mshocked.”

The glare she aims at me could cut through bone. “The system isn’tperfect,butitprotectsus.Ifyou’regoingtobesullen,I’mnotgoingtohelp.”

“Oh,nowyouhaveideas?”

Shegrinsdarkly.

“Afew.”

Harrickhasn’tlosthistendencytotwitch.

He bobs his head up and down as Farley hisses our plan, lips movingquickly.Shewon’tbegoingintothetowerwithus,butshe’sgoingtomakesurewecanactuallygetin.

Harrickseemswary.Heisn’tawarrior.Hedidn’tcometoCorrosandhedidn’tparticipateintheCorviumraideither,eventhoughhisillusionswouldhave helped immensely. He arrived with the rest of us, trailing behind thepregnantcaptain.SomethinghappenedtohimbackwhenwestillhadMare,on a newblood recruitment gonewrong. Since then, he’s stayed out of thefray,onthedefenseinsteadof inthethickofbattle.Ienvyhim.Hedoesn’tknowwhatitfeelsliketokillsomeone.

“Howmany hostages?” he asks, voice quivering like his fingers.A redflushbloomsinhischeeks,spreadingbeneathwinter-paledskin.

“Atleast twenty,”IanswerasquicklyasIcan.“Wethinkmybrotherisoneofthem.”

“WithatleastfiftySilversonguard,”Farleyadds.Shedoesn’tglossoverthedanger.Shewon’ttrickhimintodoingthis.

“Oh,”hemumbles.“Ohdear.”

Farleynods.“It’suptoyou,ofcourse.Wecanfindotherways.”

“Butnonewithlesschanceofbloodshed.”

“That’s right.Your illusions—” I press on, but he holds up a trembling

hand.Iwonderifhisabilityshakeslikehedoes.

Hismouthopens,butnowordscomeout.Iwaitontenterhooks,imploringhimwitheverynerveinmybody.Hehastoseehowimportantthisis.Hehasto.

“Fine.”

I have to restrainmyself from celebrating. This is a good step, but notvictory,andIcan’tlosesightofthatuntilMorreyissafe.“Thankyou.”Iclasphishands,lettingthemshakeinmine.“Thankyousomuch.”

Heblinks rapidly, brown eyesmeetingmine. “Don’t thankmeuntil it’sover.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”Farleymutters.She triesnot to lookgrim, foroursakes.Herplanishasty,butCalisforcingourhand.“Allright,followme,”shesays.“Thisisgoingtobequick,quiet,andwithalittleluckclean.”

WefollowinherwakeasshedodgessoldiersoftheScarletGuardaswellastheRedsdefectingtoourside.Manytouchtheirbrowsindeferencetoher.She’sawell-knownfigureintheorganization,andwe’rebankingonthelevelof respect she commands. I pull atmybraids aswego, tightening themasbestIcan.Thetugisagoodpain.Itkeepsmesharp.Anditgivesmyhandssomethingtodo.OrelseImighttwitchasbadlyasHarrick.

With Farley leading theway, no one stops us at the ring gates, andwemarch to thecenterofCorvium,where thecore tower looms.Blackgranitethrusts intothesky,dottedwithwindowsandbalconies.Allareneatlyshut,while soldiers ring the base in the dozens, keeping watch over the twofortified entrances to the tower.Colonel’s orders, I bet.Hewasted no timedoublingtheguardafterherealizedIwantin—andCalwantstheSilversout.The captain doesn’t lead us up to the tower, but past it, into one of thestructuresbuiltupagainstthecentralringwall.Liketherestofthecity,itisgold,iron,andblackstone,shadowedeveninbroaddaylight.

Myheartbeatthuds,fasterwitheverystepforwardintothegloomofoneof themany prisons dotting Corvium.As planned, Farley leads us down astaircase,andwedescendtothecelllevel.Myskincrawlsatthesightofbars,thestonewallswaxyinthedimlightoftoofewbulbs.Atleastthecellsareempty.Cal’sdefectingSilversareoverthePrayerGate,confinedtotheroomdirectlyabovearchesofSilentStone,wheretheirabilitiesarenonexistent.

“I’lldistractthelower-levelguardswhileHarrickslipsyoubothpast,”shesaysquietly,tryingnottolethervoiceecho.Farleysmoothlypassesmetwo

keys.“Ironfirst.”Sheindicatestherough,blackmetalkeyasbigasmyfist,thentheglinting,daintyonewithsharpteeth.“Silversecond.”

Ituckthemintoseparatepockets,easilywithinreach.“Gotit.”

“I can’tmuffle soundaswell as sightyet, sowehave tobe asquiet aspossible,”Harrickmurmurs.Henudgestheinsideofmyarmandmatcheshissteps tomine.“Stayclose.Letmekeep the illusionassmallasIcanforaslongaspossible.”

Inod,understanding.Harrickneedstosavehisstrengthforthehostages.

The cells wind deeper and deeper into the ground beneath Corvium. Itgetsdamperandcolderbytheminute,untilmybreathfogs.Whenlightblazesaroundacorner,Ifeelnocomfort.ThisisasfarasFarleygoes.

Shegesturessilently,wavingusbothback.ItuckclosertoHarrick.Thisisit.Excitementandfearragethroughme.I’mcoming,Morrey.

Mybrother is close, surrounded by peoplewhowould kill him. I don’thavetimetocareiftheykillme.

Something wobbles before my vision, dropping like a curtain. Theillusion. Harrick braces me against his chest and we walk together, ourfootsteps matching. We can see everything well enough, but when Farleylooks back to check, her eyes searchwildly, sweeping back and forth. Shecan’tseeus.AndneithercantheGuardsmenaroundthecorner.

“Everything okay down here?” she crows, stomping on the stonemuchlouder than necessary.Harrick and I follow at a safe distance and turn thepassagetoseesixwell-armedsoldierswithredscarvesandtacticalgear.Theystandacrossthenarrowhall,shouldertoshoulder,firmlyset.

They jump to attention in Farley’s presence. One, ameatymanwith aneckbiggerthanmythigh,addressesheronbehalfoftherest.“Yes,Captain.No sign of movement. If the Silvers intend to make an escape attempt, itwon’tbethroughthetunnels.Eventheyaren’tthatfoolish.”

Farleyclenchesherjaw.“Good.Keepyoureyes—oh!”

Wincing,shedoublesover,bracingahandononeof themidnight-blackwalls.Theotherclutchesherbelly.Herfacefurrowsinpain.

The Guardsmen are quick to aid her, three jumping to her side in aninstant.Theyleaveagapintheirranksmuchbiggerthantheyneed.HarrickandImovequickly,slidingalongtheoppositewall toreachthesealeddoordead-endingthepassage.Farleywatchesthedoorasshekneels,stillfakinga

cramp or something worse. The illusion around me ripples a bit more,indicatingHarrick’s concentration. He’s not just hiding us now, but a dooryawningopenbehindahalf-dozensoldiersassignedtoprotectit.

FarleyyelpsasIshovetheironkeyintothelock,twistingthemechanism.She keeps it up, her hisses of discomfort and cries of pain alternating insteadyrhythmtodistractfromanysqueakyhinges.Luckily,thedooriswelloiled.Whenitswingsopen,noonecansee,andnoonehears.

I shut it slowly, preventing the slam of iron on granite. The lightdisappearsinchbyinch,untilweareleftinalmostpitch-blackdarkness.NotevenFarleyorhersoldiers’fussingfollows,sufficientlymuffledbythecloseddoor.

“Let’sgo,”Itellhim,linkingmyarmtohistightly.

One,two,three,four…Icountmystepsinthedarkness,onehandtrailingonthefreezingcoldwall.

Adrenalinekicksinwhenwereachtheseconddoor,nowdirectlybelowthe core tower. I didn’t have enough time to memorize its structure, but Iknowthebasics.Enoughtogettothehostagesandwalkthemrightoutintothesafetyofthecentralward.Withouthostages,theSilverswillhavenothingtobargainwith.They’llhavetosubmit.

Feelingalong thedoor, I pokearound for thekeyhole. It’s small, and ittakesagoodamountofscrapingtogetthekeyinthelockproperly.“Herewego,”Imurmur.AwarningtoHarrick,andtomyself.

AsIeaseopenthewayintothetower,IrealizethiscouldbethelastthingI ever do. Even with my ability and Harrick’s, we’re no match for fiftySilvers.Wedieifthisgoeswrong.Andthehostages,alreadysubjectedtosomanyhorrors,willprobablydietoo.

Iwon’tletthathappen.Ican’t.

The adjoining chamber is just as dark as the tunnel, but warmer. Thetower is tightly sealed against the elements, just like Farley said. Harrickcrowdsinbehindmeandweshutthedoortogether.Hishandbrushesmine.Itisn’ttwitchingnow.Good.

There should be some stairs… yes. I nudgemy toes against a bottomstep. Keeping my grip on Harrick’s wrist, I lead us up, toward dim butsteadilygrowinglight.Twoflightsup,justlikethetwoflightsdownwetookintheprisoncells.

Murmursreverberateoffthewalls,deepenoughtohearbuttoomuffledtodecipher.Harriedvoices,whisperedarguments.Iblinkrapidlyasthedarknessliftsandwereachthegroundfloorofthetower,ourheadspokingupfromthesteps.Warmlightpoolsaroundus,illuminatingthecircularstairwelltwistingup the tall, central chamber. The spine of the tower. Doors branch off atseverallandings,eachoneboltedshut.Myheartbeatsathunderousrhythm,soloudIthinktheSilversmighthearit.

Twoofthempatrolthestairwell,tenseandreadyforanassault.Butwe’renotsoldiersandwearen’tScarletGuard.Theirfiguresrippleslightly,likethesurfaceofdisturbedwater.Harrick’sillusionsareback,shieldingusbothfromunfriendlyeyes.

Wemoveasone,followingthevoices.Icanbarelystandtobreatheasweascend the steps,making for the central chamber about three stories up. InFarley’s schematics, it spread the width of the tower, occupying an entirefloor.That’swhere thehostageswillbe,and thebulkof theSilversholdingoutforMaven’srescueorCal’smercy.

TheSilverpatrolmenareheavilymuscled.Strongarms.Bothhavestone-grayfacesandarmsthesizeoftreetrunks.Theycan’tsnapmeintwo,notifIusemy silence.Butmyabilityhasnoeffectonguns, andbothhavemany.Double pistols, alongwith rifles slung across their shoulders. The tower iswellstockedforasiege,andIguessthatmeanstheyhavemorethanenoughammunitiontoholdout.

One strongarm descends the stairs as we approach, his footstepslumbering.IthankwhateveridiotSilverputhimonwatch.Hisabilityisbruteforce,nothingsensory.Buthewouldcertainlyfeelusifwebumpedintohim.

Weslipbyhimslowly,ourbacksedgedagainst theexterior towerwall.Hepasseswithoutsomuchasawhiffofuncertainty,hisfocuselsewhere.

The other strongarm ismore difficult to pass. He leans against a door,long legs angled out in front of him. They almost block the steps entirely,forcingHarrickandmetothefarsideofthestairs.I’mgratefulformyheight.Itallowsmetostepoverhimwithoutincident.Harrickisnotsograceful.Histwitchingreturnstenfoldashestraddlesthesteps,tryingnottomakeasound.

Grittingmyteeth,Iletsilencepoolbeneathmyskin.IwonderifIcankillboththesemenbeforetheyraisethealarm.Ialreadyfeelsickatthethought.

But then Harrick lurches forward, his foot catching the next step. Itdoesn’tmakemuchnoise, but enough to stir theSilver.He looks back andforth,andIfreeze,grippingHarrick’soutstretchedwrist.Terrorclawsatmy

throat,beggingtoscreamout.

Whenheturnshisback,lookingdownathiscomrade,InudgeHarrick.

“Lykos,youhearsomething?”thestrongarmcallsdown.

“Notathing,”theotherresponds.

Eachword coversour darting steps, allowingus to reach the topof thestairs and the door cracked ajar. I breathe the quietest sigh of reliefimaginable.Myhandsareshakingtoo.

Insidetheroom,voicesbicker.“Wehavetosurrender,”someonesays.

Barksofoppositionsoundinresponse,drowningoutourentry.Weslipinlike mice and find ourselves in a room crawling with hungry cats. Silverofficers congregate along the walls, most of them wounded. The smell ofblood isoverpowering.Moansofpainpermeate themanyargumentsarcingacrossthechamber.Officersshouteachotherdown,theirfacespalewithfear,grief,andagony.Severalofthewoundedseemtobedying.Igagatthesightand stench of men and women in all states of injury. No healers here, Irealize.TheseSilverwoundswon’tdisappearwiththewaveofahand.

Evenso,I’mnotmadeoficeorstone.Theoneswiththeworstinjuriesarelinedupalong thecurvedexteriorwall, justa fewyards frommyfeet.Theclosestoneisawoman,herfacescrapedwithcuts.Silverbloodpoolsbeneathher hands as she tries in vain to keep her guts inside her body.Hermouthflapsopenandclosed,adyingfishgaspingforair.Herpain is toodeepforramblingsorscreams.Iswallowhard.Astrangethoughtcomestome:IcouldputheroutofhermiseryifIwanted.Icouldextendahandofsilenceandhelpherslipawayinpeace.

Justtheideaisenoughtomakemegag,andIhavetoturnaway.

“Surrenderisnotanoption.TheScarletGuardwillkillus,orworse…?”

“Worse?”sputtersoneoftheofficerslyingonthefloor,hisbodybruisedandbandaged.“Lookaround,Chyron!”

Iglancearound,daringtohope.Iftheykeepshoutingatoneanother,thiswill be somuch easier.On the far side of the room, I spot them.Huddledtogether,theirfleshpinkandbrown,theirbloodRed,arenolessthantwentyfifteen-year-olds. Only fear keeps me rooted in place, separated fromeverythingIwantbyastretchofdeadly,angrykillingmachines.

Morrey.Secondsaway.Inchesaway.

Wecrossthechamberascarefullyasweclimbedthesteps,andtwiceas

slowly.TheSilverswithlesserwoundsroveabout,eithertendingtothemoreseriouslyinjuredorwalkingofftheirnerves.I’veneverseenSilverslikethis.Offguard,upclose.Sohuman.Anolderfemaleofficerwithariotofbadgesholds the hand of a young man, maybe eighteen. His face is bone white,drainedofblood,andheblinkscalmlyattheceiling,waitingtodie.Thebodynext to him is already there. I hold back a gasp, forcingmyself to breatheevenlyandquietly.Evenwithsomanydistractions,I’mnottakingachance.

“TellmymotherIloveher,”oneofthedyingmurmurs.

Another almost corpse calls for a man who isn’t here, yelping out hisname.

Deathloomslikeacloud.Itshadowsmetoo.Icoulddiehere,sameastherest.IfHarricktires,ifIstepsomewhereIshouldn’t.Itrytoignoreeverythingbutmyowntwofeetandthegoalinfrontofme.ButthefartherIgointothechamber, the harder that is.The floor swimsbeforemy eyes, andnot fromHarrick’sillusion.AmI…amIcrying?Forthem?

Angry, I wipe the tears away before they can fall and leave tracks. AsmuchasIknowIhatethesepeople,Ican’tfinditinmetohaterightnow.AlltherageIfeltanhouragoisgone,replacedbystrangepity.

Thehostagesarenowcloseenoughformetotouch,andonesilhouetteisasfamiliarasmyownface.Curlyblackhair,midnightskin,ganglylimbs,bighandswithcrookedfingers.Thewidest,brightestsmileI’veeverseen,thoughthatisfar,farawayrightnow.IfIcould,IwouldtackleMorreyandneverlethimgo. Instead, Icreepupbehindandslowly,surelycrouchuntil I’mrightnexttohisear.Ihopebeyondhopehedoesn’tstartle.

“Morrey,it’sCameron.”

Hisbodyjolts,buthedoesn’tmakeasound.

“I’mwithanewblood;hecanmakeusinvisible.I’mgoingtogetyououtofhere,butyouhavetodoexactlyasIsay.”

Heturnshishead,justso,hiseyeswideandafraid.Hehasourmother’seyes,kohlblackwithheavy lashes. I resist theurge tohughim.Slowly,heshakeshisheadbackandforth.

“Yes. I can do it,” I breathe. “Tell the others what I just told you. Bediscreet.Don’tlettheSilverssee.Doit,Morrey.”

Afteranotherlongmomentheclencheshisteethandconcedes.

Itdoesn’ttakelongforknowledgeofourpresencetosweepthroughthem.

Noonequestionsit.Theydon’thavetheluxuryofdoingthat,nothere,inthebellyofthebeast.

“Whatyou’reabouttoseeisn’treal.”

IgesturetoHarrick,whonods.He’sready.Slowly,wemovetoourknees,crouching down to blend in with them. When his illusion on us lifts, theSilverswon’tnoticeusatfirst.Distracted.Hopefully.

Mymessagetravelsquickly.Thehostagestense.Eventhoughthey’rethesameageasme, they seemolder,wornby themonths training to fightandthenspentinatrench.EvenMorrey,thoughhelooksbetterfedthanheeverwas at home. Still invisible to his eye, I reach out and tentatively take hishand.Hisfingerscloseonmine,holdingtight.Andtheillusionrenderingusinvisibledrops.Twomorebodiesjointhecircleofhostages.Theothersblinkatus,strugglingtomasktheirsurprise.

“Herewego,”Harrickmurmurs.

Behindus,theSilverscontinuebickeringoverthedeadanddying.Theydon’tspareathoughtforthehostages.

Harricknarrowshiseyes,focusingonthecurvingtowerwalltoourright.He breathes heavily, air whistling through his nose and out his mouth.Gathering his strength. I bracemyself for the blow, even though I know itdoesn’texist.

Suddenlythewallexplodesinwardinabloomoffireandstone,exposingthe tower to the sky.TheSilvers shudder, scamperingback fromwhat theythink isanattack.Airjets screampast, swooping through the falseclouds. Iblink,notbelievingmyeyes.Ishouldn’tbelievemyeyes.Thisisn’treal.Butitlooksamazingly,impossiblyreal.

NotthatIhavetimetogape.

HarrickandIjumptoourfeet,herdingtheotherswithus.Weboltthroughthefire,flameslickingcloseenoughtoburnusthrough.IflincheventhoughIknowitisn’tthere.Thefireisdistractionenough,startlingtheSilverssothatwecanstampedethroughthedoorandontothestairs.

Ipushon, leading thepack,whileHarrickkeeps the rear.Hewaveshisarms like a dancer, weaving illusions out of thin air. Fire, smoke, anotherroundofmissiles.AllofitkeepstheSilversfrompursuingus,coweringfromhis spooling images.Silenceblooms fromme, a sphereof deadlypower tofell the twoSilver lookouts.Morreyclipsmyheels,almostmakingme trip,buthecatchesmyarm,keepingmefromgoingovertherail.

“Stop!” The first strongarm charges at me, head lowered like a bull. Ipulsesilenceintohisbody,rammingmyabilitydownhisthroat.Hestumbles,feeling the fullweight ofmy power. I feel it too, death rolling through hisflesh. I have tokill him.Andquickly.The forceofmyneed crushesbloodfromhismouthandeyesaspiecesofhisbodydieoff,organsoneafter theother.IsmotherthelifefromhimfasterthanI’veeverkilledanyonebefore.

The other strongarm dies even faster. When I hit him with anotherexhaustingpummelofsilence,hetripssidewaysandfallsheadfirst.Hisskullcracksopenonthestonefloor,spillingbloodandbrainmatter.Asobchokesinmychest,andIhavenotimetoquestionmysuddendisgustwithmyself.ForMorrey.ForMorrey.

My brother looks as agonized as I feel, his eyes glued to the deadstrongarmbleedingalloverthefloor.Itellmyselfhe’sjustshocked,andnotterrifiedofme.

“Go!” I bellow, voice chokedwith shame.Thankfully he does as I say,sprintingtothelowerlevelwiththerest.

Eventhoughthegroundentranceisblockedup,thehostagesmakequickwork of it, tearing down the Silver fortifications until the double doors arelaidbare,asinglelockstandingbetweenallofusandfreedom.

I vault over the strongarm’s crushed skull, tossing the small silver key.Morreycatches it.Hisconscriptionandmyimprisonmenthavenotstampedoutourbondas twins.Sunlight streams throughashehauls thedoorsopenandlungesintothefreshair,theotherhostagessprintingwithhim.

Harrickcomesflyingdownthestairs,falsefirespewinginhiswake.Hewavesmeon,tellingmetogo,butIstayrooted.I’mnotleavingwithouttheillusionary.

We stumble out together, clutching each other tightly to face down asquarefullofperplexedguardsarmedtotheteeth.TheyallowusthroughatFarley’s orders. She shouts nearby, directing them to focus on the towerentrance,incasetheSilversattempttomakeastand.

Idon’thearherwords.IjustkeepwalkinguntilIhavemybrotherinmyarms.Hisheartbeatsrapidlyinhischest.Irevelinthesound.He’shere.He’salive.

Notlikethestrongarms.

Istillfeelit,whatIdidtothem.

WhatIdidtoeverysinglepersonIeverkilled.

Thememoriesmakemedizzywithshame.AllforMorrey,alltosurvive.Butnomore.

Idon’thavetobeamurdereralongsideeverythingelse.

Heclutchesatme,eyesrollinginterror.“TheScarletGuard,”hehisses,holdingmeclose.“Cam,wehavetorun.”

“You’resafe;you’rewithusnow.Theycan’thurtyou,Morrey!”

But instead of calming down, his fear triples. Morrey’s grip on metightensashisheadwhipsbackand forth, taking stockofFarley’s soldiers.“Dotheyknowwhatyouare?Cam,dotheyknow?”

Shamebleedsintoconfusion.Ipushbackfromhimalittle,togetabetterlookathisface.Hebreathesheavily.“WhatIam?”

“They’llkillyouforit.TheScarletGuardwillkillyouforwhatyouare.”

Eachwordhitsmelikeahammer.AndthenIrealizemybrotherisn’ttheonlyonestillafraid.Therestofhisunit,theotherteenagers,clustertogetherfor safety, every one of them keeping clear of the Guard soldiers. Farleymeetsmyeyefromafewfeetaway,justaspuzzledasIam.

ThenIseeherfrommybrother’spointofview.Seethemallforwhathe’sbeentoldtosee.

Terrorists.Murderers.Thereasontheywereconscriptedinthefirstplace.

ItrytopullMorreyintoahug,trytowhisperanexplanation.

Hejustgoescoldinmyarms.“You’reoneofthem,”hespits,lookingatme with so much anger and accusation my knees buckle. “You’re ScarletGuard.”

Mysoulfillswithdread.

MaventookMare’sbrother.

Didhetakeminetoo?

SIXTEENMare

I can’t seeCorvium through the low cloud cover. I stare anyway,my eyesgluedontheeasternhorizonstretchingoutbehindus.TheScarletGuardtookthecity.Theycontrolitnow.Wehadtoskirtaround,givingthehostilecityawideberth.Mavenisdoinghisbesttokeepitquiet;evenhecan’thidesuchmassive defeat. Iwonder how the newswill land across the kingdom.WillReds celebrate? Will Silvers retaliate? I remember the riots that followedother attacks by the Scarlet Guard. Of course there will be repercussions.Corvium is an act ofwar.Finally, theScarletGuardhasplanted a flag thatcannotsimplybetorndown.

MyfriendsaresocloseIfeelasifIcouldruntothem.Tearthemanaclesoff,killtheArvenguards,jumpfromthetransportanddisappearintothegraygloom,sprintingthroughthebarewinterforest.Inthedaydream,theywaitformeoutsidethewallsofabrokenfortress.TheColonel,hiseyecrimson,hisweatheredfaceandthegunonhishipacomfortlikenothingelse.Farleywithhim,boldandtallandresoluteasIremember.Cameron,hersilenceashieldrather than aprison.Kilorn, familiar asmyown twohands.Cal, angryandbrokenasIam, theembersofhisrageready toburnall thoughtsofMavenfrommymind. I imagine leaping into their arms, begging them to takemeaway, takeme anywhere. Takeme tomy family, takeme home.Makemeforget.

No,not forget. Itwouldbea sin to forgetmy imprisonment.Awaste. IknowMavenasnooneelsedoes.Iknowtheholesinhisbrain,thepieceshecannevermakefit.AndI’veseenhiscourtsplinterfirsthand.IfIcanescape,if I canbe rescued, I candosomegoodstill. I canmakemy fool’sbargainworththeterriblecost—andIcanstarttorightsomanywrongs.

Eventhoughthetransportwindowsaretightlysealed,Ismellsmoke.Ash.Gunpowder.Themetallic,sourbiteofacenturyofblood.TheChokenears,closerwitheverypassingsecondasMaven’sconvoyspeedswest.Ihopemynightmaresofthisplacewereworsethanthereality.

KittenandCloverarestillatmysides, theirhandsglovedandflatupontheirknees.Readytograbme,readytoholdmedown.Theotherguards,Trio

and Egg, perch above, on the transport skeleton, harnessed to the movingvehicle. A precaution, now that we’re so close to the war zone. Not tomention a few miles from a city occupied by revolution. All four remainvigilantasever.Bothtokeepmeimprisoned—andtokeepmesafe.

Outside,theforestliningthelastmilesoftheIronRoadthinsintonothing.Naked branches fall away to reveal hard earth barelyworthy of snow.TheChoke is an ugly place.Gray dirt, gray skies, blending so perfectly I don’tknowwherethelandendsandskybegins.Ialmostexpecttohearexplosionsinthedistance.Dadsaidyoucouldalwayshearthebombs,evenfrommilesaway.Isupposethatisn’tthecaseanymore,notifMaven’sgambitsucceeds.I’m ending awar thatmillions died for. Just to keep killing under anothername.

The convoy presses on toward the forward camps, a collection ofbuildingsthatremindmeoftheScarletGuardbaseonTuck.Theyfadeintothedistance ineitherdirection.Barracks,mostly.Coffins for the living.Mybrotherslivedinthoseonce.Myfathertoo.Itmightbemyturntokeepupthetradition.

Asinthecitiesalongthecoronationtour,peopleturnouttowatchKingMavenandhis retinue.Soldiers in red, inblack, incloudedgray.They linethemainavenuebisectingtheChokecampwithmilitaryprecision,eachonedipping their heads in respect. I don’t bother trying to count how manyhundreds there are. It’s too depressing. Instead, I claspmy hands together,tightenoughtogivemeanotherpaintodwellon.TheinjuredSilverofficerinRocastasaidCorviumwasamassacre.Don’t,Itellmyself.Don’tgothere.Ofcoursemyminddoesanyway.It’simpossibletoavoidthehorrorsyoureallydon’t want to think about.Massacre. Both sides. Red and Silver, ScarletGuard and Maven’s army. Cal survived, that much I know from Maven’sdemeanor. But Farley, Kilorn, Cameron, my brothers, the rest? So manynames and faces who probably assaulted the walls of Corvium. Whathappenedtothem?

Ipressmy fingers tomy eyes, trying to keep the tears back.The effortexhaustsme,butIrefusetocryinfrontofKittenandClover.

Tomysurprise,theconvoydoesnotstopinthecenteroftheChokecamp,eventhoughthere’sasquarethatlooksperfectlysuitedtoanotherofMaven’shoneyed speeches.A few of the transports, each carrying scions of severalHighHouses,peeloff,butwespeedthrough,pressingon,deeperanddeeper.Eventhoughtheytrytohideit,KittenandClovergrowmoreonedge,theireyesdartingbetweenthewindowsandeachother.Theydon’tlikethis.Good.

Letthemsquirm.

BoldasIfeel,ashadowofdreadfallsovermetoo.IsMavenoutofhismind?Where is he taking us—all of us? Certainly hewould not drive thecourt into a trench or a minefield or worse. The transports pick up speed,rolling faster and faster over earth packed hard into a roadway. In thedistance, artillery cannons andheavyguns stand in hulkingwrecks of iron,twistedshadowslikeblackskeletons.Withinamile,wecrossthefirsttrenchlines,ourvehicles snarlingoverhastilybuiltbridges.More trenches follow.For reserves, support, communication. Weaving like the passages of theNotch, burrowing into frozen mud. I lose count after a dozen. Either thetrenches are abandoned or the soldiers arewell hidden. I can’t see a singlescrapofreduniform.

Thiscouldbeatrap,forallweknow.Theschemingofanoldkingmeanttoensnareanddefeatayoungboy.Partofmewantsthattobetrue.IfIcan’tkillMaven,maybethekingoftheLakelandswilldoitforme.HouseCygnet,nymphs.Ruling forhundredsofyears.That’s asmuchas I knowabout theenemymonarch.Hiskingdomislikeours,dividedbyblood,ruledbynobleSilverhouses.AndafflictedbytheScarletGuard,apparently.LikeMaven,hemust be bent on maintaining power at all costs, through anymeans. Evencollusionwithanoldenemy.

Intheeast, thecloudsbreak,andafewbeamsofsunlight illuminatetheharsh landaroundus.No treesas faras theeyecansee.Wecrossover thefrontline trenchandIgaspat thesight.Redsoldierscrowd together in longlines, six bodies deep, their uniforms colored in varying shades of rust andcrimson.Theypoollikebloodinawound.Handsonladders, theyshiverinthecold.ReadytorushoutoftheirtrenchandintothedeadlykillzoneoftheChoke should their king command it. I spot Silver officers among them,denotedbytheirgray-and-blackuniforms.Mavenisyoung,butnotstupid.IfthisisaLakelandertrick,he’sreadytofighthiswayout.IassumethekingoftheLakelandshasanotherarmywaiting,inhisowntrenchesontheotherside.MoreRedsoldierstodiscard.

Asthetiresofourtransporthittheotherside,Clovertightensnexttome.She keeps her electric-green eyes forward, trying to stay calm.A sheen ofsweatgleamsonherforehead,betrayingherfear.

ThetruewastelandoftheChokeispockedwithcratersfromtwoarmies’worthofartillery fire.Someof theholesmustbedecadesold.Barbedwiretangles in the frozen mud. Up ahead, on the lead transport, a telky and amagnetronworkintandem.Theysweeptheirarmsbackandforth,wrenching

anydebrisfromthepathoftheconvoy.Bitsofcoiledirongospinningoffinevery direction. And, I assume, bones. Reds have been dying here forgenerations.Thedirtislitteredwiththeirdust.

Inmynightmares,thisplacestretchesonforever,ineverydirection.Butinstead of continuing forward into oblivion, the convoy slows a littlemorethan a halfmile beyond the frontline trenches.As our transports circle andweave,arrangingthemselvesinahalf-moonarc,Ialmosteruptwithnervouslaughter. Of all things, in all places—we’re stopping at a pavilion. Thecontrast is jarring. It’s brand-new, with white columns and silky curtainsswayinginthepoisonedwind.Constructedforonepurposeandonepurposealone. A summit, a meeting, like the one so long ago. When two kingsdecidedtobeginacenturyofwar.

A Sentinel wrenches open my transport door, beckoning for us to stepdown.CloverhesitatesahalfsecondandKittenclearsherthroat,urgingheron. Imove between them, escorted down onto the obliterated earth. Rocksand dirt make the ground uneven under my feet. I pray nothing splintersbeneathme.Askull,arib,afemur,oraspine.Idon’tneedmoreproofthatI’mwalkingthroughanendlessgraveyard.

Clover is not the only one afraid. Even the Sentinels move slowly, onedge, theirmasked faces sweeping back and forth. For once, they think oftheirownsafetyaswell asMaven’s.And the restof the remainingcourt—Evangeline,Ptolemus,Samson—theyidlebytheirtransports.Theireyesdart;theirnoseswrinkle.Theycansmelldeathanddangeraswellas Ican.Onewrongmove,onehintofathreat,andthey’llbolt.Evangelinehasdiscardedher furs for armor. Steel coats her fromneck towrist and toe. She quicklyfreesherfingersfromherleathergloves,baringherskintothecoldair.Betterforafight.Ifeel theitchtodothesame,notthat itwillhelpmeatall.Themanaclesarestrongasever.

The only one who seems unaffected is Maven. The dying winter suitshim,makinghispaleskinstandoutinawaythatisoddlyelegant.Eventheshadows around his eyes, dark as always, black and bruise-like,make himtragicallybeautiful.Todayhewearsasmuchregaliaashedares.Aboyking,but a king all the same, about to look into the eyes of someone who issupposedlyhisgreatestopponent.Thecrownonhisheadseemsnaturalnow,refittedtositlowacrosshisbrow.Itspitsbronzeandironflamesthroughhisglossyblackhair.EveninthegraylightoftheChoke,hismedalsandbadgesgleam,silverandrubyandonyx.Acape,patternedwithbrocaderedasflame,completes the ensemble and the image of a fiery king. But the Choke

consumesusall.Dirtspeckleshispolishedblackbootsashewalksforward,fightingthedeepinstincttofearthisplace.Impatient,hecastsonelookoverhis shoulder, eyeing the dozens he dragged here. His fire-blue eyes arewarningenough.Wemustgowithhim.Iamnotafraidofdeath,andsoIamthefirsttofollowhimintowhatcouldbeagrave.

ThekingoftheLakelandsisalreadywaiting.

Hesprawlsinasimplechair,asmallmanagainstthemassiveflaghungbehindhim.Itiscobalt,workedwithafour-petaledflowerinsilverandwhite.Hismilky-bluemetal transports splay out on the other side of the pavilion,arrangedinmirrorimagetoourown.Icountmorethanadozenataglance,all of them crawlingwith the Lakelander version of Sentinel guards.MoreflanktheLakelandkingandhisentourage.Theydon’twearmasksorrobes,buttacticalarmorinflashingplatesofdeepsapphire.Theystand,silent,stoic,withfaceslikecarvedstone.Eachoneawarriortrainedfrombirthorclosetoit. I know none of their abilities, nor those of the king’s companions. Thecourt of theLakelands is not something I studied inmy lessonswithLadyBlonoscenturiesago.

Asweapproach,thekingcomesintobetterfocus.Istareathim,tryingtoseethemanbeneaththecrownofwhitegold,topaz,turquoise,anddarklapislazuli.ForasmuchasMavenfavorsredandblack,thiskingfavorshisblue.Afterall,heisanymph,amanipulatorofwater.It’sfitting.Iexpecthiseyestobeblueaswell—instead,theyarestormgray,matchingthehardironofhislong, straighthair. I findmyselfcomparinghim toMaven’s father, theonlyotherking I’veeverknown.Hestands instarkcontrast.WhereTiberias theSixth was hefty, bearded, his face and body bloated by alcohol, theLakelander king is slight, clean-shaven, and clear-eyed with dark skin. AswithallSilvers,agray-blueundertonecoolshiscomplexion.Whenhestands,he is graceful, his sweeping movements akin to a dancer’s. He wears noarmorordressuniform.Only robesof shimmering silver andcobalt, brightandforebodingashisflag.

“KingMaven of House Calore,” he says, inclining his head just so asMavenstepsontothepavilion.Blacksilkslithersoverwhitemarble.

“KingOrrecofHouseCygnet,”Mavenrespondsinkind.Heiscarefultobowlowerthanhisopponent,withasmilefixedfirmlyuponhislips.“Ifonlymyfatherwereheretoseethis.”

“Your mother too,” Orrec says. No bite to the words, but Mavenstraightens up quickly, as if suddenly presented with a threat. “My

condolences.Youarefar tooyoungtoexperiencesomuchloss.”Hehasanaccent, his words finding a strange melody. His eyes twitch overMaven’sshoulder,pastme,toSamsonfollowingusinhisMerandusblues.“Youwereinformedofmy…requests?”

“Ofcourse.”Mavenjutsachinoverhisshoulder.Heglancesatmeforasecond;then,likeOrrec’s,hisgazeslidestoSamson.“Cousin,ifyouwouldnotmindwaitinginyourtransport.”

“Cousin—”Samson sayswith asmuchopposition as he dares. Still, hestops in his tracks, feet planted several yards from the pavilion platform.There isnoargument tomake,nothere.KingOrrec’sguards tighten,handsmoving to their array of weapons. Guns, swords, the very air around us.Anything theymight call upon to keep awhisper fromgetting too close totheirkingandhismind.IfonlythecourtofNortawerethesame.

Finally,Samsonrelents.Hebowslow,armssweepingoutathissides insharp,practicedmovements.“Yes,YourMajesty.”

Onlywhen he turns around,walks back to the vehicles, and disappearsfrom sight do the Lakelander guards relax. AndKingOrrec smiles tightly,wavingMavenforwardtofacehim.Likeachildinvitedtobeg.

Instead,Maven turns to the seat set opposite. It isn’t Silent Stone, isn’tsafe, but he settles into itwithout a blink of hesitation.He leans back andcrosseshislegs,lettinghiscapedrapeoveronearmwhiletheotherliesfree.Hishanddangles—withhisflamemakerbraceletclearlyvisible.

Therestofuscongregatearoundhim,takingseatstomatchthecourtoftheLakelandsnowfacingus.EvangelineandPtolemustakeMaven’sright,asdoestheirfather.Whenhejoinedourconvoy,Idon’tknow.GovernorWelleisheretoo,hisgreenrobessicklyagainstthegrayoftheChoke.Theabsenceof Houses Iral, Laris, and Haven seems glaring to my eye, their ranksreplacedbyotheradvisers.MyfourArvenguardsflankmeasIsit,socloseIcan hear them breathing. I focus instead on the people in front ofme, theLakelanders.Theking’sclosestadvisers,confidants,diplomats,andgenerals.Peopletobefearedalmostasmuchasthekinghimself.Nointroductionsaremade,butIquicklyrealizewhoismostimportantamongthem.Shesitsattheking’sright-handside,theplaceEvangelinecurrentlyoccupies.

Avery youngqueen,maybe?No, the family resemblance is too strong.ShehastobetheprincessoftheLakelands,witheyeslikeherfather’sandherowncrownofflawlessbluegems.Herstraightblackhairgleams,beadedwithpearlandsapphire.AsIstare,shefeelsmyeyes—andshestaresrightback.

Maven speaks first, breaking my observations. “For the first time in acentury,wefindourselvesinagreement.”

“That we do.” Orrec nods. His jeweled brow flashes in the weakeningsunlight.“TheScarletGuardandall its ilkmustbeeradicated.Quickly, lesttheirdiseasespreadfurtherthanitalreadyhas.LestRedsinotherregionsbeseducedbytheirfalsepromises.IhearrumorsoftroubleinPiedmont?”

“Rumors, yes.” My black-hearted king concedes nothing more than hewants to. “You know how the princes can be. Always arguing amongthemselves.”

Orrecalmostsmirks.“Indeed.ThePrairielordsarequitethesame.”

“Inregardtotheterms—”

“Not so fast,my young friend. I should like to know the state of yourhousebeforeIwalkthroughthedoor.”

EvenfrommyseatIcanfeelMaventighten.“Askwhatyouwish.”

“HouseIral?HouseLaris?HouseHaven?”Orrec’seyessweepdownourline,missingnothing.Hisgazeskirtsoverme,falteringforhalfasecond.“Iseenoneofthemhere.”

“So?”

“Sothereportsaretrue.Theyhaverebelledagainsttheirrightfulking.”

“Yes.”

“Insupportofanexile.”

“Yes.”

“Andwhatofyourarmyofnewbloods?”

“Itgrowswitheverypassingday,”Mavensays.“Anotherweaponweallmustlearntowield.”

“Likeher.”ThekingoftheLakelandstipshisheadinmydirection.“Thelightninggirlisamightytrophy.”

Myfistsclenchonmyknees.Ofcourse,he’sright.I’mlittlemorethanatrophyforMaventodragaround,usingmyfaceandmyforcedwordstodrawmoretohisside.Idon’tflush,though.I’vehadalongtimetogetusedtomyshame.

IfMavenlooksmyway,Idon’tknow.Iwon’tlookathim.

“A trophy, yes, and a symbol too,”Maven says. “The Scarlet Guard isfleshandblood,notghosts.Fleshandbloodcanbecontrolled,defeated,anddestroyed.”

The king clucks his tongue, as if in pity. Quickly, he stands, his robesswirlingaroundhimlikeatossingriver.Mavenstandstoo,andmeetshiminthecenterofthepavilion.Theysizeeachotherup,onedevouringtheother.Neitherwants tobe thefirst tobreak. I feel theveryairaroundme tighten:hot, then cold, then dry, then clammy. The will of two Silver kings ragesaroundusall.

I don’t know what Orrec sees in Maven, but suddenly he relents andextendsonedarkhand.Ringsofstatewinkonallhisfingers.“Well,they’llbedealt with soon enough. Your rebel Silvers too. Three houses against themightoftwokingdomsisnothingatall.”

Withadipofhishead,Mavenreturnsthegesture.HegripsOrrec’shandinhis.

Dimly,IwonderhowthehellMareBarrowoftheStiltsendeduphere.Afewfeetfromtwokings,watchingonemorepieceofourbloodyhistorylockintoplace.JulianwilllosehismindwhenItellhim.When.BecauseIwillseehimagain.Seethemallagain.

“Nowfortheterms,”Orrecpusheson.AndIrealizehehasnotletgoofMaven’sfingers.SodotheSentinels.Theytakeonemenacingstepforwardintandem,theirrobesofflamehidinganynumberofweapons.Ontheothersideoftheplatform,theLakelanderguardsdothesame.Eachsidedaringtheothertotakethestepthatwillendinbloodshed.

Mavendoesn’ttrytowrenchaway,orpushcloser.Hemerelystandsfirm,unmoved,unafraid.“Thetermsaresound,”hereplies,hisvoiceeven.Ican’tsee his face. “The Choke divided evenly, the old borders maintained andopened for travel. You’ll have equal use of the Capital River and the ErisCanal—”

“Whileyourbrotherlives,Ineedguarantees.”

“Mybrotherisatraitor,anexile.Hewillbedeadsoonenough.”

“That’s my point, boy. As soon as he is gone, as soon as we tear theScarlet Guard limb from limb—will you return to the old ways? The oldenemies?Willyou findyourselfonceagaindrowning inRedbodies and inneedofsomewheretothrowthem?”Orrec’sfacedarkens,flushinggrayandpurple.Hiscold,detachedmannerfadesintoanger.“Populationcontrolisone

matter,butthewar,theendlesspushandpull,itislittlemorethanmadness.IwillnotspillonemoredropofSilverbloodbecauseyoucan’tcommandyourRedrats.”

Maven leans forward, matching Orrec’s intensity. “Our treaty will besignedhere,broadcastacrosseverycity, toeveryman,woman,andchildofmykingdom.Everyonewillknowthiswarhasended.EveryoneinNorta,atleast.Iknowyoudon’thavethesamecapabilitiesintheLakelands,oldman.ButItrustyou’lldoyourbesttoinformasmuchofyourbackwaterkingdomaspossible.”

Ashuddergoesthroughusall.FearintheSilvers,butexcitementinme.Destroyeachother,Iwhisperinmyhead.Turneachotherinsideout.Ihaveno doubt a nymph kingwould have little issue drowningMavenwhere hestands.

Orrecbareshisteeth.“Youdon’tknowanythingaboutmycountry.”

“IknowtheScarletGuardbeganinyourhouse,notmine,”Mavenspitsback. With his free hand he gestures, telling his Sentinels to back down.Foolish,posturingboy.Ihopeitgetshimkilled.“Don’tactlikeyou’redoingmeafavor.Youneedthisasmuchaswedo.”

“ThenIwantyourword,MavenCalore.”

“Youhaveit—”

“Yourwordandyourhand.Thestrongestbondyoucanmake.”

Oh.

MyeyesflyfromMaven,lockedinagripwiththekingoftheLakelands,to Evangeline. She sits still, as if frozen, her gaze on themarble floor andnowhereelse. I expecther to standupand scream, to turn thisplace into awreck of shrapnel. But she doesn’t move. Even Ptolemus, her lapdog of abrother,staysfirmlyinhisseat.AndtheirfatherinhisSamosblacksbroodsasalways.NochangeinhimthatIcansee.NoindicationthatEvangelineisabouttolosethepositionshefoughtsohardtoobtain.

Acrossthepavilion,theLakelanderprincessseemshewnfromstone.Shedoesn’tevenblink.Sheknewthiswascoming.

Once,whenMaven’s father toldhimhewas tomarryme,hechoked insurprise.Heputonagoodshow,blusteringandarguing.Hepretendednottoknowwhat thatproposalwasabout,what itmeant.Likeme,hehaswornathousandmasks and played amillion different parts. Today he performs as

king,andkingsareneversurprised,nevercaughtoffguard.Ifheisshocked,hedoesn’tshowit.Ihearnothingbutsteelinhisvoice.

“Itwouldbeanhonortocallyoufather,”hesays.

Finally,OrrecletsgoofMaven’shand.“Andanhonortocallyouson.”

Bothcouldnotbemorefalse.

Tomyright,someone’schairscrapesagainstmarble.Followedquicklybytwo more. In a flurry of metal and black, House Samos hurries from thepavilion. Evangeline leads her brother and father, never looking back, herhands open at her sides. Her shoulders drop and her meticulously straightpostureseemslessenedsomehow.

Sheisrelieved.

Mavendoesn’twatchhergo,whollyfocusedonthetaskathand.ThetaskbeingtheLakelanderprincess.

“Mylady,”hesays,bowinginherdirection.

Shemerelyinclinesherhead,neverbreakinghersteelygaze.

“Intheeyesofmynoblecourt, Iwouldaskforyourhandinmarriage.”I’ve heard these words before. From the same boy. Spoken in front of acrowd,eachwordsoundinglikealocktwistingshut.“Ipledgemyselftoyou,IrisCygnet,princessoftheLakelands.Willyouaccept?”

Irisisbeautiful,moregracefulthanherfather.Notadancer,though,butahunter.Shestandsonlonglimbs,unfoldingherselffromherseatinacascadeof soft sapphirevelvet and full, femininecurves. I glimpse leather leggingsbetweentheslashesofhergown.Well-worn,crackedattheknees.Shedidnotcome here unprepared. And like so many here, she doesn’t wear gloves,despite the cold. The hand she extends to Maven is amber-skinned, long-fingered,unadorned.Still,hereyesdonotwaver,evenasamistformsfromthe air, swirling around her outstretched hand. It glimmers beforemy eyes,tinydropletsofmoisturecondensingtolife.Theybecometiny,crystalbeadsofwater,eachoneapinprickofrefractinglightastheytwistandmove.

Her first words are in a language I do not know. Lakelander. It isheartbreakinglybeautiful,onewordflowingintothenextlikeaspokensong,likewater.Then,inaccentedNortan—

“Iputmyhandinyours,andpledgemylife toyours,”shereplies,afterherowntraditionsandthecustomsofherkingdom.“Iaccept,YourMajesty.”

Heputshisbarehandouttotakehers,thebraceletathiswristsparkingas

hemoves.A current of fire hits the air, snakelike and curling around theirjoinedfingers.Itdoesnotburnher,thoughitcertainlypassescloseenoughtotry.Irisneverflinches.Neverblinks.

Andsoonewarisended.

SEVENTEENMare

It takesmany days to return to Archeon. Not because of the distance. NotbecausethekingoftheLakelandsbroughtnolessthanonethousandpeoplewithhim,courtiersandsoldiersandevenRedservants.ButbecausetheentirekingdomofNortasuddenlyhassomethingtocelebrate.Theendofawar,andan upcomingwedding.Maven’s now-endless convoy snakes down the IronRoadandthentheRoyalRoadatacrawl.SilversandRedsaliketurnouttocheer,beggingforaglimpseoftheirking.Mavenalwaysobliges,stoppingtomeet crowds with Iris at his side. Despite the deeply bred hatred for theLakelands we are supposed to have, Nortans bow before her. She is acuriosity and a blessing. A bridge. Even King Orrec receives lukewarmwelcomes.Politeclapping,respectfulbows.Anoldenemyturnedintoanallyforthelongroadahead.

That’s whatMaven says at every turn. “Norta and the Lakelands standunited now, bound together for the long road ahead. Against all dangersthreateningourkingdoms.”HemeanstheScarletGuard.HemeansCorvium.He means Cal, the rebelling houses, anything and everything that mightthreatenhistenuousgriponpower.

Thereisnoonealivetorememberthedaysbeforewar.Mycountrydoesnot knowwhat peace looks like.Nowonder theymistake this for peace. Iwant to scream at everyRed face I pass. Iwant to carve thewords onmybodysoeveryonehastosee.Trap.Lie.Conspiracy.Notthatmywordsmeananythinganymore.I’vebeensomeoneelse’spuppetfortoolong.Myvoiceisnot my own. Only my actions are, and those are severely limited bycircumstances.IwoulddespairofmyselfifIcould,butmydaysofwallowingarelongbehindme.Theyhavetobe.OrelseIwillsimplydrown,ahollowdolldraggedbehindachild,emptyineveryinch.

Iwillescape.Iwillescape.Iwillescape.Idon’tdarewhisperthewordsaloud. They run through my mind instead, their rhythm in time with myheartbeat.

No one speaks to me during our journey. Not evenMaven. He’s busyfeelingouthisnewbetrothed.Igetthesensesheknowswhatkindofperson

heis,andispreparedforhim.Aswithherfather,Ihopetheykilleachother.

The tall spires of Archeon are familiar, but not a comfort. The convoyrollsbackintothejawsofacageIknowalltoowell.Throughthecity,upthesteeproads to thepalatialcompoundofCaesar’sSquareandWhitefire.Thesunisdeceptivelybrightagainstaclearbluesky.It’salmostspring.Strange.Partofme thoughtwinterwould last forever,mirroringmyimprisonment. Idon’tknowifIcanstomachwatchingtheseasonsturnfrominsidemyroyalcell.

Iwillescape.Iwillescape.Iwillescape.

EggandTrioallbutpassmebetweeneachother,pullingmedownfromthetransportandmarchingmeupthestepsofWhitefire.Theairiswarm,wet,smellingfreshandclean.AfewmoreminutesinthesunlightandImightstartsweatingbeneathmyscarlet-and-silverjacket.ButI’minsidethepalaceagaininafewseconds,walkingbeneathaking’sransomofchandeliers.Theydon’tbothermesomuch,notaftermyfirstandonlyescapeattempt.Infact, theyalmostmakemesmile.

“Happytobehome?”

I’m equally startled by someone speaking tome and by exactlywho isspeakingtome.

Iresistthedeepurgetobow,keepingmyspinestraightasIstoptofaceher.TheArvenshaltaswell,closeenoughtograbmeiftheyhaveto.Ifeelarippleoftheirabilitydrainingbitsofmyenergy.Herownguardsarejustasonedge, their attentionson thehall aroundus. I suppose they still thinkofArcheonandNortaasenemyterritory.

“Princess,” I reply. The title tastes sour, but I don’t see much use indirectlyantagonizingyetanotheroneofMaven’sbetrotheds.

Her traveling outfit is deceptively plain. Just leggings and a dark bluejacket,cinchedatthewaisttobettershowherhourglassfigure.Nojewelry,nocrown.Her hair is simple, pulled back into a single black braid. She couldpass for a normal Silver. Wealthy, but not royal. Even her face remainsneutral.Nosmile,nosneer.Nojudgmentof the lightninggirl inherchains.Compared to the nobles I’ve known, itmakes for a jarring contrast and aninconvenient one. I know nothing about her. For all I know, she could beworsethanEvangeline.OrevenElara.Ihavenoideawhothisyoungwomanis,orwhatshethinksofme.Itmakesmeuneasy.

AndIriscantell.

“No,Iwouldthinknot,”shepusheson.“Walkwithme?”

Sheputsoutahand,crookingitininvitation.Thereisadecentchancemyeyes bug out of my head. But I do as she asks. She sets a quick but notimpossiblepace,forcingbothsetsofguardstofollowusthroughtheentrancehall.

“Despite the name,Whitefire seems a cold place.” Iris looks up at theceiling.Thechandeliersreflectinhergrayeyes,makingthemstarry.“Iwouldnotwanttobeimprisonedhere.”

Iscoffdeepinmythroat.ThepoorfoolisabouttobeMaven’squeen.Icanthinkofnoworseprisonthanthat.

“Somethingfunny,MareBarrow?”shepurrs.

“Nothing,YourHighness.”

Her eyes rove over me. They linger on my wrists, at the long sleeveshidingmymanacles.Slowly,shetouchesoneanddrawsinabreath.DespitetheSilentStone and the instinctive fear it inspires, she doesn’t flinch. “Myfatherkeepspetsaswell.Perhapsit’ssomethingkingsdo.”

Months ago, I would have snapped at her. I’m not a pet. But she isn’twrong.Instead,Ishrug.“Ihaven’tmetenoughkingstoknow.”

“ThreekingsforaRedgirlborntopoornothings.Onemustwonderifthegodsloveorhateyou.”

Idon’tknowwhethertolaughorsneer.“Therearenogods.”

“NotinNorta.Notforyou.”Herexpressionsoftens.Sheglancesoverhershoulder, at the many courtiers and nobles as they mill about. Most don’tbothertohidetheirogling.Ifitannoysher,shedoesn’tshowit.“Iwonderiftheycanhearmeinagodlessplacelikethis.Thereisn’tevenatemple.ImustaskMaventobuildmeone.”

Manystrangepeoplehavepassed throughmy life.Butallof themhavepiecesIcanunderstand.EmotionsIknow,dreams,fears. IblinkatPrincessIris and realize that themore she speaks, themore confusing she becomes.Sheseemsintelligent,strong,self-assured,butwhywouldapersonlikethatagreetomarrysuchanobviousmonster?Certainlysheseeshimforwhatheis.Anditcan’tbeblindambitiondrivingherhere.She’saprincessalready,daughterofaking.Whatdoesshewant?Ordidsheevenhaveachoice?Hertalkofgodsisevenmoreconfusing.Wehavenosuchbeliefs.Howcanwe?

“Areyoumemorizingmyface?”sheasksquietlyasItrytoreadher.Iget

thesensesheisdoingthesame,observingmelikeI’macomplicatedpieceofart.“Orsimplytryingtostealafewmoremomentsoutsidealockedroom?Ifthelatter,Idonotblameyou.Iftheformer,Ihaveafeelingyou’llbeseeingagreatdealofme,andIofyou.”

Fromanyoneelse,itmightsoundlikeathreat.ButIdon’tthinkIriscaresenough aboutme for that.At least she doesn’t seem the jealous type. ThatwouldrequirehertohaveanysortoffeelingforMaven,somethingIsorelydoubt.

“Takemetothethroneroom.”

Mylipstwitch,wantingtosmile.Usuallythepeopleheremakerequeststhataretrulyironcommands.Irisistheopposite.Hercommandsoundslikeaquestion.“Fine,”Imutter,lettingmyfeetguideus.TheArvensdon’tdaretrytopullmeaway.IrisCygnetisnotEvangelineSamos.Crossinghercouldbeconsideredanactofwar.Ican’thelpsmirkingovermyshoulderatTrioandEgg.Bothglowerback.Theirirritationmakesmegrin,eventhroughtheitchofmyscars.

“Youareanoddsortofprisoner,MissBarrow.Ididnotrealizethat,whileMavenpaintsyouasaladyinhisbroadcasts,herequiresyoutobeoneatalltimes.”

Lady.Thetitlenevertrulyappliedtome,andneverwill.“I’mjustawell-dressedandtightlyleashedlapdog.”

“What a peculiar king to keep you as he does.You’re an enemyof thestate, avaluablepieceofpropaganda, and somehow treatedasnear royalty.Butthenboysaresostrangewiththeirtoys.Especiallythoseaccustomed tolosingthings.Theyholdonmoretightlythantherest.”

“Andwhatwouldyoudowithme?”Ianswerback.Asqueen,Iriscouldholdmy life inherhands.Shecouldend it,ormake itevenworse.“Ifyouwereinhisposition?”

Irisdodgesthequestionartfully.“Iwon’tevermakethemistakeoftryingto putmyself in his head. That is not a place any sane person should be.”Thenshelaughstoherself.“Iassumehismotherspentagoodamountoftimethere.”

ForasmuchasElarahatedmeandmyexistence,IthinkshewouldhateIrismore.Theyoungprincess is formidable to say the least. “You’re luckyyouneverhadtomeether.”

“AndIthankyouforthat,”Irisreplies.“ThoughIhopeyoudon’tkeepup

the tradition of killing queens. Even lapdogs bite.” She blinks at me, grayeyespiercing.“Willyou?”

I’mnotstupidenoughtorespond.Nowouldbeanakedlie.Yescouldlandmeyetanotherroyalenemy.Shesmirksatmysilence.

It’snotalongwalktothegrandchamberwhereMavenholdscourt.Aftersomanydaysbeforethebroadcastcameras,forcedtostomachnewbloodafternewbloodpledgingtheirloyaltytohim,Iknowitintimately.Usuallythedaisiscrowdedwithseats,butthey’vebeenremovedinourabsence,leavingonlythegray,forbiddingthrone.Irisglaresatitasweapproach.

“An interesting tactic,” she mutters when we reach it. As with mymanacles,sherunsafingerdowntheblocksofSilentStone.“Necessarytoo.Withsomanywhispersallowedatcourt.”

“Allowed?”

“Theyarenotwelcome in thecourtof theLakelands.Theycannotpassthroughthewallsofourcapital,Detraon,orenterthepalacewithoutproperescorts.Andnowhisperispermittedwithintwentyfeetofthemonarch,”Irisexplains.“Infact,Iknowofnonoblefamilieswhocanclaimsuchanabilityinmycountry.”

“Theydon’texist?”

“NotwhereIcomefrom.Notanymore.”

Theimplicationhangsintheairlikesmoke.

She pulls away from the throne, tipping her head back and forth. Shedoesn’t likewhatever she sees.Her lips purse into a thin line. “HowmanytimeshaveyoufeltthetouchofaMerandusinyourhead?”

Forasplitsecond,Itrytoremember.Stupid.“Toomanytimestocount,”Itellherwithashrug.“FirstElara,thenSamson.Ican’tdecidewhowasworse.I know now that the queen could look into my mind without me evenknowing.Buthe…”Myvoicefalters.Thememoryisapainfulone,drawingout a drilling pressure at my temples. I try to massage away the ache.“Samson,youfeeleverysecondhe’sinthere.”

Her facegrays.“Somanyeyes in thisplace,” shesays,glancing firstatmyguardsandthenatthewalls.Atthesecuritycameraslookingovereveryinchoftheopenchamber,watchingus.“Theyarewelcometowatch.”

Slowly, she removes her jacket and folds it over her arm. The shirtbeneathiswhite,fastenedhighatherthroat,butbackless.Sheturns,underthe

guiseof examining the throne room.Really, she’s showingoff.Herback ismuscular, powerful, carved of long lines. Black tattoos cover her from thebaseofherscalp,downherneck,acrosshershoulderblades,alltothebaseofher spine.Roots, I think first. I’m wrong. Not roots, but whorls of water,curlingandspillingoverherskininperfectlines.Theyrippleasshemoves,alivingthing.Finallysherovesbacktofaceme.Thesmallestsmirkplaysonherlips.

Itdisappearsinaninstantashergazeshiftspastme.Idon’thavetoturnaround toknowwhoapproaches,who leads themany footstepsechoingoffthemarbleandintomyskull.

“Iwouldbehappytogiveyouatour,Iris,”Mavensays.“Yourfather issettling into his apartments, but I’m sure hewon’tmind ifwe get to knoweachotherbetter.”

The Arvens and Lakelander guards drop back, giving the king and hisSentinels space. Blue uniforms, white, red-orange. Their silhouettes andcolorsaresoingrainedinmeIknowthemoutofthecornerofmyeye.Nonesomuchasthepaleyoungking.IfeelhimasmuchasIseehim,hiscloyingwarmththreateningtoengulfme.Hestopsafewinchesfrommyside,closeenoughtotakemebythehandifhewantsto.Ishudderatthethought.

“Iwouldlikethatverymuch,”Irisreplies.Shedipsherheadinanoddlystiltedmanner.Bowingdoesnotcomeeasilytoher.“IwasjustremarkingtoMissBarrowaboutyour”—shesearchesfortherightword,glancingbackatthestarkthrone—“decorations.”

Maven offers a tight smile. “A precaution.My fatherwas assassinated,andattemptshavebeenmadeonmeaswell.”

“Could a chair of Silent Stone have saved your father?” she asksinnocently.

Acurrentofheatpulsesthroughtheair.LikeIris,Ifeeltheneedtoshedmyjackettoo,lestMaven’stempersweatmeoutofit.

“No,mybrotherdecidedthatcuttinghisheadoffwashisbestoption,”hesaysbluntly.“Notmuchdefenseagainstthat.”

Ithappenedinthisverypalace.Afewpassagesandroomsaway,upsomestairstoaplacewithnowindowsandsoundproofedwalls.Whentheguardsdraggedmethere,Iwasinadaze,terrifiedthatMavenandIwereabouttobeexecutedfortreason.Instead,thekingendedupintwopieces.Hishead,hisbody,arushofsilversplatteredinbetween.Instead,Maventookthecrown.

Myfistsclenchatthememory.

“Howhorrible,”Irismurmurs.Ifeelhereyesonme.

“Yes,wasn’tit,Mare?”

Hissuddenhandonmyarmburnslikehisbrand.Mycontrolthreatenstosnap,andIglareathimsidelong.“Yes,”Iforceout throughclenchedteeth.“Horrible.”

Mavennodsinagreement,clenchinghisjawtomakethebonesofhisfacetighten. I can’t believe he has the gall to lookmorose. To seem sad.He isneither.Hecan’tbe.Hismother tookaway thepiecesofhimthat lovedhisbrotherandfather.Iwishshe’dtakenthepartthatlovesme.Instead,itfesters,poisoningusbothwithitscorruption.Blackroteatsathisbrainandatanybitof him that might be human. He knows it too. Knows there’s somethingwrong,somethinghecannotfixwithabilityorpower.Heisbroken,andthereisnohealeronthisearthwhocanmakehimwhole.

“Well, before I take you through my home, there’s someone else whowouldliketomeetmyfuturebride.SentinelNornus,ifyouwould?”Mavengesturesoverhissoldier.Athiscommand,theSentinelinquestionblursintoablazeofredandorange,racingtotheentranceandbackagaininablisteringsecond.Aswift.Inhisrobes,heseemsafireball.

Figuresfollowinhiswake,theirhousecolorsfamiliar.

“Princess Iris, this is the ruling lord of House Samos, and his family,”Mavensays,wavingahandbetweenhisnewbetrothedandtheoldone.

Evangeline stands out in sharp contrast to the simply clothed Iris. Iwonderhowlongittookhertocreatethemolten,metalliquidhuggingeverycurveofherbodylikeglisteningtar.Nomorecrownsandtiarasforher,buther jewelrymore thanmakesup for it.Shewears silverchainsatherneck,wrists, and ears, fine as thread and studded with diamonds. Her brother’sappearance is different too, absent his usual armor or fur. His ripplingsilhouetteisstillthreateningenough,butPtolemuslooksmorelikehisfathernow, in flawless black velvet with a sparkling silver chain. Volo leads hischildren,withsomeoneIdon’trecognizeathisside.ButIcancertainlyguesswhosheis.

In that instant, I understand a bitmore of Evangeline. Hermother is afrightful sight.Notbecause she’sugly.On thecontrary, theolderwoman isseverelybeautiful.ShegaveEvangelineherangularblackeyesandflawlessporcelain skin, but not her slick, straight raven hair and dainty figure.This

womanlookslikeIcouldsnapherintwo,manaclesandall.Probablypartofher facade. She wears her own house colors, black and emerald green,alongsideSamossilvertodenoteherallegiances.Viper.LadyBlonos’svoicesneers in my head. Black and green are the colors of House Viper.Evangeline’smother isananimos.Asshegetscloser,hershimmeringdresscomes into better focus. And I realize why Evangeline is so insistent onwearingherability.It’safamilytradition.

Hermotherisn’twearingjewelry.She’swearingsnakes.

On her wrists, around her neck. Thin, black, and moving slowly, theirscalesgleaminglikespilledoil.Equalpartsfearanddisgustjoltthroughme.SuddenlyIwanttosprinttomyroom,lockthedoor,andputasmuchdistanceasIcanbetweenmyselfandthewrigglingcreatures.Instead,theygetcloserwithhereveryfootstep.AndIthoughtEvangelinewasbad.

“LordVolo;hiswife,LarentiaofHouseViper; their son,Ptolemus; andtheir daughter, Evangeline. Well-regarded and valuable members of mycourt,”Mavenexplains,gesturingtoeachinturn.Hesmilesopenly,showingteeth.

“I’m sorry we were not able to properly meet you sooner.” Volo stepsforward to take Iris’s outstretched hand. With his silver beard freshlytrimmed, it’s easy to see the resemblance between him and his children.Strong bones, elegant lines, long noses, and lips permanently curled into asneer. His skin looks paler against Iris’s as he brushes a kiss to her bareknuckles.“Wewerecalledawaytoattendmattersinourownlands.”

Irisdipsherbrow.Apictureofgracenow.“Noapology is required,mylord.”

Overtheirclaspedhands,Mavencatchesmyeye.Hequirksaneyebrowin amusement. If I could, I would ask himwhat he promised—orwhat hethreatenedHouseSamoswith.TwoCalorekingshaveslipped through theirfingers. So much scheming and plotting, for nothing. I know Evangelinedidn’t loveMaven,oreven likehim,but shewas raised tobeaqueen.Herpurposewasstolentwice.Shefailedherselfand,worse,failedherhouse.Atleastnowshehassomeoneotherthanmetoblame.

Evangelineglancesinmydirection,herlashesdarkandlong.Theyflutterforamomentashereyeswaver,tickingbackandforthlikethependulumofanoldclock.ItakeasmallstepawayfromIristoputsomedistancebetweenus.NowthattheSamosdaughterhasanewrivaltohate,Idon’twanttogiveherthewrongimpression.

“Andyouwerebetrothedtotheking?”IrispullsherhandbackfromVoloandknitsherfingerstogether.Evangeline’seyesmoveawayfrommetofacethe princess. For once, I see her on an even fieldwith an equal opponent.Maybe I’llget luckyandEvangelinewillmisstep, threaten Iris thewaysheusedtothreatenme.IhaveafeelingIriswon’ttolerateawordofit.

“Foratime,yes,”Evangelinesays.“Andhisbrotherbeforehim.”

Theprincessisnotsurprised.IassumetheLakelandsarewellinformedoftheNortanroyals.“Well,I’mgladyou’vereturnedtocourt.Wewillrequireagoodamountofhelpinorganizingourwedding.”

Ibitemy lip sohard Ialmostdrawblood.Better that than laughingoutloudasIrispourssaltintosomanySamoswounds.Acrossfromme,Maventurnshisheadtohideasneer.

Oneofthesnakeshisses,alow,droningsoundimpossibletomistake.ButLarentiaquicklycurtsies,sweepingoutthefabricofhershimmeringgown.

“We are at your disposal,YourHighness,” she says.Her voice is deep,richassyrup.Aswewatch, the thickestsnake,aroundherneck,nuzzlesuppast her ear and into her hair.Revolting. “Itwould be an honor to aid youhowever we can.” I half expect her to elbow Evangeline into agreeing.Instead,theViperwomanturnsherattentiononme,soquicklyIdon’thavetimetolookaway.“Isthereareasontheprisonerisstaringatme?”

“None,”Irespond,teethclickingtogether.

Larentia takesmyeyecontactasachallenge.Likeananimal.Shestepsforward,closingthedistancebetweenus.We’rethesameheight.Thesnakeinherhaircontinueshissing,coilingandtwistingdownontohercollarbone.Itsjewel-brighteyesmeetmine,anditsforkedblacktonguelickstheair,dartingout between long fangs. Even though I stand my ground, I can’t help butswallowhard,mymouthsuddenlydry.Thesnakekeepswatchingme.

“Theysayyouaredifferent,”Larentiamutters.“ButyourfearsmellsthesameasthatofeveryvileRedratI’veeverhadthemisfortunetoknow.”

Redrat.Redrat.

I’veheardthatsomanytimes.Thoughtitaboutmyself.Fromherlips,itcrackssomethinginme.ThecontrolI’veworkedsohardtomaintain,thatImust keep if I want to stay alive, threatens to unravel. I take a draggingbreath,willingmyselftokeepstill.Hersnakescontinuehissing,curlingoverone another in black tangles of scale and spine. Some are long enough toreachmeifshewillsitso.

Mavensighslowinhisthroat.“Guards,Ithinkit’stimeMissBarrowwasreturnedtoherroom.”

IspinonmyheelbeforetheArvenscanjumptomyside,retreatingintothe so-called safety of their presence. Something about the snakes, I tellmyself. I couldn’t stand them. No wonder Evangeline is horrific, with amotherlikethattoraiseher.

As I flee back to my rooms, I’m seized by an unwelcome sensation.Relief.Gratitude.ToMaven.

I crush that vile burst of emotionwith all the rage I have.Maven is amonster. I feelnothingbuthatred towardhim.Icannotallowanythingelse,evenpity,tocreepin.

IMUSTESCAPE.

Twolongmonthspass.

Maven’sweddingwillbetentimestheproductionthatthePartingBall,oreven Queenstrial, was. Silver nobles flood back into the capital, bringingentourages with them from all corners of Norta. Even the ones the kingexiled.Maven feels safe enough in his new alliance to allow even smilingenemiesthroughhisdoor.Thoughmosthavecityhousesoftheirown,manytakeupresidenceinWhitefire,untilthepalaceitselfseemsreadytoburstattheseams.I’mkepttomyroommostly.Idon’tmind.It’sbetterthisway.Butevenfrommycell,Icanfeeltheimpendingstormofawedding.ThetangibleunionofNortaandtheLakelands.

Thecourtyardbelowmywindow, emptyallwinter long, flourishes in asuddenlywarmandgreenspring.Nobleswalkthroughthemagnoliatreesatalazy pace, some arm in arm. Always whispering, always scheming orgossiping.IwishIcouldreadlips.Imightlearnsomethingotherthanwhichhouses seem to congregate together, their colors brighter in the sunlight.Mavenwouldhavetobeafooltothinktheyaren’tplottingagainsthimorhisbride.Andheismanythings,butnotthat.

TheoldroutineIusedtopassmyfirstmonthofisolation—wake,eat,sit,scream,repeat—doesn’tserveanymore.Ihavemoreusefulwaystopassthetime.Therearenopensandpaper,andIdon’tbothertoask.Nouseleavingscraps.Instead,IstareatJulian’sbooks,idlyturningpages.SometimesIlatchon to jottednotes, annotations scrawled in Julian’shandwriting. Interesting;curious;corroboratewithvolumeIV.Idlewordswithlittlemeaning.Ibrushmyfingersalongthelettersanyway,feelingdryinkandthepressofalong-gonepen.EnoughofJuliantokeepmethinking,readingbetweenlinesonthe

pageandwordsspokenaloud.

He ruminatesononevolume inparticular, thinner than thehistoriesbutdenselypackedwith text.Itsspineisbadlybroken, thepagesclutteredwithJulian’swriting.Icanalmostfeelthewarmthofhishandsastheysmoothedthetatteredpages.

OnOrigins, thecoversays inembossedblack lettering, followedby thenamesofadozenSilverscholarswhowrotethemanyessaysandargumentswithinthesmallbook.Mostofitistoocomplexformyunderstanding,butIsiftthroughitanyway.IfonlyforJulian.

Hemarkedonepassageinparticular,dog-earingthepageandunderlininga fewsentences.Somethingaboutmutations,changes.The resultofancientweaponrywenolongerpossessandcannolongercreate.Oneofthescholarsbelieves it made Silvers. Others disagree. A few mention gods instead,perhapstheonesthatIrisfollows.

Julianmakeshisownpositionclearinnotesatthebottomofthepage.

Strange that so many thought themselves gods, or a god’s chosen, hewrote. Blessed by something greater. Elevated to what we are. When allevidencepoints to theopposite.Ourabilities came fromcorruption, fromascourgethatkilledmost.Wewerenotagod’schosen,butagod’scursed.

I blink at the words and wonder. If Silvers are cursed, then what arenewbloods?Worse?

OrisJulianwrong?Arewechosentoo?Andforwhat?

Menandwomenmuchsmarterthanmehavenoanswers,andneitherdoI.Nottomention,Ihavemorepressingthingstothinkabout.

IplanwhileIeatbreakfast,chewingslowlyasIrunthroughwhatIknow.Aroyalweddingwillbeorganizedchaos.Extrasecurity,moreguardsthanIcancount,butstillagoodenoughchance.Servantseverywhere,drunknobles,aforeignprincesstodistractthepeopleusuallyfocusedonme.I’dbestupidnottotrysomething.Calwouldbestupidnottotrysomething.

Iglareatthepagesinhand,atwhitepaperandblackink.NannytriedtosavemeandNannyendedupdead.Awasteoflife.AndIselfishlywantthemtotryagain.BecauseifIstayheremuchlonger,ifIhavetolivetherestofmylifeafewstepsbehindMaven,withhishauntingeyesandhismissingpiecesandhishatredforeveryoneinthisworld—

Hatredforeveryonebut—

“Stop,” I hiss to myself, fighting the urge to let in the silk monsterknockingatthewallsofmymind.“Stopit.”

Memorizationof the layoutofWhitefire is agooddistraction, theoneIusually rely on. Two lefts frommy door, through a gallery of statues, leftagain down a spiraling stair … I trace the way to the throne room, theentrance hall, the banquet hall, different studies and council chambers,Evangeline’s quarters, Maven’s old bedroom. Every step I’ve taken here Imemorize.ThebetterIknowthepalace,thebetterchanceIhaveofescapingwhen the opportunity arises. CertainlyMaven will marry Iris in the RoyalCourt,ifnotinCaesar’sSquareitself.Nowhereelsecanholdsomanyguestsandguards.Ican’tseethecourtfrommywindow,andI’veneverbeeninside,butI’llcrossthatbridgewhenIcometoit.

Maven hasn’t dragged me to his side since we returned. Good, I tellmyself.Anemptyroomanddaysofsilencearebetterthanhiscloyingwords.Still, I feel a tug of disappointment every night when I shutmy eyes. I’mlonely;I’mafraid;I’mselfish.IfeelemptiedoutbytheSilentStoneandthemonthsI’vespenthere,walkingtheedgeofanotherrazor.Itwouldbesoeasytoletthebrokenpiecesofmefallapart.Itwouldbesoeasytolethimputmebacktogetherhoweverhewishes.Maybe, inafewyears, itwon’tevenfeellikeaprison.

No.

Forthefirsttimeinawhile,Ismashmybreakfastplateagainstthewall,screaming as I do it. The water glass next. It explodes in crystal shards.Brokenthingsmakemefeelabitbetter.

MydoorburstsopeninhalfasecondastheArvensenter.Eggisthefirsttomyside,holdingmebackinmychair.Hisgripisfirm,preventingmefromgettingup.Nowtheyknowbetterthantoletmeanywherenearthewreckageastheyclean.

“Maybeyoushouldstartgivingmeplastic,”Iscofftonoone.“Seemslikeabetteridea.”

Eggwantstohitme.Hisfingersdigintomyshoulders,probablyleavingbruises.TheSilentStonemakesthehurtbitebone-deep.Mystomachtwistsas I realize I can barely remember what it’s like not to be in constant,smotheringpainandanguish.

Theotherguardssweepawaythedebris,unflinchingasglassdragsovertheir gloved hands. Only when they disappear, their throbbing presencemelting away, do I once again have the strength to stand.Annoyed, I slam

shutthebookIwasn’treading.GenealogyofNortanNobility,VolumeIX,thecoversays.Useless.

With nothing better to do, I put it back on the shelf.The leather-boundbook slides in neatly between its brothers, volumesVIII andX.Maybe I’llpull theother booksdownand rearrange them.Waste a few secondsof theendlesshours.

I end up on the floor instead, trying to stretch a bit farther than I didyesterday.Myoldagilityisafaintmemory,restrictedbycircumstance.Itryanyway,inchingmyfingerstowardmytoes.Themusclesinmylegsburn,abetter feeling than the ache. I chase the pain. It’s one of the only things toremindmeI’mstillaliveinthisshell.

Theminutesbleedintooneanotherandtimestretcheswithme.Outside,thelightshiftsasspringcloudschaseeachotheracrossthesun.

The knock onmy door is soft, uncertain. No one has ever bothered toknock before, and my heart leaps. But the rush of adrenaline dies off. Arescuerwouldnotknock.

Evangelinepushesopenthedoor,notwaitingforaninvitation.

Idon’tmove,rootedtothespotbyasuddenrushoffear.Idrawmylegsupundermyself.ReadytospringifIneedto.

Shelooksdownhernoseatme,herusualsuperiorselfinalong,glintingcoatandtightlysewnleatherleggings.Foramomentshestandsstill,andwetradeglancesinthesilence.

“Are you so dangerous they can’t even let you open a window?” Shesniffsattheair.“Itstinksinhere.”

Mytightenedmusclesrelaxalittle.“Soyou’rebored,”Imutter.“Gorattlesomeoneelse’scage.”

“Perhapslater.Butfornow,you’regoingtobeofuse.”

“Ireallydon’tfeellikebeingyourdartboard.”

Shesmacksherlips.“Oh,notmine.”

Withonehand,sheseizesmeunderthearmpitandhoistsmetomyfeet.As soon as her arm enters the sphere of my Silent Stone, her sleeve fallsaway, collapsing to the floor in bits of gleaming metal dust. It quicklyreattachesandfallsagain,movinginaneven,strangerhythmasshemarchesmefrommyroom.

Idon’tstruggle.There’snopointinit.Eventuallysheloosensherbruisinggripandletsmewalkwithoutthepinchofherhand.

“Ifyouwanted to take thepet forawalk,allyouhad todowasask,” Igrowl at her,massagingmynewest bruise. “Don’t you have a new rival tohate?Orisiteasiertopickonaprisonerratherthanaprincess?”

“Irisisfartoocalmformyliking,”sheshootsback.“Youstillhavesomebite,atleast.”

“Good to know I amuse you.” The passage twists in front of us. Left,right, right.TheblueprintofWhitefire sharpens inmymind’seye.Wepassthephoenix tapestries in redandblack, edges studdedwith realgemstones.Thenagalleryof statuesandpaintingsdedicated toCaesarCalore, the firstkingofNorta.Beyondit,downahalfflightofmarblesteps,iswhatIcalltheBattleHall.Astretchingpassageilluminatedbyskylights,thewallsoneithersidedominatedbytwomonstrouspaintings,inspiredbytheLakelanderWar,stretchingfromfloortoceiling.Butshedoesn’tleadmepastpaintedscenesofdeath andglory.We’renotgoingdown to the court levelsof thepalace.Thehallsbecomemoreornate,butwithfewerpublicdisplaysofopulenceasshe leads me to the royal residences. An increasing number of gildedpaintingsofkings,politicians,andwarriorswatchmego,mostofthemwiththecharacteristicCaloreblackhair.

“HasKingMavenletyoukeepyourrooms,atleast?Eventhoughhetookyourcrown?”

Herlipstwist.Intoasmirk,notascowl.“See?Youneverdisappoint.Allbite,MareBarrow.”

I’veneverbeen to thesedoorsbefore.But I canguesswhere they lead.Toograndtobeforanyonebutaking.Whitelacqueredwood,silverandgoldtrim,inlaidwithmotherofpearlandruby.Evangelinedoesn’tknockthistimeandthrowsthedoorsopen,onlytofindanopulentantechamberlinedbysixSentinels.Theybristleatourpresence,handsstrayingtoweapons,eyessharpbehindtheirglitteringmasks.

Shedoesn’tbalk.“TellthekingMareBarrowisheretoseehim.”

“Thekingisindisposed,”oneanswers.Hisvoicetrembleswithpower.Abanshee.Hecouldscreamusbothdeafifgiventhechance.“Begone,LadySamos.”

Evangelineshowsnofearandrunsahandthroughherlongsilverbraid.“Tellhim,”shesaysagain.Shedoesn’thavetodrophervoiceorsnarltobe

threatening.“He’llwanttoknow.”

Myheartpoundsinmychest.Whatisshedoing?Why?Thelasttimeshedecided toparademearoundWhitefire, Iendedupat themercyofSamsonMerandus,mymindsplitopenforhimtosiftthrough.Shehasanagenda.Shehasmotives.IfonlyIknewwhattheywere,soIcoulddotheopposite.

One of the Sentinels breaks before she does. He is a broad man, hismusclesevidentevenbeneaththefoldsofhisfieryrobes.Heinclineshisface,theblackjewelsofhismaskcatchingthelight.“Amoment,mylady.”Ican’tstandMaven’schambers. Justbeinghere feels likestepping intoquicksand.Plungingintotheocean,fallingoffacliff.Sendusaway.Sendusaway.

The Sentinel returns quickly. When he waves off his comrades, mystomachdrops.“Thisway,Barrow.”Hebeckonstome.

Evangelinegivesmetheslightestnudge,puttingpressureonthebaseofmyspine.Perfectlyexecuted.Ilurchforward.

“JustBarrow,”theSentineladds.HeeyestheArvensinsuccession.

Theystayinplace, lettingmego.SodoesEvangeline.Hereyesdarken,blacker than ever. I’m seizedby the strange urge to grab her andbring herwithme.FacingMavenalone,here,issuddenlyterrifying.

TheSentinel,probablyaRhambosstrongarm,doesn’thavetotouchmetoherdmeintheproperdirection.Wecrossthroughasittingroomfloodedwithsunlight,oddlyemptyandbarelydecorated.Nohousecolors,nopaintingsorsculptures, or even books. Cal’s old room was cluttered, bursting withdifferenttypesofarmor,hispreciousmanuals,evenagameboard.Piecesofhimstrewneverywhere.Mavenisnothisbrother.Hehasnocausetoperform,nothere,andtheroomreflectsthehollowboyhetrulyisinside.

Hisbed is strangely small.Built for a child, even though the roomwasclearly arranged to hold something much, much bigger. The walls of hisbedroom are white, unadorned. The windows are the only decoration,overlookingacornerofCaesar’sSquare, theCapitalRiver,andthebridgeIoncehelpeddestroy. It spans thewater, connectingWhitefire to the easternhalf of the city. Greenery bursts to life in every direction, peppered withblossoms.

Slowly, theSentinelclearshis throat. Iglanceathimandshiverwhen Irealizehe’sgoingtoabandonmetoo.“Thatway,”hesays,pointingatanothersetofdoors.

Itwouldbeeasierifsomeonedraggedme.IftheSentinelputaguntomy

headandmademewalkthrough.Blamingmymovingfeetonanotherpersonwould hurt less. Instead, it’s only me. Boredom. Morbid curiosity. Theconstant ache of pain and loneliness. I live in a shrinkingworldwhere theonlythingIcantrust isMaven’sobsession.Likethemanacles, it isashieldandaslow,smotheringdeath.

Thedoorsswinginward,glidingoverwhitemarbletile.Steamspiralsonthe air.Not from the fire kinghimself, but hotwater. It boils lazily aroundhim, milky with soap and scented oils. Unlike his bed, the bath is large,standingonclawedsilverfeet.Herestsanelbowoneithersideoftheflawlessporcelain,fingerstrailinglazilythroughtheswirlingwater.

Maven tracksmeas Ienter,hiseyeselectricand lethal. I’venever seenhimsooffguardandsoangry.Asmartergirlwouldturnandrun.Instead,Ishutthedoorbehindme.

Therearenoseats,soIremainstanding.I’mnotsurewheretolook,soIfocus on his face.His hair ismussed, soakingwet.Dark curls cling to hisskin.

“I’mbusy,”hewhispers.

“Youdidn’thavetoletmein.”IwishIcouldcallbackthewordsassoonasIspeakthem.

“Yes I did,” he says, meaning all things. Then he blinks, breaking hisstare.Heleansback,tippinghisheadagainsttheporcelainsohecanstareupattheceiling.“Whatdoyouneed?”

Awayout,forgiveness,agoodnight’ssleep,myfamily.Theliststretches,endless.

“Evangelinedraggedmehere.Idon’twantanythingfromyou.”

He makes a noise low in his throat. Almost a laugh. “Evangeline.MySentinelsarecowards.”

If Maven were my friend, I would warn him not to underestimate adaughterofHouseSamos.Instead,Iholdmytongue.Thesteamstickstomyskin,feverishashotflesh.

“Shebroughtyouheretoconvinceme,”hesays.

“Convinceyoutodowhat?”

“MarryIris,don’tmarryIris.Shecertainlydidn’tsendyouinhereforateaparty.”

“No.” Evangeline will keep scheming for a queen’s crown up until thesecondMavenputsitonanothergirl’shead.It’swhatshewasmadefor.JustlikeMavenwasmadeforother,morehorriblethings.

“ShethinkswhatIfeelforyoucancloudmyjudgment.Foolish.”

Iflinch.Thebrandonmycollarbonesearsbeneathmyshirt.

“Heardyoustartedsmashingthingsagain,”hecontinues.

“Youhavebadtasteinchina.”

Hegrinsattheceiling.Acrookedsmile.Likehisbrother’s.Forasecond,Maven’sfacebecomesCal’s,theirfeaturesshifting.Withajolt,IrealizeI’vebeenherelongerthanIevenknewCal.IknowMaven’sfacebetterthanhis.

Heshifts,makingthewaterrippleashedanglesanarmoutofthebath.Iwrench my eyes away, look down at the tile. I have three brothers, and afatherwhocan’twalk. Ispentmonthssharingaglorifiedholewithadozenstinkingmenandboys.I’mnotastrangertothemaleform.Doesn’tmeanIwant toseemoreofMaventhanImust.AgainIfeelmyselfontheedgeofquicksand.

“The wedding is tomorrow,” he finally says. His voice echoes off themarble.

“Oh.”

“Youdidn’tknow?”

“HowcouldI?I’mnotexactlykeptinformed.”

Mavenshrugs,raisinghisshoulders.Anothershiftofthewater,showingmoreofhiswhiteskin.“Yes,well,Ididn’treallythinkyouweregoingtostartbreaking things over me, but…” He pauses and looks my way.My bodyprickles.“Itfeltgoodtowonder.”

If therewere no consequences, Iwould scowl and screamand clawhiseyesout.TellMaventhateventhoughmytimewithhisbrotherwasfleeting,Istillremembereveryheartbeatweshared.Thefeelofhimpressedupagainstmeasweslept,alonetogether,tradingnightmares.Hishandatmyneck,fleshonflesh,makingmelookathimaswedroppedfromthesky.Whathesmellslike.Whathetasteslike.Iloveyourbrother,Maven.Youwereright.Youareonlyashadow,andwholooksatshadowswhentheyhaveflame?Whowouldeverchooseamonsteroveragod? Ican’thurtMavenwith lightning,but Icandestroyhimwithwords.Poke at hisweak spots, openhiswounds.Lethimbleedandscaboverintosomethingworsethanheeverwasbefore.

ThewordsImanagetospeakarequitedifferent.

“DoyoulikeIris?”Iaskinstead.

Hescratchesahandalonghis scalpandhuffs, childlike. “As if thathasanythingtodowithit.”

“Well,sheisthefirstnewrelationshipyou’llhavesinceyourmotherdied.It’llbe interesting toseehowthatplayswithoutherpoison inyou.”Idrummy fingers at my side. The words sink in slowly, and he barely nods.Agreeing. I feel a surgeofpity forhim. I fight it tooth andnail. “Andyouwerebetrothedtwomonthsago.Itseemsfast,fasterthanyourengagementtoEvangelineatleast.”

“Thattendstohappenwhenanentirearmyhangsinthebalance,”hesayssharply.“Lakelandersarenotknownfortheirpatience.”

Iscoff.“AndHouseSamosissoaccommodating?”

Acornerofhismouthliftsinghostofthatcrookedsmile.Hefiddleswithone of his flamemaker bracelets, slowly spinning the silver circle around afine-bonedwrist.“Theyhavetheiruses.”

“IthoughtEvangelinewouldhaveturnedyouintoapincushionbynow.”

Hissmilespreads.“Ifshekillsme,sheloseswhateverchanceshethinksshe has, however fleeting. Not that her father would ever allow it. HouseSamosmaintainsapositionofgreatpower,evenifsheisn’tqueen.Butwhataqueenshewouldhavemade.”

“I can only imagine.” The thought shudders through me. Crowns ofneedlesanddaggersandrazors,hermotherinjeweledsnakesandherfatherholdingMaven’spuppetstrings.

“Ican’t,”headmits.“Not really.Evennow,IonlyeverseeherasCal’squeen.”

“Youdidn’thavetochooseherafteryouframedhim—”

“Well,Icouldn’texactlychoosethepersonIwanted,couldI?”hesnaps.Instead of heat, I feel the air around us turn cold. Enough to make goosebumps prickle acrossmy skin as he glares atme, his eyes a livid, burningblue.The steamon the air clearson the currentof cooler air, removing thefaintbarrierbetweenus.

Shivering,Iforcemyselftotheclosestwindow,puttingmybacktohim.Outside, themagnolia trees shudderona lightbreeze, theirblossomswhiteand cream and rosy in the sunshine. Such simple beauty has no place here

withoutthecorruptionofbloodorambitionorbetrayal.

“Youthrewmeintoanarenatodie,”Itellhimslowly.Asifeitherofuscouldforget.“Youkeepmechainedupinyourpalace,guardednightandday,Youletmewasteaway,sick—”

“YouthinkIenjoyseeingyoulikethis?”hemurmurs.“YouthinkIwanttokeepyouaprisoner?”Somethinghitchesinhisbreath.“It’stheonlywayyou’llstaywithme.”Watersloshesoverhishandsashedrawsthembackandforth.

Ifocusonthesoundinsteadofhisvoice.EventhoughIknowwhathe’sdoing,eventhoughIcanfeelhisgriponmetightening,Ican’tstopit frompullingmeunder.Itwouldbetooeasytoletmyselfdrown.Partofmewantsto.

Ikeepmyeyesonthewindow.Foronce,I’mgladfortheall-too-familiaracheofSilentStone.Itisanundeniablereminderofwhatheis,andwhathislovemeansforme.

“YoutriedtomurdereveryoneIcareabout.Youkilledchildren.”Ababy,bloodstained, a note in its little fist. I remember it so vividly it could be anightmare.Idon’ttrytoforcetheimageaway.Ineedtorememberit.Ineedtorememberwhatheis.“Becauseofyou,mybrotherisdead.”

Ispintohim,barkingoutaharsh,vengefullaugh.Angerclearsmyhead.

Hesitsupsharply,hisnakedtorsoalmostaswhiteasthebathwater.

“And you killedmymother.You tookmybrother.You tookmy father.The secondyou fell into theworld, thewheelswere inmotion.Mymotherlooked intoyourheadandsawopportunity.Shesawachanceshehadbeenlooking for forever. If you hadn’t—if you had never—” He stumbles, thewordscomingfasterthanhecanstopthem.Thenhegritshisteeth,clampingdownonanythingmoredamning.Anotherbreathofsilence.“Idon’twanttoknowwhatwouldhavebeen.”

“I know,” I snarl. “Iwould’ve ended up in a trench, obliterated or tornapart or barely surviving as the walking dead. I know what I would havebecome, because amillionothers live it.My father,mybrothers, toomanypeople.”

“Knowingwhatyouknownow…wouldyougoback?Wouldyouchoosethatlife?Conscription,yourmuddytown,yourfamily,thatriverboy?”

Somanyaredeadbecauseofme,becauseofwhatIam.IfIwerejusta

Red, just Mare Barrow, they would be alive. Shade would be alive. Mythoughtshingeonhim. Iwould tradesomany things tohavehimback. I’dtrademyself a thousand times.But then there are thenewbloods foundandsaved. Rebellions aided.Awar ended. Silvers tearing at one another. Redsuniting. I had a hand in all of it, however small.Mistakesweremade.Mymistakes.Toomanytocount.Iamworldsawayfromperfect,orevengood.Thetruequestioneatsatmybrain.WhatMavenisreallyasking.Wouldyougiveupyourability,wouldyou tradeyourpower, togoback? I don’tneedtimetofigureoutananswer.

“No,” I whisper. I don’t remember moving so close to him, my handclosingononesideoftheporcelainbath.“No,Iwouldn’t.”

Theconfessionburnsworsethanflame,eatingatmyinsides.Ihatehimforwhathemakesmefeel,whathemakesmerealize.IwonderifIcanmovefast enough to incapacitate him. Clench a fist, bust his jaw with the hardmanacle.Canskinhealers regrow teeth?No realpoint in trying. Iwouldn’tlivetofindout.

Hestaresupatme.“Thosewhoknowwhat it’s like in thedarkwilldoanythingtostayinthelight.”

“Don’tactlikewe’rethesame.”

“Thesame?No.”Heshakeshishead.“Butperhaps…we’reeven.”

“Even?”AgainIwanttotearhimapart.Usemynails,myteethtoriphisthroat.Theinsinuationcuts.Almostasmuchasthefactthathemightberight.

“IusedtoaskJonifhecouldseefuturesthatnolongerexist.Hesaidthepathswerealwayschanging.Aneasylie.ItlethimmanipulatemeinawayevenSamsoncouldn’t.Andwhenheledmetoyou,well,Ididn’targue.HowwasIsupposedtoknowwhatapoisonyouwouldbe?”

“IfI’mapoison,thengetridofme.Stoptorturingusboth!”

“You know I can’t do that, no matter how much I may want to.” Hislashes flickerandhiseyesgo faraway.SomewhereevenIcan’t reachhim.“You’re like Thomas was. You are the only person I care about, the onlypersonwhoremindsmeIamalive.Notempty.Andnotalone.”

Alive.Notempty.Notalone.

Eachconfession isanarrow,piercingeverynerveendinguntilmybodyturnstocoldfire.IhatethatMavencansaysuchthings.IhatethathefeelswhatIfeel,fearswhatIfear.Ihateit;Ihateit.AndifIcouldchangewhoam,

howIthink,Iwould.ButIcan’t.IfIris’sgodsarereal,theycertainlyknowI’vetried.

“Jon would not tell me about the dead futures—the ones no longerpossible. I think about them, though,” he mumbles. “A Silver king, a Redqueen.Howwouldthingshavechanged?Howmanywouldstillbealive?”

“Notyourfather.NotCal.Andcertainlynotme.”

“Iknowit’s justadream,Mare,”hesnaps.Likeachildcorrectedintheclassroom.“Anywindowwehad,howeversmall,isgone.”

“Becauseofyou.”

“Yes.”Softer,anadmissionofhisown.“Yes.”

Neverbreakingeyecontact,Mavenslipstheflamemakerbraceletfromhiswrist. It’s slow, deliberate, methodic. I hear it hit the floor and roll, silvermetalringingagainstthemarble.Theotherquicklyfollows.Stillwatching,heleansbackinthebathandtipshishead.Exposinghisneck.Atmyside,myhands twitch. Itwould be so easy.Wrapmybrown fingers aroundhis paleneck. Put all my weight into it. Pin him down. Cal is afraid of water. IsMaven?Icoulddrownhim.Killhim.Letthebathwaterboilusboth.Hedaresme to do it. Part of himmightwantme to do it.Or it could be one of thethousandtrapsI’vefallenfor.AnothertrickofMavenCalore.

He blinks and exhales, letting go of something deep inside himself. Itbreaksthespellandthemomentshatters.

“You’llbeoneofIris’sladiestomorrow.Enjoyyourself.”

Onemorearrowtothegut.

Iwishforanotherglass tosmashagainst thewall.Alady-in-waitingforthewedding of the century.No chance of slipping away. I’ll have to standbefore the entire court. Guards everywhere. Eyes everywhere. I want toscream.

Usetheanger.Usetherage,Itrytotellmyself.Instead,itjustconsumesmeandturnstodespair.

Mavenjustgestureslazilywithanopenhand.“There’sthedoor.”

ItrynottolookbackasIgo,butIcan’thelpmyself.Mavenstaresattheceiling,hiseyesempty.AndIhearJulianinmyhead,whisperingthewordshewrote.

Notagod’schosen,butagod’scursed.

EIGHTEENMare

For once, I am not the object of torture. If I had the opportunity, I wouldthankIrisforallowingmetosittothesideandbeignored.Evangelinetakesmyplaceinstead.Shetriestolookserene,unaffectedbythescenearoundus.The rest of the bridal entourage keeps glancing at her, the girl they weresupposed to serve.At anymoment, I expect her to curl up like one of hermother’s snakes and start hissing at every personwhodares comewithin afewfeetofhergildedchair.Afterall,thesechambersusedtobehers.

The salon is redecorated for its new occupant and rightfully so. Brightbluewallhangings,freshflowersinclearwater,andseveralgentlefountainsmakeitunmistakable.AprincessoftheLakelandsreignshere.

Inthecenteroftheroom,Irissurroundsherselfwithservants,Redmaidsinfinitely skilled in the art of beauty. She needs little help. Her cliff-highcheekbones anddark eyes aremagnificent enoughwithout paint.Onemaidintricatelybraidsherblackhair intoacrown, fastening itwithsapphireandpearlpins.Another rubssparklingblush to sculpt an alreadybeautiful bonestructureintosomethingetherealandotherworldly.Herlipsareadeeppurple,expertlydrawn.Thedress itself,white fading tobright, shimmeringblue atthe hem, sets off her dark skin with a glow like the sky moments after asunset.EventhoughappearanceisthelastthingIshouldbeworriedabout,Ifeellikeadiscardeddollnexttoher.I’minredagain,simpleincomparisontomyusualjewelsandbrocade.IfIwereabithealthier,Imightlookbeautifultoo.Not that Imind. I’mnotsupposed toshine, Idon’twant toshine—andnexttoher,Icertainlywon’t.

Evangeline couldn’t contrast Iris more if she tried—and she certainlytried.WhileIriseagerlyplaysthepartofayoung,blushingbride,Evangelinehaswillinglyacceptedtheroleofthegirlscornedandcastaside.Herdressismetalsoiridescentitcouldbemadeofpearl,withrazoredwhitefeathersandsilver inlay throughout. Her own maids flutter about, putting the finishingtouchesonherappearance.ShestaresatIristhroughitall,blackeyesneverwavering.Onlywhenhermothermovestohersidedoesshebreakfocus,andthen only to inch away from the emerald-green butterflies decoratingLarentia’sskirts.Theirwingsflutteridly,asifinabreeze.Agentlereminder

that they are living things, attached to theViperwoman by ability alone. Ihopeshedoesn’tintendtosit.

I’veseenweddingsbefore,backhomein theStilts.Crudegatherings.Afewbindingwords and a hasty party. Families scrounge to provide enoughfoodfortheinvitedguests,whilethosewhowanderthroughgetnothingmorethanagoodshow.Kilornand Iused to try topinch leftovers, if therewereany.Fillourpocketswithbreadrollsandslinkofftoenjoythespoils.Idon’tthinkI’llbedoingthattoday.

TheonlythingI’llbeholdingontoisIris’slongtrainandmyownsanity.

“Pitymoreofyourfamilycouldnotbeheretoattend,YourHighness.”

Anolderwoman,herhairentirelygray,distancesherselffromthemanySilver ladies awaiting Iris. She crosses her arms over an immaculate blackdressuniform.Unlikemostofficers,herbadgesarefew,butstillimpressive.I’veneverseenherbefore,thoughthere’ssomethingfamiliaraboutherface.Butfromthisangle,withherfeaturesinprofile,Ican’tplaceit.

Iris inclines her head to the woman. Behind her, two maids fasten ashimmeringveilinplace.“MymotherisrulingqueenoftheLakelands.Shemustalwayssitthethrone.Andmyoldersister,herheir,isloathtoleaveourkingdom.”

“Understandable, in such tumultuous times.” The older woman bowsback,butnotasdeeplyasonewouldexpect.“Mycongratulations,PrincessIris.”

“Mythanks,YourMajesty.I’mgladyouwereabletojoinus.”

Majesty?

Theolderwomanturnsfully,puttingherbacktoIrisasthemaidsfinishtheirwork.Hereyesfallonme,narrowingintheslightest.Withonehandshebeckons.Agiantblackgemflashesonherringfinger.Oneitherside,Kittenand Clover bump me forward, pushing me at the woman who somehowcommandsatitle.

“MissBarrow,”shesays.Thewomanissturdy,withathickwaist,andshehas a few good inches on me. I glance at her uniform, looking for housecolorstodistinguishwhoshemightbe.

“YourMajesty?” I reply, using the title. It sounds like a question, andtruly,itis.

Sheoffersanamusedsmile.“IwishIhadmetyoubefore.Whenyouwere

masqueradingasMareenaTitanosandnotreducedtothis”—shetouchesmycheek lightly,makingme flinch—“this personwasting away.Maybe then Icouldunderstandwhymygrandsonthrewhiskingdomawayforyou.”

Hereyesarebronze.Red-gold.Iwouldknowhereyesanywhere.

Despite the wedding party milling around us, the clouds of silk andperfume,Ifeelmyselfslidebackintothathorriblemomentwhenakinglosthisheadandasonlosthisfather.Andthiswomanlostthemboth.

Out of the depths of memory, mymoments wasted reading histories, Iremember her name. Anabel, of House Lerolan. Queen Anabel.Mother toTiberias the Sixth.Cal’s grandmother.Now I see her crown, rose gold andblack diamonds nestled into her neatly tied hair.A little thing compared towhatroyalsusuallyprancearoundin.

She pulls her hand away. All the better. Anabel is an oblivion. I don’twantherfingersanywherenearme.Theycoulddestroymewithatouch.

“I’msorryaboutyourson.”KingTiberiaswasnotakindman,nottome,not toMaven,not tomore thanhalfhiscountry livinganddyingas slaves.ButhelovedCal’smother.Helovedhischildren.Hewasnotevil.Justweak.

Hergazeneverbreaks.“Odd,sinceyouhelpedkillhim.”

Thereisnoaccusationinhervoice.Noanger.Norage.

Sheislying.

The Royal Court is devoid of color. Just white walls and black columns,marble and granite and crystal. It devours a rainbow crowd. Nobles floodthroughitsdoors,theirgownsandsuitsanduniformsdyedineveryglitteringshade.Thelastofthemhurry,scramblingtogetinsidebeforetheroyalbrideandherownparadebegintheirmarchacrossCaesar’sSquare.HundredsmoreSilverscrowdacrossthetiledexpanse,toocommontomeritaninvitationtothewedding itself.Theywait indroves,oneithersideofaclearedpathwaylined by an even distribution of Nortan and Lakelander guards. Cameraswatchtoo,elevatedonplatforms.Andthekingdomwatcheswiththem.

Frommyvantagepoint,sandwichedintheWhitefireentrance,IcanjustseeoverIris’sshoulder.

Shekeepsquiet,notahairoutofplace.Sereneasstillwater.Idon’tknowhow she can stand it. Her royal father has her arm, his cobalt-blue robeselectric against thewhite sleeve of herwedding gown. Today his crown issilverandsapphire,matchinghers.Theydonotspeaktoeachother,focused

onthepathahead.

Hertrainfeelslikeliquidinmyhands.Silksofineitmightslipthroughmyfingers.Ikeepagoodgrip,ifonlytoavoiddrawingmoreattentionthanIneedto.Foronce,I’mgladtohaveEvangelineatmyside.SheholdstheothercornerofIris’s train.Judgingby thewhispersof theother ladies-in-waiting,thesightisanearscandal.Theyfocusonherinsteadofme.Noonebotherstobaitthelightninggirlwithouthersparks.Evangelinetakesitallinstride,jawsetandshut.Shehasn’tspokentomeatall.Anothersmallblessing.

Somewhere, a horn blows.And the crowd responds, turning toward thepalaceinunison,aseaofeyes.Ifeeleachlookaswestepforward,ontothelanding,down the stairs, into the jawsofaSilver spectacle.The last time Isaw a crowd here, I was kneeling and collared, bloody and bruised andheartbroken.Iamstillall thosethings.Myfingerstremble.Guardspressin,whileKittenandClover stickbehindme in simplebut suitablegowns.Thecrowdpushescloser,andEvangeline issonearshecouldknifemebetweenthe ribs without blinking.My lungs feel tight;my chest constricts andmythroatseemstoclose.Iswallowhardandforceoutalongbreath.Calmdown.Ifocusonthedressinmyhands,theinchesinfrontofme.

IthinkIfeeladropofwaterhitmycheek.Iprayit’srainandnotnervoustears.

“Pullyourselftogether,Barrow,”avoicehisses.ItcouldbeEvangeline’s.AswithMaven,Ifeelasickburstofgratitudeforthemeagersupport.Itrytopush it away. I try to reasonwithmyself. But like a dog starved, I’ll takewhateverscrapsI’mgiven.Whateverpassesforkindnessinthislonelycage.

Myvision spirals. If not formy feet,mydear, quick, sure feet, Imightstumble.Each step comes harder than the last. Panic spikes upmy spine. IdrownmyselfinthewhiteofIris’sdress.Ievencountheartbeats.Anythingtokeepmoving.Idon’tknowwhy,butthisweddingfeelsliketheclosingofathousanddoors.Mavenhasdoubledhis strength and tightenedhis grip. I’llneverescapehim.Notafterthis.

Thestonebeneathmechanges.Smooth,squaretilesbecomesteps.Ibumpon the firstbut rightmyself,holdingup the train.Doing theonly thing I’mstillabletodo.Standtotheside,kneel,shrivelaway,turnbitterandhungryintheshadows.Isthistherestofmylife?

Before I enter the maw of the Royal Court too, I glance up. Past thesculptures of fire and stars and swords and ancient kings, past the crystalreachesof theglitteringdome.To the sky.Cloudsgather in thedistance.A

few have already reached the square, moving steadily in the wind. Theydissipateslowly,unravelingintowispsofnothing.Rainwants togather,butsomething, probably Silver storms, controlling the weather won’t let it.Nothingwillbeallowedtoruinthisday.

And then the sky disappears, replaced by a vaulted ceiling. Smoothlimestonearchesoverhead,bandedwith silver spiralsof forged flame.Red-and-blackbannersofNortaandbluebannersoftheLakelandsdecorateeithersideoftheantechamber,asifanyonecouldforgetthekingdomswhoseunionwe’re about to witness. The murmurs of a thousand onlookers sound likehummingbees,increasingwitheverystepforwardItake.Ahead,thepassagewidens into the central chamber of theRoyalCourt, amagnificent circularhall beneath the crystal dome. The sun climbs across the clear panes,illuminating the spectacle below. Every seat is full, ringed out from themiddle of the chamber in a halo of flashing color. The crowd waits,breathless.Ican’tseeMavenyet,butIcanguesswherehewillbe.

Anyoneelsewouldhesitate,evenalittle.Irisdoesnot.Sheneverbreakspace as we cross into the light. A thousand bodies standing up is almostdeafening,andthenoiseechoesaroundthechamber.Rustlingclothes,shiftingmovement,whispers.Istayfocusedonmybreathing.Myheartracesanyway.Iwant to lookup,note theentrances, thebranchingpassages, thepiecesofthis place I can use. But I can barelywalk, let alone plan another ill-fatedescape.

Itfeelslikeyearspassbeforewereachthecenter.Mavenwaits,hiscapejustasopulentasIris’strainandnearlyaslong.Hecutsanimpressivefigureinflashingredandwhiteinsteadofblack.Thecrownisnewlymade,wroughtofsilverandrubiesworkedintoflame.Itgleamswhenhemoves,turninghisheadtofacehisapproachingbrideandherentourage.Hiseyesfindmefirst.Iknow himwell enough to recognize regret. It flickers, alive for amoment,dancinglikethewickofalitcandle.And,justaseasily,itdisappears,trailingamemory like smoke. Ihatehim,especiallybecause I can’t fight thenow-familiarsurgeofpityfortheshadowoftheflame.Monstersaremade.SowasMaven.Whoknowswhohewassupposedtobe?

Theceremonytakesthebetterpartofanhour,andIhavetostandthroughallofitalongsideEvangelineandtherestofthebridalparade.MavenandIristradewordsbackandforth,oathsandpledgesurgedonbyaNortanjudge.Awomaninplainindigorobesspeaksaswell.FromtheLakelands,Iassume—maybeanenvoyoftheirgods?Ihardlylisten.AllIcanthinkaboutisanarmyinredandblue,marchingacross theworld.Cloudscontinue toroll in,each

one darker than the last as they pass the dome overhead. And each onedisintegrates.Thestormwantstobreak,butitjustcan’tseemto.

Iknowthefeeling.

“From this dayuntilmy last day, I pledgemyself to you, Iris ofHouseCygnet,princessoftheLakelands.”

In front of me,Maven holds out his hand. Fire licks at the tips of hisfingers,gentleandweakascandleflame.IcouldblowitoutifItried.

“Fromthisdayuntilmylastday,Ipledgemyselftoyou,MavenofHouseCalore,kingofNorta.”

Irismirrorshisaction,puttingoutherownhand.Herwhitesleeve,edgedinbrightblue, fallsbackgracefully, exposingmoreofher smootharmas itleaches moisture from the air. A sphere of clear, trembling water fills herpalm. When she joins hands with Maven, one ability destroys the otherwithout even the hiss of steam or smoke. A peaceful union is made, andsealedwithabrushoftheirlips.

Hedoesn’tkissherthewayhekissedme.Anyfirehemighthaveisfaraway.

IwishIweretoo.

Theapplauseshuddersinme,loudasathunderclap.Mostpeoplecheer.Idon’t blame them.This is the last nail in the coffin of theLakelanderWar.Even though Reds died in the thousands, the millions, Silvers died too. Iwon’tbegrudgethemtheircelebrationsofpeace.

Another rumble sounds as many seats around the Royal Court shift,pushingbackalongstone.Iflinch,wonderingifwe’reabouttobecrushedinatideofwell-wishers.Instead,Sentinelspressin.IclutchatIris’strainlikealifeline,lettingherswiftmotionspullmethroughtheheavingcrowdandbackoutintoCaesar’sSquare.

Ofcourse, thecrushofnoiseonly increases tenfold.Flagswave, cheerserupt,andsprinklesofpaperdriftdownonus.Idipmyhead,tryingtoblockitout. Instead,myears start to ring.The sounddoesn’tgoaway,nomatterhowmuchIshakemyhead.OneoftheArvenstakesmyelbow,herfingersdiggingintofleshasmoreandmorepeoplepressinaroundus.TheSentinelsshoutsomething,instructingthecrowdtostayback.Maventurnstolookoverhis shoulder, his face flushed gray in excitement or nerves or both. Theringingintensifies,andIhavetoletgoofIris’straintocovermyears.Itdoesnothing except slowme down, pulling me out of her circle of safety. She

carrieson,arminarmwithhernewhusband,withEvangelinetrailingthemboth.Thetideseparatesus.

Maven sees me stop and raises an eyebrow, his lips parting to ask aquestion.Hisstepsslow.

Thentheskyturnsblack.

Storm clouds bloom, dark and heavy, arcing over us like an inferno’ssmoke.Lightningstreaksacross theclouds,bolts tingedwhiteandblueandgreen.Eachonejagged,vicious,destructive.Unnatural.

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

Thesoundrattlesinmychest,socloseandsoexplosiveitshakestheair.Itasteitonmytongue.

Idon’tgettoseethenextthunderboltbeforeKittenandCloverthrowmeto theground,ourdressesbedamned.Theypinmyshoulders,digging intoachingmuscleswiththeirhandsandtheirability.Silencefloodsmybody,fastand strong enough to push the air from my lungs. I gasp, struggling tobreathe.Myfingersscrabbleover the tiledground, feeling for something tograb.IfIcouldbreathe,Iwouldlaugh.ThisisnotthefirsttimesomeonehasheldmedowninCaesar’sSquare.

Anotherclapofthunder,anotherflashofbluelight.TheresultingpushofArvensilencealmostmakesmevomitupmyguts.

“Don’tkillher,Janny.Don’t!”Clovergrowls.Janny.Kitten’srealname.“It’llbeourheadsifshedies.”

“It’snotme,”Itrytochokeout.“It’snotme.”

IfKitten andClover can hear, they don’t show it. Their pressure neverlessens,anewconstantofpain.

Unable toscream,I forcemyheadup, lookingforsomeone tohelpme.LookingforMaven.He’llstopthis.Ihatemyselfforthinkingit.

Legscrossmyvision,blackuniforms,civiliancolors,anddistant,fleeingred-orangerobes.TheSentinelskeepmoving,tightintheirformation.Likeatthebanquetthatendedinanearassassination,theyspringintowell-practicedaction,focusedontheironeandonlypurpose:defendtheking.Theychangedirectionquickly,herdingMavennottowardthepalace,buttotheTreasury.Tohistrain.Tohisescape.

Escapefromwhat?

Thefreakstormisn’tmine.Thelightningisn’tmine.

“Follow the king,” Kitten—Janny—snarls. She hoists me onto wobblylegs, and I almost fall again. The Arvens don’t let me. Neither does thesuddenwallofuniformedofficers.Theysurroundmeindiamondformation,perfectforcuttingthroughthesurgingcrowd.TheArvenslessentheirpulsingability,ifonlytoallowmetowalk.

Wepushonasonewhilethelightningoverheadintensifies.Norainyet.And it’snotnearlyhot enoughor aridenough fordry lightning.Strange. IfonlyIcouldfeelit.Useit.Drawthejaggedlinesoutoftheskyandobliterateeverysinglepersonaroundme.

The crowd is perplexed.Most look up; a few point. Some try to backawaybut find themselves hemmed in by one another. I glance between thefaces,lookingforanexplanation.Iseeonlyconfusionandfear.Ifthecrowdpanics, Iwonder ifeven theSecurityofficerscanstop themfromtramplingus.

Upahead,Maven’sSentinelswidenthegapbetweenus.Afewhavetakentotossingpeople.Astrongarmbodilyshovesamanbackseveralyards,whileatelkysweepsawaythreeorfourwithawaveofherhand.Thecrowdgivesthemawideberthafter that,clearing thespacearound the fleeingkingandnewqueen.Throughthetumult,Icatchhiseyesashelooksbacktosearchforme.Theyarewideandwildnow,vividlyblueevenfromsofaraway.Hislipsmove,shoutingsomethingIcan’thearoverthethunderandtherisingpanic.

“Hurry!”Cloverbarks,pushingmeonwardtowardthegap.

Ourguardsbecomeaggressive, their abilitiespresenting.A swift lungesbackandforth,pressingpeoplebackfromourpath.Heblursbetweenbodies,awhirlwind.Andthenhestopscold.

Thegunshotcatchestheswiftbetweentheeyes.Tooclosetododge,toofasttoescape.Hisheadsnapsbackinanarcofbloodandbrain.

Idon’tknowthewomanholdingthegun.Shehasbluehair,jaggedbluetattoos—and a bloody crimson scarf wrapped around herwrist. The crowdshuddersaroundher,shockedforaninstant,beforespringingintofull-blownchaos.

With one hand still aiming her pistol, the blue-hairedwoman raises theother.

Lightningripsoutofthesky.

ItcrashestowardthecircleofSentinels.Shehasdeadlyaim.

I tense, expecting an explosion. Instead, the blue-tinged lightning hits asuddenarcofshimmeringwater,runningacrosstheliquidbutnotthrough.Itveinsandflashes,almostblinding,butdisappearsinaninstant,leavingonlythe watery shield. Beneath it, Maven, Evangeline, and even the Sentinelscrouch,handsovertheirheads.OnlyIrisisleftstanding.

Thewater pools around her, curling and twisting like one of Larentia’ssnakes.Itgrowswitheverysecond,leachingsoquicklyItastetheairdryingon my tongue. Iris wastes no time, tearing off her veil. Dimly, I hope itdoesn’train.Idon’twanttoknowwhatIriscandowithrain.

Lakelanderguardsfightthroughthecrowd,theirdarkblueformstryingtobreakthroughthefleeingcrowd.Securityofficersmeetthesameobstacleandget caught up, tangled in the mess. Silvers dart in every direction. Sometowardthecommotion,othersawayfromdanger.I’mtornbetweenwantingtorunwith themandwanting to run toward theblue-hairedwoman.Mybrainbuzzesasadrenalinecourses throughme,fighting toothandnailagainst thesilence smothering my being. Lightning. She wields lightning. She’s anewblood.Likeme.Thethoughtalmostmakesmecrywithhappiness.Ifshedoesn’tgetoutofherefast,she’llendupacorpse.

“Run!”Itrytoscream.Itcomesoutawhisper.

“Get theking to safety!”Evangeline’svoicecarriesas she jumps toherfeet. Her gown quickly shifts into armor, scaling across her skin in pearlyplates.“Evacuate!”

A few of the Sentinels comply, pulling Maven into their protectiveformation.His hand sparkswithweak flame. It sputters,matching his fear.Therestofhisdetaildrawgunsoftheirownorexplodeintotheirabilities.AbansheeSentinelopenshismouthtoscreambutdropstoaknee,gasping.Hetearsathis throat.Hecan’tbreathe.Butwhy,who?Hiscomradesdraghimbackashecontinuestochoke.

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

Gasping,Irealizenoteveryoneinthecrowdisrunningaway.Notallofthem are afraid, or even confused by the outburst of violence. Theymovedifferently,withpurpose,motive,amission.Blackpistolsgleam,flashingastheydigintoaguard’sbackorstomach.Knivesglintinthegrowingdark.Thescreamsoffearbecomescreamsofpain.Bodiesfall,slumpingagainstthetile

ofthesquare.

I remember the riots in Summerton.Reds hunted down and tortured.Amob turning on the weakest among them. It was disorganized, chaotic,without any order. This is the opposite.What looks like wild panic is thecarefulworkofafewdozenassassinsinacrowdofhundreds.Withagrin,Irealizetheyallhavesomethingincommon.Asthehysteriagrows,eachonedonsaredscarf.

TheScarletGuardishere.

Cal,Kilorn,Farley,Cameron,Bree,Tramy,theColonel.

They’rehere.

WitheverythingIhave, IbuttmyheadbackandcrackmyskullagainstClover’snose.Shehowls,andsilverbloodspurtsdownherface.Inaninstanther grip onme breaks, leaving only Kitten. I drive an elbow into her gut,hoping to throwher off. She lets go ofmy shoulder, only towrap her armaroundmyneckandsqueeze.

Itwist,tryingtogetenoughroomtobendmyneckandbite.Nochance.She increases the pressure, threatening to crush my windpipe. My visionspots, and I feel myself being pulled backward. Away from the Treasury,Maven,hisSentinels.Throughthelethalcrowd.Itripbackwardaswereachthesteps.Ikickweakly,tryingtocatchontoanything.TheSecurityofficersdodgemypoor efforts.Somedrop to their knees, guns raised, covering theretreat. Clover looms over me, the bottom half of her face painted withmirroredblood.

“Doubleback throughWhitefire.Wehave tokeeporders,”shehissesatKitten.

Itrytoshoutforhelp,butIcan’tsummonairenoughtomakenoise.Anditwouldn’tbeanyuse.Somethinglouderthanthunderscreamsacrossthesky.Twosomethings.Three.Six.Metalbirdswithrazorwings.Snapdragons?TheBlackrun? But these airjets look different from the ones I know. Sleeker,faster.Maven’snewfleet,probably.Inthedistance,anexplosionbloomswithpetalsofredfireandblacksmoke.Aretheybombingthesquare,orbombingtheScarletGuard?

AstheArvensdragmeintothepalace,anotherSilveralmostcollideswithus.Ireachout.Maybethispersonwillhelp.

SamsonMerandussneersdown,wrenchingonearmoutofmygrip.Ipullback like his touch burns. Just the sight of him is enough to bring on a

splitting headache. He wasn’t allowed to attend the wedding, but he’s stilldressedforit,immaculateinanavysuitwithhisash-blondhairslickedtohisskull.

“LoseherandI’llturnyouallinsideout!”hesnarlsoverhisshoulder.

TheArvens lookmore frightenedofhim thanofanyoneelse.Theynodvigorously, as do the three remaining officers. All of them know what aMeranduswhispercando.IfIneededanymoreincentivetoescape,knowingthatSamsonwillobliteratetheirmindsiscertainlyit.

Inmylastglimpseof thesquare,blackshadowsloomoutof theclouds,coming closer and closer.More airships. But these are heavy, swollen, notbuiltforspeedorevencombat.Maybethey’recomingintoland.Ineverseethemtouchdown.

IfightasmuchasIcan,whichistosayImumbleandsquirmundertheweightofsilence.Itslowsmyguardsdown,butonlyalittle.Everyinchfeelshardwonbutfutile.Wekeepmoving.ThehallsofWhitefirespiraloutaroundus.Withmymemorization,Iknowexactlywhereweareheaded.Towardtheeast wing, the closest part of the palace to the Treasury. There must bepassages to it, anotherway toMaven’s forsaken train.Any hope of escapewilldisappearthesecondtheygetmeunderground.

Three gunshots ring out, echoing so close I feel them in my chest.Whatever’shappeninginthesquareisslowlybleedingintothepalace.Inthewindow,redflameburstsintotheair.Fromanexplosionoraperson,Idon’tknow. Icanonlyhope.Cal. I’m inhere.Cal. I picture him just outside, aninfernoof rageanddestruction.Gun inonehand, fire in theother,bringingdownallhispainandfury.Ifhecan’tsaveme,Ihopehecanatleastripapartthemonsterthatusedtobehisbrother.

“TherebelsarestormingWhitefire!”

I joltat thesoundofEvangelineSamos.Herbootsringhardagainst themarblefloor,eachsteptheblowofanangryhammer.Silverbloodstainstheleftsideofherface,andherelaboratehairisamess,tangledandwindblown.Shesmellslikesmoke.

Herbrotherisnowheretobefound,butsheisn’talone.Wren,theSkonosskinhealerwhospentsomanydaystryingtomakemelookalive,trailsherclosely. Probably dragged along to make sure Evangeline doesn’t have tosufferscratchesformorethananinstant.

Like Cal and Maven, Evangeline is no stranger to military training or

protocol. She stays on her toes, ready to react. “The lower library and oldgalleryareoverrun.Wehaveto takeher thisway.”Shepointsherchin toabranching hall perpendicular to ours. Outside, lightning flashes. It reflectsagainstherarmor.“Youthree”—shesnapsherfingersat threeof theguards—“defendourbacks.”

Myheartsinksinmychest.EvangelinewillpersonallymakesureIgetonthattrain.

“I’mgoingtokillyouoneday,”IcurseatheraroundKitten’sgrip.

She lets the threatglanceoff, toobusybarkingorders.Theguardsobeyeagerly,droppingbacktocoverourretreat.They’rehappytohavesomeonetakechargeinthisinfernalmess.

“What’s happening out there?” Clover growls as we hurry along. Fearcorrupts her voice. “You, reset my nose,” she adds, grabbingWren by thearm.TheSkonosskinhealerworksonthefly,poppingClover’sbrokennosebackintoplacewithanaudiblecrack.

Evangeline looks over her shoulder, not at Clover but at the passagebehindus.Itdarkensasthestormoutsideturnsdaytonight.Fearcrossesherface. An unfamiliar thing to see in her. “There were plants in the crowd,disguisedasSilvernobles.Newbloods,wethink.Strongenoughtoholdtheirownuntil…”Shechecksaroundacornerbeforewavinguson.“TheScarletGuardtookoverCorvium,butIdidn’tthinktheyhadthismanypeople.Truesoldiers,trained,wellarmed.Droppedrightoutoftheskylikedamninsects.”

“How did they get in? We’re under full security protocols for thewedding. Over a thousand Silver troops, plus Maven’s newblood pets—”Kitten blusters. She cuts herself off as two figures in white pop out of adoorway.Theweightoftheirsilenceslamsintome,makingmykneesbuckle.“Caz,Brecker,withus!”

IthinkEggandTrioarebetternames.Theyskidacrossthemarblefloor,sprintingtojoinmymovingprison.IfIhadtheenergy,Iwouldweep.FourArvensandEvangeline.Anywhisperofhopedisappears.Itwon’tevenhelptobeg.

“Theycan’twin.It’salostcause,”Cloverpresseson.

“They’re not here towin the capital. They’re here for her,” Evangelinesnaps.

Eggshovesmeonward.“Wasteofeffortforthissackofbones.”

Weroundanothercorner,tothelong,stretchingBattleHall.Comparedtotheturmoilinthesquare,itseemsserene,itspaintedscenesofwarfarawayfromthechaos.Theytower,dwarfingallofusintheiroldgrandeur.Ifnotforthe distant sound of screaming airjets and concussive thunder, I could trickmyselfintobelievingallthatwasadream.

“Indeed,” Evangeline says. Her steps falter so slightly the others don’tnotice.ButIdo.“Whatawasteofeffort.”

Shetwistswithsmooth,felinegrace,bothhandsdartingout.Iseeitallasiftimeitselfhasslowed.Theplatesofherarmorflyfrombothwrists,quickand deadly as bullets. Their edges gleam, sharpening to razors. They hissthroughair.Andflesh.

The sudden drop of silence feels like the lifting of immense weight.Clover’sarmfallsfrommyneck,hergripslack.Shefallstoo.

Four heads tumble to the floor, leaking blood.The bodies follow, all inwhite,handsglovedinplastic.Theireyesareopen.Theyneverhadachance.Blood—thesmell,thesight—assaultsmysenses,andItastebilerisinginmythroat.Theonlythingthatkeepsmefromretchingisthejaggedspikeoffearandrealization.

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

Shelooksshockinglycalmforhavingjustmurderedfourofherown.Theplates of metal return to her arms, sliding back into place. Wren the skinhealerdoesn’tmove,hereyesontheceiling.Shewon’twatchwhat’sgoingtohappennext.

Itwillbenousetorun.Imightaswellfaceit.

“Get inmywayand I’llkillyouslowly,” shewhispers, steppingoveracorpsetograbmebytheneck.Herbreathwashesoverme.Warm,tingedwithmint.“Littlelightninggirl.”

“Thengetitoverwith,”Iforcethroughmyteeth.

At this range, I realizeher eyes arenotblackbut charcoalgray.Storm-cloudeyes.Theynarrowasshetriestodecidehowtokillme.Itwillhavetobebyhand.Mymanacleswon’tletherabilitiestouchmyskin.Butasingleknife will do the trick just fine. I hope it’s quick, though I doubt she hasenoughmercyforsuchathing.

“Wren,ifyouplease,”Evangelinesays,puttingoutherhand.

Insteadof adagger, the skinhealerpulls akey fromapocketonTrio’snowheadlesscorpse.ShepressesitintoEvangeline’spalm.

Igonumb.

“Youknowwhat this is.”Howcould Inot? Ihavedreamedof thatkey.“I’mgoingtomakeyouabargain.”

“Makeit,”Iwhisper,myeyesneverwaveringfromthespikybitofblackiron.“I’llgiveyouanything.”

Evangelinegrabsmyjaw,forcingmetolookather.I’veneverseenhersodesperate,noteveninthearena.Hereyeswaverandherlowerliptrembles.“Youlostyourbrother.Don’ttakemine.”

Rage flares inmystomach.Anythingbut that.Because I’vedreamedofPtolemus too. Slitting his throat, cutting him apart, electrocuting him. HekilledShade.Alifeforalife.Abrotherforabrother.

Her fingers dig intomy skin, nails threatening to pierce flesh. “You lieand I’ll kill you where you stand. Then I’ll kill the rest of your family.”Somewhereinthetwistinghallsofthepalace,theechoesofbattlerise.“MareBarrow,makeyourchoice.LetPtolemuslive.”

“He’lllive,”Icroakout.

“Swearit.”

“Iswearit.”

Tearsgatherasshemoves,quicklyslidingoffonemanacleaftertheother.Evangelinetosseseachoneasfarasshecan.Bythetimeshefinishes,I’maweepingmess.

Withoutthemanacles,theSilentStone,theworldfeelsempty.Weightless.I’mafraidImightfloataway.Still,theweaknessisalmostdebilitating,worsethanmylastescapeattempt.Sixmonthsofitwillnotdisappearinaninstant.Itry to reachwithmyability, try to feel the lightbulbsabovemyhead. Icanbarelysensethebuzzofthem.IdoubtIcouldevenshutthemoff,somethingIusedtotakeforgranted.

“Thankyou,”Iwhisper.WordsIneverthoughtIwouldsaytoher.Theyunsettleusboth.

“Youwant to thankme,Barrow?”shemutters,kickingaway the lastofmybindings.“Thenkeepyourword.Andletthisfuckingplaceburn.”

BeforeIcantellherI’llbeofnouse,thatI’llneeddays,weeks,monthsto

recover, Wren puts her hands to my neck. I realize now why Evangelinedraggedaskinhealeralong.Notforherself.Forme.

Warmthbleedsdownmyspine, intomyveinsandbonesandmarrow.ItpoundsthroughmesocompletelyIalmostexpectthehealingtohurt.Idropto a knee, overtaken. The aches vanish. The trembling fingers, weak legs,sluggishpulse—every last ghost ofSilentStone flees before the touchof ahealer.Myheadwillneverforgetwhathappenedtome,butmybodyquicklydoes.

Theelectricityrushesback,thunderingfromthedeepestpartofme.Everynerve shrieks to life. All down the hallway, the lightbulbs shatter on theirchandeliers.Thehiddencamerasexplodeintosparksandspittingwires.Wrenjumpsback,yelping.

Ilookdowntoseepurpleandwhite.Nakedelectricityjumpsbetweenmyfingers,hissingintheair.Thepushandpullisachinglyfamiliar.Myability,mystrength,mypowerhasreturned.

Evangelinetakesameasuredstepback.Hereyesreflectmysparks.Theyglow.

“Keepyourpromise,lightninggirl.”

Darknesswalkswithme.

EverylightsizzlesandblinksoutasIpass.Glassshatters,electricityspits.Theairbuzzeslikealivewire.Itcaressesmyopenpalms,andIshiveratthefeel of such power. I thought I had forgottenwhat thiswas like.But that’simpossible. I can forget almost everything else in this world, but not mylightning.NotwhoandwhatIam.

The manacles made it exhausting to walk.Without them weighing medown, I fly. Toward the smoke, the danger, to what could finally be mysalvationormyending. Idon’tcarewhich, so longas I’mnotstuck in thishellish prison one second longer. My dress flutters in ruby tatters, rippedenoughtoletmerunasfastasIcan.Thesleevessmolder,burningwitheverynewburstofsparks.Idon’tholdmyselfbacknow.Thelightninggoeswhereitwants.Itexplodesthroughmewitheveryheartbeat.Thepurple-whiteboltsandsparksdancealongmyfingers,blazinginandoutofmypalms.Ishudderin pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful. I keep looking at theelectricity,enamoredwitheveryvein.It’sbeensolong.It’sbeensolong.

Thismust bewhat hunters feel like.Every corner I turn, I hope to findsomekindofprey.IruntheshortestrouteIknow,tearingthroughthecouncil

chamber,itsemptyseatshauntingmeasIsprintovertheNortanseal.IfIhadtime,Iwouldobliteratethesymbolbeneathmyfeet.TearupeveryinchoftheBurning Crown. But I have a real crown to kill. Because that’s what I’mgoingtodo.IfMavenisstillhere,ifthewretchedboyhasn’tgottenaway.I’mgoingtowatchhislastbreathandknowhecanneverholdmyleashagain.

TheSecurityofficersretreatinmydirection,theirbackstome.Stilldoingas Evangeline commanded. All three have their long guns tucked into thecrooksoftheirshoulders,fingersontriggersastheycoverthepassageway.Idon’tknowtheirnames,justtheircolors.HouseGreco,strongarmsall.Theydon’tneedbulletstokillme.Oneofthemcouldbreakmyback,crushmyribcage,popmyskulllikeagrape.It’smeorthem.

Thefirsthearsmyfootsteps.Heturnshischin,lookingoverhisshoulder.My lightning shrieks up his spine and into his brain. I feel his branchingnerves for a split second. Then darkness. The other two react, swingingaroundtofaceme.Thelightningisquickerthantheyare,splittingthemboth.

Ineverbreakpace,vaultingovertheirsmokingbodies.

The next hall runs alongside the square, its once-gleaming windowsstreakedwithash.Afewchandeliersliesmashedagainstthefloorintwistedheapsofgoldandglass.Therearebodiestoo.Securityofficersintheirblackuniforms,ScarletGuardwiththeirredscarves.Theaftermathofaskirmish,oneofmanyragingwithinthelargerbattle.IchecktheclosestGuardsmantome,reachingdowntofeelherneck.Nopulse.Hereyesareclosed.I’mgladIdon’trecognizeher.

Outside,anotherburstofbluelightningforksthroughtheclouds.Ican’thelpbutgrin,thecornersofmymouthpullingsharplyonmyscars.Anothernewbloodwhocancontrollightning.I’mnotalone.

Movingquickly,ItakewhatIcanoffthebodies.Apistolandammunitionfromanofficer.Aredscarffromthewoman.Shediedforme.Anothertime,Mare, I chidemyself, pushing aside the quicksand of such thoughts.Usingmyteeth,Itiethescarftomywrist.

Bulletspingagainst thewindows,a sprayof them. I flinch,dropping tothe floor, but the windows hold firm. Diamondglass. Bulletproof. I’m safebehindthem,butalsotrapped.

Neveragain.

I slideupagainst thewall, tryingnot tobe seenas Iobserve.Thesightmakesmegasp.

Whatwasonceaweddingcelebrationisnowall-outwar.Iwasinaweofthe house rebellion, Iral and Haven and Laris against the rest of Maven’scourt,butthisdwarfsitsubstantially.HundredsofNortanofficers,Lakelanderguards,deadlynoblesofthecourtononeside,withScarletGuardsoldiersontheother.Therehave tobenewbloodsamong them.SomanyRedsoldiers,morethanIeverthoughtpossible.TheyoutnumbertheSilversatleastfivetoone, and they are certainly, clearly soldiers. Trained to military precision,fromtheirtacticalgeartothewaytheymove.Istarttowonderhowtheyevengothere, but then I see the airships.Sixof them, all landeddirectlyon theSquare itself.Eachonespitssoldiers,dozensof them.Hopeandexcitementroarthroughme.

“Hellofarescue,”Ican’thelpbutwhisper.

AndI’mgoingtomakesureitsucceeds.

I’mnotSilver;Idon’tneedtopullmyabilityfrommysurroundings.Butit certainly doesn’t hurt to have more electricity, more power, on hand.Closingmyeyes, just for a second, I call to everywire, everypulse, everycharge,downtothestaticclingofthecurtains.Itrisesatmydemand.Itfuelsme,healsmeasmuchasWren.

Aftersixmonthsofdarkness,Ifinallyfeelthelight.

Purple-whiteflaresattheedgesofmyvision.Myentirebodybuzzes,skinshivering beneath the delight of lightning. I keep sprinting.Adrenaline andelectricity.IfeellikeIcouldrunthroughawall.

More than a dozen Security officers guard the entrance hall. One, amagnetron, busies himself boarding up the windows with cages of twistedchandelierandgiltpaneling.Bodiesandbloodinbothcolorscoverthefloor.The smellofgunpowderoverwhelmseverythingbut theblastsoutside.Theofficerssecurethepalace,maintainingtheirposition.Theirattentionisonthebattleoutside,theSquare.Nottheirbacks.

Crouching, I putmy hands to themarble beneathmy feet. It feels coldbeneathmyfingers.Iwillmylightningagainstthestone,sendingitoutalongthefloorinajaggedrippleofelectricity.Itpulses,awave,catchingthemalloffguard.Somefall,somerocketbackward.Thestrengthoftheblastechoesinmychest.Ifit’senoughtokill,Idon’tknow.

MyonlythoughtistheSquare.Whentheopenairhitsmylungs,Ialmostlaugh.It’spoisonedwithash,blood,theelectricbuzzofthelightningstorm,butit tastessweeterthananything.Aboveme,theblackcloudsrumble.Thesoundlivesinmybones.

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

I don’t linger.Standingon the steps, overlooking the turmoil, is a goodwaytogetshotinthehead.Iplungeintothefray,lookingforasinglefamiliarface.Notfriendly,butatleastfamiliar.Peoplecollideallaroundmewithnorhyme or reason. The Silverswere taken unawares, unable to form up intotheir practiced ranks. Only the Scarlet Guard soldiers have any kind oforganization,butit’srapidlybreakingdown.IweavetowardtheTreasury,thelastplaceIsawMavenandhisSentinel.Itwasonlyafewminutesago.Theycouldstillbethere,surrounded,makingastand.Iwillkillhim.Ihaveto.

Bulletswhistlepastmyhead.I’mshorterthanmost,butstill,IhunchasIrun.

ThefirstSilvertochallengemehead-onhasProvosrobes,goldandblack.A thinmanwith thinnerhair.He throwsoutanarmandI rocketbackward,my head slamming against the tiled ground. I grin at him, about to laugh.When suddenly I can’t breathe. My chest contracts, tightening. My ribs. Ilookuptofindhimstandingoverme,hishandclenchingintoafist.Thetelkyisgoingtocollapsemyribcage.

Lightning rises tomeet him, sparking angrily. He dodges, faster than Ianticipated.My vision spots as the lack of oxygen hits my brain. Anotherbolt,anotherdodge.

Provos is so focused on me, he doesn’t notice the barrel-chested Redsoldier a few yards away. He shoots him through the headwith an armor-piercinground.Itisn’tpretty.Silverspattersacrossmyruinedgown.

“Mare!” he shouts, hurrying tomy side. I recognize his voice, his darkbrown face—and his electric-blue eyes. Four other Guardsmen move withhim.Theycircleup,protective.Withstronghands,hehoistsmetomyfeet.

Forcingabreath,Ishiver inrelief.Whenmybrother’ssmugglingfriendbecameatruesoldier,Idon’tknow,andnowisn’tthetimetoask.“Crance.”

Onehandstillonhisgun,heraisestheradioclawedinhisotherfist.“ThisisCrance. IhaveBarrowin theSquare.”Thehissofemptyfeedback isnotpromising.“Repeat.IhaveBarrow.”Cursing,hetuckstheradiobackintohisbelt.“Channelsareamess.Toomuchinterference.”

“From the storm?” I glance up again. Blue, white, green. I narrowmyeyesandthrowanotherboltofpurpleintothecrashofblindingcolor.

“Probably.Calwarnedus—”

Airhissesthroughmyteeth.Igrabhimtightly,makinghimflinch.“Cal.Whereishe?”

“Ihavetogetyouout—”

“Where?”

Hesighs,knowingIwon’taskagain.

“He’sontheground.Idon’tknowwhereexactly!Yourrendezvouspointis themaingate,”he shouts inmyear,making surehecanbeheard. “Fiveminutes.Grabthewomaningreen.Takethis,”headds,shruggingoutofhisheavy jacket. I pull it over my tattered dress without argument. It feelsweighted.“Flakjacket.Semibulletproof.It’llgiveyousomecover.”

MyfeetcarrymeawaybeforeIcanevensaythankyou,leavingCranceandhisdetail inmywake.Cal isheresomewhere.He’llbehuntingMaven,just like me. The crowd surges, a swiftly changing tide. If not for theGuardsmen pushing through the fray, I could forcemyway through. Blasteveryoneinfrontofme,clearapathacrosstheSquare.InsteadIrelyonmyold instincts. Dancing steps, agility, predicting every pulsing wave of thechaos. Lightning trails in my wake, staving off any hands. A strongarmknocksmesideways,sendingmecareeningthrougharmsandlegs,butIdon’treturn to fight him. I keepmoving, keep pushing, keep running.One namescreamsthroughmyhead.Cal.Cal.Cal.IfIcangettohim,I’llbesafe.Aliemaybe,butagoodlie.

ThesmellofsmokegetsstrongerasIpushon.Hopeflares.Wherethere’ssmoke,there’safireprince.

AshandsootstreakthewhitewallsoftheTreasuryHall.Oneoftheairjetmissilestookachunkoutofthecorner,slicingthroughmarblelikebutter.Itliesinapileofrubblearoundtheentrance,forminggoodcover.TheSentinelsmakefulluseofit,theirranksbolsteredbytheLakelandersandafewofthepurple-uniformed Treasury guards. Some of them fire into the oncomingGuardsmen,usingbulletstodefendtheirking’sescape,andmanymoreutilizetheirabilities.Idartaroundafewbodiesfrozensolidontheirfeet,theviolentworkofaGliaconshiver.Anotherfewarealivebutontheirknees,bleedingfromtheears.Marinosbanshee.TheevidenceofsomanydeadlySilversisallaround. Corpses speared by metal, necks broken, skulls caved in, mouthsdrippingwater, a particularlygruesomebody that seems tohave chokedontheplantsgrowingoutofitsmouth.AsIwatch,agreenythrowsahandfulofseedsatanattackingswathofScarletGuard.Beforemyeyes,theseedsburstlikegrenades,spittingvinesandthornsinaverdantexplosion.

Idon’tseeCalhere,oranyotherfacesIrecognize.MavenisalreadyintheTreasury,headedforthetrain.

Clenchinga fist, I throweverything Icanat theSentinels.My lightningcrackles along the rubble, sending them scurrying back. Dimly, I hearsomeoneshouttopushforward.TheGuardsmendo,continuingtofireroundafterround.Ikeepupthepressure,sendinganotherblazeoflightningacrossthemlikeacrackingwhip.

“Incoming!”avoicescreams.

Ilookup,expectingablowfromthesky.Airjetsdancethroughthestormyclouds,chasingoneanother.Noneofthemseemconcernedbyus.

Then someone pushesme aside, throwingme out of theway. I turn intime to see a person I recognize barrel along a cleared pathway, his headlowered,bodyarmoredonthehead,neck,andshoulders.Hepicksupspeed,legspumping.

“Darmian!”

He doesn’t hear me, too busy crashing toward the marble blockade.Bullets ping off his armor and skin.A shiver sends a blast of icicles at hischest,but theyshatter. Ifhe’safraid,hedoesn’tshowit.Heneverhesitates.Cal taught him that. Back at the Notch. When we were all together. Iremember a different Darmian then, the one I knew. He was a quiet mancompared toNix, another newbloodwho shared his ability of impenetrableflesh. Nix is long dead now, but Darmian is verymuch alive. Roaring, heclambersoverthemarbleblockade,careeningintotwoSentinels.

Theyfallonhimwitheverythingtheyhave.Stupid.Theymightaswellbeshooting at bulletproof glass.Darmian responds in kind, dropping grenadeswithcoldrhythm.Theybloominfireandsmoke.Sentinelsfallbackward,fewofthemabletowithstandadirectexplosion.

Guardsmen vault over the rubble, following in Darmian’s wake. Manyovertakehim.TheSentinelsarenottheirmission.Mavenis.TheyfloodintotheTreasury,hotontheking’strail.

AsIrunforward,I letmyabilitypressonahead.I feel the lightsof theTreasury’s main hall, spiraling down into the rock beneath us. My sensejumps along the wires, deeper and deeper. Something big idles below, itsenginearisingpurr.He’sstillhere.

Themarblebeneathmyfeetiseasytoscale.Iscrabbleovertherubbleonall fours, my mind focused a hundred feet down. The next grenade blast

catchesmeunawares.Itsforceblowsmebackwardinawaveofheat.Ilandhard,flatonmyback,gaspingforbreath,quietlythankfulforCrance’sjacket.Theexplosionblazesoverme,closeenoughtoburnmycheek.

Toobigforagrenade.Toocontrolledfornaturalflame.

Iscrambletomyfeet,forcingmylegstoobeyasIsuckdownair.Maven.I should have known. He wouldn’t leave me up here. Wouldn’t run awaywithouthisfavoritepet.He’scometoputthechainsbackonmehimself.

Goodluck.

Smokefollowstheswirlingfire,makingthealreadydarkSquarehazy.Itsurrounds me, growing stronger and hotter with every passing second.Tensing, I send lightning through my nerves, letting it crackle over everyinch. I take a step toward his silhouette, black and strange in the shiftingfirelight.Thesmokecurls,thefireshootingwithraginghotblueflame.Sweatdripsdownmyneck.My fists clench, ready to runhim throughwith everydropofragecollectedinhisprison.I’vebeenwaitingforthismoment.Mavenisacunningking,butnofighter.I’mgoingtoriphimapart.

Lighting ripples over our heads, flashing brighter than the flame. Itilluminateshimasthewindpicksup,blowingawaythesmoketoreveal—

Red-gold eyes. Broad shoulders. Callused hands, familiar lips, unrulyblackhair,andafaceIhaveachedfor.

NotMaven.Allthoughtsoftheboykingdisappearinaninstant.

“Cal!”

The fireball hisses through the air, almost engulfing my head. I rollbeneath it on instinct alone. Confusion rules my brain. He’s unmistakable.Cal,standingthereintacticalarmor,aredsashtiedacrosshimfromwaisttohip.Ifighttheanimalneedtoruntowardhim.Ittakeseveryfiberofcontroltostepback.

“Cal,it’sme!It’sMare!”

Hedoesn’tspeak,justpivotsonhisfeet,keepingmeinfrontofhim.Thefirearounduschurnsandcontracts,pullinginwardwithblindingspeed.Theheatcrushestheairfrommylungs,andIchokedownsmoke.Onlylightningkeepsmesafe,cracklingaroundmeinashieldofelectricitytokeepmefromburningalive.

I roll again, bursting through his inferno. My dress smolders, trailingsmoke.Idon’twasteprecioustimeorbrainpowertryingtofigureoutwhat’s

goingon.Ialreadyknow.

Hiseyesareshadowed,unfocused.Norecognitioninthem.Noindicationthatwe’vespentthelastsixmonthstryingtogetbacktoeachother.Andhismovementsarerobotic,evencomparedtohismilitary-trainedprecision.

Awhisperhashismind.Idon’thavetoguesswhichone.

“I’msorry,”Imumble,eventhoughhecan’thearme.

Ablastoflightningthrowshimback,thesparksdancingovertheplatesofhisarmor.Heseizes,twitchingastheelectricitypullsonhisnerves.Ibitemylip, trying harder than I ever have before towalk the narrow line betweenincapacitationandinjury.Ierrontheweakside.Amistake.

Cal is stronger than I ever realized.Andhehas suchan advantage. I’mtryingtosavehim.He’stryingtokillme.

He fights through the pain, charging. I dodge, my focus shifting fromkeepinghimatbay tokeepingoutofhiscrushinggrip.Afire-fueledpuncharcsovermyhead. I smellburnedhair.Another catchesme in the stomachand I fall backward. I roll with the momentum and pop up again, my oldtricks returning. With a twist of my hand, I send another bolt of sparksdancinguphislegandintohisspine.Hehowls.Thesoundcutsmyinsides.Butitgivesmeaheadstart.

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

HehastobecloseenoughtobewitchCalandsendhimafterme.IsearchthebattleasIrun,lookingforhisbluesuit.Ifhe’shere,he’shidingwell.Orhecouldbeperchedabove,lookingdownfromtheTreasuryrooforthemanywindowsoftheadjoiningbuildings.Frustrationeatsatmyresolve.Cal’srighthere.We’rebacktogether.Andhe’stryingtokillme.

Theheatofhis rage licksatmyheels.Anotherblast ripsalongmy left,sendingneedlesofwhite-hotagonydownmyarm.Adrenalinedrownsitoutquickly.Ican’taffordpainrightnow.

AtleastI’mfaster thanheis.After themanacles,everystepfeelseasierthanthelast.Iletthestormabovefuelme,feedingontheelectricenergyofthe other lightning-wielding newblood somewhere. Her blue hair doesn’tcrossmyvisionagain.Toobad.Icoulduseherrightnow.

IfSamson ishidingnear theTreasury, Ionlyhave togetCaloutofhiscircle of influence. Skidding, I turn to look over my shoulder. Cal is still

followingme,ashadowofblue-tingedflameandanger.

“Comeandgetme,Calore!”Ishouttohim,sendingablastoflightningathischest.Strongerthanthelast,enoughtoleaveamark.

Hetwistssideways,dodging,neverbreakingstep.Hotonmytrail.

Ihopethisworks.

Noonedaresgetinourway.

Redandblueandpurple, fireandlightning,chase inourwake,splittingthebattlelikeaknife.Hepursueswiththesingularresolveofahuntingdog.AndIcertainlyfeelhuntedacrosstheSquare.

Iangleforthemaingate,towhateverrendezvousCrancementioned.Myescape.NotthatI’lltakeityet.NotwithoutCal.

Afterahundredyards,it’sclearthatSamsonisrunningwithus,justoutofsight.NoMeranduswhisper has a bigger range than that, not evenElara. Itwistbackandforth,scanningthebloodbath.Thelongerthebattlepusheson,themore time the Silvers have to organize.Army soldiers in clouded grayuniformsfloodtheSquare,systematicallywinningoverpiecesofit.Mostofthenobles retreatbehind thewallofmilitaryprotection, thougha few—thestrongest, the bravest, the most bloodthirsty—continue fighting. I expectmembersofHouseSamostobeinthethickofit,butIseenomagnetronsthatI recognize. And still no other familiar members of the Scarlet Guard. NoFarley,noColonel,noKilornorCameronoranyofthenewbloodsIhelpedrecruit. Just Darmian, probably blasting his way through the Treasury, andCal,tryinghisbesttoputmeintheground.

I curse,wishing forCameron above all of them.She could silenceCal,keephimcontainedlongenoughformetofindanddestroySamson.Instead,Ihavetodoitmyself.Keephimatbay,keepmyselfalive,andsomehowrootouttheMeranduswhisperplaguingusboth.

Suddenlynavyblueblursbyattheedgeofmyvision.

Longmonths inSilver captivityhavemademeattuned tohouse colors.LadyBlonosdrilledherknowledgeintome,andnow,morethanever,Ithankherforit.

I whirl, changing direction with a vengeance. Ash-blond hair dartsthrough theSilver soldiers, attempting toblend into their ranks. Instead, hestands out, his formal suit in sharp contrast to their military uniforms.Everythingnarrowstohim.Allmyfocus,allmyenergy.IthrowwhatIcanin

his direction, loosing jagged lightning upon Samson and the Silver shieldbetweenus.

Hiseyeslockonmineandthelightningarcslikeacrackingwhip.HehasthesameeyesasElara,thesameeyesasMaven.Blueasice;blueasflame.Coldandunforgiving.

Somehowmy electricity bends, curving around him. It slingshots away,rocketinginanotherdirection.Myhandswingswithit,mybodymovingofitsownaccordas the lightning racesatCal. I try toshoutout, even thoughwarning a bewitchedman will do nothing at all. But my lips don’t move.Horrorbleedsdownmyspine, theonlysensationIcanfeel.Not thegroundbeneathmyfeet,notthebiteofnewburns,noteventhesmokyairinmynose.Italldisappears,wipedaway.Taken.

Inside,IscreambecauseSamsonhasmenow.Ican’tmakeasound.Thereisnomistakingthejaggedbrushofhisbrainagainstmymind.

Calblinkslikesomeonewakingupfromalongsleep.Hebarelyhastimetoreact, liftinghisarmstoprotecthisheadfromtheelectricblow.Someofthejaggedsparksturntoflame,manipulatedbyhisability.Mostofthemhithome,though,droppinghimtohiskneeswithapainedroar.

“Samson!”hescreamsthroughgrittedteeth.

Irealizemyhandismoving,strayingtomyhip.ItdrawsthepistolItookandputssteeltomytemple.

Samson’swhispersriseinmyhead, threateningtodrownouteverythingelse.

Doit.Doit.Doit.

Idon’tfeelthetrigger.Iwon’tfeelthebullet.

Calripsmyarmback,spinningmeaway.Hebreaksmygriponthegunandtossesitacrossthetile.I’veneverseenhimsoafraid.

Killhim.Killhim.Killhim.

Mybodyobeys.

Iamaspectator inmyownhead.AfuriousbattleragesbeforemyeyesandIcan’tdoanythingbutwatch.ThetiledgroundblursasSamsonmakesmesprint,collidinghead-onwithCal.Iactasahumanlightningrod,latchingontohisarmor,drawingelectricityoutoftheskytopourintohim.

Painandfearcloudhiseyes.Hisflamecanonlyshieldsomuch.

Ilunge,grabbingathiswrist.Buttheflamemakerbraceletholdsfirm.

Killhim.Killhim.Killhim.

Fire pushes me back. I tumble end over end, shoulders and skullbouncing.Theworldspins,anddizzylimbstrytomakemestand.

Getup.Getup.Getup.

“Staydown,Mare!”IhearfromCal’sdirection.Hisfiguredancesbeforeme,splitting into three. Imighthaveaconcussion.Redbloodpulsesacrossthewhitetile.

Getup.Getup.Getup.

My feet move beneath me, pushing hard. I stand too quickly, nearlyfalling over again as Samson forces me into drunken steps. He closes thedistancebetweenmybodyandCal’s.I’veseenthisbefore,athousandyearsago.SamsonMerandusinthearena,forcinganotherSilvertocutuphisowninsides.He’lldothesametometoo,onceheusesmetokillCal.

Itrytofight,thoughIdon’tknowwheretostart.Trytotwitchafinger,atoe.Nothingresponds.

Killhim.Killhim.Killhim.

Lightning erupts from my hand, spiraling toward Cal. It misses, offbalance like my body. He sends an arc of fire in response, forcing me tododgeandstumble.

Getup.Killhim.Getup.

The whispers are sharp, cutting wounds across my mind. I must bebleedinginmybrain.

KILLHIM.GETUP.KILLHIM.

Through the flames, I seenavyblue again.Cal stalks afterSamsonandskidstoaknee,takingaimwithapistolofhisown.

GETUP—

PaincrashesthroughmelikeawaveandIfallbackwardjustasabullettearsoverhead.Anotherfollows,closer.Onpureinstinct,fightingtheringinginmybruisedskull,Iscrambletomytoes.Imoveofmyownvolition.

Shrieking, I turnCal’s fire to lightning, the red curls becoming purple-whiteveinsofelectricity.ItshieldsmeasCalemptiesbulletafterbulletinmydirection.Behindhim,Samsongrins.

Bastard.He’sgoingtoplayusoffeachotherforaslongasittakes.

IpushthelightningasfastasIcan,lettingitsplintertowardSamson.IfIcanbreakhisconcentration,justforasecond,itcouldbeenough.

Cal reacts,apuppetonstrings.HeshieldsSamsonwithhisbroadbody,takingthebruntofmyattack.

“Someonehelp!”Ishouttonoone.We’reonlythreepeopleinabattleofhundreds. A battle turning one-sided. The Silver ranks grow, fed byreinforcements from the barracks and the rest of theArcheon garrison.Myfive minutes have long passed. Whatever escape Crance promised is longgone.

IhavetobreakSamson.Ihaveto.

Another bolt of lightning, this time across the ground in a flood. Nododgingthat.

KILLHIM.KILLHIM.KILLHIM.

Thewhispersreturn,pullingbacktheelectricitywithmyowntwohands.Itarcsbackwardinacrashingwave.

Caldropsandspins,throwingouthisleginasweepingkick.Itconnects,sendingSamsonsprawling.

HiscontrolofmedropsandIpushforward.Anotherelectricwave.

This one washes through them both. Cal curses, biting back a yelp.Samsonwrithesandscreams,ablood-curdlingsound.Heisn’tusedtopain.

Killhim—

Thewhisperisfaraway,weakening.Icanfightit.

Cal grabs Samson by the neck, pulling him up only to smash his headbackdown.

Killhim—

Isliceahandthroughtheair,pullinglightningwithit.ItsplitsagashinSamsonfromhiptoshoulder.ThewoundspurtsSilverblood.

Helpme—

Fire races down Samson’s throat, charring his insides. His vocal cordsshred.TheonlyscreamingIhearnowisinmyhead.

Ibringmylightningintohisbrain.Electricityfriesthetissueinhisskull

likeanegginapan.Hiseyesrolloverwhite.Iwant tomakeit last longer,wanttomakehimpayforwhattorturehegavetomeandsomanyothers.Buthediestooquickly.

Thewhispersdisappear.

“It’sdone,”Igaspaloud.

Callooksup,stillkneelingoverthebody.Hiseyeswidenasifseeingmeforthefirsttime.Ifeelthesame.I’vebeendreamingofthismoment,wantingit formonths andmonths. If not for the battle, for our precarious positionwedged in the middle, I would wrap my arms around his neck and burymyselfinthefireprince.

Instead,Ihelphimtohisfeet,throwingoneofhisarmsovermyshoulder.He limps, one leg amess ofmuscle spasms. I’m hurt too, bleeding slowlyfromatearinmyside.Ipressmyfreehandtothewound.Thepainsharpens.

“MavenisbelowtheTreasury.Hehasatrain,”Isayasweclamberawaytogether.

His arm tightens around me. He steers us toward the main gate,quickeninghispacewitheverystep.“I’mnothereforMaven.”

Thegate looms,wide enough to allow three transports to drive throughsidebyside.Ontheotherside,theBridgeofArcheonspanstheCapitalRivertomeet the eastern half of the city. Smoke rises all over, reaching into thestorm-black sky. I fight theurge to turn aroundand sprint for theTreasury.Mavenwillbegonebynow.Heisbeyondmyreach.

More military transports speed toward us while airjets scream in ourdirection.Toomanyreinforcementstowithstand.

“What’s the plan, then?” Imumble.We’re about to be surrounded.Thethoughtwearsthroughmyshockandadrenaline,soberingmeup.Allthisforme.Bodieseverywhere,RedandSilver.Whatawaste.

Cal’shandsfindmyface,makingmeturntolookathim.Inspiteofthedestructionaroundus,hesmiles.

“Foronce,wehaveone.”

Iseegreenoutofthecornerofmyeye.Feelanotherhandgrabmyarm.

Andtheworldsqueezestonothing.

NINETEENEvangeline

He’s late, and my heartbeat guns into overdrive. I fight the surge of fear,twisting it into fuel.Using the new energy, I shred apart the gilded framesholding portraits all down the palace hallway.The flecks of gold leaf twistintobrutal,glintingshards.Goldisaweakmetal.Soft.Malleable.Uselessinatruefight.Iletthemdrop.Idon’thavethetimeorenergytowasteonweakthings.

The pearly rhodium plates along my arms and legs vibrate withadrenaline, theirmirror-bright edges rippling like liquidmercury. Ready tobecomewhateverIneedtostayalive.Asword,ashield,abullet.I’mnotindirectdanger,notrightnow.ButifTollyisn’thereinoneminute,I’mgoingoutthereafterhim,andthenIcertainlywillbe.

Shepromised,Itellmyself.

It sounds idiotic, thewishof aparticularly foolishchild. I shouldknowbetter. The only bond inmyworld is blood; the only promise is family.ASilverwouldsmileandagreewithanotherhouseandbreaktheiroathinthenextheartbeat.MareBarrowisnotSilver—sheshouldhave lesshonor thananyofus.Andsheowesmybrother,owesme,lessthannothing.Shewouldbe justified in slaughtering us all. House Samos has not been kind to thelightninggirl.

“Wehaveaschedule,Evangeline,”Wrenmuttersnexttome.Shecradlesonehandagainstherchest,doingherbestnottoantagonizeanalready-uglyburn. The skin healer wasn’t fast enough to avoid all of Mare’s returningability.Butshegotthejobdone,andthat’sallthatmatters.Nowthelightninggirlisfreetowreakasmuchhavocasshecan.

“I’mgivinghimanotherminute.”

The hallway seems to stretch before me, growing longer with everysecond.Onthissideofthepalace,wecanbarelyhearthebattleintheSquare.Thewindowslookoutonastillcourtyard,withonlydarkstormcloudsabove.If I wanted to, I could pretend this was another day of my usual torment.Everyone smiling with their fangs, circling an increasingly lethal throne. I

thoughttheendofthequeenwouldmeantheendofdanger.It’snotlikemetounderestimateaperson’sevils,butIcertainlyunderestimatedMaven.Hehasmoreofhismother inhimthananyonerealized,aswellashisownkindofmonster.

AmonsterInolongerhavetosuffer, thankmycolors.Oncewe’rebackhome,I’llsendtheLakelanderprincessagiftfortakingmyplaceathisside.

He’llbefarawaybynow,ferriedtosafetybyhistrain.Thenewbrideandgroom were already in the Treasury when I left them. Unless Maven’sdisgusting obsession withMare won out. The boy is impossible to predictwheresheisinvolved.ForallIknow,hecouldhaveturnedaroundtofindher.Hecouldbedead.Icertainlyhopeheisdead.Itwouldmakethenextstepsinfinitelyeasier.

I know Mother and Father too well to worry about them. Woe to theperson,SilverorRed,whomightchallengemyfather inopencombat.AndMotherhasherowncontingencies inplace.Theattackon theweddingwasnotasurprisetoanyofus.HouseSamosisprepared.SolongasTollystickstotheplan.Mybrotherhasahardtimebackingdownfromafight,andheisimpulsive.Anothermanimpossibletopredict.We’renotsupposedtohurttherebelsorimpedetheirprogressinanyway.Father’sorders.Ihopemybrotherfollowsthem.

We’llbe fine. Iexhaleslowly,holdingon to those threewords.Theydolittletocalmmynerves.Iwanttoberidofthisplace.Iwanttogohome.Iwant to see Elane again. I want Tolly to strut around the corner, safe andwhole.

Instead,hecanbarelywalk.

“Ptolemus!”Ibark,forgettingeveryfearbutoneasheroundsthecorner.

His blood stands out sharply against black steel armor, silver spattereddown his chest like paint. I can taste the iron in it, a sharp tang ofmetal.Without thinking, I yank on his armor, pulling him through the airwith it.Beforehecancollapse,Ibracemytorsoagainsthis,keepinghimonhisfeet.He’s almost too weak to stand, let alone run. Icy-cold terror trails fingersdownmyspine.

“You’re late,” Iwhisper, earning a pained grin. Still alive enough for asenseofhumor.

Wrenworks swiftly, pulling off his plates of armor, but she’s not fasterthan me. With another jerk of my hand, it falls from his body in a few

clattering echoes. My eyes fly to his bare chest, expecting to see an uglywound.Nothingtherebutafewshallowcuts,noneofthemseriousenoughtolevelsomeonelikePtolemus.

“Blood loss,”Wren explains. The skin healer pushesmy brother to hisknees,holdinghisleftarmaloft,andhewhimpersfromthepainofit.Ikeepsteadyathisshoulder,crouchingwithhim.“Idon’thavetimetohealthis.”

This. I trailmygazealonghisarm,overwhiteskingrayandblackwithfreshbruises. It ends in abloody,blunt stump.Hishand isgone.Cut cleanthrough the wrist. Silver blood pulses sluggishly from the severed veins,despitehismeagerattemptstowrapthewound.

“Youhaveto,”Ptolemusgrindsout,hisvoicehoarsewithagony.

Inodfervently.“Wren,it’llonlytakeafewminutes.”Nomagnetronisastrangertoalostfinger.We’vebeenplayingwithknivessincewecouldwalk.Weknowhowquicklyadigitcanberegrown.

“Ifheeverwantstousethathandagain,you’lldoasIsay,”shereplies.“It’s too complicated to do quickly. I have to seal thewound for now.”Hemakesanotherstranglednoise,chokingonthethoughtandthepain.

“Wren!”Iplead.

Shedoesn’tbackdown.“Fornow!”Herbeautifuleyes,graySkonoseyes,boreintominewithurgency.Iseefearinher,andnowonder.Afewminutesagoshewatchedmemurderfourguardsandfreeaprisonerofthecrown.SheisalsocomplicitinthetreasonofHouseSamos.

“Fine.”IsqueezeTolly’sshoulder,imploringhimtolisten.“Fornow.Thesecondwe’reintheclear,she’llfixyou.”

Hedoesn’treply,onlynoddingasWrengetstowork.Tollyturnshishead,unabletowatchtheskingrowoverhiswrist,sealinguptheveinsandbones.Ithappensquickly.Blue-blackfingersdanceacrosshispalefleshassheknitshim together. Skin growth is easy, or so I’m told.Nerves, bones, those aremorecomplex.

Idomybesttodistracthimfromthebluntendofhisarm.“Sowhodidit?”

“Another magnetron. Lakelander.” He forces out each word. “Saw mebreakingofftoleave.SlicedmebeforeIknewwhatwashappening.”

Lakelanders.Frozenfools.Allsternintheirhideousblue.TothinkMaventradedthemightofHouseSamosforthem.“Ihopeyourepaidthefavor.”

“Henolongerhasahead.”

“That’lldo.”

“There,”Wrensays,finishingupthewrist.Sherunsherhandsalonghisarmanddownhisspinetothesmallofhisback.“I’llstimulateyourmarrowand kidneys, raise your blood production asmuch as I can. You’ll still beweak,though.”

“That’s fine.As longas Icanwalk.”Healreadysoundsstronger.“Helpmeup,Evie.”

I oblige, bracing his good arm over my shoulder. He’s heavy, almostdeadweight.“Easeuponthedesserts,”Igrumble.“Comeonnow,movewithme.”

Tollydoeswhathecan,forcingonefootaftertheother.Nowherenearfastenough for my taste. “Very well,” I mutter, reaching out to his discardedarmor.Itflattensandre-formsintoasheetofrippledsteel.“Sorry,Tolly.”

I push him down onto it, using my ability to hold up the sheet like astretcher.

“Icanwalk…,”heprotests,butweakly.“Youneedyourfocus.”

“Thenfocusforbothofus,”Ishootback.“Menareuselesswheninjured,aren’tthey?”

Keepinghimelevatedtakesacornerofmyability,butnotallofit.Isprintas fast as I can, one hand on the sheet. It follows on an invisible tether,flankedbyWrenontheotherside.

Metalsingsontheedgeofmyperception.Inoteeachpieceaswepresson, filing them away on instinct. Copper wiring—a garrote with which tostrangle.Doorlocksandhinges—dartsorbullets.Windowframes—ironhiltswith glass daggers. Father used to quizme on such things, until it becamesecond nature. Until I couldn’t enter a roomwithoutmarking its weapons.HouseSamosisnevercaughtoffguard.

Father devised our swift getaway from Archeon. Through the barracksand down the northern cliffs to boats waiting in the river. Steel boats,speciallymade,flutedforspeedandsilence.BetweenFatherandme,they’llcutthroughthewaterlikeneedlesthroughflesh.

We’rebehind schedule, but onlyby a fewminutes. In the chaos, itwilltake hours before anyone in Maven’s court realizes House Samos hasdisappeared. Idon’tdoubtotherhouseswill take the sameopportunity, like

ratsfleeingasinkingship.Mavenisnottheonlypersonwithanescapeplan.Infact,Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifeveryhousehasoneofitsown.Thecourtisapowderkegwithanincreasinglyshortfuseandaspitfireking.You’dhavetobeanidiotnottoexpectanexplosion.

FatherfeltthewindsshiftthemomentMavenstoppedlisteningtohim,assoonasitbecameclearthatallyingtotheCalorekingwouldbeourdownfall.WithoutElara, no one could holdMaven’s leash.Not evenmy father.AndthentheScarletGuardrabblebecamemoreorganized,arealthreatratherthananinconvenience.Theyseemedtogrowwitheachpassingday.OperatinginPiedmontandtheLakelands,whispersofanalliancewithMontfortfartothewest.They’remuchlargerthananyoneanticipated,betterorganizedandmoredetermined than any insurrection in memory. All the while, my wretchedbetrothed lost his grip.On the throne, on his sanity, on anything butMareBarrow.

Hetriedtolethergo,orsoElanetoldme.Mavenknewaswellasanyofuswhatadangerhisobsessionwouldbecome.Killher.Bedone.Beridofherpoison,heusedtomutter.Elanelistenedundetected,quietinhercornerofhisprivatequarters.Thewordswereonlywords.Hecouldneverpartwithher.So it was easy to push her into his path—and push him off course. Theequivalentofwavingaredflaginfrontofabull.Shewashishurricane,andeverynudgepulledhimdeeperintotheeyeofthestorm.Ithoughtshewasaneasytooltouse.Adistractedkingmakesforamorepowerfulqueen.

ButMaven shut me out of a place that was rightfully mine. He didn’tknowtolookforElane.Mylovely,invisibleshadow.Herreportscamelater,under the cover of night. They were very thorough. I feel them still,whisperedagainstmyskinwithonlythemoonto listen.ElaneHavenis themost beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in any capacity, but she looks best inmoonlight.

After Queenstrial, I promised her a consort’s crown. But that dreamdisappearedwithPrinceTiberias,asmostdreamsdowiththeharshbreakofday.Whore. That’s what Maven called her after the attempt on his life. Ialmostkilledhimwherehestood.

Ishakemyhead,refocusingonthetaskathand.Elanecanwait.Elaneiswaiting, justasmyparentspromised.Safe inourhome, tuckedaway in theRift.

ThebackcourtyardsofArcheonopenontoflourishinggardens,whichinturn are bounded by the palacewalls.A fewwrought-iron fencesward the

flowersandshrubbery.Goodforspears.Thewallandgardenpatrolsusedtobeguardsofmanydifferenthouse—Lariswindweavers,silksofIral,vigilantEagrieeyes—butthingshavechangedinrecentmonths.LarisandIralstandin opposition to Maven’s rule, alongside House Haven. And with a battleraging, the king himself in danger, the other palace guards are scattered. Ilook up through the greenery,magnolia and cherry blossoms bright againstthedarksky.Figuresinblackprowlthediamondglassramparts.

OnlyHouseSamosremainstomanthewall.

“Cousinsofiron!”

Theysnaptowardmyvoice,respondinginkind.

“Cousinsofsteel!”

Sweat tricklesdownmyneckas thewall loomscloser.From fear, fromexertion.Onlyafewmoreyards.Inpreparation,Ithickenthepearlymetalofmyboots,hardeningmylaststeps.

“Canyougetyourselfup?”IaskPtolemus,reachingforWrenasIspeak.

Withagroan,he swingsoff the stretcher, forcinghimselfontounsteadyfeet. “I’mnot a child,Eve; I can cover thirty feet.”Toprovehis point, theblacksteelre-formstohisbodyinsleekscales.

If we had more time, I would point out the weaknesses in his usuallyperfectarmor.Holesatthesides,thinningacrosstheback.Instead,Ionlynod.“Youfirst.”

He lifts a corner of his mouth, trying to smirk, trying to lessen myconcern.Iexhaleinreliefasherisesintotheair,rocketinguptotherampartsof thewall.Our cousins above catch himdeftly, drawing him inwith theirownability.

“Ourturn.”

Wrenclingstomyside,safebeneathmyarm.Ihaulinabreath,holdingontothefeeloftherhodiummetalcurvingbeneathmytoes,upmylegs,overmyshoulders.Rise,Itellmyarmor.

Pop.

Thefirstsensationmyfathermademememorizewasabullet.Isleptwithonearoundmyneckfor twoyears.Until itbecameasfamiliar tomeasmycolors. I can name rounds from a hundred yards. Know their weight, theirshape, their composition. Such a small piece of metal is the differencebetween another person’s life and my death. It could be my killer, or my

savior.

Pop,pop,pop.Thebulletsexplodingintheirchambersfeellikeneedles,sharp, impossible to ignore. They’re coming from behind.My toes hit thegroundagainasmyfocusnarrows,myhandsflyinguptoshieldagainstthesuddenonslaught.

Armor-piercingrounds,fatcopperjacketswithbrutaltungstencoresandtapered tips, arc beforemy eyes, flyingbackward to landharmlessly in thegrass.Anothervolleycomesfromat leastadozenguns,andI throwoutanarm, protectingmyself. The thunder of automatic gunfire drowns out Tollyshoutingaboveme.

Eachbullet ripples againstmyability, taking anotherpieceof it, ofme.Somehaltmidair;somecrumple.IthroweverythingIcantocreateacocoonof safety. From the wall, Tolly andmy cousins do the same. They lift theweightenoughtoactuallyletmefigureoutwhoisshootingatme.

Redrags,hardeyes.ScarletGuard.

Igritmy teeth.Thebullets in thegrasswouldbeeasy to tossback intotheirskulls.Instead,Iripapartthetungstenlikewool,spinningitintoglintingthreadasfastasIcan.Tungstenisincrediblyheavyandstrong.Ittakesmoreenergytowork.Anotherbeadofsweatrollsalongmyspine.

Thethreadssplayout inaweb,hittingthetwelverebelshead-on.In thesamemotion,Iwrenchthegunsfromtheirhands,shreddingthemtopieces.Wren clings to me, holding tightly, and I feel myself pulled back and up,slidingalongperfectdiamondglass.

Tollycatchesme,ashealwaysdoes.

“Anddownagain,”hemutters.Hisgriponmyarmiscrushing.

Wrengulps,leaningtolook.Hereyeswiden.“Bitfartherthistime.”

Iknow.It’sahundredfeetdownsheercliff,andthenanothertwohundredover sloping rock to twist around to the river’s edge. In the shadow of thebridge,Fathersaid.

In the garden, the rebels struggle, straining againstmy net. I feel thempushandpullit,asthemetalitselfstrainstobreakapart.Iteatsatmyfocus.Tungsten,Icursetomyself.Ineedmorepractice.

“Let’sgo,”Itellthemall.

Behindme,thetungstencracksapartintodust.Astrong,heavything,butbrittle.Withoutamagnetron’shand,itbreaksbeforeitbends.

HouseSamosisdonewithboth.

Wewillnotbreak,andwewillnolongerbend.

Theboatscut soundlessly through thewater,glidingacross the surface.Wemakegoodtime.OuronlyobstacleisthepollutionofGrayTown.Thestinkof it clings tomy hair, still foul inmy body even aswe break through thesecondringofbarrier trees.Wrensensesmydiscomfortandputsahandonmy bare wrist. Her healing touch clears my lungs and chases away myexhaustion.Pushingsteelthroughwaterbecomestiringafterawhile.

Mother leans over the sleek side of my boat, trailing one hand in theflowingCapital.Afewcatfishrisetohertouch,theirwhiskerstwiningwithherfingers.Theslimybeastsdon’tbotherher,butIshudderwithdisgust.Sheisn’t concernedbywhatever they tell her,meaning they can’t sense anyonepursuing us.Her falcon overhead keepswatch aswell.When the sun sets,Mother will replace him with bats. As expected, not a scratch on her, orFather. He stands at the prow of the lead boat, setting our path. A blacksilhouetteagainsttheblueriverandgreenhills.Hispresencecalmsmemorethanthepeacefulvalley.

Noonespeaksformanymiles.Noteven thecousins,whoIcanusuallycountonfornonsensechatter.Instead,theyfocusondiscardingtheirSecurityuniforms.EmblemsofNortafloatinourwake,whilethejewel-brightmedalsandbadgessinkintodarkness.HardearnedwithSamosblood,marksofourallegianceandloyalty.Nowlosttothedepthsoftheriverandthepast.

WearenotNortansanymore.

“Soit’sdecided,”Imurmur.

Behindme,Tollystraightensup.His ruinedarmisstillbandaged.Wrenwon’triskregrowinganentirehandontheriver.“Wasthereeveranydoubt?”

“Was thereeverachoice?”Mother turns to lookoverher shoulder.Shemoveswith the leangraceofacat,stretchingout inherbrightgreengown.Thebutterfliesarelonggone.“Aweakkingwecouldcontrol,butthere’snohandlingmadness.AssoonasIraldecidedtoopposehimoutright,ourplaywas decided for us. And choosing the Lakelander”—she rolls her eyes—“Mavencutthelastbondsbetweenourhouseshimself.”

I almost scoff in her face. No one decides anything formy father. Butlaughing atMother is not amistake I’m stupid enough tomake. “Will theother houses back us, then? I know Father was negotiating.” Leaving hischildren alone, at the mercy of Maven’s increasingly volatile court. More

wordsIwouldneverdaresayaloudtoeitherofmyparents.

Mother senses themanyway.“Youdidwell,Eve,” shecroons,puttingahandtomyhair.Sherunsafewsilverstrandsthroughherwetfingers.“Andyou,Ptolemus.Between thatmess inCorviumand thehouse rebellions, noonedoubtedyourallegiance.Youboughtustime,valuabletime.”

Ikeepmyfocusonsteelandwater,ignoringhercoldtouch.“Ihopeitwasworthit.”

Before today, Maven faced multiple rebellions. Without House Samos,ourresources,ourlands,oursoldiers,howcouldhestandtowin?Butbeforetoday,hedidn’thavetheLakelands.NowIhavenoideawhatmightunfold.Idon’tlikethefeelingatall.Mylifehasbeenastudyinplanningandpatience.Anuncertainfuturefrightensme.

Inthewest,thesunsinksredagainstthehills.RedasElane’shair.

She’swaiting,Itellmyselfagain.She’ssafe.

Hersisterwasnotsofortunate.Marielladiedpoorly,hollowedoutbytheseethingMeranduswhisper. Iavoidedhimasmuchas Icould,glad IknewnothingofFather’splans.

I saw thedepthsofhispunishment inMare.After the interrogation, sheflinchedfromhimlikeakickeddog.Itwasmyfault.IforcedMaven’shand.Withoutmyinterference,hemighthaveneverletthewhisperhavehisway—butthenhewouldhavestayedawayfromMarealtogether.Hewouldnothavebeen so blinded by her. Instead, he did as I hoped, and drew her closer. Iexpected them to drown each other.How easy. Sink two enemieswith oneanchor. But she refused to break. The girl I remember, the masquerading,terrified servant who believed every lie, would have submitted to Mavenmonthsago.Instead,shedonnedadifferentmask.Dancedonhisstrings,satbyhisside, livedahalf-lifewithout freedomorability.Andstillheldon toherpride,herfire,heranger.Itwasalwaysthere,burninginhereyes.

Ihavetorespectherforthat.Eventhoughshetooksomuchfromme.

ShewasaconstantreminderofwhatIwassupposedtobe.Aprincess.Aqueen.IwasborntenmonthsafterTiberias.Iwasmadetomarryhim.

My firstmemoriesareofMother’s snakeshissing inmyears,breathingherwhispersandpromises.Youareadaughterof fangsandsteel.Whatareyoumeantfor,ifnottorule?Everylessonintheclassroomorthearenawaspreparation.Bethebest,thestrongest,thesmartest,themostdeadlyandthemostcunning.Themostworthy.AndIwaseverything.

Kingsarenotknownfortheirkindnessortheircompassion.Queenstrialisnotmeanttomakehappymarriages,butstrongchildren.WithCal,Ihadboth.Hewouldnothavebegrudgedmemyownconsort,ortriedtocontrolme.Hiseyesweresoftandthoughtful.HewasmorethanIhadeverhopedfor.AndIhad earned himwith every drop of blood I’d spilled, allmy sweat, allmytearsofpainandfrustration.Everysacrificeofwhomyheartwantedtobe.

ThenightbeforeQueenstrial,Idreamedwhatitwouldbelike.Mythrone.Myroyalchildren.Subjecttonoone,notevenFather.TiberiaswouldbemyfriendandElanemylover.ShewouldmarryTolly,asplanned,ensuringnoneofuscouldeverbeparted.

ThenMarefellintoourlivesandblewthatdreamawaylikesand.

Once, I thought the crown prince would do the unthinkable. Push measideforthelong-lostTitanoswithstrangewaysandanevenstrangerability.Instead,shewasadeadlypawn,sweepingmykingfromtheboard.Thepathsoffatehavestrangetwists.Iwonderifthatnewbloodseerknewabouttoday.Doeshelaughatwhathesees?IwishI’dgottenmyhandsonhimjustonce.Ihatenotknowing.

On thebanksahead,manicured lawnscomeintoview.Theedgesof thegrasstingegoldandred,givingtheestatesliningtheriveralovelyglow.Ourownmanorhouseisclose,justonemoremile.Thenweturnwest.Towardourtruehome.

Motherneveransweredmyquestion.

“So,wasFatherabletoconvincetheotherhouses?”Iaskher.

Shenarrowshereyes,herentirebodytightening.Coilingup,likeoneofhersnakes.“HouseLariswasalreadywithus.”

That I knew. Along with controlling most of the Nortan Air Fleet, theLariswindweaversgoverntheRift.Intruth,theyrulebyourcommand.Eagerpuppets,willingtotradeanythingtomaintainourironandcoalmines.

Elane.HouseHaven.Iftheyaren’twithus—

I lick lips that are suddenly dry. A fist clenches at my side. The boatgroansbeneathme.“And…”

“Iral has not agreed to the terms, and more than half of Haven won’teither.” Mother sniffs. She folds her arms across her chest, as if insulted.“Don’tworry,Elaneisn’toneofthem.Pleasestopcrushingtheboat.Idon’tfeellikeswimmingthelastmile.”

Tollynudgesmyarm,a slight touch.Exhaling, I realizemygripon thesteelwasabittoostrong.Thebowsmoothsagain,ripplingbackintoshape.

“Apologies,”Imutterquickly.“I’mjust…confused.Ithoughtthetermswerealreadyagreedupon.TheRiftwillriseinopendefiance.IralbringsonHouseLerolanandallofDelphie.Anentirestatewillsecede.”

Motherglancespastme, toFather.Heangleshisboat toward theshore,andIfollowhislead.Ourfamiliarestatepeeksthroughthetrees,backlitbydusk.“Therewassomedebateovertitles.”

“Titles?”Isneer.“Howstupid.Whatcouldtheirargumentpossiblybe?”

Steelhitsstone,bumpingup to the lowretainingwall runningalongthewater.Withasmallburstoffocus,Iholdthemetalfirmagainstthecurrent.WrenhelpsTollyoutfirst,steppingupontothelushcarpetofgrass.Motherwatches,hergazelingeringonhismissinghandwhilethecousinsfollow.

Ashadowfallsoverusboth.Father.Hestandsoverhershoulder.Alightwind rippleshiscloak,playingalong the foldsofvoid-black silkand silverthread.Hiddenbeneathisasuitofblue-tingedchromiumsofineitcouldbeliquid.

“‘Iwillnotkneeltoanothergreedyking,’”hewhispers.Father’svoiceisalwayssoftasvelvet,deadlyasapredator.“That’swhatSalinIralsaid.”

He reaches down, offeringmymother his hand. She takes it deftly andstepsfromtheboat.Itdoesn’tmoveunderher,heldbymyability.

Anotherking.

“Father…?”

Theworddiesinmymouth.

“Cousinsofiron!”heshouts,neverbreakingourstare.

Behind him, our Samos cousins drop to a knee. Ptolemus does not,lookingonwithasmuchconfusionasI feel.Bloodmembersofahousedonotkneeltooneanother.Notlikethis.

Theyrespondasone,theirvoicesringing.“Kingsofsteel!”

Quickly, Father extends his hand, catching my wrist before my shockripplestheboatbeneath.

Hiswhisperisalmosttoolowtohear.

“TotheKingdomoftheRift.”

TWENTYMare

Thegreen-uniformedteleporterlandsevenly,onsteadyfeet.It’sbeenalongtimesincetheworldsqueezedandblurredforme.ThelasttimewasShade.The split-second memory of him aches. Paired with my wound and thenauseating rush of pain, it’s no wonder I collapse tomy hands and knees.Spotsdancebeforemyeyes,threateningtospreadandconsume.Iwillmyselftostayawakeandnotvomitallover…whereverIam.

Before I can look much farther than the metal beneath my fingers,someonepullsmeupintoacrushingembrace.IclingonashardasIcan.

“Cal,”Iwhisperinhisear,lipsbrushingflesh.Hesmellslikesmokeandblood,heatandsweat.Myheadfitsperfectly in thespacebetweenhisneckandshoulder.

Hetremblesinmyarms,shaking.Evenhisbreathhitches.He’sthinkingthesamethingIam.

Thiscan’tbereal.

Slowly,hepullsback,bringinghishandstocupmyface.Hesearchesmyeyesandglaresovereveryinchofme.Idothesame,lookingforthetrick,thelie, thebetrayal.MaybeMavenhasskinchangerslikeNanny.MaybethisisanotherMerandushallucination.IcouldwakeuponMaven’strain,tohisiceeyesandEvangeline’srazorsmile.Theentirewedding,myescape,thebattle—somehorrificjoke.ButCalfeelsreal.

He’spaler thanIremember,withblunt,close-cuthair. Itwouldcurl likeMaven’sifgiventhechance.Roughstubblelineshischeeks,alongwithafewminor nicks and cuts along the sharp edges of his jaw.He is leaner than Iremember, hismuscles harder beneathmyhands.Only his eyes remain thesame.Bronze,red-gold,likeironbroughttoblazingheat.

I look different too. A skeleton, an echo. He runs a limp lock of hairthrough his fingers, watching the brown fade to brittle gray. And then hetouches the scars.Atmy neck,my spine, endingwith the brand belowmyruineddress.Hisfingersaregentle,shockinglysoafterwealmostrippedeachotherapart.Iamglasstohim,afragilethingthatmightshatterordisappearat

anymoment.

“It’sme,”Itellhim,whisperingwordswebothneedtohear.“I’mback.”

I’mback.

“Isityou,Cal?”Isoundlikeachild.

Henods,hisgazeneverwavering.“It’sme.”

Imovebecausehewon’t,takingusbothbysurprise.Mylipsmoldtohiswith ferocity, and I pull him in. His heat falls like a blanket around myshoulders.Ifighttokeepmysparksfromdoingthesame.Still, thehairsonhisneckrise,respondingtotheelectriccurrentjumpingintheair.Neitherofusclosesoureyes.Thismightstillbeadream.

He comes to his senses first, scooping me off my feet. A dozen facespretendtolookawayinsomesemblanceofpropriety.Idon’tcare.Letthemlook.Noflushofshamerises.I’vebeenforcedtodofarworseinfrontofacrowd.

We’re on an airjet. The long fuselage, dull roar of engines, and cloudsslipping past make it unmistakable. Not to mention the delicious purr ofelectricitypulsingthroughwiresspanningeveryinch.Ireachout,layingmypalmflatagainst thecool, curvedmetalof the jetwall. Itwouldbeeasy todrinktherhythmicpulse,pullitintome.Easyandstupid.AsmuchasIwanttogorgemyselfonthesensation,thatwouldendverypoorly.

Calneverremoveshishandfromthesmallofmyback.Heturnstolookoverhisshoulder,addressingoneofthedozenpeopleharnessedintheirseats.

“HealerReese,herfirst,”hesays.

“Surething.”

Mygrindisappears thesecondanunfamiliarmanputshishandsonme.His fingersclosearoundmywrist.Thegrip feelswrong,heavy.Likestone.Manacles.Withoutthought,Ismackhimawayandjumpback,asifburned.Terrormaulsmyinsidesassparksspitfrommyfingers.Facesflash,cloudingmyvision.Maven,Samson, theArvenguardswith theirbruisinghandsandhardeyes.Overhead,thelightsflicker.

The red-haired healer flinches back, yelping, as Cal smoothly anglesbetweenus.

“Mare,he’sgoing to treatyourwounds.He’s anewblood,withus.”Hebraces one hand against thewall bymy face, shieldingme.Boxingme in.Suddenly thedecent-sized jet is toosmall, theairstaleandsuffocating.The

weightofmanaclesisgonebutnotforgotten.Istillfeelthematmywristsandankles.

Thelightsflickeragain.Iswallowhard,squeezingmyeyesshut,tryingtofocus.Control.Butmyheartbeatrageson,mypulseathunder.Isuckdownair through gritted teeth, willingmyself to calm down. You’re safe. You’rewithCal,theGuard.You’resafe.

Caltakesmyfaceagain,pleading.“Openyoureyes,lookatme.”

Nooneelsemakesasound.

“Mare,nooneisgoingtohurtyouhere.It’sallover.Lookatme!”Ihearthedesperationinhim.HeknowsaswellasIdowhatcouldhappentothejetifIlosecontrolentirely.

Thejetshiftsbeneathmyfeet,anglingdowninasteadydecline.Gettingusclose to thegroundshould theworsthappen.Settingmyjaw, I forcemyeyesopen.

Lookatme.

Maven said those words once. In Harbor Bay. When the sounderthreatenedtotearmeapart.IhearhiminCal’svoice,seehiminCal’sface.No,Iescapedyou.Igotaway.ButMaveniseverywhere.

Calsighs,exasperatedandpained.“Cameron.”

The name ripsmy eyes open and I slamboth fists intoCal’s chest.Hestumbles back, surprised by the force.A silver flush colors his cheeks.Heknitshisbrowsinconfusion.

Behindhim,Cameronkeepsonehandonherseat,steadilyswayingwiththemotionofthejet.Shelooksstrong,zippedintothick-weavetacticalgear,withher freshbraids tightlywound toherhead.Herdeepbrowneyesboreintomine.

“Notthat.”Beggingcomestooeasily.“Anythingbutthat.Please.Ican’t—Ican’tfeelthatagain.”

Thesmotherofsilence.Theslowdeath. Ispentsixmonthsbeneath thatweightandnow,feelingmyselfagain,Imaynotsurviveanothermomentwithit.Agaspoffreedombetweentwoprisonsisjustanothertorture.

Cameronkeepsherhandsathersides,long,darkfingersstill.Waitingtostrike.Themonthshavechangedhertoo.Herfirehasnotdisappeared,butithasdirection,focus.Purpose.

“Fine,”shereplies.Withdeliberatemotions,shecrossesherarmsoverherchest,foldingawayherlethalhands.Ialmostcollapseinrelief.“It’sgoodtoseeyou,Mare.”

Myheartbeat still thrums, enough tomakemebreathless, but the lightsstopflickering.Idipmyheadinrelief.“Thankyou.”

Atmyside,Callooksongrimly.Amuscleripplesinhischeek.Whathe’sthinking,Ican’tsay.ButIcanguess.Ispentsixmonthswithmonsters,andIhaven’tforgottenwhatitfeelsliketobeamonstermyself.

Slowly,Isinkintoanemptyseat,puttingmypalmsonmyknees.ThenIlacemyfingerstogether.Thensitonmyhands.Idon’tknowwhichlookstheleastthreatening.Furiouswithmyself,Iglareatthemetalbetweenmytoes.Suddenly I’m very aware of my army jacket and battered dress, ripped atalmosteveryseam,andhowcolditisinhere.

The healer notes my shiver and quickly drapes a blanket around myshoulders.Hemovessteadily,allbusiness.Whenhecatchesmyeye,hegivesmeahalfsmile.

“Happensallthetime,”hemutters.

Iforceachuckle,ahollowsound.

“Let’sseethatside,okay?”

AsItwisttoshowhimtheshallowbutlonggashalongmyribs,Caltakestheseatnexttome.Heoffersasmileofhisown.

Sorry,hemouthstome.

Sorry,Imouthback.

Even though I have nothing to be truly sorry for. For once. I’ve comethroughhorrendousthings,donehorrendousthingstosurvive.It’seasierthisway.Fornow.

Idon’tknowwhyIpretendtosleep.Asthehealerdoeshiswork,myeyesslipclosedandtheystaythatwayforhours.I’vedreamedofthismomentforso long it’salmostoverwhelming.Theonly thing Icando is leanbackandbreatheeasy.Ifeellikeabomb.Nosuddenmoves.Calstaysclosetomyside,hislegpressedupagainstmine.Ihearhimshiftoccasionally,buthedoesn’tspeakwiththeothers.NeitherdoesCameron.Theirattentionisreservedforme.

Partofmewantstotalk.Askthemaboutmyfamily.Kilorn.Farley.Whathappenedbefore,what’shappeningnow.Wherethehellwe’reevengoing.I

can’tgetpast thinking thewords.There’sonlyenoughenergy inme to feelrelief.Cool,soothingrelief.Calisalive;Cameronisalive.I’malive.

Theothersmutteramongthemselves, theirvoiceslowoutofrespect.Orthey just don’t want to wake me up and risk another brush with ficklelightning.

Eavesdroppingissecondnatureatthispoint.Icatchafewwords,enoughto paint a hazy picture. Scarlet Guard, tactical success, Montfort. The lasttakesmealongmomentofcontemplation.Ibarelyrememberthenewbloodtwins,envoysofanothernationfaraway.Theirfacesblurinmymemory.ButI certainly remember their offer. Safe haven for newbloods, provided Iaccompanythem.Itunsettledmethenandunsettlesmenow.Ifthey’vemadeanalliancewith theScarletGuard—whatwas theprice?Mybody tensesatthe implication.Montfortwantsme for something, thatmuch is clear.AndMontfortseemstohaveaidedmyrescue.

Inmyhead,Ibrushagainst theelectricityof the jet, lettingitcall to theelectricityinsideme.Somethingtellsmethisbattleisn’toveryet.

The jet lands smoothly, touchingdownafter sunset. I jumpat the sensationandCal reactswith catlike reflexes, his hand coming down onmywrist. Iflinchawayagainwithaspikeofadrenaline.

“Sorry,”hesputters.“I—”

Despitemy churning stomach, I forcemyself to calm down. I take hiswristinmyhand,fingersbrushingalongthesteelofhisflamemakerbracelet.

“Hekeptmechainedup.SilentStonemanacles,nightandday,”Iwhisper.Itightenmygrip,lettinghimfeelabitofwhatIremember.“Istillcan’tgetthemoutofmyhead.”

Hisbrowfurrowsoverdarkeningeyes.Iknowpainintimately,butIcan’tfindthestrengthtoseeitinCal.Idropmygaze,runningathumbalonghishot skin. Another reminder that he is here and I am here. Nomatter whathappens,thereisalwaysthis.

Heshifts,movingwithhis lethalgrace,until I’mholdinghishand.Ourfingerslaceandtighten.“IwishIcouldmakeyouforget,”hesays.

“Thatwon’thelpanything.”

“Iknow.Butstill.”

Cameronwatchesfromacrosstheaisle,onetappinglegcrossedovertheother.ShelooksalmostamusedwhenIglanceather.“Amazing,”shesays.

Itrynottobristle.MyrelationshipwithCameron,thoughshort,wasnotexactlysmooth. Inhindsight,my fault.Another ina long lineofmistakes Idesperatelywanttofix.“What?”

Grinning,sheunstrapsfromherseatandstandsasthejetslows.“Youstillhaven’taskedwherewe’regoing.”

“Anywhere’sbetterthanwhereIwas.”IthrowapointedglanceatCalandpullmyhand away to foolwith thebuckles ofmyharness. “And I figuredsomeonewouldfillmein.”

He shrugs as he gets up. “Waiting for the right time. Didn’t want tooverloadyou.”

For the first time in a long time, I truly laugh. “That is an absolutelyhorrificpun.”

Hiswidesmilematchesmine.“Doesthejob.”

“Thisisbleedingunbearable,”Cameronmutterstoherself.

Once I’m free from my seat, I approach her, tentative. She notes myapprehensionandshovesherhands inherpockets. It’snot likeCameron tobackdownorsoften,butshedoesforme.Ididn’tseeherinthebattleandI’dbestupidnottorealizehertruepurpose.She’sonthisjettokeepaneyeonme,abucketofwaternexttoacampfireshoulditrageoutofcontrol.

Slowly, I put my arms around her shoulders, hugging her close. I tellmyselfnot to flinchat thefeelofherskin.Shecancontrol it, I tellmyself.Shewon’tlethersilencetouchyou.“Thanksforbeinghere,”Itellher.Imeanit.

She nods tightly, her chin brushing the top of my head. So damn tall.Eithershe’sstillgrowingorI’vestartedshrinking.Evenmoneyonboth.

“Nowtellmewherehereis,”Iadd,pullingback.“AndwhatthehellI’vebeenmissing.”

She ducks her chin, gesturing toward the tail of the plane.Like the oldBlackrun,thisairjetfeaturesarampentrance.Itlowerswithapneumatichiss.HealerReeseleadstheothersout,andwefollow,afewpacesbehind.Itenseaswego,notknowingwhattoexpectoutside.

“We’re a lucky bunch,” Cameron says. “We get to see what Piedmontlookslike.”

“Piedmont?”IglanceatCal,unabletohidemyshockormyconfusion.

Herollshisshoulders.Discomfortflashesacrosshisface.“Iwasn’tawareuntilthiswasplanned.Theydidn’ttellusmuch.”

“They never do.” That’s how the Guard works, how it keeps ahead ofSilvers like Samson or Elara. People know exactlywhat they need to, andnothingmore.Ittakesalotoffaith,orstupidity,tofolloworderslikethat.

I walk down the ramp, each step lighter than the last. Without thedeadweightofmanacles,IfeellikeIcouldfly.TheotherGuardsmenkeeponaheadofusandjoininwithacrowdofothersoldiers.

“The Piedmont branch of the Scarlet Guard, right? Big branch, by thelooksofit.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Calmuttersinmyear.Overhisshoulder,Cameroneyesusboth,equallypuzzled.Iglancebetweenthem,searchingfortherightthingtosay.Ichoosethetruth.

“That’swhywe’reinPiedmont.TheGuardhasbeenoperatinghereasinNortaand theLakelands.”Thewordsof thePiedmontprinces,DaraeusandAlexandret,echoinmymind.

Cal holds my gaze for a moment, before turning to look at Cameron.“You’reclosetoFarley.Youhearanythingaboutthis?”

Camerontapsherlip.“Shenevermentionedit.Idoubtsheknows.Orhasclearancetotellme.”

Theirtoneschange.Sharper,allbusiness.Theydon’tlikeeachother.OnCameron’s end, I understand. On Cal’s? He was raised a prince. Even theScarletGuardcan’tscrubawayeveryinchofbrat.

“Ismyfamilyhere?”Isharpentoo.“Doyouknowthat,atleast?”

“Ofcourse,”Calreplies.He’snotagoodliar,andIseenolieinhimnow.“I was assured of it. They came from Trial with the rest of the Colonel’steam.”

“Good.I’mgoingtoseethemassoonaspossible.”

ThePiedmontairishot,heavy,sticky.Likethedeepestholeofsummer,eventhoughit’sonlyspring.I’veneverstartedsweatingsoquickly.Eventhebreezeiswarm,offeringnorespiteasitrollsacrosstheflat,hotconcrete.Thelanding field is awash with floodlights, so bright it almost crowds out thestars. In thedistance,more jets lineup.Someare forestgreen, sameas theones I saw inCaesar’s Square.Airjets like theBlackrun, aswell as biggercargo craft.Montfort, I realize as the dots connect inmy brain.The white

triangleontheirwingsistheirmark.Isawitbefore,backatTuckoncratesofequipmentandon the twins’uniforms.Peppered inwith theMontfortcraftsaredeepblue jets, aswell asyellow-and-whiteones, theirwingspainted instripes.ThefirstareLakelander,thesecondfromPiedmontitself.Everythingaroundus iswell-organized and, judgingbyhangars andoutbuildings,wellfunded.

Clearly,we’re on amilitary base, andnot the kind theScarletGuard isusedto.

BothCalandCameronlookjustassurprisedasIdo.

“I just spent sixmonths a prisoner, and you’re tellingme I knowmoreaboutouroperationsthanthebothofyou?”Iscoffatthem.

Cal looks sheepish. He’s a general; he’s Silver; he was born a prince.Beingconfusedandhelplessdeeplyunsettleshim.

Cameron just bristles. “Took you just a few hours to regain your self-righteousness.Mustbeanewrecord.”

She’s right, and it stings. I hurry to catchher,Cal atmy side. “I just—sorry.Ithoughtthiswouldbeeasier.”

A hand at the small of my back bleeds warmth, soothing mymuscles.“Whatdoyouknowthatwedon’t?”Calasks,hisvoiceachinglygentle.Partofmewantstoshakehimoutofit.I’mnotadoll—notMaven’sdoll,noone’s—andI’mincontrolagain.Idon’tneedtobehandled.But therestrelisheshistendertreatment.It’sbetterthananythingI’veexperiencedinsolong.

Idon’tbreakmystride,butIkeepmyvoicelow.“OnthedayHouseIralandtheotherstriedtokillMaven,hewasholdingafeastfortwoprincesfromPiedmont.DaraeusandAlexandret.Theyquestionedmebeforehand,askingabouttheScarletGuard,theiroperationsintheirkingdom.Somethingaboutaprince and princess.” The memory sharpens into focus. “Charlotta andMichael.They’remissing.”

AdarkcloudcrossesCal’sface.“WeheardtheprinceswereinArcheon.Alexandretdiedafterward.Intheassassinationattempt.”

Iblink,surprised.“Howdoyou—”

“We kept tabs on you as best we could,” he explains. “It was in thereports.”

Reports.Theword spirals. “Is thatwhyNannywasembedded incourt?Tokeepaneyeonme?”

“Nanny was my fault,” Cal spits out. He glares at his feet. “No oneelse’s.”

Nexttohim,Cameronscowls.“Damnright.”

“MissBarrow!”

Thevoice isn’tashock.Where theScarletGuardgoes,sodoesColonelFarley. He looks almost the same as always: careworn, gruff, and brutish,close-croppedwhite-blondhair,hisfacelinedwithprematurestress,andoneeyecloudedwithapermanentfilmofscarletblood.Theonlychangesarethesteady graying of his hair, as well as a sunburn across his nose and morefreckles on his exposed forearms. The Lakelander isn’t used to Piedmontsunshine,andhe’sbeenherelongenoughtofeelit.

Lakelander soldiers of his own, their uniforms a split of red and blue,accompanyhiminflankingposition.Twoothersingreentrailalongaswell.IrecognizeRashandTahiratadistance,walkinginevenstep.Farleyisn’twiththem.AndIdon’tseeherontheconcrete,leavingoneoftheairjets.It isn’tlikehertoturnfromafight—unlessshenevermadeitoutofNorta.Iswallowthesoberingthoughtandfocusonherfather.

“Colonel.”Idipmyheadingreeting.

Hesurprisesmewhenheputsoutoneincrediblycallusedhand.

“Goodtoseeyouwhole,”hesays.

“Wholeascanbeexpected.”

That unsettles him. He coughs, looking between the three of us. Aprecariousplacetobeforamanwhoopenlyfearswhatweare.

“I’mgoingtoseemyfamilynow,Colonel.”

There’snoreasontoaskpermission.Imovetosidestephim,buthishandstopsmecold.This time,I fight theguturge toflinchaway.Nooneelse isgoingtoseemyfear.Notrightnow.Instead,I levelmyeyesonhis,andlethimrealizeexactlywhathe’sdoing.

“Thisisn’tmydecision,”theColonelsaysfirmly.Heraiseshiseyebrows,imploringmeto listen.Thenhetipshisheadto theside.Overhisshoulder,RashandTahirnodatme.

“MissBarrow—”

“We’vebeeninstructed—”

“—toescortyou—”

“—toyourdebriefing.”

The twins blink at me in unison, finishing their maddening tandemspeech.LiketheColonel,theysweatinthehumidity.Itmakestheirmatchingblackbeardsandocherskingleam.

Insteadofpunchingthemboth,asIwishIcould,Itakeasmallstepback.Debriefing.The thoughtof explaining all I’vebeen through to someGuardstrategistmakesmewanttoscreamorstorm—orboth.

Calcutsbetweenus,ifonlytocushionwhateverblowImightsendtheirway.

“You’re reallygoing tomakeherdo thisnow?”His toneofdisbelief isundercutwithwarning.“Itcanwait.”

The Colonel exhales slowly, the picture of exasperation. “It may seemheartless”—he throwsa cuttingglare at theMontfort twins—“butyouhavevital informationonour enemies.These areourorders,Barrow.”Hisvoicesoftens.“Iwishtheyweren’t.”

Withalighttouch,IpushCaltotheside.“I’m—going—to—see—my—family—now!” I shout, speaking back and forth between the insufferabletwins.Theyjustscowl.

“Howrude,”Rashmutters.

“Quiterude,”Tahirmuttersback.

Cameronconcealsalowlaughasacough.“Don’ttempther,”shewarns.“I’lllooktheotherwayiflightningstrikes.”

“Theorderscanwait,”Caladds,usingallofhismilitarytrainingtoseemcommanding,evenifhehaslittleauthorityhere.TheScarletGuardseeshimasaweapon,nothingmore.IknowbecauseIusedtoseehimthesameway.

The twins don’t budge. Rash blusters, drawing himself up like a birdfluffingitsfeathers.“CertainlyyouhaveasmuchmotiveasanyonetoaidinKingMaven’sdownfall?”

“Certainlyyouknowthebestwaystodefeathim?”Tahircarrieson.

They’renotwrong.I’veseenMaven’sdeepestwoundsanddarkestparts.Wheretohithimtomakehimbleedmost.Butinthismoment,witheveryoneI love so close, I can barely see straight. Right now, if someone chainedMaventothegroundinfrontofme,Iwouldn’tstoptokickhimintheteeth.

“Idon’tcarewho’sholdingyourleash,anyofyou.”Istepneatlyaround

themboth.“Tellyourmastertowait.”

Thebrotherstradeglances.Theyspeakineachother’sthoughts,debating.IwouldwalkawayifIknewwheretogo,butI’mhopelesslyadrift.

Mymind already races ahead, toMom,Dad, Gisa, Tramy, and Bree. Ipicture themholedup in another barracks, squeezed into a dormitory roomsmallerthanourstilthouse.Mom’sbadcookingstinkingupthespace.Dad’schair,Gisa’sscraps.Itmakesmyheartache.

“I’ll find themmyself,” I hiss, intending to leave the twins behind forgood.

Instead,RashandTahirbowback,wavingmeon.“Verywell—”

“Yourdebriefingisinthemorning,MissBarrow.”

“Colonel,ifyouwouldescortherto—”

“Yes,”theColonelsayssharply,cuttingthembothoff.I’mgratefulforhishastiness.“Followme,Mare.”

The Piedmont base is much larger than Tuck, judging by the size of thelanding field. In the dark it’s hard to tell, but it reminds memore of FortPatriot, the Nortan military headquarters in Harbor Bay. The hangars arelarger, theaircraftnumbering in thedozens. Insteadofwalking towhereverwe’re going, the Colonel’smen drive us in an open-topped transport. Likesome of the jets, its sides are striped yellow and white. Tuck I couldunderstand.Anabandonedbase,outofsight,outofmind,wasprobablyeasyfortheScarletGuardtotake.Butthisisnoneofthosethings.

“Where’sKilorn?”Imumbleundermybreath,nudgingCalbesideme.

“With your family, I assume. He bounced between them and thenewbloodsmostofthetime.”

Becausehehasnofamilyofhisown.

Idropmyvoicelower,tosavetheColonelanyoffense.“AndFarley?”

CameronleansaroundCal,hereyesoddlykind.“She’sinthehospital,butdon’tworry.Shedidn’tgotoArcheon;sheisn’tinjured.You’llseehersoon.”She blinks rapidly, selecting her words with care. “You two will have…thingstotalkabout.”

“Good.”

Thewarmairtugsatmewithstickyfingers,tanglingmyhair.Icanbarelysitstillinmyseat,tooexcitedandnervous.WhenIwastaken,Shadehadjust

died—because of me. I wouldn’t blame anyone, including Farley, if theyhatedmeforit.Timedoesn’talwayshealwounds.Onceinawhile,itmakesthemworse.

Calkeepsahandonmyleg,afirmweightasareminderofhispresence.Nexttome,hiseyeswhipbackandforth,notingeveryturnofthetransport.Ishould do the same. The Piedmont base is unfamiliar ground. But I can’tbringmyselftodomuchmorethanchewmylipandhope.Mynervesbuzz,but not from electricity.Whenwemake a right, turning in to a network ofcheerybrickrowhouses,IfeellikeImightexplode.

“Officers’quarters,”Calmuttersunderhisbreath.“This isa royalbase.Governmentfunded.There’sonlyafewPiedmontbasesofthissize.”

HistonetellsmehewondersasIdo.Thenhowarewehere?

Weslow in front of theonlyhousewith everywindowablaze.Withoutthought,Ivaultoverthesideofthetransport,almosttrippingovertheragsofmy dress. My vision narrows to the path in front of me. Gravel walk,flagstone steps.The ripples ofmovement behind curtainedwindows. I hearonlymyheartbeat,andthecreakofanopeningdoor.

Mom reachesme first, outstripping bothmy long-limbed brothers. Thecollisionalmostknockstheairfrommylungs,andherresultinghugactuallydoes. Idon’tmind.Shecouldbreakeverybone inmybodyand Iwouldn’tmind.

BreeandTramyhalfcarrybothofusupthestepsandintotherowhouse.They’reshoutingsomethingwhileMomwhispersinmyear.Ihearnoneofit.Happinessandjoyoverwhelmeverysense.I’veneverfeltanythinglikeit.

MykneesbrushagainstarugandMomkneelswithmeinthemiddleofthe large foyer. She keeps kissingmy face, alternating cheeks so quickly Ithinktheymightbruise.Gisawormsinwithus,herdarkredhairablazeinthecornerofmyeye.LiketheColonel,shehasadustingofnewfreckles,brownspotsagainstgoldenskin.Ituckherclose.Sheusedtobesmaller.

Tramy grins over us, sporting a dark, well-kept beard. He was alwaystryingtogrowoneasateenager.Nevergotfurtherthanpatchystubble.Breeused to teasehim.Notnow.Hebraceshimselfagainstmyback, thickarmswrappingaroundMomandme.Hischeeksarewet.Withajolt,Irealizeminearetoo.

“Where’s…?”Iask.

Thankfully, I don’t have time to fear the worst. When he appears, I

wonderifI’mhallucinating.

HeleansheavyonKilorn’sarmandacane.Themonthshavebeengoodto him. Regular meals filled him out. He walks slowly from an adjoiningroom.Walks.Hispaceisstilted,unnatural,unfamiliar.Myfatherhasnothadtwo legs inyears.Ormore thanoneworking lung.Ashe approaches, eyesbright,Ilisten.Norasp.Noclickofamachinetohelphimbreathe.Nosqueakofarustyoldwheelchair.Idon’tknowwhattothinkorsay.Iforgothowtallheis.

Healers.ProbablySaraherself.Ithankherathousandtimessilentlyinsidemy heart. Slowly, I stand, pulling the army jacket tight around me. It hasbulletholes.Dadeyesthem,stillasoldier.

“Youcanhugme.Iwon’tfallover,”hesays.

Liar. He almost topples when I wrap my arms around his middle, butKilornkeepshimupright.Weembraceinawaywehaven’tbeenabletosinceIwasalittlegirl.

Mom’ssofthandsbrushmyhairawayfrommyface,andshesettlesherheadnexttomine.Theykeepmebetweenthem,shelteredandsafe.Andforthatmoment, I forget.There isnoMaven,nomanacles,nobrand,noscars.Nowar,norebellion.

NoShade.

Iwasn’ttheonlyonemissingfromourfamily.Nothingcanchangethat.

He isn’t here, and never will be again. My brother is alone on anabandonedisland.

IrefusetoletanotherBarrowsharehisfate.

TWENTY-ONEMare

Thebathwaterswirlsbrown and red.Dirtandblood.Momdrains thewatertwice,andstillshekeepsfindingmoreinmyhair.Atleastthehealeronthejettookcareofmyfreshwounds,soIcanenjoythesoapyheatwithoutanymorepain.Gisaperchesonastoolbytheedgeofthetub,herspinestraightinthestiffposturesheperfectedovertheyears.Eithershe’sgottenprettierorsixmonthsdulledmymemoryofherface.Straightnose,fulllips,andsparkling,dark eyes. Mom’s eyes, my eyes. The eyes all the Barrows have, exceptShade.Hewas the only one of uswith eyes like honey or gold. Frommydad’smother.Thoseeyesaregoneforever.

I turn from thoughts ofmy brother and stare atGisa’s hand.The one Ibrokewithmyfoolishmistakes.

The skin is smooth now, the bones reset. No evidence of her mangledbodypart,shatteredbythebuttofaSecurityofficer’sgun.

“Sara,”Gisaexplainsgently,flexingherfingers.

“Shedidagoodjob,”Itellher.“WithDadtoo.”

“That took a whole week, you know. Regrowing everything from thethigh down.And he’s still getting used to it. But it didn’t hurt asmuch asthis.”She flexesher fingers, grinning. “Youknowshehad to rebreak thesetwo?”Herindexandmiddlefingerwiggle.“Usedahammer.Hurtlikehell.”

“GisaBarrow, your language is appalling.” I splash a littlewater at herfeet.Sheswearsagain,drawinghertoesaway.

“Blame the ScarletGuard. Seems they spend all their time cursing andasking for more flags.” Sounds about right. Not one to be outdone, Gisareachesintothetubandflickswateratme.

Momtutsatbothofus.Shetriestolookstern,andfailshorribly.“Noneofthat,youtwo.”

A fuzzywhite towel snaps between her hands, held out. Asmuch as Iwanttospendanotherhoursoakinginsoothinghotwater,Iwanttogetbackdownstairsmuchmore.

The water sloshes around me as I stand up and step out of the bath,curlingintothetowel.Gisa’ssmilefaltersalittle.Myscarsareplainasday,pearlybitsofwhitefleshagainstdarkerskin.EvenMomglancesaway,givingmeasecondtowrapthetowelabitbetter,hidingthebrandonmycollarbone.

I focuson thebathroominsteadof theirshamedfaces. It isn’tasfineastheoneIhadinArcheon,butthelackofSilentStonemorethanmakesupforit. Whatever officer lived here had very bright taste. The walls are garishorange trimmed in white tomatch the porcelain fixings, including a flutedsink,thedeepbathtub,andashowerhiddenbehindalime-greencurtain.Myreflectionstaresbackfromthemirroroverthesink.Ilooklikeadrownedrat,albeit a very clean one. Next to my mother, I see our resemblance moreclosely.She’ssmall-bonedasIam,ourskinthesamegoldenshade.Thoughhersismorecarewornandwrinkled,carvedwiththeyears.

Gisa leadsusout and into thehall,whileMomfollows,dryingmyhairwithanothersofttowel.Theyshowmeintoapowder-bluebedroomwithtwofluffy beds. It’s small butmore than suitable. I’d take a dirt floor over themostsumptuouschamberinMaven’spalace.Momisquicktopullmeintoapairofcottonpajamas,nottomentionsocksandasoftshawl.

“Mom,I’mgoingtoboil,”Iprotestkindly,unwindingtheshawlfrommyneck.

She takes it backwith a smile. Then she kissesme again, swooping tobrushbothmycheeks.“Justmakingyoucomfortable.”

“Trustme,Iam,”Itellher,givingherarmasqueeze.

Inthecorner,Inoticemyjeweledgownfromthewedding,nowreducedtoscraps.Gisafollowsmygazeandblushes.

“Thought I could save a bit of it,” my sister admits, looking almostsheepish.“Thosearerubies.I’mnotgoingtowasterubies.”

Itseemsshehasmoreofmythief’sinstinctsthanIrealized.

And,apparently,sodoesmymother.

ShespeaksbeforeIeventakeasteptowardthebedroomdoor.

“IfyouthinkI’mgoingtoletyoustayuptoallhourstalkingwar,youareabsolutely incorrect.” To cement her point, she folds her arms and settlesdirectlyinmypath.Mymotherisshorter,likeme,butshe’salaborerofmanyyears.Sheisfarfromweak.I’veseenhermanhandleallthreeofmybrothers,andIknowfirsthandshe’llwrestlemeintobedifsheneedsto.

“Mom,therearethingsIneedtosay—”

“Yourdebriefingisateighta.m.tomorrow.Sayitthen.”

“—andIwanttoknowwhatImissed—”

“TheGuardoverthrewCorvium.They’reworkingonPiedmont.That’sallanyonedownstairsknows.”Shespeaksrapid-fire,herdingmetowardthebed.

IlooktoGisaforhelp,butshebacksaway,handsraised.

“Ihaven’tspokentoKilorn—”

“Heunderstands.”

“Cal—”

“Isabsolutelyfinewithyourfatherandbrothers.Hecanstormthecapital;hecanhandlethem.”

Withasmirk,IimagineCalsandwichedbetweenBreeandTramy.

“Besides,hedideverythinghecould tobringyouback tous,”sheaddswithawink.“Theywon’tgivehimanytrouble,nottonightatleast.Nowgetinthatbedandshutyoureyes,orI’llshutthemforyou.”

Thelightshissintheirbulbs;thewiringintheroomsnakesalongelectriclinesoflight.Noneofitcomparestothestrengthofmymother’svoice.Idoasshesays,clamberingundertheblanketsoftheclosestbed.Tomysurprise,shegetsinnexttome,huggingmeclose.

Forthethousandthtimetonight,shekissesmycheek.“You’renotgoinganywhere.”

Inmyheart,Iknowthat’snottrue.

Thiswarisfarfromwon.

Butatleastitcanbetruefortonight.

Birds in Piedmont make a horrible racket. They chirp and trill outside thewindows, and I imagine droves of them perched in the trees. It’s the onlyexplanationforsuchnoise.Theyaregoodforonething,though:Ineverheardbirds inArcheon.Evenbefore Iopenmyeyes, Iknowyesterdaywasnotadream.IknowwhereI’mwakingup,andwhatI’mwakingupto.

Momisanearlyriserbyhabit.Gisaisn’thereeither,butI’mnotalone.Ipokeoutthebedroomdoortofindalankyboysittingatthetopofthestairs,hislegsstretchedoutoverthesteps.

Kilorngetstohisfeetwithagrin,hisarmsspreadwide.There’sadecentchanceI’llfallapartfromallthehugging.

“Tookyou longenough,”hesays.Evenafter sixmonthsofcaptureandtorment,hewon’t treatmewithkidgloves.We fallback intoouroldwayswithblindingspeed.

Inudgehimintheribs.“Nothankstoyou.”

“Yeah,militaryraidsandtacticalstrikesaren’texactlymyspecialty.”

“Youhaveaspecialty?”

“Well,besidesbeinganuisance?”helaughs,walkingmedownstairs.Potsand pans clatter somewhere, and I follow the smell of frying bacon. In thedaylight, therowhouseseemsfriendly,andoutofplaceforamilitarybase.Butter-yellowwallsandfloridpurplerugswarmthecentralhallway,butitissuspiciouslybareofdecorations.Nailholesdotthewallpaper.Maybeadozenpaintingshavebeenremoved.Theroomswepass—asalonandastudy—arealsosparselyfurnished.Eithertheofficerwholivedhereemptiedhishome,orsomeoneelsediditforhim.

Stopit,Itellmyself.I’veearnedtherightnottothinkaboutbetrayalsorbackstabbingforonedamnday.You’resafe;you’resafe;it’sover.Irepeatthewordsinmyhead.

Kilornputsanarmout,stoppingmeatthedoortothekitchen.Heleansforward into my space, until I can’t avoid his eyes. Green as I remember.Theynarrowinconcern.“You’reokay?”

Usually, Iwould nod, smile away the insinuation. I’ve done it somanytimesbefore.Ipushedawaythepeopleclosesttome,thinkingIcouldbleedalone.Iwon’tdothatanymore.Itmademehateful,horrific.ButthewordsIwanttopouroutofmewon’tcome.NotforKilorn.Hewouldn’tunderstand.

“StartingtothinkIneedawordthatmeansyesandnoatthesametime,”Iwhisper,lookingatmytoes.

Heputsahandtomyshoulder. Itdoesn’t linger.Kilornknowsthe linesI’vedrawnbetweenus.Hewon’tpushpastthem.“I’mherewhenyouneedtotalk.”Notif,when.“I’llhoundyouuntilyoudo.”

Iofferashakygrin.“Good.”Thesoundofcookingfatcracklesontheair.“IhopeBreehasn’teatenitall.”

Mybrother certainly tries.WhileTramyhelps her cook,Bree hovers atMom’sshoulder,pickingstripsofbaconrightoutofthehotgrease.Sheswats

himawayasTramygloats,smirkingoverapanofeggs.They’rebothadults,but they seem like children, like I remember them.Gisa sits at the kitchentable,watchingoutofthecornerofhereye.Doingherbesttoremainproper.Shedrumsherfingersonthewoodentabletop.

Dad ismore restrained, leaning against a wall of cabinets, his new legangledoutinfrontofhim.Hespotsmebeforetheothersandoffersasmall,privatesmile.Despitethecheerfulscene,sadnesseatsathisedges.

Hefeelsourmissingpiece.Theonethatwillneverbefound.

Iswallowaroundthelumpinmythroat,pushingtheghostofShadeaway.

Cal is also noticeably absent. Not that he will stay away long. He’sprobablysleeping,orperhapsplanningthenextstageof…whatever’sgoingon.

“Otherpeopleneed toeat,” I scoldas IpassBree.Quickly, I snatch thebaconfromhisfingers.Sixmonthshavenotdulledmyreflexesorimpulses.IgrinathimasItakeaseatnexttoGisa,nowtwistingherlonghairintoaneatbun.

Breemakesafaceashesits,aplateinhandpiledwithbutteredtoast.Heneveratethiswellinthearmy,oronTuck.Liketherestofus,he’stakingfulladvantageofthefood.“Yeah,Tramy,savesomefortherestofus.”

“Likeyoureallyneedit,”Tramyretorts,pinchingBree’scheek.Theyendupslappingeachotheraway.Children,Ithinkagain.Andsoldierstoo.

Both of themwere conscripted, and both of them survived longer thanmost. Some might call it luck, but they’re strong, both of them. Smart inbattle, if not at home. Warriors lie beneath their easy grins and boyishbehavior.FornowI’mgladIdon’thavetoseeit.

Momservesme first.Noonecomplains,not evenBree. Idig intoeggsandbacon,aswellasacupofrich,hotcoffeewithcreamandsugar.ThefoodisfitforaSilvernoble,andIshouldknow.“Mom,howdidyougetthis?”Iask aroundbites of egg.Gisamakes a face,wrinkling her nose at the foodlollingaboutinmymouthasIspeak.

“Dailydeliveryforthestreet,”Momreplies,tossingabraidofgray-and-brown hair over her shoulder. “This row is all Guard officers, rankingofficials,andsignificantindividuals—andtheirfamilies.”

“‘Significant individuals’ meaning…” I try to read between the lines.“Newbloods?”

Kilornanswers instead.“If they’reofficers,yeah.Butnewbloodrecruitslive in the barrackswith the rest of the soldiers.Thought itwas better thatway.Lessdivision,lessfear.We’renevergoingtohaveaproperarmyifmostofthetroopsareafraidofthepersonnexttothem.”

Inspiteofmyself,Ifeelmyeyebrowsriseinsurprise.

“ToldyouIhadaspecialty,”hewhisperswithawink.

Mymother beams, putting the next plate of food in front of him. Sheruffleshishairfondly,settingthetawnylocksonend.Heawkwardlytriestosmooth them down. “Kilorn’s been improving relations between thenewbloods and the rest of theScarletGuard,” she saysproudly.He tries tohidetheresultingblushwithahand.

“Warren,ifyou’renotgoingtoeatthat—”

Dadreactsfasterthananyofus,rappingTramy’soutstretchedhandwithhiscane.“Manners,boy,”hegrowls.Thenhesnatchesbaconfrommyownplate.“Goodstuff.”

“BestI’veeverhad,”Gisaagrees.Shedaintilybuteagerlypicksateggssprinkledwithcheese.“Montfortknowstheirfood.”

“Piedmont,”Dadcorrects.“FoodandstoresarefromPiedmont.”

Ifiletheinformationawayandwinceattheinstincttodoso.I’msousedtodissecting thewordsofeveryonearoundme that Ido itwithout thought,eventomyfamily.You’resafe;you’resafe;it’sover.Thewordsrepeatinmyhead.Theirrhythmlevelsmeoutabit.

Dadstillrefusestosit.

“Sohowdoyouliketheleg?”Iask.

He scratches his head, fidgeting. “Well, Iwon’t be returning it anytimesoon,”hesayswithararesmile.“Takesgettingusedto.Skinhealer’shelpingwhenshecan.”

“That’sgood.That’sreallygood.”

IwasnevertrulyashamedofDad’sinjury.Itmeanthewasaliveandsafefrom conscription. So many other fathers, Kilorn’s included, died for anonsensewarwhilemine lived.Themissing legmadehimsour,discontent,resentful of his chair. He scowled more than he smiled, a bitter hermit tomost.But hewas a livingman.He toldmeonce itwas cruel to give hopewherenoneshouldbe.Hehadnohopeofwalkingagain,ofbeingthemanhewasbefore.Nowhestandsasproofoftheoppositeandthathope,nomatter

howsmall,nomatterhowimpossible,canstillbeanswered.

InMaven’sprison, Idespaired. Iwasted. Icounted thedaysandwishedfor an ending, nomatter the kind. But I had hope. Foolish, illogical hope.Sometimes a single flicker, sometimes a flame. It also seemed impossible.Justlikethepathahead,throughwarandrevolution.Wecouldalldieinthecomingdays.Wecouldbebetrayed.Or…wecouldwin.

Idon’tevenknowwhatthatlookslike,orwhatexactlytohopefor.IjustknowthatImustkeepmyhopealive.ItistheonlyshieldIhaveagainstthedarknessinside.

Ilookaroundatthekitchentable.OnceIlamentedthatmyfamilydidnotknowme, didn’t understandwhat I hadbecome. I thoughtmyself separate,alone,isolated.

Icouldnotbemorewrong.Iknowbetternow.IknowwhoIam.

IamMareBarrow.NotMareena,notthelightninggirl.Mare.

Myparentsquietlyoffertoaccompanymetothedebriefing.Gisadoestoo.Irefuse.Thisisamilitaryundertaking,allbusiness,allforthecause.Itwillbeeasierformetorecallindetailifmymotherisn’tholdingmyhand.Icanbestronginfrontof theColonelandhisofficers,butnother.Shemakesit tootemptingtobreak.Weaknessisacceptable,forgivable,aroundfamily.Butnotwhenlivesandwarshanginthebalance.

The kitchen clock ticks eight a.m., and right on time an open-toppedtransportrollsupoutsidetherowhouse.Igoquietly.OnlyKilornfollowsmeout,butnottojoinme.Heknowshehasnopartinthis.

“Sowhatwillyoudowithyourselffortheday?”IaskasIwrenchopenthebrass-knobbeddoor.

Heshrugs.“IhadascheduleupinTrial.Bitoftraining,roundswiththenewbloods, lessonswithAda.After I came downherewith your parents, IfiguredI’llkeepitup.”

“Aschedule,” I snort, steppingout into the sunshine. “Yousound likeaSilverlady.”

“Well,whenyou’reasgood-lookingasIam…,”hesighs.

It’salreadyhot,thesunblazingabovetheeasternhorizon,andIstripoffthethinjacketMomforcedmeinto.Leafytreeslinethestreet,disguisingthemilitarybaseasanupper-classneighborhood.Mostof thebrickrowhouseslookempty,theirwindowsdarkandshuttered.Atthebottomofthesteps,my

transport waits. The driver behind the wheel pushes down his sunglasses,eyeingmeover thebrim. I shouldhaveknown.Cal gaveme all the time Ineededwithmyfamily,buthecouldn’tstayawaylong.

“Kilorn,”hecalls,wavingahand ingreeting.Kilorn returns thegesturewitheaseandasmile.Sixmonthshaskilledtheirrivalryattheroot.

“I’llfindyoulater,”Itellhim.“Comparenotes.”

Henods.“Surething.”

Eventhoughit’sCal in thedriver’sseat,drawingmein likeabeacon, Iwalkslowlytothetransport.Inthedistance,airjetenginesroar.Everystepisanotherinchclosertorelivingsixmonthsofcaptivity.IfIturnedaround,noonewouldblameme.Butitwouldonlyprolongtheinevitable.

Calwatches,hisfacegriminthedaylight.Heextendsahand,helpingmeintothefrontseatlikeI’msomekindofinvalid.Theenginepurrs,itselectricheartacomfortandareminder.Imaybescared,butI’mnotweak.

Withone lastwave toKilorn,Calguns theengineand spins thewheel,driving us down the street. The breeze ruffles his roughly cut hair,highlightingunevenspots.

Irunahanddownthebackofhishead.“Didyoudothisyourself?”

Heflushessilver.“Itried.”Leavingonehandonthewheel,hetakesmineintheother.“Areyougoingtobeallrightforthis?”

“I’ll get through it. I suppose your reports have most of the importantparts.Ijusthavetofillintheholes.”Thetreesthinoneithersideofus,wheretheofficerstreethitsalargeravenue.Totheleftisthelandingfield.Weturnright,thetransportarcingsmoothlyoverpavement.“Andhopefullysomeonestartsfillingmeinonall…this.”

“With these people, you have to demand answers rather than wait forthem.”

“Haveyoubeendemanding,YourHighness?”

Hechuckleslowinhisthroat.“Theycertainlythinkso.”

It’safive-minutedrivetoourdestination,andCaldoeshisbesttogetmeuptospeed.TherewasaheadquartersalongtheLakelanderbordernearTrial.All the Colonel’s soldiers evacuated north in anticipation of a raid on theisland. They spent months belowground, in freezing bunkers, while FarleyandtheColoneltradedcommunicationswithCommandandpreparedfortheirnexttarget.Corvium.Cal’svoicebreaksalittlewhenhedescribesthesiege.

He led the strike himself, taking the walls in a surprise raid and then thefortress city, block by block. It’s possible he knew the soldiers he wasfighting. It’s possiblehekilled friends. I don’t prod at eitherwound. In theend, they completed the siege, removing the last Silver officers byofferingthemsurrenderorexecution.

“Mostareheldhostagenow,someransomedbackto theirfamilies.Andsomechosedeath,”hemurmurs,hisvoicetrailingoff.Heglancesoveratme,justforamoment,hiseyeshiddenbehindlensesofdarkenedglass.

“I’msorry,”Imurmur,andImeanit.NotjustbecauseCalisinpain,butbecauseIhavelongsincelearnedhowgraythisworldis.“WillJulianbeatthedebriefing?”

Calsighs,gratefulforthechangeinsubject.“Idon’tknow.Thismorninghe said the Montfort brass have been very accommodating where he isconcerned—givinghimaccesstothebasearchives,alaboratory,allthetimehewantstocontinuehisnewbloodstudies.”

IcanthinkofnobetterrewardforJulianJacos.Timeandbooks.

“Buttheymightnotbetookeenonlettingasingerneartheirleader,”Caladds,thoughtful.

“Understandable,” I reply. While our abilities are more destructive,Julian’s ability tomanipulate is just as deadly. “So, how longhasMontfortbeenatthis?”

“Idon’tknoweither,”hesays,hisannoyanceobvious.“Buttheytookrealnotice afterCorvium.Andnow,withMaven’s alliancewith theLakelands?He’sunitingtoo,ontherebellion,”heexplains.“MontfortandtheGuarddidthesame.Insteadofgunsandfood,Montfortstartedsendingsoldiers.Reds,newbloods. They already had a plan to spring you out of Archeon. Pincermove.Us fromTrial,Montfort fromPiedmont.Theycanorganize, I’llgivethemthat.Theyjustneededtherightmoment.”

Iscoff.“Theypickedahellofamoment.”Gunfireandbloodshedcloudmythoughts.“Allthatforme.Seemsstupid.”

Cal’s grip onmy hand tightens. Hewas raised to be the perfect Silversoldier.Irememberhismanuals,hisbooksonmilitarytactics.Victoryatanycost, theysaid.Andheusedtobelieve it.JustasIusedto thinknothingonearthcouldmakemegobacktoMaven.

“Either they had another target in Archeon, or Montfort really, reallywantsyou,”Calmuttersasthetransportslows.

We stop in front of another brick building, its front decorated bywhitecolumnsanda long,wrappingporch.AgainI thinkofFortPatriot, itsgatesdecorated in foreboding bronze. Silvers like beautiful things, and this is noexception. Flowering vines crawl up the columns, blooming with purpleburstsofwisteriaandfragranthoneysuckle.Soldiersinuniformwalkbeneaththe plants, keeping to the shade. I spot Scarlet Guard in their mismatchedclothesandredscarves,Lakelandersinblue,andacrawlingmessofofficialMontfortgreen.Mystomachflips.

TheColonelmarchesouttomeetus,blissfullyalone.

Hestarts inbefore Imanage togetdown from the transport. “You’llbemeetingwithme,twoMontfortgenerals,andoneCommandofficer.”

BothCalandIjolt,eyeswide.“Command?”Ibalk.

“Yes.”TheColonel’sgoodeyeflashes.Hespinsonhisheel,forcingustokeepup.“Let’sjustsaywheelsareinmotion.”

I rollmy eyes, already exasperated. “Howabout you just saywhat youmean?”

“Probablybecausehedoesn’tknow,”repliesafamiliarvoice.

Farleyleansintheshadowofoneofthecolumns,armscrossedhighoverher chest. I gape, jaw dropping open. Because she is hugely, hilariouslypregnant.Herbellystrainsagainstanaltereduniformofatiedshiftdressandbaggy pants. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave birth in the next thirtyseconds.

“Ah”isallIcanthinktosay.

Shelooksalmostamused.“Dothemath,Barrow.”

Ninemonths.Shade.Her reactionon thecargo jetwhenI toldherwhatJonsaid.Theanswertoyourquestionisyes.

Ididn’tknowwhatitmeant,butshedid.Shehadhersuspicions.Andshelearnedshewaspregnantwithmybrother’schild less thananhourafterhewas murdered. Each revelation is a kick in the gut. Equal parts joy andsorrow.Shadehasachild—onehe’llnevergettosee.

“Can’t believe no one thought to tell you,” Farley continues, throwingpointedglaresatCal,whoshufflesawkwardly.“Certainlyhadthetime.”

Inmyshock,allIcandoisagree.NotjustCal,butmymother,therestofthefamily.“Everyoneknewaboutthis?”

“Well,nousearguingaboutitnow,”Farleypusheson,heavingherselfoffthe column. Even in the Stilts, most women take to bed at this stage ofpregnancy,butnother.Shekeepsagunatherhip,holsteredinopenwarning.A pregnant Farley is still a dangerous Farley. Probablymore so. “I have afeelingyouwanttogetthisoverasquicklyaspossible.”

When she turns her back, leading us in, I hitCal in the ribs.Twice forgoodmeasure.

Hegritshisteeth,breathingthroughtheblow.“Sorry,”hegrumbles.

Theinteriorofwhatmustbethebasecommandbuildingseemsmorelikeamansion.Staircasesspiraloneithersideoftheentrancehall,connectingtoagallery above linedbywindows.Crownmolding lines the ceiling,which ispainted to look like the wisteria outside. The floor is parquet wood,alternatingplanksofmahogany,cherry,andoakinintricatedesigns.Butlikeintherowhouses,anythingthatcan’tbebolteddownisgone.Blankspacesline the walls, while alcoves meant for sculptures or busts hold guardsinstead.Montfortguards.

Upclose,theiruniformsarebettermadethananythingtheScarletGuardortheColonel’sLakelanderswear.MoreliketheuniformsofSilverofficers.They’re mass-produced—sturdy—with badges, insignia, and the whitetriangleemblazonedontheirarms.

CalobservesascloselyasIdo.Henudgesme,noddingupthestairs.Inthegallery,nofewer thansixMontfortofficerswatchusgo.Theyaregray-haired,battle-worn,withenoughmedalstosinkaship.Generals.

“Camerastoo,”Iwhispertohim.InmyheadIpickthemout,notingeachelectricsignaturewhilewepassthroughtheentrancehall.

Despite the emptywalls and sparsedecorations, the finepassagesmakemy skin crawl. I keep tellingmyself thepersonnext tome isn’t oneof theArvens.Thisisn’tWhitefire.Myabilityisproofofthat.Nooneiskeepingmeprisoner.IwishIcoulddropmyguard.It’ssecondnatureatthispoint.

ThemeetingroomremindsmeofMaven’scouncilchamber.Ithasalong,polishedtableandfinelyupholsteredchairs,andit’silluminatedbyabankofwindowslookingoutoveranothergarden.Againthewallsareempty,exceptforasealpainteddirectlyonthewall.Yellowandwhitestripes,withapurplestarinthecenter.Piedmont.

We’rethefirsttoarrive.IexpecttheColoneltotakeaseatattheheadofthetable,buthedoesn’t,electingforthechaironitsrightinstead.Therestof

usfileinnexttohim,facingtheemptysideweleaveopenfortheMontfortofficersandCommand.

TheColonellookson,perplexed.HewatchesasFarleysits,hisgoodeyecoldandsteely.“Captain,youdon’thaveclearanceforthis.”

CalandIexchangeglances,eyebrowsraised.FarleyandtheColonelclashoften.Atleastthathasn’tchanged.

“Oh,wereyounotinformed?”shereplies,pullingafoldedstripofpaperfromher pocket. “So sad how that happens.”With a flick of her hand, sheslidesthepaperovertotheColonel.

Heunfoldsitgreedily,eyesscanningapageofharsh-typedletters.Itisn’tlong, but he stares at it for a while, not believing the words. Finally hesmoothsthemessageagainstthetable.“Thiscan’tberight.”

“Commandwantsarepresentativeat the table.”Farleygrins.Shesplaysherhandswide.“HereIam.”

“ThenCommandmadeamistake.”

“I’mCommandnow,Colonel.Thereisnomistake.”

Command rules the ScarletGuard, the hub of a very secretivewheel. Ihaveonlyheardwhispersoftheirexistence,butenoughtoknowtheycontroltheentiretyofavast,complicatedoperation.IftheymadeFarleyoneofthem,doesthismeanthattheGuardistrulycomingoutoftheshadows—orisitjustFarleytheywant?

“Diana,youcan’t—”

She bristles, flushing red. “Because I’m pregnant? I assure you, I canhandle two tasks at once.” If not for their uncanny resemblance, both inappearanceandattitude,itwouldbeeasytoforgetthatFarleyistheColonel’sdaughter.“Doyouwanttopressthematterfurther,Willis?”

Heclenchesa fiston themessage,knuckles turningbonewhite.Butheshakeshishead.

“Good.Andit’sGeneralnow.Actaccordingly.”

AretortdiesintheColonel’sthroat,givinghimastrangledlook.Withasatisfiedsmirk,Farleyretrievesthemessageandtucksitaway.ShenotesCalwatching,justasconfusedasIam.

“You’renottheonlyrankingofficerintheroomnow,Calore.”

“Isupposenot.Congratulations,”headds,offeringatightsmile.

It takesheroffguard.Afterherfather’sopenhostility,shedidn’texpectsupportfromanyone,leastofallthebegrudgingSilverprince.

TheMontfortgeneralsenterfromanotherdoor,resplendentintheirdarkgreenuniforms.OneIsawinthegallery.Shehasanevenbobofwhitehair,waterybrowneyes,andlong,flutteringlashes.Sheblinksrapidly.Theother,adark-hairedwoman,brown-skinned,lookstobeaboutfortyandbuiltlikeanox.Shetipsherheadatme,asifgreetingafriend.

“Iknowyou,”Isay,tryingtoplaceherface.“HowdoIknowyou?”

She doesn’t answer, turning her head over her shoulder towait for onemoreperson,agray-hairedmaninplainclothing.ButIbarelynoticehimatall, distracted by his companion.Evenwithout his house colors, dressed insimplegrays insteadofhisusual fadedgold, Julian ishard tomiss. I feelaburst of warmth at the sight of my old teacher. Julian inclines his head,offeringa small smile ingreeting.He looksbetter than I’ve ever seenhim,evenwhenIfirstmethimatthesummerpalace.Thenhewasworn,weariedbyacourtofenemies,hauntedbyadeadsister,abrokenSaraSkonos,andhisown doubt. Though his hair is now more gray than brown, his wrinklesdeeper, he seemsvibrant, alive, unburdened.Whole.TheScarletGuardhasgivenhimpurpose.AndSaratoo,Ibet.

HispresencesoothesCalevenmorethanme.Herelaxesabitatmyside,givinghisuncle theslightestnod.Bothofusseewhat this is,whatkindofmessageMontfort is trying to send.Theydonot hateSilvers—and theydonotfearthem.

The otherman shuts the door behind him as Julian takes a seat, firmlyplanting himself on our side of the table.Even thoughhe’s six feet tall, heseemssmallwithoutauniformofhisown.Instead,hewearscivilianclothing.Asimplebuttonedshirt,pants,shoes.NoweaponsthatIcansee.Hehasredblood, that’s certain, judging by the pink undertones in his sandy skin.NewbloodorRed, Idon’tknow.Everythingabouthimisdecidedlyneutral,pleasantlyaverage,andunassuming.Heseemsablankpage,eitherbynatureordesign.There’snothingelsetoindicatewhoorwhathemightbe.

ButFarleyknows.Shemovestogettoherfeet,andhewavesherdown.

“Noneedforthat,General,”hesays.Inaway,heremindsmeofJulian.Theyhavethesamewildeyes,theonlythingremarkableabouthim.Hisareangled, darting back and forth, taking in everything for observation andunderstanding.“It’sapleasure to finallymeetyouall,”headds,nodding toeachofusinturn.“Colonel,MissBarrow,YourHighness.”

Underthetable,Cal’sfingerstwitchagainsthisleg.Noonecallshimthatanymore.Notpeoplewhomeanit.

“Andwhoareyou,exactly?”theColonelasks.

“Of course,” theman replies. “I’m sorry I could not come sooner.Myname is Dane Davidson, sir. I serve as premier to the Free Republic ofMontfort.”

Cal’sfingerstwitchagain.

“Thankyouallforcoming.I’vewantedthismeetingforsometimenow,”Davidson continues, “and I think that together,we can achievemagnificentthings.”

Thismanis theleaderof theentirecountry.He’stheonewhoaskedforme,whowantedmetojoinhim.Hashedoneallthistogethisway?Likehisgeneral’sface,hisnameringsadistantbell.

“This is General Torkins.” Davidson gestures between them. “AndGeneralSalida.”

Salida.Idon’tknowhername.ButnowI’mcertainI’veseenherbefore.

The sturdily built general notes my confusion. “I did somereconnaissance,MissBarrow.IpresentedmyselftoKingMavenwhenhewasinterviewing Ardent—I mean newbloods. You may remember.” Todemonstrateshesweepsherhandatthetable.No,notat.Through.Like it’smadeofnothing—orsheis.

The memory snaps into focus. She displayed her abilities and wasacceptedintoMaven’s“protection,”alongwithmanyothernewbloods.Oneofthem,inherfear,exposedNannytotheentirecourt.

Istareather.“YouweretherethedayNanny—thenewbloodwhocouldchangeherface—died.”

Salida looks truly sorry. She dips her head. “If I had known, if I couldhavedonesomething,trulyIwouldhave.ButMontfortandtheScarletGuarddidnot communicateopenly, not then.Wedidn’t knowall youroperations,andtheydidnotknowours.”

“Nolonger.”Davidsonremainsstanding,hisfistsbracedagainstthetable.“TheScarletGuardhasneedforsecrecy,yes,but I’mafraid itwillonlydomoreharmthangoodfromhereonward.Toomanymovingpartsnottogetineachother’sway.”

Farley shifts in her seat. Either she wants to disagree or the chair is

uncomfortable.Butsheholdshertongue,lettingDavidsoncarryon.

“So,intheinterestoftransparency,IfeltitbestforMissBarrowtodetailhercaptivity,asmuchasshecan,toallparties.Andafterward,Iwillansweranyandallquestionsyoumayhaveaboutmyself,mycountry,andourroadahead.”

InJulian’shistories,therewererecordsofrulerswhowereelected,ratherthan born. They earned their crowns with an array of attributes—somestrength,someintelligence,someemptypromisesandintimidation.Davidsonrulestheso-calledFreeRepublic,andhispeoplechosehimtolead.Basedonwhat, I can’t say yet.He has a firmwayof speaking, a natural conviction.Andhe’sobviouslyverysmart.Nottomentionheisthekindofmanwhogetsmoreattractivewith theyears.Icouldeasilyseehowpeoplewantedhimtorule.

“MissBarrow,wheneveryou’reready.”

Tomysurprise,thefirsthandtoholdmineisnotCal’s,butFarley’s.Shegivesmeareassuringsqueeze.

Istartatthebeginning.TheonlyplaceIcanthinktostart.

My voice breaks when I detail how I was forced to remember Shade.Farley lowers her eyes, her pain just as deep asmine. I soldier through, toMaven’s growing obsession, the boy king who twisted lies into weapons,usingmyfaceandhiswordsto turnasmanynewbloodsaspossibleagainsttheScarletGuard.Allthewhilehisfrayingedgesbecomingmoreapparent.

“Hesayssheleftholes,”I tell them.“Thequeen.Shetoyedinhishead,takingpiecesaway,puttingpiecesin, jumblinghimup.Heknowsthatheiswrong,buthebelieveshimselfonapath,andhewon’tturnfromit.”

Acurrentofheatripples.Atmyside,Calkeepshisfacestill,eyesboringholesinthetable.Itreadcarefully.

Hismothertookawayhis loveforyou,Cal.Helovedyou.Heknowshedid.Itjustisn’tthereanymore,anditneverwillbe.ButthosewordsarenotforDavidsonortheColonelorevenFarleytohear.

TheMontfort people seemmost interested in the Piedmont visit. TheyperkupatthementionofDaraeusandAlexandret,andIwalkthemthroughtheirvisitstepbystep.Theirquestioning,theirmanner,downtowhatkindofclothestheywore.WhenImentionMichaelandCharlotta,themissingprinceandprincess,Davidsonpurseshislips.

AsIspeak,spillingmoreandmoreofmyordeal,anumbnesswashesoverme. I detach from thewords.My voice drones. The house rebellion. Jon’sescape.Maven’sneardeath.Thesightofsilverbloodgushingfromhisneck.Anotherinterrogation,mineandtheHavenwoman’s.ThatwasthefirsttimeIsaw Maven truly rattled, when Elane’s sister pledged her allegiance to adifferent king. To Cal. It resulted in the exile of many members of court,possibleallies.

“ItriedtoseparatehimfromHouseSamos.Iknewtheywerehisstrongestremainingally,soIplayedonhisweaknessforme.IfhemarriedEvangeline,Itoldhim,shewouldkillme.”PiecesmoveintoplaceasIspeakthem.Iflushat theimplicationthatIamthereasonforsuchadeadlyalliance.“I thinkitmayhaveconvincedhimtolooktotheLakelandsforadifferentbride—”

Juliancutsmeoff.“VoloSamoswasalreadysearching foranexcuse todetach from Maven. Ending the betrothal was just the final straw. And Iassume the Lakelander negotiations were in play much longer than youthink.”Hequirksathinsmile.Evenifhe’slying,itmakesmefeelabitbetter.

Iracethroughmymemoriesofthecoronationtour,aglorifiedparadetohidehisdealingswiththeLakelanders.Maven’srevocationoftheMeasures,the end of the LakelanderWar, his betrothal to Iris. Carefulmoves to buygoodwillfromhiskingdom,togetcreditforstoppingawarwithoutstoppingitsdestruction.

“Silver nobles cameback to court before thewedding, andMavenkeptme alone for most of the time. Then there was the wedding itself. TheLakelander alliance was sealed. The storm—your storm—followed.MavenandIrisfledtohisescapetrain,butwewereseparated.”

Itwasonlyyesterday.Still, this feels like recallingadream.Adrenalinefogsthebattle,reducingmymemoriestocolorandpainandfear.“Myguardsdraggedmebackintothepalace.”

Ipause,hesitating.Evennow,Ican’tbelievewhatEvangelinedid.

“Mare?”Calprods,hisvoiceandthebrushofhishandgentle.He’sjustascuriousastherest.

It’seasiertofacehimthantheothers.Healoneunderstandshowstrangemyescapewas.“EvangelineSamoscutusoff.Shekilled theArvenguardsandshe…shefreedme.Shesetmeloose.Istilldon’tknowwhy.”

Asilencedescendsoverthetable.Mygreatestrival,agirlwhothreatenedtokillme,apersonwithcoldsteelinsteadofaheart,isthereasonI’mhere.

Juliandoesn’ttrytohidehissurprise,histhineyebrowsalmostdisappearinginto his hairline. But Cal doesn’t look surprised at all. Instead, he draws adeepbreath,hischestrisingwiththemotion.Couldthatbe—pride?

Idon’thavetheenergytoguess.OrtodetailthewaySamsonMerandusdied,playingCalandmeoffeachotheruntilwebothburnedhimalive.

“Youknowtherest,”Ifinish,exhausted.IfeellikeI’vebeentalkingfordecades.

PremierDavidsonstands,stretching.Iexpectmorequestions,butinsteadheopensacabinetandpoursmeaglassofwater.Idon’ttouchit.I’minanunfamiliarplacerunbyunfamiliarpeople.Ihaveverylittle trust left inme,andIwon’twasteitonsomeoneIjustmet.

“Our turn?” Cal asks. He leans forward, eager to begin his owninterrogation.

Davidsoninclineshishead,lipstuggedintoflat,neutralline.“Ofcourse.Iassumeyou’rewonderingwhatwe’redoinghereinPiedmont,andonaroyalfleetbasetoboot?”

Whennoonestopshim,Davidsonlaunchesahead.

“As you know, the Scarlet Guard began in the Lakelands, and filtereddown into Norta this past year. Colonel Farley and General Farley wereintegraltobothendeavors,andIthankthemfortheirhardwork.”Henodsattheminturn.“AttheordersofyourCommand,otheroperativesundertookasimilarcampaigninPiedmont.Infiltrate,control,overthrow.Here,infact,iswhere agents of Montfort first encountered agents of the Scarlet Guard,which,upuntil lastyear, seemeda fiction tous.But theScarletGuardwasveryreal,andwecertainlysharedagoal.Likeyourcompatriots,weseektooverthrowoppressiveSilverrulersandexpandourdemocraticrepublic.”

“Itseemsyou’vedonesoalready.”Farleyindicatestheroom.

Calnarrowshiseyes.“How?”

“WeconcentratedoureffortsonPiedmontduetoitsprecariousstructure.Princes and princesses rule their territories in shaky peace beneath a highprinceelectedfromtheirranks.Somecontrollargetractsofland,othersacityorsimplya fewmilesof farms.Power is fluid,alwayschanging.Currently,PrinceBrackenof theLowcountryis thehighprince, thestrongestSilver inPiedmont,withthelargestterritoryandthegreatestresources.”Withasweepof his hand, Davidson brushes his fingers against the seal on the wall. Hetracesthepurplestar.“Thisisthegrandestofthethreemilitaryfortressesin

hispossession.Itisnowcededtoourpersonaluse.”

Calsucksinabreath.“You’reworkingwithBracken?”

“He’sworkingforus,”Davidsonrepliesproudly.

My mind spins out. A Silver royal, operating on behalf of a countrylooking to take everything away from him? For a moment, it soundsludicrous.ThenIrememberexactlywho’ssittingnexttome.

“TheprincesvisitedMavenonBracken’sbehalf.Theyquestionedmeforhim.”Inarrowmyeyesatthepremier.“Youtoldthemtodothat?”

General Torkins shifts in her seat and clears her throat. “Daraeus andAlexandretareswornalliestoBracken.Wehadnoknowledgeoftheircontactwith King Maven until one of them turned up dead in the middle of anassassinationattempt.”

“Thankstoyou,weknowwhy,”Salidaadds.

“Whataboutthesurvivor?Daraeus.He’sworkingagainstyou—”

Davidsonblinksslowly,hiseyesblankandunreadable.“Hewasworkingagainstus.”

“Oh,”Imurmur,thinkingofallthewaysthePiedmontprincecouldhavebeenkilled.

“And theothers?”TheColonelpresseson.“MichaelandCharlotta.Themissingprinceandprincess.”

“Bracken’schildren,”Juliansays,hisvoicetight.

A sick feeling washes over me. “You took his children? To make himcooperate?”

“AboyandgirlforcontrolofcoastalPiedmont?Foralltheseresources?”Torkinsscoffs,herwhitehairripplingassheshakesherhead.“Aneasytrade.Thinkof the liveswewould lose fighting for everymile. Instead,MontfortandtheScarletGuardhaverealprogress.”

Myheartclenchesatthethoughtoftwochildren,Silverornot,beingheldcaptivetomaketheirfatherkneel.Davidsonreadsthesentimentonmyface.

“They’rewelltakencareof.Providedfor.”

Overhead, the lights flicker like the beating ofmoth’swings. “A cell isstillacell,nomatterhowyoudressitup,”Isneer.

He doesn’t flinch. “And a war is a war,Mare Barrow. Nomatter how

goodyourintentionsmaybe.”

I shake my head. “Well, it’s too bad. Save all those soldiers here, butwaste themonrescuingoneperson.Was thataneasy trade too?Their livesformine?”

“GeneralSalida,whatwasthelastcount?”thepremierasks.

Shenods, reciting frommemory. “Of the onehundred and twoArdentsrecruited to theNortan army in the last fewmonths, sixtywere present asspecial guards to the wedding. All sixty were rescued, and debriefed lastnight.”

“Due in large part to the efforts ofGeneral Salida,whowas embeddedwiththem.”Davidsonclapsahandonhermeatyshoulder.“Includingyou,wesavedsixty-oneArdentsfromyourking.Eachwillbegivenfood,shelter,andachoiceofresettlementorservice.Inaddition,wewereabletoraidalargeamountoftheNortanTreasury.Warsarenotcheap.Ransomingworthlessorweak prisoners only gets us so far.” He pauses. “Does that answer yourquestion?”

Reliefmixeswith the undercurrent of dread I can never seem to shake.TheattackonArcheonwasnot just forme. Ihavenotbeenfreedfromonedictatoronlytobetakenbyanother.NoneofusknowswhatDavidsonmightdo,butheisn’tMaven.Hisbloodisred.

“One more question for you, I’m afraid,” Davidson pushes on. “MissBarrow,wouldyousaythekingofNortaisinlovewithyou?”

InWhitefire,Ismashedtoomanyglassesofwatertocount.Ifeeltheurgetodoitagain.“Idon’tknow.”Alie.Aneasylie.

Davidsonisnotsoeasilyswayed.Hiswildeyesflicker,amused.Catchingthelight,theyseemgoldthenbrownthengoldagain.Shiftingasthesunonafieldofswayingwheat.“Youcantakeawell-educatedguess.”

Hotangerlicksupinsidemelikeaflame.

“WhatMavenconsidersloveisnotloveatall.”Iyankasidethecollarofmyshirt,revealingmybrand.TheMisplainasday.Somanyeyesbrushmyskin, taking in the raised edges of pearly scar tissue and burned flesh.Davidson’sgazetracesthelinesoffire,andIfeelMaven’stouchinhisstare.

“Enough,”Ibreathe,pushingtheshirtbackinplace.

Thepremiernods.“Fine.Iwillaskyouto—”

“No, Imean I’vehadenoughof this. Ineed…time.”Heavinga shaky

breath,Ipushbackfromthetable.Mychairscrapesagainstthefloor,echoinginthesuddensilence.Noonestopsme.Theyjustwatch,eyesfullofpity.Foronce,I’mgladofit.Theirpityletsmego.

Anotherchairfollowsmine.Idon’tneedtolookbacktoknowit’sCal.

Asontheairjet,Ifeeltheworldstarttocloseandsuffocate,expandandoverwhelm.Thehalls, so likeWhitefire, stretch intoanendless line.Lightspulse overhead. I lean into the sensation, hoping itwill groundme.You’resafe; you’re safe; it’s over.My thoughts spiral out of control, andmy feetmoveoftheirownvolition.Downthestairs,throughanotherdoor,outintoagardenchokedbyfragrantflowers.Theclearskyaboveisatorment.Iwantittorain.Iwanttobewashedclean.

Cal’shandsfindthebackofmyneck.Thescarsachebeneathhistouch.Hiswarmthbleeds intomymuscles, trying tosootheaway thepain. Ipresstheheelsofmyhandstomyeyes.Ithelpsalittle.Ican’tseeanythinginthedarkness,includingMaven,hispalace,ortheboundsofthathorribleroom.

You’resafe;you’resafe;it’sover.

Itwouldbeeasytostayinthedark,todrown.Slowly,Ilowermyhandsand forcemyself to lookat the sunlight. It takesmoreeffort than I thoughtpossible. I refuse to letMavenkeepmeprisoneronesecond longer thanhealreadyhas.Irefusetolivethisway.

“CanItakeyoubacktoyourhouse?”Calasks,hisvoicelow.Histhumbsworksteadycirclesatthespacebetweenneckandshoulders.“Wecanwalk,giveyousometime.”

“I’mnotgivinghimanymoreofmytime.”Angry,Iturnaroundandraisemychin,forcingmyselftolookCalintheeye.Hedoesn’tmove,patientandunassuming.Allreaction,adjustingtomyemotions, lettingmeset thepace.Aftersolongatthemercyofothers,itfeelsgoodtoknowsomeonewillallowmemyownchoices.“Idon’twanttogobackyet.”

“Fine.”

“Idon’twanttostayhere.”

“Meneither.”

“Idon’twanttotalkaboutMavenorpoliticsorwar.”

My voice echoes in the leaves. I sound like a child, but Cal just nodsalong. For once, he seems a child too, with a ragged haircut and simpleclothing.Nouniform,nomilitarygear.Onlyathinshirt,pants,boots,andhis

bracelets.Inanotherlife,hemightlooknormal.Istareathim,waitingforhisfeatures to shift into Maven’s. They never do. I realize he isn’t quite Caleither.HehasmoreworrythanIthoughtpossible.Thelastsixmonthshaveruinedhimtoo.

“Areyouokay?”Iaskhim.

Hisshouldersdroop,theslightestreleaseofsteeltension.Heblinks.Calisnotonetobetakenoffguard.IwonderifanyonehasbotheredtoaskhimthatquestionsincethedayIwastaken.

Afteralongpause,heheavesabreath.“Iwillbe.Ihope.”

“SodoI.”

This garden was tended by greenwardens once, its many flower bedsspiraling in the overgrown remnants of intricate designs.Nature takes overnow, different blossoms and colors spilling into one another. Blending,decaying,dying,bloomingastheywish.

“Remindmeto troublebothofyouforsomebloodatamoreopportunemoment.”

IlaughoutloudatJulian’sgracelessrequest.Heidlesattheedgeofthegarden,kindlyintruding.NotthatImind.Igrinandcrossthegardenquickly,embracinghim.Hereturnstheactionhappily.

“Thatwouldsoundstrangecomingfromanyoneelse,”ItellhimasIpullback. Cal chuckles in agreement at my side. “But sure, Julian. Feel free.Besides,Ioweyou.”

Juliantipshisheadinconfusion.“Oh?”

“I foundsomebooksofyours inWhitefire.” Idon’t lie,but I’mcarefulwithmywords.NousehurtingCalmorethanhe’salreadybeen.Hedoesn’tneedtoknowthatMavengavemethebooks.Iwon’tgivehimanymorefalsehopeforhisbrother.“Helpedpassthe…time.”

While thementionofmy imprisonmentsobersCal,Juliandoesn’t letuslinger in the pain. “Then you understand what I’m trying to do,” he saysquickly.Hissmiledoesn’treachhisdarkeningeyes.“Don’tyou,Mare?”

“‘Notagod’schosen,butagod’scursed,’”Imurmur,recallingthewordshescrawledinaforgottenbook.“You’regoingtofigureoutwherewecamefrom,andwhy.”

Julianfoldshisarms.“I’mcertainlygoingtotry.”

TWENTY-TWOMare

Everymorning starts the sameway. I can’t stay in the bedroom; the birdsalwayswakemeupearly.Good that theydo. It’s toohot to run later in theday.ThePiedmontbasemakesforagoodtrack,though.Itiswellprotected,the boundaries guarded by bothMontfort andPiedmont soldiers. The latterareallReds,ofcourse.Davidsonknows thatBracken, thepuppetprince, islikelyquietlyschemingandwon’tletanyofhisSilverspastthegates.Infact,Ihaven’t seenanySilversatall, except theones Ialreadyknow.Allof theabilitied are newbloods or Ardents, depending on who you speak to. IfDavidson has Silverswith him, serving equally in his FreeRepublic as hesaystheyare,Ihaven’tseenany.

Ilacemyshoestightly.Mistcurlsinthestreetoutside,hanginglowalongthebrickcanyon.Unlatchingthefrontdoor,Igrinwhenthecoolairhitsmyskin.Itsmellslikerainandthunder.

Asexpected,Calsitsonthebottomstep,legsstretchedoutonthenarrowsidewalk.Still,myheart lurches inmychest at the sightofhim.Heyawnsloudlyingreeting,almostunhinginghisjaw.

“Comeon,”Ichidehim,“thisissleepinginforasoldier.”

“Thatdoesn’tmeanIdon’tprefertosleepinwhenIcan.”Hestandswithexaggeratedannoyance,allbutstickinghistongueout.

“Feelfreetogobacktothatlittlebunkroomyouinsistonstayinginatthebarracks.Youknow,you’dgetabitmoretimeifyoumovedtoOfficersRow—orstoppedrunningwithmealtogether.”Ishrugwithaslygrin.

Matchingmy smile, he tugson thehemofmy shirt, pullingme towardhim.“Don’tinsultmybunkroom,”hemutters,beforedroppingakissonmylips.Thenmyjaw.Thenmyneck.Eachtouchblooms,aburstoffirebeneathmyskin.

Reluctantly, I push his face away. “There is a real possibility my dadshootsyoufromthewindowifyoukeepthisuphere.”

“Right,right.”Herecoversquickly,paling.IfIdidn’tknowanybetter,I’dsayCalwas actually scared ofmy father.The thought is comical.ASilver

prince,ageneralwhocanraiseinfernoswithaflickofhisfingers,afraidofalimpingoldRed.“Let’sstretch.”

We go through themotions,Calmore thoroughly than I.He scoldsmegently,findingsomethingwrongwitheverymove.“Don’tlungeintoit.Don’trockbackandforth.Easy,slow.”ButI’meager,thirstytorun.Eventually,herelents.Withanodofhishead,heletsusbegin.

At first the pace is easy. I almost dance onmy toes, exhilarated by thesteps.Theyfeellikefreedom.Thefreshair,thebirds,themistbrushingpastwithdampfingers.Myeven,steadybreathandsteadilyrisingheartbeat.Thefirsttimeweranhere,Ihadtostopandcry,toohappytostopthetears.Calsetsagoodclip,keepingmefromsprintinguntilmylungsgiveout.Thefirstmile passes well enough, getting us to the perimeter wall. Half stone, halfchain link topped with razor wire, and a few soldiers patrol the far side.Montfortmen.They nod to each of us, used to our route after twoweeks.Othersoldiers jog in thedistance, runningtheirusual trainingexercises,butwedon’t join them.They drill in rowswith shouting sergeants. It’s not forme.Cal isdemandingenough.And thankfully,Davidsonhasn’tpressedmeon the whole “resettlement or service” choice. In fact, I haven’t seen himsincemydebriefing,eventhoughhenowlivesonbasewiththerestofus.

Thenexttwomilesaremoredifficult.Calpushesaharderpace.It’shottertoday,eventhisearly,withcloudsgatheringoverhead.Asthemistburnsoff,Isweathardandsaltcollectsonmylips.Legspumping,Iwipemyfaceonthehemofmyshirt.Calfeelstheheattoo.Atmyside,hejustpullshisshirtoffentirely,tuckingitintothewaistbandoftighttrainingpants.Myfirstinstinctis towarnhimagainstsunburn.Thesecond is tostopandstareat thewell-definedmusclesofhisbareabdomen.Instead,Ifocusonthepathbeforeme,forcinganothermile.Another.Another.Hisbreathingbesidemeissuddenlyverydistracting.

We round the shallow forest separating the barracks and Officers Rowfrom the airfield, when thunder rumbles somewhere. A few miles away,certainly.Calputsoutanarmatthenoise,slowingmedown.Hesnapstofaceme, both hands gripping my shoulders as he leans down to my eye level.Bronzeeyesboreintomine,lookingforsomething.Thethunderrollsagain,closer.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, all concern. One hand strays to my neck tosoothethescarsburningredhotwithexertion.“Calmdown.”

“That’snotme.”Itipmyheadtowardthedarkeningstormcloudswitha

smile. “That’s just weather. Sometimes, when it gets too hot and humid,thunderstormscan—”

Helaughs.“Okay,Igetit.Thankyou.”

“Ruining a perfectly good run,” I tut,movingmy hand to take his.Hegrins crookedly, smiling so wide it crinkles his eyes. As the storm movescloser,Ifeelitselectricheartthrumming.Mypulsesteadiestomatchit,butIpushawaytheseductivepurroflightning.Can’tletlooseastormsoclose.

Ihavenocontrolofrain,anditfallsinasuddencurtain,makingusbothyelp. Whatever bits of my clothes weren’t covered in sweat quickly soakthrough.Thesuddencoldisashocktousboth,Calinparticular.

Hisbareskinsteams,wrappinghistorsoandarmsinathinlayerofgraymist.Raindropshisswhen theymakecontact, flash-boiling.Ashecalms, itstops, but he still pulses with warmth. Without thought, I tuck into him,shiveringdownmyspine.

“Weshouldgoback,”hemutters to the topofmyhead. I feelhisvoicereverberateinhischest,mypalmflattowherehisheartripsafasttempo.Itthundersundermytouch,instarkcontrasttohiscalmface.

Something stops me from agreeing. Another tug, deeper inside.SomewhereIcan’tname.

“Shouldwe?”Iwhisper,expectingtheraintoswallowmyvoice.

Hisarmstightenaroundme.Hedidn’tmissaword.

The trees are new growth, their leaves and branches not splayed wideenoughtooffertotalcoverfromthesky.Butenoughfromthestreet.Myshirtgoes first, landing inmud. I tosshis into themuck too, just sowe’re even.Rainpeltsdowninfatdrops,eachoneacoldsurprisetorundownmynoseorspineormyarmswrappedaroundhisneck.Warmhandsdobattleacrossmyback, a delightful opposite to thewater.His fingerswalk the length ofmyspine, pressing into each vertebra. I do the same, counting his ribs. Heshivers,andnotfromtherain,asmynailsscrapealonghisside.Calrespondswithteeth.Theygrazethelengthofmyjawbeforefindingmyear.Ishutmyeyes for a second, unable to do anything but feel. Every sensation is afirework,athunderbolt,anexplosion.

Thethundergetscloser.Asifdrawntous.

I run my fingers through his hair, using it to pull him closer. Closer.Closer.Closer.Hetasteslikesaltandsmoke.Closer.Ican’tseemtogetclose

enough. “Haveyoudone thisbefore?” I shouldbeafraid,butonly thecoldmakesmeshiver.

Hetipshisheadback,andIalmostwhineinprotest.“No,”hewhispers,lookingaway.Darklashesdriprain.Hisjawtightens,asifashamed.

So like Cal, to feel embarrassment for something like this. He likes toknow the end of a path, the answer to a question before asking. I almostlaugh.

This is a different kind of battle. There’s no training. And instead ofdonningarmor,wethrowtherestofourclothesaway.

Aftersixmonthsofsittingbyhisbrother’sside,lendingmyentirebeingtoanevilcause,IhavenofearofgivingmybodytoapersonIlove.Eveninthemud.Lightningflashesoverheadandbehindmyeyes.Everynervesparkstolife.IttakesallmyconcentrationtokeepCalfromfeelingthewrongendofsuchthings.

His chest flushes beneathmy palms, risingwith reckless heat.His skinlooksevenpalernext tomine.Usinghis teeth,heunlatcheshisflamemakerbraceletsandtossesthemintotheundergrowth.

“Thankmycolorsfortherain,”hemurmurs.

Ifeeltheopposite.Iwanttoburn.

Irefusetogobacktotherowhousecoveredinmud,andduetoCal’soh-so-inconvenientlivingquarters,Ican’tcleanoffathisbarracksunlessIfeellikesharing the showerswithadozenother soldiers.Hepicks leavesoutofmyhair aswewalk toward the base hospital, a squat building overgrownwithivy.

“Youlooklikeashrub,”hesays,sportinganalmost-manicsmile.

“That’sexactlywhatyou’resupposedtosay.”

Calnearlygiggles.“Howwouldyouknow?”

“I—ugh,”Ideflect,duckingintotheentrance.

Thehospitalisnearlydesertedatthishour,staffedwithafewnursesanddoctorstooverseenexttonopatients.Healersmakethemmostlyirrelevant,neededonlyforlengthydiseasesorextremelycomplicatedinjuries.Wewalkthecinder-blockhallsalone,underharshfluorescent lightsandeasysilence.Mycheeksstillburnasmyminddoeswarwithitself.InstinctmakesmewanttoshoveCalintothenearestroomandlockthedoorbehindus.SensetellsmeIcannot.

I thought it would be different. I thought I would feel different. Cal’stouchhasnoterasedMaven’s.Mymemoriesarestillthere,stilljustaspainfulastheywereyesterday.AndasmuchasItry,Ihavenotforgottenthecanyonthatwillalwaysstretchbetweenus.Nokindoflovecanerasehisfaults,justlikenonecanerasemine.

Anursewithanarmfulofblanketsroundsthecornerahead,herfeetablurover the tiledfloor.Shestopsat thesightofus,almostdropping the linens.“Oh!”shesays.“You’refast,MissBarrow!”

My flush intensifies asCalquickly turns a laugh intoa cough. “Excuseme?”

Shegrins.“Wejustsentamessagetoyourhome.”

“Uh…?”

“Followme,sweetie;I’lltakeyoutoher.”Thenursebeckons,shiftingthelinenstoherhip.CalandItradeconfusedglances.Heshrugsandtrotsafterher,oddlycarefree.Hisarmy-trainedcautionseemsfaraway.

The nurse chatters excitedly as we walk in her wake. Her accent isPiedmontese, making the words slower and sweeter. “Shouldn’t take long.She’s progressing quickly. Soldier to the bone, I suppose. Doesn’t want towasteanytime.”

Ourhallwaydead-endsintoalargerward,muchbusierthantherestofthehospital.Widewindowslookoutonyetanothergarden,nowdarkandlashedwithrain.Piedmontcertainlyhasathingforflowers.Severaldoorsbranchoffoneitherside,leadingtoemptyroomsandemptybeds.Oneofthemisopen,andmorenursesflitinandout.AnarmedScarletGuardsoldierkeepswatch,although he doesn’t look very alert. It’s still early, and he blinks slowly,numbedbythequietefficiencyoftheward.

SaraSkonoslooksawakeenoughforthetwoofthem.BeforeIcancalltoher,sheraisesherhead,eyesgrayasthestormcloudsoutside.

Julianwasright.Shehasalovelyvoice.

“Goodmorning,”shesays.It’sthefirsttimeI’veeverheardherspeak.

Idon’tknowherverywell,butweembraceanyway.Herhandsgrazemybare arms, sending shooting stars of relief into overworkedmuscles.Whensheleansback,shepullsanotherleafoutofmyhair, thendemurelybrushesmudfromthebackofmyshoulder.Hereyesflicker,notingthemudstreakingCal’slimbs.Nexttothesterileatmosphereofthehospital,withitsgleaming

surfaces and bright lights, we stick out like a pair of very sore and dirtythumbs.

Herlipstwistintotheslightestsmirk.“Ihopeyouenjoyedyourmorningrun.”

Calclearshis throatandhisfaceflushes.Hewipesahandonhispants,butonlysucceedsinspreadingtheincriminatingmudevenmore.“Yeah.”

“Eachoftheseroomsisequippedwithabathroom,includingashower.Icanarrangeforchangesofclothesaswell.”Sarapointswithherchin.“Ifyoulike.”

Theprinceduckshisfacetohidehisflushasitdeepens.Heslinksaway,leavingatrailofwetfootprintsinhiswake.

Iremain,lettinghimgoonahead.Eventhoughshecanspeakagain,hertonguereturnedbyanotherskinhealer,Iassume,Saradoesn’ttalkmuch.Shehasmoremeaningfulwaystocommunicate.

Shetouchesmyarmagain,gentlypushingmetowardtheopendoor.WithCalout of sight, I can think a littlemore clearly.Thedots connect, onebyone. Something tightens in my chest, an equal twist of sadness andexcitement.IwishShadewerehere.

Farleysitsupinthebed,herfaceredandswollen,asheenofsweatacrossherbrow.Thethunderoutsideisgone,meltingtoadownpourofendlessrainweepingdown thewindows.Shebarksout a laughat the sightofme, thenwincesatthesuddenaction.Saramovesquicklytoherside,puttingsoothinghandstoFarley’scheeks.Anothernurseidlesagainstthewall,waitingtobeuseful.

“Did you run here or crawl through a sewer?” Farley asks over Sara’sfussing.

Imovedeeperintotheroom,carefulnottogetanythingelsedirty.“Gotcaughtinthestorm.”

“Right.”Shesoundsentirelyunconvinced.“WasthatCaloutside?”

Myblushsuddenlymatcheshers.“Yes.”

“Right,”shesaysagain,drawingouttheword.

Hereyestickoverme,asifshecanreadthelasthalfhouronmyskin.Ifighttheurgetocheckmyselfforanysuspicioushandprints.Thenshereachesout,gesturingfor thenurse.SheleansdownandFarleywhispers inherear,herwordstoofastandlowformetocatch.Thenursenods,scurryingoffto

procurewhateverFarleywants.Shegivesmeatightsmileasshegoes.

“Youcancomecloser.I’mnotgoingtoexplode.”SheglancesupatSara.“Yet.”

Theskinhealeroffersawell-practiced,obligingsmile.“Itwon’tbelongnow.”

Tentative, I take a few steps forward, until I can reach out and takeFarley’s hand if I want to. A few machines blink at the side of her bed,pulsingslowlyandquietly.Theypullme in,hypnotic in theireven rhythm.Theache forShademultiplies.We’regoing togetapieceofhimsoon,buthe’s never coming back. Not even in a baby with his eyes, his name, hissmile.Ababyhewillnevergettolove.

“IthoughtaboutMadeline.”

Hervoicesnapsmeoutofthespiral.“What?”

Farleypicksatherwhitebedspread.“Thatwasmysister’sname.”

“Oh.”

Last year, I found a photo of her family in theColonel’s office. Itwastakenyearsago,butFarleyandherfatherwereunmistakable,posingnexttoherequallyblondmotherandsister.Allof themhada similar look.Broad-shouldered,athletic,theireyesblueandsteely.Farley’ssisterwasthesmallestofthemall,stillgrowingintoherfeatures.

“OrClara.Aftermymother.”

Ifshewantstokeeptalking,I’mheretolisten.ButIwon’tpry.SoIkeepquiet,waiting,lettingherleadtheconversation.“Theydiedafewyearsago.Back in theLakelands, at home.TheScarletGuardwasn’t so careful then,andoneofouroperativeswascaughtknowingtoomuch.”Painflickersacrossher face now and then, both from thememory and her current state. “Ourvillagewassmall,overlooked,unimportant.Theperfectplaceforsomethinglike theGuard togrow.Untilonemanbreathed itsnameunder torture.ThekingoftheLakelandspunishedushimself.”

The memory of him flashes through my mind. A small man, still andforebodingasthesurfaceofundisturbedwater.OrrecCygnet.“MyfatherandIwereawaywhenheraised theshoresof theHud,pullingwateroutof thebaytofloodourvillageandwipeitfromthefaceofhiskingdom.”

“Theydrowned,”Imurmur.

Hervoiceneverwavers.“Redsacross thecountrywere inflamedby the

DrowningoftheNorthlands.Myfathertoldourstoryupanddownthelakes,intoomanyvillagesandtownstocount,andtheGuardflourished.”Farley’sempty expression becomes a scowl. “‘At least they died for something,’ heusedtosay.‘Wecouldonlybesolucky.’”

“Bettertoliveforsomething.”Iagree,alessonIlearnedthehardway.

“Yes,exactly.Exactly…”She trailsoff,but she takesmyhandwithoutflinching.“Sohowareyouadjusting?”

“Slowly.”

“That’snotabadthing.”

“Thefamilystaysaroundthehousemostdays.Julianvisitswhenheisn’tholedupinthebaselab.Kilornisalwaysaroundtoo.Nursescometoworkwithmydad,gethimreadjusted to the leg—he’sprogressingbeautifullybytheway,”Iadd,lookingbacktoSara,quietinhercorner.Shebeams,pleased.“He’sgoodathidingwhathefeels,butIcantellhe’shappy.Happyashecanbe.”

“Ididn’taskaboutyourfamily. Iaskedaboutyou.”Farley tapsafingeragainst the insideofmywrist. Inspiteofmyself, I flinch, remembering theweight ofmanacles. “For once, I’m giving you permission to whine aboutyourself,lightninggirl.”

Isigh.

“I—Ican’tbealoneinroomswithlockeddoors.Ican’t…”Slowly,Ipullmywristfromhergrasp.“Idon’tlikethingsonmywrists.ItfeelstoomuchlikethemanaclesMavenusedtokeepmeaprisoner.AndIcan’tseeanythingforwhatitis.Ilookfordeceiteverywhere,ineveryone.”

Hereyesdarken.“That’snotnecessarilyaterribleinstinct.”

“Iknow,”Imutter.

“WhataboutCal?”

“Whatabouthim?”

“The last timeIsawyou two togetherbefore—all that,youwere inchesfromrippingeachothertoshreds.”AndinchesawayfromShade’scorpse.“Iassumethat’sallsettled.”

Irememberthemoment.Wehaven’tspokenofit.Myrelief,ourreliefatmyescapepusheditfarintothebackground,forgotten.ButasFarleyspeaks,Ifeel theoldwoundreopen.I trytorationalize.“Heisstillhere.Hehelped

theGuardraidArcheon;heledthetakeoverofCorvium.Ionlywantedhimtochooseaside,andheclearlyhas.”

Wordswhisperinmyear,tuggingonthebackofamemory.Chooseme.Choosethedawn.“Hechoseme.”

“Tookhimlongenough.”

Ihavetoagree.Butatleastthere’snoturninghimfromthispathnow.CalistheScarletGuard’s.Mavenmadesurethecountryknewthat.

“Ihavetogocleanup.Ifmybrothersseemelikethis…”

“Goahead.”Farleyshiftsagainstherraisedpillows,tryingtoadjustintoamorecomfortableposition.“Youmighthaveanieceornephewby the timeyougetback.”

Againthethoughtisbittersweet.Iforceasmile,forhersake.

“Iwonderifthebabywillbe…likeShade.”Mymeaningisobvious.Notinappearance,but ability.Will their childbeanewblood likehewasand Iam?Isthathowthisevenworks?

Farley just shrugs, understanding. “Well, it hasn’t teleported out of meyet.Sowhoknows?”

Atthedoor,hernursereturns,holdingashallowcup.Imovebacktoletherpass,butsheapproachesme,notFarley.“Thegeneralaskedmetogetyouthis,”shesays,holdingoutthecup.Initisasinglepill.White,unassuming.

“Yourchoice,”Farleysaysfromthebed.Hereyesaregraveasherhandscradleherstomach.“Ithoughtyoushouldhavethat,atleast.”

Idon’thesitate.Thepillgoesdowneasily.

Sometimelater, Ihaveaniece.Momrefuses to letanyoneelseholdClara.She claims to see Shade in the newborn, even though that’s practicallyimpossible. The little girl looks more like a wrinkled red tomato than anybrotherofmine.

Out in theward, the restof theBarrowscongregate in their excitement.Calisgone,returningtohistrainingschedule.Hedidn’twanttointrudeonaprivatefamilymoment.Givingmespaceasmuchasanyoneelse.

Kilornsitswithme,crampedintoalittlechairagainstthewindows.Therainweakenswitheverypassingsecond.

“Goodtimetofish,”hesays,glancingatthegraysky.

“Oh,don’tyoustartmumblingabouttheweathertoo.”

“Touchy,touchy.”

“You’relivingonborrowedtime,Warren.”

Helaughs,risingtothejoke.“Ithinkweallareatthispoint.”

Fromanyoneelseitwouldsoundforeboding,butIknowKilorntoowellforthat.Inudgehisshoulder.“So,how’straininggoing?”

“Well. Montfort has dozens of newblood soldiers, all trained. Someabilities overlap—Darmian, Harrick, Farrah, a few more—and they’reimprovingbyleapsandboundswiththeirmentors.IdrillwithAda,andthekidswhenCaldoesn’t.Theyneedafamiliarface.”

“Notimeforfishing,then?”

Hechuckles,leaningforwardtobracehiselbowsonhisknees.“No,notreally. It’s funny—I used to hate getting up towork the river.Hated everysecondofsunburnsandropeburnsandstuckhooksandfishgutsallovermyclothes.”Hegnawsonhisnails.“NowImissit.”

Imissthatboytoo.

“Thesmellmadeitreallyhardtobefriendswithyou.”

“Probablywhywestuck together.Nooneelsecouldhandlemystinkoryourattitude.”

Ismileandtipmyheadback,leaningmyskullagainstthewindowglass.Raindropsrollpast,fatandsteady.Icounttheminmyhead.It’seasierthanthinkingaboutanythingelsearoundmeoraheadofme.

Forty-one,forty-two…

“Ididn’tknowyoucouldsitstillforthislong.”

Kilorn watches me, thoughtful. He’s a thief too, and he has thief’sinstincts. Lying to him won’t accomplish anything, only push him fartheraway.Andthat’snotsomethingIcanbearrightnow.

“Idon’tknowwhattodo,”Iwhisper.“EveninWhitefire,asaprisoner,Itriedtoescape, triedtoscheme,spy,survive.Butnow…Idon’tknow.I’mnotsureIcancontinue.”

“Youdon’thaveto.Nooneonearthwouldblameyouifyouwalkedawayfromallofthisandnevercameback.”

Ikeepstaringattheraindrops.Inthepitofmybelly,Ifeelsick.“Iknow.”

Guilt eats through me. “But even if I could disappear right now, witheveryoneIcareabout,Iwouldn’tdoit.”

There’stoomuchangerinme.Toomuchhate.

Kilornnodsinunderstanding.“Butyoudon’twanttofighteither.”

“Idon’twanttobecome…”Myvoicetrailsaway.

I don’twant tobecomeamonster.A shellwithnothingbutghosts.LikeMaven.

“Youwon’t.Iwon’tletyou.Anddon’tevengetmestartedonGisa.”

Inspiteofmyself,Ibitebackalaugh.“Right.”

“You’re not alone in this. In all myworkwith the newbloods, I foundthat’swhattheymostfear.”Heleanshisownheadbackagainstthewindow.“Youshouldtalktothem.”

“I should,” Imurmur, and Imean it.A tiny bit of relief blooms inmychest.Thosewordscomfortmelikenothingelse.

“Andintheend,youneedtofigureoutwhatyouwant,”heprodsgently.

Bathwaterswirls,boilinglazilyinfat,whitebubbles.Apaleboylooksupatme,hiseyeswideandhisneckbared.InrealityIjuststood.Iwasweakandstupidandscared.But inthedaydreamIputmyhandsaroundhisneckandsqueeze.He flails in the scaldingwater, dipping under.Never to resurface.Nevertohauntmeagain.

“Iwanttokillhim.”

Kilorn’seyesnarrowasamuscletwingesinhischeek.“Thenyouhavetotrain,andyouhavetowin.”

Slowly,Inod.

At the edge of the ward, almost entirely in shadow, the Colonel keepsvigil.Hestaresathisfeet,notmoving.Hedoesn’tgointoseehisdaughterandnewgrandchild.Buthedoesn’tleaveeither.

TWENTY-THREEEvangeline

She laughs against my neck, her touch a brush of lips and cold steel.Mycrown perches precariously on her red curls, steel and diamond glintingbetween ruby locks. With her ability, she makes the diamonds wink likeluminousstars.

Reluctant,Isitupandleavemybed, thesilkysheets,andElanebehind.SheyelpswhenIthrowopenthecurtains,lettingthesunlightstreamin.Withaflickofherhandthewindowshadows,bloomingwithshadeuntilthelightreducestoherliking.

Idress in thedimness,donningsmallblackundergarmentsandapairoflacedsandals.Today isspecial,andI takemytimemoldinganoutfit tomyformfromthemetalsheetsinmycloset.Titaniumanddarkenedsteelrippleacross my limbs. Black and silver, it reflects light in an array of brilliantcolors. I don’t need amaid to completemy appearance, nor do Iwant onefloating around inmy room. I do it myself, matching sparkling blue-blacklipsticktocoal-darkeyelinerdottedwithspeciallymadecrystals.Elanedozesthroughitall,untilIpullthecrownfromherhead.Itfitsmeperfectly.

“Mine,”Itellher,leaningdowntokissheroncemore.Shesmileslazily,herlipscurvingagainstmyown.“Don’tforget,you’resupposedtobepresenttoday.”

Shebowsplayfully.“AsYourHighnesscommands.”

The title issodeliciousIwant to lick thewordsrightoutofhermouth.Butattheriskofruiningmymakeup,Irefrain.AndIdon’tlookback,lestIlosemygriponwhateverself-controlIhaveleftthesedays.

RidgeHousehasbelongedtomyfamilyforgenerations,sprawlingacrossthecrestingedgeofthemanyriftsthatgiveourregionitsname.Allsteelandglass,it’seasilymyfavoriteofthefamilyestates.Mypersonalchambersfaceeast,towardthedawn.Ilikerisingwiththesun,asmuchasElanedisagrees.The passage connecting my rooms to the main halls of the estate aremagnetron designed, made of steel walkways with open sides. Some runalong the ground, butmany arch over the leafy treetops, jagged rocks, and

springsdottingtheproperty.Shouldbattleevercometoourdoor,aninvadingforcewould have a difficult time fighting theirway through a structure setagainstthem.

Despite the manicured forest and luxurious grounds of the Ridge, fewbirdscomehere.Theyknowbetter.Aschildren,PtolemusandIusedmanyfortargetpractice.Therestfelltomymother’swhims.

More than three hundred years ago, before the Calore kings rose, theRidgedidnotexist,andneitherdidNorta.ThiscorneroflandwasruledbyaSamoswarlord,mydirectancestor.Oursisthebloodofconquerors,andourfortuneshaverisenagain.MavenisnottheonlykinginNortaanymore.

Servantsaregoodatmakingthemselvesscarcehere,appearingonlywhenneededor calledupon. In recentweeks, they seemalmost toogoodat theirjob.Itisn’thardtoguesswhy.ManyRedsarefleeing,eithertothecitiesforsafetyagainstcivilwar,or to join theScarletGuard’s rebellion.FathersaystheGuarditselfhasescapedtoPiedmont,whichisallbutapuppet,dancingon Montfort’s strings. He maintains channels of communication with theMontfortandGuardleaders,albeitbegrudgingly.Butfornow,theenemyofour enemy is our friend, making us all tentative allies where Maven isconcerned.

Tollywaits in the gallery, thewide, openhall running the length of themainhouse.Windowsonallsidesofferaviewineverydirection,overmilesoftheRift.Ontheclearestofdays,ImightbeabletoseePitarustothewest,but clouds hang low in the distance as spring rains race the length of thesprawling river valley. In the east, valleys and hills roll off in increasinglyhighslopes,endinginblue-greenmountains.TheRiftregionis,inmycorrectopinion, the most beautiful piece of Norta. And it is mine. My family’s.HouseSamosrulesthisheaven.

Mybrothercertainlylookslikeaprince,theheirtothethroneoftheRift.Instead of armor, Tollywears a new uniform. Silver gray instead of black,withgleamingonyx-and-steelbuttonsandanoil-darksashcrossinghimfromshouldertohip.Nomedalsyet,atleastnonethathecanwear.Therestwereearned in service to another king. His silvery hair is wet, plastered backagainsthishead.Freshfromashower.Hekeepshisnewhandtuckedinclose,protectiveoftheappendage.IttookWrenthebetterpartofadaytoregrowitproperly,andeventhensheneededanimmenseamountofhelpfromtwoofherkin.

“Where’smywife?”heasks,lookingdowntheopenpassagebehindme.

“She’llbealongeventually.Lazything.”TollymarriedElaneaweekago.Idon’tknowifhe’sseenhersince theweddingnight,buthehardlyminds.Thearrangementismutuallyagreedupon.

He links his good arm inmine. “Not everyone can operate on as littlesleepasyou.”

“Well,whataboutyou?I’veheardallthatworkonyourhandhasledtosomelatenightswithLadyWren,”Ireply,leering.“OramImisinformed?”

Tollygrins,sheepish.“Isitthatevenpossible?”

“Not here.” In Ridge House, it’s near impossible to keep secrets.Especially fromMother.Hereyesareeverywhere, inmiceandcatsand theoccasionaldaringsparrow.Sunlightanglesthroughthegallery,playingacrossmanysculpturesoffluidmetal.Aswepass,Ptolemustwistshisnewhandintheair,andthesculpturestwistwithit.Theyre-form,eachonemorecomplexthanthelast.

“Don’t dawdle, Tolly. If the ambassadors arrive before we do, Fathermight spike our heads to the gate,” I scold him.He laughs at the commonthreatandoldjoke.Neitherofushaseverseensuchathing.Fatherhaskilledbefore, certainly, but never so crudely or so close to home.Don’t bleed inyourowngarden,hewouldsay.

Wewindourwaydownfromthegallery,keepingtotheouterwalkwayssoastobetterenjoythespringweather.Mostoftheinteriorsalonslookouton the walkway, their windows polished plate glass or their doors thrownopen to catch the springbreeze.Samosguards line one, and theynod theirheads when we approach, paying deference to their prince and princess. Ismileatthegesture,buttheirpresenceunsettlesme.

The Samos guards oversee a violent operation: the making of SilentStone.EvenPtolemus pales aswe pass.The smell of blood overpowers usbothforamoment,fillingtheairwithsharpiron.TwoArvenssit insidethesalon,chainedtotheirseats.Neitherisherewillingly.TheirhouseisalliedtoMaven,butwehaveneedforSilentStone,andsotheyarehere.Wrenhoversbetween them, noting their progress. Both theirwrists have been slit open,and theybleedfreely into largebuckets.When theArvensreach their limit,Wren will heal them up and stimulate their blood production, all to beginagain.Meanwhile, the bloodwill bemixedwith cement, hardened into thedeadlyblocksofability-suppressingstone.Forwhat,Idon’tknow,butFathercertainly has plans for it. A prison, maybe, like the one Maven built forSilversandnewbloodsboth.

Ourgrandestreceivingchamber,theaptlynamedSunsetStretch,isonthewesternslope.Isupposenowit’stechnicallyourthroneroomaswell.Asweapproach, courtiers of my father’s newly created nobility dot the way,thickeningwitheveryforwardstep.MostareSamoscousins,elevatedbyourdeclarationofindependence.Afewofcloserblood,myfather’ssiblingsandtheirchildren,claimprincely titles for themselves,but the rest remain lordsand ladies, content as always to live offmy father’s name andmy father’sambitions.

Bright colors stand out among the usual black and silver, an obviousindicationof today’sassembly.Ambassadors from theotherhouses inopenrevolthavecometotreatwiththekingdomoftheRift.Tokneel.HouseIralwill argue.Attempt tobargain.The silks think their secretscanbuy themacrown,butpoweristheonlycurrencyhere.Strengththeonlycoin.Andtheysurrenderedbothbyenteringourterritory.

Havenhascomeaswell,theshadowsbaskinginsunlight,whiletheLariswindweaversinyellowkeepclosetoeachother.Thelatterhavealreadygiventheirallegiance tomyfather,and theybringwith themthemightof theAirFleet, having seized control of most air bases. I care more about HouseHaven, though. Elane won’t say it, but she misses her family. Some havepledgedloyaltytoSamosalready,butnotall,includingherownfather,andittearsathertoseeherhousesplinter.Intruth,Ithinkit’swhyshedidn’tcomedownherewithme.She can’t bear the sightofherhousedivided. Iwish Icouldmakethemkneelforher.

Inthemorninglight,theSunsetStretchisstillimpressivewithitssmoothriver-rock flooring and sweeping views of the valley. The Allegiant Riverwindslikeablueribbonovergreensilk,lazilycurvingbackandforthintothedistantrainstorm.

Thecoalitionhasnotarrivedyet,allowingTollyandmetimetotakeourseats—thrones.HisonFather’sright,mineonMother’sleft.Allaremadeofthe finest steel, polished to amirror sheen. It’s cold to the touch, and I tellmyselfnottoshiverasIsit.Goosebumpsriseonmyskinanyway,mostlyinanticipation. I am a princess, Evangeline of theRift, of the royal house ofSamos.Ithoughtmyfatewastobesomeoneelse’squeen,subjecttosomeoneelse’s crown. This is so much better. This is what we should have beenplanning for all along. I almost regret the years ofmy lifewasted trainingonlytobesomeone’swife.

Fatherentersthehallwithacrowdofadvisers,hisheaddippedtolisten.He doesn’t speakmuch by nature.His thoughts are his own, but he listens

well, takingall intoconsiderationbeforemakingdecisions.NotlikeMaven,thefoolishkingwhoonlyfollowedhisownflawedcompass.

Motherfollowsalone,inherusualgreen,withoutladiesoradvisers.Mostgive her a wide berth. Probably because of the two-hundred-pound blackpantherpaddingatherheels. Itkeepspacewithher,breakingfromhersideonlywhen she reaches her throne. Then it weaves aroundme, nuzzling itsmassiveheadagainstmyankle.Ikeepstilloutofhabit.Mother’scontrolofher creatures iswellpracticed,butnotperfect. I’ve seenherpets takebitesout ofmany servants, whether she willed it or not. The panther shakes itsheadoncebefore returning toMother, takingaseatonher left,betweenus.She rests a single hand blazingwith emeralds on its head, strokes its silkyblackfur.Thegiganticcatblinksslowly,itsyelloweyesround.

ImeetMother’sgazeovertheanimal,raisingasinglebrow.“Hellofanentrance.”

“Itwasthepantherorthepython,”shereplies.Emeraldsflashacrossthecrown of her head, expertly set into silver. Her hair falls in a thick, blacksheet, perfectly straight and smooth. “I couldn’t find a gown to match thesnake.”Shegesturesdownatthejadefoldsofherchiffondress.Idoubtthat’sthe reason, but I don’t say so out loud. Her machinations will becomeapparentsoonenough.Smartassheis,Motherhaslittletalentforsubterfuge.Her threats come openly. Father is a good match for her in this way. Hismaneuverstakeyears,alwaysmovingintheshadows.

Butfornow,hestandsinbrightsunlight.Hisadvisersfallbackatawaveofhishand,andheascendstositwithus.Apowerfulsight.LikePtolemus,hewearsclothesofbrocadedsilver,hisoldblackrobesabandoned.Icanfeelthesuitofarmorbeneathhisregalia.Chromium.Justlikethesimplebandacrosshisbrow.NogemsforFather.Hehaslittleuseforthem.

“Cousinsofiron,”hesaysquietlytotheSunsetStretch,lookingoutonthemanySamosfacesdottingthereceivingcrowd.

“Kingsofsteel!” theyshoutback,puttingfists to theair.Theforceof itthrumsinmychest.

In Norta, in the throne rooms of Whitefire or Summerton, someonealwayscrowedthenameoftheking,announcinghispresence.Aswithgems,Fatherdoesn’t care about suchneedlessdisplays.Everyonehereknowsourname.Torepeatitwouldonlyshowweakness,athirstforreassurance.Fatherhasneither.

“Begin,”hesays.Hisfingersdrumonthearmofhisthrone,andtheheavy

irondoorsatthefarendofthehallswingopen.

Theambassadorsarefewbuthigh-ranking,leadersoftheirhouses.LordSalin of Iral seems to bewearing all the jewelsmy father lacks, his broadcollarofrubiesandsapphiresstretchingfromshouldertoshoulder.Therestofhisclothesareequallypatternedinredandblue,andhisrobesbillowaroundhis ankles.Anothermight trip, but an Iral silk has no such fear.Hemoveswithlethalgrace,eyeshardanddark.Hedoeshisbesttomeasureuptothememory of his predecessor, Ara Iral. His escorts are silks as well, just asflamboyant.Theyareabeautifulhouse,withskin likecoldbronzeand lushblackhair.Sonyaisnotwithhim.Iconsideredherafriendatcourt,asmuchasIconsideranyoneafriend.Idon’tmissher,andit’sprobablyforthebestsheisn’there.

Salin’s eyes narrow at the sight of my mother’s panther, now purringbeneathhertouch.Ah.Ihadforgotten.Hismother,themurderedladyofIral,wascalledthePantherinheryouth.Subtle,Mother.

HalfadozenHavenshadowsrippleintobeing,theirfacesdecidedlylesshostile. In thebackof theroom,InoticeElaneappearaswell.Butherfacestays inshadow,hidingherpainfromeveryoneelse in thecrowdedroom.IwishIcouldseathernexttome.Buteventhoughmyfamilyhasbeenmorethanobligingwheresheisconcerned,thatcanneverhappen.She’llsitbehindTollyoneday.Notme.

Lord Jerald, Elane’s father, is the leading member of the Havendelegation. Like her, he has vibrant red hair and glowing skin. He seemsyoungerthanhisyears,softenedbyhisnaturalabilitytomanipulatelight.Ifheknowshisdaughterisinthebackoftheroom,hedoesn’tshowit.

“YourMajesty.”SalinIralinclineshisheadjustenoughtobepolite.

Father does not bend. Only his eyes move, flickering between theambassadors.“Mylords.Myladies.WelcometothekingdomoftheRift.”

“Wethankyouforyourhospitality,”Jeraldoffers.

Icanalmosthearmyfathergrindhisteeth.Hedespiseswastedtime,andsuchpleasantriesarecertainlythat.“Well,youtraveledallthisway.Ihopeitistoupholdyourpledge.”

“Wepledgedtosupportyouincoalition,tosupplantMaven,”Salinsays.“Notthis.”

Father sighs. “Maven has been supplanted in the Rift. And with yourallegiance,thatcanspread.”

“Withyouasking.Onedictatorforanother.”Muttersbreakoutamongthecrowd,butweremainsilentasSalinspitshisnonsense.

Next to me, Mother leans forward. “It’s hardly fair to compare myhusbandtothataddledprincewhohasnobusinesssittinghisfather’sthrone.”

“I won’t stand by and let you seize a crown that is not yours,” Salingrowlsback.

Motherclucksher tongue.“Youmeanacrownyoudidn’t think toseizeyourself?PitythePantherwasmurdered.Shewouldhaveplannedforthis,atleast.”Shecontinuesstrokingtheglossypredatoratherside.Itgrowlslowinitsthroat,baringfangs.

“Thefactremains,mylord,”Fathercutsin,“whileMavenisfloundering,hisarmiesandresourcesvastlyoutnumberourown.EspeciallynowthattheLakelanders have bound themselves to him. But together, we can defend.Strike out in force.Wait formore of his kingdom to crumble.Wait for theScarletGuard—”

“TheScarletGuard.” Jerald spits onourbeautiful floor.His face colorswith a gray flush. “You mean Montfort. The true power behind thosewretchedterrorists.Anotherkingdom.”

“Technically—”Tollybegins,butJeraldpresseson.

“I’mbeginningtothinkyoucarenotforNorta,butonlyforyourtitleandyour crown. On keeping whatever you piece you can while greater beastsdevourournation,”Jeraldsnaps. In thecrowd,Elaneflinchesandshutshereyes.Noonespeakstomyfatherthisway.

Thepanthersnarlsagain,matchingMother’srisingtemper.Fatherjustsitsback against his throne,watching the open threat ripple through theSunsetStretch.

After a long, tremblingmoment, Jerald sinks to a knee. “Myapologies,YourMajesty.Imisspoke.Ididnotintend…”Hetrailsoffundertheking’swatchfuleye,thewordsdyingonhisfleshylips.

“The Scarlet Guard will never take hold here. Nomatter what radicalsmaybebacking them.”Fatherspeaksresolutely.“Redsare inferior,beneathus.Thatistheworkofbiology.Lifeitselfknowswearetheirmasters.WhyelseareweSilver?Whyelsearewetheirgods,ifnottorulethem?”

TheSamoscousinscheer.“Kingsofsteel!”echoes through thechamberagain.

“If newbloodswant to throw their lot in with insects, let them. If theywanttoturntheirbacksonourwayoflife,letthem.Andwhentheyreturntofightus,tofightnature,killthem.”

The cheer grows, spreading fromourhouse toLaris.Even a few in thedelegationsclapornodalong.Idoubtthey’veeverheardVoloSamosspeakthismuch—he’s been saving his voice and hiswords for themoments thatmatter.Thisiscertainlythat.

OnlySalinremainsstill.Hisdarkeyes,rimmedwithblackliner,standoutsharply. “Is that why your daughter let a terrorist go free? Why sheslaughteredfourSilversofanoblehousetodoso?”

“FourArvenssworn toMaven.”Myvoicesnaps likeawhipcrack.TheIrallordturnshisgazeonmeandIfeelelectrified,almostrisinginmyseat.Thesearemy firstwordsasaprincess,my firstwords spokenwithavoicethat is trulymy own. “Four soldierswhowould take everything you are iftheirwretchedkingasked.Doyoumournthem,mylord?”

Salinscowlsindisgust.“Imournthelossofavaluablehostage,nothingmore.AndobviouslyIquestionyourdecision,Princess.”

AnotherdropofderisioninyourvoiceandI’llcutoutyourtongue.

“Thedecisionwasmine,”Fathersaysevenly.“Likeyousaid,theBarrowgirlwasavaluablehostage.WetookherfromMaven.”AndloosedherontheSquare, likeabeast from itscage. IwonderhowmanyofMaven’ssoldiersshetookwithherthatday.EnoughtofulfillFather’splanatleast,tocoverourownescape.

“Andnowshe’s in thewind!”Salin implores.His temper slips, inchbyinch.

Father shows no signs of interest and states the obvious. “She is inPiedmont, of course.And I assure you,Barrowwasmore dangerous underMaven’s command than she’ll ever be under theirs.Our concern should beeliminatingMaven,notradicalsdestinedtofail.”

Salinblanches.“Fail?TheyholdCorvium.TheycontrolavastamountofPiedmont,usingaSilverprinceasapuppet.Ifthatisfailure—”

“They seek tomake equal that which is not fundamentally equal.”Mymotherspeakscoldly,andherwordsringtrue.“Itisfoolish,likebalancinganimpossibleequation.Anditwillendinbloodshed.Butitwillend.Piedmontwillriseup.NortawillthrowbackReddevils.Theworldwillkeepturning.”

AllargumentseemstodiewithMother’svoice.LikeFather,shesitsback,satisfied.Foronce, she iswithouther familiarhissof snakes. Just thegreatpanther,purringunderhertouch.

Fatherforgeson,eagertolandthekillingstrike.“OurobjectiveisMaven.The Lakelands. Cleaving the king from his new ally will leave himvulnerable,mortally so.Will you support us in our quest to rid this poisonfromourcountry?”

Slowly,SalinandJeraldexchangeglances,theireyesmeetingacrosstheemptyspacebetweenthem.Adrenalinesurgesinmyveins.Theywillkneel.Theymustkneel.

“WillyousupportHouseSamos,HouseLaris,HouseLerolan—”

Avoicecutshimoff.Thevoiceofawoman. It echoes—fromnowhere.“Youpresumetospeakforme?”

Jerald twistshiswrist,his fingersmoving ina rapidcircle.Everyone inthe chamber gasps, including me, when a third ambassador blinks intoexistencebetweenIralandHaven.Herhouseappearsbehindher,adozenoftheminclothesofredandorange,likethesettingsun.Likeanexplosion.

Motherjoltsbesideme,surprisedforthefirsttimeinmany,manyyears.Myadrenalinebecomesspikesofice,chillingmyblood.

TheleaderofHouseLerolantakesadaringstepforward.Herappearanceissevere.Grayhairtiedintoaneatbun,hereyesburninglikeheatedbronze.Theolderwomandoesnotknowthenameoffear.“IwillnotsupportaSamoskingwhileaCaloreheirlives.”

“Iknew I smelled smoke,”Mothermutters, pullingherhandback fromthe panther. It immediately tenses, shifting to stand as its claws slide intoplace.

She just shrugs, smirking. “Easy to say, Larentia, now that you seemestandinghere.”Herfingersdrumatherside.Iwatchthemclosely.Sheisanoblivion, able to explode thingswith a touch. If she got close enough, shecouldobliteratemyheartinmychestormybraininmyskull.

“Iamaqueen—”

“SoamI.”AnabelLerolangrinswider.Thoughherclothesarefine,shewearsnojewelrythatIcansee,nocrown.Nometal.Myfistclawsatmyside.“Wewillnotturnourbacksonmygrandson.ThethroneofNortabelongstoTiberiastheSeventh.Oursisacrownofflames,notsteel.”

Father’s anger gathers like thunder and breaks like lightning.He standsfromhisthrone,onefistclenching.Themetalreinforcementsofthechamberitselftwist,groaningunderthestrainofhisfury.

“Wehadadeal,Anabel!”hesnarls.“TheBarrowgirlforyoursupport.”

Shejustblinks.

Evenfromthefarside, Icanhearmybrotherhiss.“Haveyouforgottenthe reason theGuardhasCorvium?DidyounotseeyourgrandsonfightinghisowninArcheon?Howcanthekingdomstandbehindhimnow?”

Anabel doesn’t flinch.Her lined face remains still, her expression openand patient. A kindly old woman in everything but the waves of ferocityemanatingfromher.Shewaitsformybrothertopushon,buthedoesn’t,andsheinclinesherhead.“Thankyou,PrincePtolemus,foratleastnotfurtheringthe outrageous falsity of my son’s murder and my grandson’s exile. BothcommittedatthehandsofElaraMerandus,bothspreadthroughthekingdomin the worst propaganda I have ever seen. Yes, Tiberias has done terriblethingstosurvive.But theywere tosurvive.Aftereveryoneofus turnedonhim,abandonedhim,afterhisownpoisonedbrother tried tokillhim in thearenalikeabasecriminal.Acrownistheleastwecangivehiminapology.”

Behindher,IralandHavenstandfirm.Acurtainoftensionfallsoverthehall.Everyone feels it.We’reSilvers,born to strengthandpower.Allofustraintofight,tokill.Wehearthetickofaclockineveryheart,countingdowntobloodshed.IglanceatElane,lockeyeswithher.Shepressesherlipsintoagrimline.

“TheRiftismine,”Fathergrowls,soundinglikeoneofMother’sbeasts.Thenoiseshuddersinmybones,andIaminstantlyachild.

It has no such effect on the old queen.Anabel just tips her head to theside.Sunlightglintsdownthestraight,ironstrandsofherhairgatheredatthenapeofherneck.

“Thenkeepit,”shereplieswithashrug.“Asyousaid,wehadadeal.”

And just like that, the coiling turmoil threatening to engulf the roomsweepsaway.Afewofthecousins,aswellasLordJerald,visiblyexhale.

Anabelspreadsherhandswide,anopengesture.“YouarethekingoftheRift,andmayyoureignformanyprosperousyears.Butmygrandsonis therightfulkingofNorta.Andhewillneedeveryallywecanmustertotakehiskingdomback.”

Even Father did not foresee this turn. Anabel Lerolan has not been tocourt in many years, electing to remain in Delphie, her house’s seat. ShedespisedElaraMerandusandcouldnotbenearher—that,orshefearedher.Isuppose now, with the whisper queen gone, the oblivion queen can return.Andreturnshehas.

I tell myself not to panic. Blindsided as Father may be, this is notsurrender.We keep theRift.We keep our home.We keep our crowns. It’sonlybeenafewweeks,butI’mloathtogiveawaywhatwe’veplannedfor.WhatIdeserve.

“I wonder how you intend to restore a king who wants no part in athrone,”Fathermuses.HesteepleshisfingersandsurveysAnabeloverthem.“YourgrandsonisinPiedmont—”

“My grandson is an unwilling operative of the ScarletGuard,which inturn is controlled by the Free Republic of Montfort. You’ll find that theirleader,theonecallinghimselfpremier,isquiteareasonableman,”sheaddswiththeairofsomeonediscussingtheweather.

My stomach twists, and I feel vaguely sick. Something in me, a deepinstinct,screamsformetokillherbeforeshecancontinue.

Fatherraisesaneyebrow.“You’vemadecontactwithhim?”

TheLerolanqueensmilestightly.“Enoughtonegotiate.ButIspeaktomygrandson more often these days. He’s a talented boy, very good withmachines.Hereachedoutinhisdesperation,askingforonlyonething.Andthankstoyou,Idelivered.”

Mare.

Fathernarrowshiseyes.“Doesheknowofyourplans,then?”

“Hewill.”

“AndMontfort?”

“Is eager to ally themselves with a king. They will support a war ofrestorationinthenameofTiberiastheSeventh.”

“As they have in Piedmont?” If no one else will point out her folly, Icertainlymust. “PrinceBracken dances on their strings, controlled.Reportsindicate they have taken his children. You would so willingly let yourgrandsonbecometheirpuppettoo?”

I came here eager to see others kneel. I remain seated, but I feel barebeforeAnabelasshegrins.“Asyourmothersaidsoeloquently,theyseekto

make equal that which is not fundamentally equal. Victory is impossible.Silverbloodcannotbeoverthrown.”

Eventhepantherisquiet,watchingtheexchangewithtickingeyes.Itstailflicksslowly.Ifocusonitsfur,darkasthenightsky.Anabyss,justliketheonewe edge toward.Myheart drums a harried rhythm, pumping both fearandadrenalinethroughoutmybody.Idon’tknowwhichwayFatherwilllean.Idon’tknowwhatwillbecomeofthispath.Itmakesmyskincrawl.

“Ofcourse,”Anabeladds,“thekingdomofNortaandthekingdomoftheRiftwouldbetightlyboundbytheiralliance.Andbymarriage.”

Thefloorseemstotipbeneathme.Ittakeseveryounceofwillandpridetoremainonmycoldandviciousthrone.Youaresteel,Iwhisperinmyhead.Steeldoesnotbreakorbend.But I canalready feelmyselfbowing,givingwaytomyfather’swill.He’lltrademeinaheartbeat,ifitmeanskeepingthecrown. The kingdom of the Rift, the kingdom of Norta—Volo Samos willtakewhateverhecangrasp.Ifthelatterisoutofreach,hewilldowhateverhecantomaintainthefirst.Evenifitmeansbreakinghispromise.Sellingmeoffonemore time.My skin prickles. I thought all this was behind us. I am aprincessnow,myfatheraking.Idon’tneedtomarryanyoneforacrown.Thecrownisinmyblood,inme.

No,thatisn’ttrue.YoustillneedFather.Youneedhisname.Youareneveryourown.

Bloodthundersinmyears,theroarofahurricane.Ican’tbringmyselftolookupatElane.Ipromisedher.Shemarriedmybrothersowewouldneverbeparted.Sheupheldher sideof thebargain,butnow?They’ll sendme toArcheon. She’ll stay herewithTolly as hiswife and, one day, his queen. Iwant toscream.Iwant to rip the infernalchairunderme toshredsand teareveryoneinthisroomapart.Includingmyself.Ican’tdothis.Ican’tlivelikethis.

AfewweeksoftheclosestthingtofreedomI’veeverknown—andIcan’tletitgo.Ican’tgobacktolivingforsomeoneelse’sambitions.

I breathe throughmy nose, trying to keepmy rage in check. I have nogods,butIcertainlypray.

Sayno.Sayno.Sayno.Please,Father,sayno.

Noonelooksatme,myonlyrelief.Noonewatchesmyslowunraveling.Theyonlyhaveeyesformyfatherandhisdecision.Itrytodetach.Trytoputmypaininaboxandtuckitaway.It’seasytodoinTraining,inafight.But

it’salmostimpossiblenow.

Ofcourse.Thevoiceinmyheadlaughssadly.Yourpathalwaysledhere,no matter what. I was made to marry the Calore heir. Physically made.Mentallymade.Constructed.Likeacastle,oratomb.Mylifehasneverbeenmyown,anditneverwillbe.

My father’swords drive nails intomy heart, each one another burst ofbloodysorrow.

“TothekingdomofNorta.AndthekingdomoftheRift.”

TWENTY-FOURCameron

IttakesMorreylongerthantheotherhostages.

Some believed within minutes. Others held out for days, stubbornlyclingingtotheliesthey’dbeenspoon-fed.TheScarletGuardisacollectionofterrorists,theScarletGuardisevil.TheScarletGuardwillmakelifeworsefor you.KingMaven freed you fromwar andwill free you frommore still.Twistedhalf-truthsspunintopropaganda.Icanunderstandhowtheyandsomanyothersweretakenin.MavenexploitedathirstinRedswhodidn’tknowwhatitwastobemanipulated.TheysawaSilverpledgingtolistenwhenhispredecessors would not, to hear the voices of people who had never beenheard.Aneasyhopetobuyinto.

And theScarletGuardare far from innocentheroes.Theyare flawedatbest,combatingoppressionwithviolence.ThechildrenoftheDaggerLegionremainwary. They’re all just teenagers bouncing from the trenches of onearmytoanother.Idon’tblamethemforkeepingtheireyesopen.

Morreystillclings tohismisgivings.Becauseofme,what Iam.Mavenaccused theGuard ofmurdering people likeme.Nomatter howmuchmybrothertries,hecan’tshakethewords.

Aswesitdowntobreakfast,ourbowlsofoatmealhottothetouch,Ibracemyselffortheusualquestions.Weliketoeatoutsideonthegrass,beneaththeopen sky, with the training fields stretched out. After fifteen years in ourslum,everyfreshbreezefeelslikeamiracle.Isitcross-legged,mydarkgreencoverallssoftfromwearandtoomuchwashingtocount.

“Why don’t you leave?” Morrey asks, jumping right in. He stirs theoatmealthreetimes,counterclockwise.“Youhaven’tpledgedyouroathtotheGuard.Youdon’thaveanyreasontostayhere.”

“Whydoyoudothat?”Itaphisspoonwithmine.Astupidquestion,butaneasydodge.Ineverhaveagoodanswerforhim,andIhatethathemakesmewonder.

He shrugs his narrow shoulders. “I like the routine,” he mumbles. “Athome…well,youknowhomewasbleedingawful,but…”Hestirsagain,the

metalscraping.“Youremembertheschedules,thewhistles.”

“Ido.”Istillheartheminmydreams.“Andyoumissthat?”

Hescoffs.“Ofcoursenot.Ijust…Notknowingwhat’sgoingtohappen.Idon’tunderstandit.It’s—it’sscary.”

Ispoonupsomeoatmeal.It’sthickandtasty.Morreygavemehissugarration,andtheextrasweetnessundercutswhateverdiscomfortIfeel.“Ithinkthat’showeveryonefeels.Ithinkit’swhyIstay.”

Morrey turns to look atme, narrowing his eyes against the glare of thestill-risingsun.Itilluminateshisface,throwingintoharshcontrasthowmuchhe’schanged.Steadyrationshavefilledhimout.Andthecleanerairclearlyagreeswithhim.Ihaven’theardthescrapingcoughthatusedtopunctuatehissentences.

One thing hasn’t changed, though. He still has the tattoo, just as I do.Blackinklikeabrandaroundhisneck.Ourlettersandnumbersmatchalmostexactly.

NT-ARSM-188908, his reads. New Town, Assembly and Repair, SmallManufacturing.I’m188907.Iwasbornfirst.Myneckitchesatthememoryofthedaywhenweweremarked,permanentlyboundtoourindenturedjobs.

“Idon’tknowwhere togo.” I say thewordsout loud for the first time,eventhoughI’vebeenthinkingthemeverydaysinceIescapedCorros.“Wecan’tgohome.”

“Iguessnot,”hemumbles.“Sowhatdowedohere?You’regoingtostayandletthesepeople—”

“I told you before, they don’t want to kill newbloods. That was a lie,Maven’slie—”

“I’mnottalkingaboutthat.SotheScarletGuardisn’tgoingtokillyou—but they’re still putting you in danger. You spend everyminute you’re notwithmetrainingtofight,tokill.AndinCorviumIsaw…whenyouledusout…”

Don’tsaywhatIdid. I remember itwellenoughwithouthimdescribingthe way I killed two Silvers. Faster than I’ve ever killed before. Bloodpouringfromtheireyesandmouths,theirinsidesdyingorganbyorganasmysilencedestroyedeverythinginthem.Ifeltitthen.Ifeelitstill.Thesensationofdeathpulsesthroughmybody.

“Iknowyoucanhelp.”Heputshisoatmealdownandtakesmyhand.In

thefactories,Iusedtoholdontohim.Ourrolesreverse.“Idon’twanttoseethemturnyouintoaweapon.You’remysister,Cameron.Youdideverythingyoucouldtosaveme.Letmedothesame.”

Withahuff,Ifallbackagainstthesoftgrass,leavingthebowlatmyside.

He letsme think,and instead turnshiseyeson thehorizon.Hewavesadark hand at the fields in front of us. “It’s so bleeding green here.Do youthinktherestoftheworldislikethis?”

“Idon’tknow.”

“Wecouldfindout.”HisvoiceissosoftIpretendnottohearhim,andwelapseintoaneasysilence.Iwatchspringwindschasecloudsacross theskywhileheeats,hismotionsquickandefficient.“Orwecouldgohome.MamaandDad—”

“Impossible.” I focuson theblue above,blue likewenever saw in thathellholewewerebornin.

“Yousavedme.”

“Andwealmostdied.Betterodds,andwealmostdied.”Iexhaleslowly.“There’snothingwecandoforthemrightnow.Ithoughtmaybeoncebut—allwecandoishope.”

Sorrow tugsathis face, souringhis expression.Buthenods. “And stayalive.Stayourselves.Youhearme,Cam?”Hegrabsmyhand.“Don’tletthischangeyou.”

He’sright.EventhoughI’mangry,eventhoughIfeelsomuchhatredforeverythingthatthreatensmyfamily—isfeedingthatrageworththecost?

“SowhatshouldIdo?”Ifinallyforcemyselftoask.

“Idon’t knowwhathaving an ability’s like.Youhave friendswhodo.”His eyes twinkle as he pauses for effect. “You do have friends, right?”Hequirks a smirk at me over the rim of his bowl. I smack his arm for theimplication.

MymindjumpstoFarleyfirst,butshe’sstillinthehospital,adjustingtoanewbaby,andshedoesn’thaveanability.Doesn’tknowwhatit’sliketobesolethal,incontrolofsomethingsodeadly.

“I’m scared,Morrey.When you throw a tantrum, you just yell and cry.Withme,withwhatIcando…”Ireachahandtothesky,flexingmyfingersagainsttheclouds.“I’mscaredofit.”

“Maybethat’sgood.”

“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Athome,yourememberhowtheyusethekids?Tofixthebiggears,thedeepwires?”Morreywidenshisdarkeyes,tryingtomakemeunderstand.

The memory echoes. Iron on iron, the screech and twist of constantlywhirringmachineryacrossendlessfactoryfloors.Icanalmostsmell theoil,almostfeelthewrenchinmyhand.ItwasareliefwhenMorreyandIgottoobig to be spiders—what the overseers called the little kids in our division.Smallenoughtogowhereadultworkerscouldn’t, tooyoungtobeafraidofbeingcrushed.

“Fear can be a good thing, Cam,” he pushes on. “Fear doesn’t let youforget. And the fear you have, the respect you have for this deadly thinginsideofyou,Ithinkthat’sanabilitytoo.”

Myoatmeal is coldnow,but I forceamouthful so Idon’thave to talk.Nowthesugarytasteisoverpowering,andtheglopstickstomyteeth.

“Yourbraidsareamess,”Morreymutterstohimself.Heturnstoanotherroutine, anoldone familiar to usboth.Ourparentsworked earlier thanwedid,andwehadtohelpeachothergetreadyatdawn.He’slongsinceknownhowtofixmyhair,andittakesnotimeatallforhimtountangleit.Itfeelsgoodtohavehimback,andI’movercomewithemotionasheplaitsmycurlyblackhairintotwobraids.

Hedoesn’tpushmetomakeadecision,buttheconversationisenoughtolet questions I already had rise to the surface.Whodo Iwant to be?WhatchoiceamIgoingtomake?

Inthedistance,aroundtheedgeofthetrainingfields,Ispottwofamiliarfigures.Onetall,oneshort,bothofthemjoggingtheboundary.Theydothiseveryday, theirexercises familiar tomostofus.DespiteCal’smuch longerlegs,Maredoesn’thaveaproblemkeepingup.Astheygetcloser,Icanseeher smiling. I don’t understand a lot of things about the lightning girl, andsmilingduringarunisoneofthem.

“Thanks,Morrey,”Isay,gettingtomyfeetwhenhefinishes.

Mybrotherdoesn’t standwithme.He followsmygaze, laying eyesonMareasshegetscloser.Shedoesn’tmakehimtenseup,butCaldoes.Morreyquicklybusieshimselfwiththebowls,duckinghisheadtohidehisscowl.NolovelostbetweentheColesandtheprinceofNorta.

Mareraisesherchinasshejogs,acknowledgingusboth.

Theprince tries tohidehis annoyancewhen she slowsherpace, easingintoawalktoapproachmeandMorrey.Caldoesn’tdoitwell,buthenodsatbothofusinanattemptatapolitegreeting.

“Morning,”Maresays,shiftingfromfoottofootasshecatchesherbreath.Her complexion has improved more than anything; a golden warmth isreturning toherbrownskin. “Cameron,Morrey,” she says,hereyes tickingbetween us with catlike speed. Her brain is always spinning, looking forcracks.Afterwhatshe’sbeenthrough,howcouldshebeanyotherway?

Shemustsensethehesitationinme,becauseshestaysput,waitingformetosaysomething.Ialmostlosemynerve,butMorreybrushesagainstmyleg.Justbitethebullet,Itellmyself.Shemightevenunderstand.

“Wouldyoumindtakingawalkwithme?”

Beforehercapture,shewouldhavescoffed,toldmetotrain,brushedmeawaylikeanannoyingfly.Shebarelytoleratedme.Nowshebobsherhead.Withasinglegesture,MarewavesoffCallikeonlyshecan.

Prisonchangedher,likeitchangedusall.

“Sure,Cameron.”

ItfeelslikeItalkforhours,spillingeverythingI’vebeenkeepinginside.Thefear,theanger,thesicksensationIgeteverytimeIthinkaboutwhatIcandoandwhatI’vedone.Howitusedtothrillme.Howsuchpowermademefeelinvincible, indestructible—and now itmakesme feel ashamed. It feels likestabbingmyselfinthestomachandlettingmygutsfallout.Iavoidhereyesas I speak, keeping my gaze firmly on my feet as we pace the traininggrounds.Aswepresson,moreandmoresoldiersfloodthefield.NewbloodsandReds,allgoingthroughtheirmorningexercises.Intheiruniforms,greencoverallsprovidedbyMontfort, it’shardtotellwhichiswhich.Weall lookthe same, united. “Iwant to protectmybrother.He tellsmewe should go,leave…”Myvoiceweakens,trailingoffuntiltherearenomorewords.

Mareisforcefulinherreply.“Mysistersaysthesamething.Everyday.ShewantstotakeupDavidson’soffer.Relocate.Letotherpeoplefight.”Hereyes darken with intensity. They wobble over the landscape full of greenuniforms.Sheismechanicalinherobservations,whethersheknowsitornot,readingrisksandthreats.“Shesaidwe’vegivenenough.”

“Sowhatwillyoudo?”

“Ican’t turnmyback.”Shebitesher lip, thoughtful. “There’s toomuchangerinme.IfIdon’tfindawaytogetridofit,itmightpoisonmefortherestofmylife.Butthatprobablyisn’twhatyouwanttohear.”Itwouldbeanaccusation fromanyoneelse.FromCal,orFarley.FromwhoMarewas sixmonthsago.Insteadherwordsaresofter.

“Holdingonwilleatmealive,” Iadmit.“Continuingon thisway,usingmyabilitytokill…itwillmakemeamonster.”

Monster. She shivers when I say it, withdrawing inside herself. MareBarrowhashadherfairshareofmonsters.Shelooksaway,idlytuggingonabraidofhaircurlingwithsweatandhumidity.

“Monstersaresoeasilymade,especiallyinpeoplelikeus,”shemumbles.Butsherecoversquickly.“Youdidn’tfightinArcheon.Orifyoudid,Ididn’tseeyou.”

“No, Iwas just there to…”Keepyou in check. In themoment, a goodplan.ButnowthatIknowwhatshewentthrough,Ifeelterrible.

Shedoesn’tpush.

“Kilorn’s idea back in Trial,” I say. “He works well branching thenewbloods andReds, andheknew Iwanted to take a stepback.So Iwentalong—butnottofight,nottokill,unlessabsolutelynecessary.”

“Andyouwanttocontinueonthatpath.”Notaquestion.

Slowly, Inod. I shouldn’t feelembarrassed.“I think it’sbetter thisway.Defend,notdestroy.”Atmyside,myfingersflex.Silencepoolsbeneathmyflesh.Idon’thatemyability,butIcanhatewhatitdoes.

Marefixesmewithagrin.“I’mnotyourcommander.Ican’ttellyouwhattodo,orhowtofight.ButIthinkit’sagoodidea.Andifanyonetriestotellyouotherwise,pointthemmyway.”

Ismile.SomehowIfeelaweightlift.“Thanks.”

“I’msorry,bytheway,”sheadds,comingcloser.“I’mthereasonyou’rehere. Iknownow,whatIdid toyou, forcingyou to joinup—itwaswrong.AndI’msorry.”

“You’re absolutely right.You didwrong, that’s for bleeding sure.But IgotwhatIwanted,intheend.”

“Morrey.” She sighs. “I’m glad you got him back.” Her smile doesn’tdisappear,butitcertainlyfades,weakenedbyallmentionofbrothers.

Onthe lowriseahead,Morreywaits,nowstanding insilhouetteagainstthebasebuildingsspreadoutbehindhim.Calisgone.Good.

Even though he’s been with us for months, Cal is awkward withoutpurpose, bad at conversation, and always on edgewhen he doesn’t have astrategy tomull over. Part ofme still thinks he sees us all as disposable—cardstopickedupandthrownawayasstrategydictates.ButhelovesMare,Iremindmyself.HelovesagirlwithRedblood.

Thatmustcountforsomething.

Beforewemake it back tomy brother, one last fear bubbles up inmythroat.

“AmIabandoningyouall?Thenewbloods.”

Myability issilentdeath.Iamaweapon, likeitornot.Icanbeused.Icanbeuseful.Isitselfishtowalkaway?

Iget the feeling it’saquestionMarehasaskedherselfmany times.Butheranswerisforme,andmealone.

“Of course not,” she mutters. “You’re still here. And you’re one lessmonsterforustoworryabout.Onelessghost.”

TWENTY-FIVEMare

Even though my time at the Notch was fraught with exhaustion andheartbreak,itstillholdsacornerofmyheart.Foronce,Irememberthegoodmore vividly than the bad.Dayswhenwe returnedwith living newbloods,snatched from the jaws of execution. It felt like progress. Every face wasproofthatIwasnotalone—andthatIcouldsavepeopleaseasilyaskillthem.Somedays,itfeltsimple.Right.I’vebeenchasingthatsensationeversince.

ThePiedmontbasehasitsowntrainingfacilities,bothindoorandoutdoor.Some are equipped for Silvers, the rest for Red soldiers to learn war. TheColonel and his men, now numbering in the thousands and growing everyday, claim the shooting range. Newbloods like Ada, those with less-devastating abilities, trainwith him, perfecting their aim and combat skills.KilornshuttlesbetweentheirranksandthenewbloodsontheSilvertraininggrounds.Hebelongswithneithergroup,yethispresencesoothesmany.Thefish boy is the opposite of a threat, not tomention a familiar face.And hedoesn’t fear them, like somany of the “true”Red soldiers.No,Kilorn hasseenenoughfrommetoneverbeafraidofanewbloodeveragain.

He accompanies me now, escorting me around the edge of a buildingaboutthesizeofanairjethangar.Butithasnorunway.“Silvergymnasium,”he says, pointing at the structure. “All sorts of stuff in there.Weights, anobstaclecourse,anarena—”

“Iget it.” I learnedmyskills inaplace like that, surroundedby leeringSilverswhowouldkillmeiftheysawonedropofmyblood.AtleastIdon’thavetoworryaboutthatanymore.“Probablyshouldn’ttrainanywherewitharooforlightbulbs.”

Kilornsnorts.“Probablynot.”

Oneof thegymnasiumdoorsbangsopenandafigurestepsout,a towelaround his neck. Cal scrubs sweat off his face, still silver-flushed withexertion.Weightlifting,Iassume.

Henarrowshiseyesandclosesthedistancebetweenusasquicklyashecan. Still panting, he puts a hand out. Kilorn takes it with an open grin.

“Kilorn.”Calnods.“Takingheronatour?”

“Ye—”

“Nah, she’s going to start up with some of the others today.” Kilornspeaksoverme,andIresisttheurgetoelbowhiminthegut.

“What?”

Caldarkens.Heheavesadeepbreath.“Ithoughtyouweregoingtogiveyourselfmoretime.”

Kilorn surprised me in the hospital, but he’s right. I can’t sit aroundanymore. It feelsuseless.And Iamrestless,withangerboilingbeneathmyskin.I’mnotCameron.I’mnotstrongenoughtostepback.EvenlightbulbshavestartedsparkingwhenIenteraroom.Ineedrelease.

“It’s been a few days. I thought it over.” I put my hands on my hips,bracingmyself againsthis inevitable counter.Without even realizing it,Calsettles into his patented arguing-with-Mare stance. Arms crossed, browfurrowed,feetfirmlyplanted.Withthesunbehindme,hehastosquint,andafterhisworkout,hereeksofsweat.

Kilorn,therottencoward,backsawayafewsteps.“I’llseeyouwhenyoufinish having a moment.” He tosses a shit-eating grin over his shoulder,leavingmetofendformyself.

“Justaminute,”Icallathisretreatingform.Heonlywaves,disappearingaroundthecornerofthegymnasium.“Somebackupheis.NotthatIneedit,”Iaddquickly,“sinceit’smydecisionandthisisjusttraining.I’llbeperfectlyfine.”

“Well,halfmyworryisforthepeopleintheblastzone.Andtherest…”Hetakesmyhand,using it topullmecloser. Iwrinklemynose,digging inmyheels.Notthatitmattersmuch.Islidealongthepavementanyway.

“You’reallsweaty.”

Hegrinswrappingonearmaroundmyback.Noescape.“Yep.”

Thescentisn’tentirelyunpleasant,eventhoughitshouldbe.“Soyou’renotgoingtofightmeonthis?”

“Likeyousaid.Yourdecision.”

“Good.Idon’thavetheenergytobickertwiceinonemorning.”

Heshifts andpushesmebackgently, tobetter seemy face.His thumbsgrazetheundersideofmyjaw.“Gisa?”

“Gisa.”Ihuff,brushingawispofhairoutofmyface.WithouttheSilentStone,myhealthhasvastlyimproved,downtomynailsandhairgrowingatanormal rate again. Still gray ends, though. That’s never going away. “Shekeeps bothering me about relocation. Go to Montfort. Leave everythingbehind.”

“Andyoutoldhergoahead,didn’tyou?”

Iblushscarlet. “It just slippedout!Sometimes…Idon’t thinkbefore Ispeak.”

Helaughs.“What?You?”

“AndthenMomtookherside,ofcourse,andDaddidn’ttakeasideatall,playing peacemaker, of course. It’s like”—my breath hitches—“it’s likenothingeverchanged.WecouldhavebeenbackintheStilts,inthekitchen.Iguess that shouldn’t bother me so much. In the scheme of things.”Embarrassed, I forcemyself to lookupatCal. It feelshorriblecomplainingaboutfamilytohim.Butheasked.Anditspilledout.HejuststudiesmelikeI’m battlefield terrain. “This isn’t something you want to think about. It’snothing.”

His grip onmy hand tightens before I can even think to pull away.HeknowsthewayIrun.“Actually,IwasthinkingaboutallthesoldiersItrainedwith.Atthefront,especially.I’veseensoldierscomebackwholeinbody,butmissingsomethingelse.Theycan’tsleepormaybetheycan’teat.Sometimesthey slide right back into thepast—into amemoryof battle, triggeredby asoundorasmelloranyothersensation.”

Igulp andcirclemywristwith shaking fingers.Squeezing, I rememberthemanacles.Thetouchmakesmesick.“Soundsfamiliar.”

“Youknowwhathelps?”

OfcourseIdon’t,orelseI’ddoit.Ishakemyhead.

“Normalcy.Routine.Talking.Iknowyoudon’texactlylikethelastone,”headds, smirkingslowly.“Butyour family justwantsyou tobesafe.Theywent through hellwhen youwere…gone.”He still hasn’t figured out theproper word for what happened to me. Captured or imprisoned doesn’texactlycarrytherightweight.“Andnowthatyou’reback,they’redoingwhatanyonewoulddo.They’reprotectingyou.Notthelightninggirl,notMareenaTitanos,butyou.MareBarrow.Thegirltheyknowandremember.That’sall.”

“Right.”Inodslowly.“Thanks.”

“Soaboutthattalkingthing.”

“Oh,comeon,rightnow?”

His grin splits and he laughs, his stomachmuscles tensing against me.“Fine,later.Aftertraining.”

“Youshouldgoshower.”

“Areyoukidding?I’mgoingtobetwostepsbehindyouthewholetime.Youwanttotrain?Thenyou’regoingtotrainproperly.”Hepokesmeinthesmallofmyback,makingmestumbleforward.“Comeon.”

Theprinceisincessant,joggingbackwarduntilImatchhispace.Wepassthetrack,theoutdoorobstaclecourse,awidefieldofclose-cutgrass,nottomention several circles of dirt for sparring and a target rangemore than aquarter mile long. Some newbloods run the obstacle course and the track,whileafewpracticealoneinthefield.Idon’trecognizethem,buttheabilitiesI see are familiar enough.A newblood akin to a nymph forms columns ofclearwaterbeforelettingthemdroptothegrass,creatingspreadingpuddlesof mud. A teleporter navigates the course with ease. She appears anddisappearsallovertheequipment,laughingatothershavingamoredifficulttime.Everytimeshejumps,mystomachtwists,rememberingShade.

Thesparringcirclesunsettlememostofall.Ihaven’tfoughtsomeonefortraining, for sport, since Evangeline so many months ago. It was not anexperienceIcaretorepeat.ButI’llcertainlyhaveto.

Cal’svoicekeepsme level, drawingmy focusback to the task at hand.“I’ll get you on your weights routine starting tomorrow, but today we canjumpintotargetandtheory.”

TargetIunderstand.“Theory?”

Westopattheedgeofthelongrange,staringatthemistburningoffinthedistance.

“You came into Training about a decade late for that. But before ourabilitiesareinfightingform,wespendalotoftimestudyingouradvantagesanddisadvantages,howtousethem.”

“Likenymphsbeatingburners,wateroverfire.”

“Sortof.That’saneasyone.Butwhatifyou’retheburner?”Ijustshakemy head, and he grins. “See, tricky. Takes a lot of memorization andcomprehension.Testing.Butyou’regoingtodothisonthefly.”

IforgothowsuitedtothisCalis.Heisafishinwater,atease,grinning.

Eager.Thisiswhathe’sgoodat,whatheunderstands,whereheexcels.It’salifelineinaworldthatneverseemstomakeanysense.

“IsittoolatetosayIdon’twanttotrainanymore?”

Cal just laughs, tipping his head back. A bead of sweat rolls down hisneck.“You’restuckwithme,Barrow.Now,hitthefirsttarget.”Hestretchesout ahand, indicating a squaregraniteblock tenyards away,painted like abull’s-eye.“Onebolt.Deadcenter.”

Smirking,Idoasasked.Ican’tmissatthisrange.Asinglepurple-whitebolt streaks through the air and hits home. With a resounding crack, thelightningleavesablackmarkinthecenterofthebull’s-eye.

BeforeIhavetimetofeelproud,Calbodilyshovesmeaside.Offguard,Istumble,almostfallingintothedirt.“Hey!”

Hejuststepsawayandpoints.“Nexttarget.Twentyyards.”

“Fine,”Ihuff,turningmyeyesonthesecondblock.Iraisemyarmagain,ready to aim—and Cal shoves me again. This time my feet react morequickly,butnotenough,andmyboltgoeswild,cracklingintothedirt.

“Thisfeelsveryunprofessional.”

“Iusedtodothiswithsomeonefiringblanksnexttomyhead.Wouldyoupreferthat?”heasks.Ishakemyheadquickly.“Thenhit—the—target.”

Normally, I’d be annoyed, but his smile spreads,makingme blush. It’straining,Ithink.Getaholdofyourself.

This time, when he goes to push me, I sidestep and fire, clipping thegranite marker. Another dodge, another shot. Cal starts to change up histactic,goingformylegsorevenburningafireballacrossmyvision.Thefirsttime he does that, I hit the ground so fast I end up spitting dirt. “Hit thetarget” becomes his anthem, followed by a yardmarker anywhere betweenfiftyandten.Heshoutsthetargetsatrandom,allwhileforcingmetodanceonmytoes.It’sharderthanrunning,muchharder,andthesunturnsbrutalasthedaywearson.

“Thetargetisaswift.Whatdoyoudo?”heasks.

Igritmyteeth,panting.“Spreadthebolt.Catchhimashedodges—”

“Don’ttellme,doit.”

Withagrunt,Iswingmyarminachopping,horizontalmotion,sendingaspray of voltage in the target’s direction. The sparks are weaker, less

concentrated,butenoughtoslowaswiftdown.Nexttome,Caljustnodshishead,theonlyindicationthatIdidsomethingright.Itfeelsgoodanyway.

“Thirtyyards.Banshee.”

Clappingmy hands tomy ears, I squint at the target, willing lightningwithoutuseofmyfingers.Aboltvaultsfrommybody,arcinglikearainbow.It misses, but I splash the electricity, making the sparks burst in differentdirections.

“Fiveyards.Silence.”

The thoughtofanArven floodsmewithpanic. I try to focus.Myhandstraysforagunthatisn’tthere,andIpretendtoshootthetarget.“Bang.”

Calsnortsabit.“Thatdoesn’tcount,butokay.Fiveyards,magnetron.”

That one I know intimately.With all the force I canmuster, I rocket ablastoflightningatthetarget.Itcracksintwo,slidingapartatdeadcenter.

“Theory?”asoftvoicesaysbehindus.

Iwas so focused on the range that I didn’t notice Julian standing by towatch,withKilornathisside.Myoldteacheroffersatightsmile,hishandsfolded behind his back in his usual way. I’ve never seen him so casuallydressed,witha lightcottonshirtandshorts revealing thinchicken legs.Calshouldgethimonaweightsroutinetoo.

“Theory,”Calconfirms.“Afterafashion.”Hewavesmedown,givingmeabriefrespite.ImmediatelyIsitinthedirt,stretchingoutmylegs.Despitetheconstant dodging, it’s the lightning that makes me tired. Without theadrenalineofbattleorthethreatofdeathhangingovermyhead,mystaminaisdecidedlylessened.NottomentionthefactthatI’maboutsixmonthsoutofpractice. With even motions, Kilorn stoops and puts a frosty water bottledownatmyside.

“Thoughtyoumightneedthis,”hesayswithawink.

I grin up at him. “Thanks,” Imanage, before gulping down a few coldmouthfuls.“Whatareyoudoingdownhere,Julian?”

“Justonmywaytothearchives.ThenIdecidedtoseewhatall thefusswasabout.”Hegesturesoverhisshoulder.Ijoltatthesightofadozenorsoassembledontheedgeoftherange,allofthemstaringatus.Atme.“Seemsyouhaveabitofanaudience.”

Igritmyteeth.Great.

Calshifts,justabit, tohidemefromview.“Sorry.Didn’twanttobreakyourconcentration.”

“It’sfine,”Itellhim,forcingmyselftostand.Mylimbsgroaninprotest.

“Well,I’llseeyoubothlater,”Juliansays,lookingbetweenmeandCal.

Ianswerquickly.“Wecangowithyou—”

Buthecutsmeoffwithaknowingsmirk,gesturingtowardthecrowdofbystanders.“Oh,I thinkyouhave introductions tomake.Kilorn,wouldyoumind?”

“Notatall,”Kilornreplies.Iwanttosmackthegrinrightoffhisface,andheknowsit.“Afteryou,Mare.”

“Fine,”Iforcethroughaclenchedjaw.

Fightingmy natural instinct to slink away from attention, I take a fewstepstowardthenewbloods.Afewmore.Afewmore.UntilIreachthem,CalandKilornalongside.IntheNotch,Ididn’twantfriends.Friendsarehardertosaygood-byeto.Thathasn’tchanged,butIseewhatKilornandJulianaredoing.Ican’tclosemyselfofffromothersanymore.Itrytoforceawinningsmileatthepeoplearoundme.

“Hi.I’mMare.”ItsoundsstupidandIfeelstupid.

One of the newbloods, the teleporter, bobs her head. She has a forest-greenMontfortuniform,longlimbs,andcloselycroppedbrownhair.“Yeah,we know. I’m Arezzo,” she says, sticking out a hand. “I jumped you andCaloreoutofArcheon.”

NowonderIdidn’trecognizeher.Theminutesaftermyescapearestillablur of fear, adrenaline, and overpowering relief. “Right, of course. Thankyouforthat.”Iblink,tryingtorememberher.

The others are just as friendly and open, as pleased to meet anothernewblood as I am. Everyone in this group is Montfort-born or Montfort-allied, in green uniformswithwhite triangles on the breast and insignia oneachbicep.Someare easy todecipher—twowavy lines for thenymph-likenewblood,threearrowsfortheswift.Noonehasbadgesormedals, though.There’snotellingwhomightbeanofficer.Butallaremilitary-trained,ifnotmilitary-raised.They use last names and have firm handshakes, each one aborn or made soldier. Most know Cal on sight and nod at him in a veryofficialmanner.Kilorntheygreetlikeanoldfriend.

“Where’sElla?”Kilornasks,directinghisquestionat amanwithblack

skinandshockinglygreenhair.Dyed,clearly.HisnameisRafe.“IsentheramessagetocomedownandmeetMare.Tytontoo.”

“Last I saw, they were practicing on top of Storm Hill. Which,technically”—heglancesatme,almostapologetic—“iswhereelectriconsaresupposedtotrain.”

“What’sanelectricon?”Iask,andimmediatelyfeelfoolish.

“You.”

Isigh,sheepish.“Right.IfiguredthataboutassoonasIasked.”

Rafefloatsasparkoverhishand, lettingitweavebetweenhisfingers. Ifeel it, but not likemyown lightning.Thegreen sparks answer tohimandhimalone.“It’sanoddword,butwe’reoddthings,aren’twe?”

Istareathim,almostbreathlesswithexcitement.“You’re…likeme?”

Henods,indicatingthelightningboltsonhissleeves.“Yes,weare.”

StormHill is just like it sounds. It risesatagentle incline in themiddleofanother field at the opposite end of the base, as far from the airfield aspossible.Lesschanceofhittingajetwithastrayboltof lightning.Iget thesensethehillisanewaddition,judgingbythelooseearthbeneathmyfeetasweapproachthesummit.Thegrassisnewgrowthtoo,theworkofagreenyornewbloodequivalent.It’smorelushthanthetrainingfields.Butthecrownof theslope isamess,charredearthpackedflat,crisscrossedbycracksandthesmellofadistant thunderstorm.While therestof thebaseenjoysbrightblue skies, a black cloud revolves over Storm Hill. A thunderhead, risingthousandsoffeet into theskylikeacolumnofdarksmoke.I’veneverseenanythinglikeit,socontrolledandcontained.

Theblue-hairedwomanfromArcheonstandsbeneaththecloud,herarmsoutstretched,palmsuptothethunder.Astraight-backedmanwithswoopingwhitehairlikeawave’screststandsbackfromher,thinandleaninhisgreenuniform.Bothhavelightning-boltinsignia.

Bluesparksdanceoverthewoman’shands,smallasworms.

Rafe leads us,Cal close atmy side.Even thoughhe dealswith his fairshareoflightning,theblackcloudputshimonedge.Hekeepsglancingup,asif expecting it to explode. Some blue flashes weakly in the darkness,illuminatingitfromwithin.Thunderrumbleswithit,lowandthrumminglikeacat’spurr.Itshiversmybones.

“Ella,Tyton,”Calcalls.Hewavesahand.

They turn at their names, and the flashing in the clouds abruptly stops.Thewomanlowersherhands,tuckingawayherpalms,andthethunderheadstartstodissolvebeforeoureyes.Sheboundsoverinleapsofenergy,trailedbythemorestoicman.

“Iwaswonderingwhenwewouldmeet,” she says, her voice high andbreathytomatchherdaintystature.Withoutwarning,shetakesmyhandsandkissesmeonbothcheeks.Hertouchshocks,sparksleapingfromherskintomine.Itdoesn’thurt,butitcertainlyperksmeup.“I’mElla,andyou’reMare,ofcourse.AndthistalldrinkofwaterisTyton.”

The man in question is certainly tall, with tawny skin, a sprinkling offreckles,andajawsharperthantheedgeofacliff.Withaflickofhishead,hetosseshiswhitehairtooneside,lettingitfalloverhislefteye.Hewinkswiththeright.Iexpectedhimtobeold,withhair likethat,buthecan’tbemorethantwenty-five.“Hello”isallhesays,hisvoicedeepandcertain.

“Hi.” I nod at them, overwhelmed both by their presence andmy owninabilitytoactanywhereclosetonormal.“Sorry,thisisabitofashock.”

Tyton rolls his eyes, butElla bursts out laughing.Ahalf second later, Iunderstandandcringe.

Calchucklesatmyside.“Thatwasprettyhorrible,Mare.”Henudgesmyshoulderasdiscreetlyashecan,abrushofwarmthemanatingfromhim.AverysmallcomfortinthePiedmontheat.

“We understand,” Ella offers quickly, stealing the words away. “It’salwaysoverwhelmingtomeetanotherArdent,letalonethreewhoshareyourability. Right, boys?” She elbows Tyton in the chest and he barely reacts,annoyed.Rafejustnods.Iget thefeelingElladoesmostof thetalkingand,basedonwhatIrememberfromthebluelightningstorminArcheon,mostofthefighting.“Idespairofyouboth,”Ellamutters,shakingherheadatthem.“ButIhaveyounow,don’tI,Mare?”

Hereagernatureandopensmiletakemeseverelyoffguard.Peoplethisnicearealwayshidingsomething.IswallowmysuspicionenoughtogiveherwhatIhopeisagenuinesmile.

“Thank you for bringing her,” she adds to Cal, her tone shifting. Thecheery,blue-hairedpixiedrawsupherspineandhardenshervoice,becomingasoldierbeforemyeyes.“Ithinkwecantakehertrainingfromhere.”

Calbarksoutalowlaugh.“Alone?Areyouserious?”

“Wereyou?”sheshootsback,narrowinghereyes.“Isawyour‘practice.’

Littleburstsonatargetrangeishardlysufficienttomaximizeherabilities.Ordoyouknowhowtocoaxastormoutofher?”

Based on the way his lips twist, I can tell he wants to say somethingdecidedlyinappropriate.Istophimbeforehecan,grabbinghiswrist.“Cal’smilitarybackground—”

“—is fine for conditioning.”Ella cutsme off. “Andperfect for trainingyou to fight Silvers theway he does. But your abilities stretch beyond hisunderstanding. There are things he can’t teach you, things you must learneitherthehardway—byyourself—ortheeasyway…withus.”

Herlogicissound,albeitunsettling.TherearethingsCalcan’tteachme,thingshedoesn’tunderstand. I rememberwhen I tried to trainCameron—Ididn’t know her ability the sameway I knewmine. Itwas like speaking adifferentlanguage.Iwasstillabletocommunicate,butnottruly.

“I’llwatch,then,”Calsayswithstonyresolve.“Isthatacceptable?”

Ella grins, her mood bouncing back to cheerful. “Of course. I would,however,adviseyoutostandbackandstayalert.Lightningisabitofawildfilly.Nomatterhowmuchyoureinherin,she’llalwaystrytorunwild.”

He gives me one last look and the tiniest quirk of a supportive smilebeforeheadingtotheedgeofthehilltop,wellbeyondtheringofblastmarks.Whenhegetsthere,heflopsdownandleansbackonhisarms,eyestrainedonme.

“He’snice.Foraprince,”Ellaoffers.

“AndaSilver,”Rafepipesin.

Iglanceathim,confused.“Therearen’tniceSilversinMontfort?”

“Iwouldn’tknow.I’veneverbeen,”hereplies.“I’mPiedmont-born,fromdownintheFloridians.”Hedotshisfingersintheair,illustratingthechainofswampyislands.“Montfortrecruitedmeafewmonthsago.”

“Andyoutwo?”IlookbetweenEllaandTyton.

She’squicktoreply.“Prairie.TheSandhills.That’sraidercountry,andmyfamily lived on the move. Eventually we kept west into the mountains.Montforttookusinneartenyearsago.That’swhereImetTyton.”

“Montfort-born,”hesays,asifthat’sanyexplanation.Notverytalkative,probablybecauseEllahasenoughwordsforallofus.Shesteersmetowardthecenterofwhatcanonlybecalledablastzone,untilI’mdirectlybeneaththestill-dissipatingstormcloud.

“Well, let’s see what we’re working with,” Ella says, nudging me intoplace. The breeze rustles her hair, sending bright blue locks over oneshoulder.Moving in tandem, the other two take up spots aroundme, untilwe’reclusteredinthefourcornersofasquare.“Startsmall.”

“Why?Ican—”

Tytonlooksup.“Shewantstocheckyourcontrol.”

Ellanods.

Iheaveabreath.ExcitedasIamwithfellowelectricons,Ifeelabitlikean overnannied child. “Fine.”Cuppingmyhands, I call forth the lightning,lettingjaggedsparksofpurpleandwhitesplayaroundthebowlofmyfingers.

“Purplesparks?”Rafesays,grinning.“Nice.”

I flicker between the unnatural colors on their heads, smirking. Green,blue,whitelocks.

“Ihavenoplanstodyemyhair.”

SummerhitsPiedmontwithaboilingvengeance,andCalistheonlypersonwho can stand it.Gasping from exertion and heat, I smack him in the ribsuntil he rolls away. He does so slowly, lazily, almost drifting off to sleep.Instead, he goes too far and falls right off the narrow bed onto the hard,laminatedfloor.Thatwakeshimup.Hevaultsforward,blackhairstickingupatangles,nakedasanewborn.

“Mycolors,”hecurses,rubbinghisskull.

Ihavelittlepityforhispain.“Ifyoudidn’tinsistonsleepinginaglorifiedbroomcloset,thiswouldn’tbeanissue.”Eventheceiling,blocksofspeckledplaster,isdepressing.Andthesingleopenwindowdoesnothingfortheheat,especially in themiddleof theday. Idon’twant to thinkabout thewallsorhowthintheymightbe.Atleasthedoesn’thavetobunkwithothersoldiers.

Still on the floor,Cal grumbles. “I like thebarracks.”He fumbles for apairof shortsbeforepulling themon.Thengo thebracelets, snappingbackintoplaceonhiswrists.Thelatchesarecomplicated,butheslipsthemonlikeit’ssecondnature.“Andyoudon’thavetosharearoomwithyoursister.”

Ishiftandthrowashirtovermyhead.Ourmiddaybreakwillbeoverinafewminutes,andI’mexpecteduponStormHillsoon.“You’reright.I’lljustgetover that little thing Ihaveabout sleepingalone.”Ofcourse,by thing Imean still-debilitating trauma. I have terrible nightmares if there isn’tsomeoneintheroomwithme.

Calstills,shirthalfoverhishead.Hesucksinabreath,wincing.“That’snotwhatImeant.”

It’smyturntogrumble.IpickatCal’ssheets.Military-issue,washedsomanytimesthey’realmostwornthrough.“Iknow.”

Thebedshifts,springsgroaning,asheleanstowardme.Hislipsbrushthecrownofmyhead.“Anymorenightmares?”

“No.”Ianswersoquicklyheraisesaneyebrowinsuspicion,butit’sthetruth. “As longasGisa’s there.She says Idon’tmakea sound.Her,on theotherhand…Iforgotsomuchnoisecouldcomefromsuchasmallperson.”Ilaugh tomyself, and find the courage to look him in the eye. “What aboutyou?”

Back in the Notch, we slept side by side. Most nights he tossed andturned,mutteringinhissleep.Sometimeshecried.

Amuscleripplesinhisjaw.“Justafew.Maybetwiceaweek,thatIcanremember.”

“Of?”

“My father,mostly.You.What it felt like to be fighting you,watchingmyselftrytokillyou,andnotbeingabletodoathingtostopit.”Heflexeshishandsinmemoryofthedream.“AndMaven.Whenhewaslittle.Sixorseven.”

Thenamestillfeelslikeacidinmybones,eventhoughit’sbeensolongsinceIlastsawhim.Hehasgivenseveralbroadcastsanddeclarationssince,butIrefusetowatchthem.Mymemoriesofhimareterrorizingenough.Calknows that,andoutof respect forme,heabsolutelydoesnot talkabouthisbrother.Untilnow.Youasked,Iscoldmyself.Igritmyteeth,mostlytostopfrom vomiting up all thewords I haven’t told him. Too painful for him. Itwon’t help to know what kind of monster his brother was forced intobecoming.

Hepusheson,eyesfarawayinthememory.“Heusedtobeafraidofthedark,untilonedayhe justwasn’t. Inmydreams,he’splaying inmyroom,sortofwalkingaround.Lookingatmybooks.Anddarknessfollowshim.Itrytotellhim.Trytowarnhim.Hedoesn’tcare.Hedoesn’tmind.AndIcan’tstop it. It swallows him whole.” Slowly, Cal runs a hand down his face.“Don’tneedtobeawhispertoknowwhatthatmeans.”

“Elaraisdead,”Imurmur,movingsowe’residebyside.Asifthat’sanycomfort.

“Andhestilltookyou.Hestilldidhorriblethings.”Calstaresatthefloor,unabletoholdmygaze.“Ijustcan’tunderstandwhy.”

I could keep quiet.Or distract him.But thewords boil furiously inmythroat.Hedeservesthetruth.Reluctant,Itakehishand.

“He remembers loving you, loving your father. But she took that loveaway,hesaid.Cutitoutofhimlikeatumor.Shetriedtodothesamewithhisfeelingsforme”—andThomasbefore—“butitdidn’twork.Certainkindsoflove…”Mybreath hitches. “He said they’re harder to remove. I think theattempt twistedhim,more thanhe alreadywas.Shemade it impossible forhim to letgoofme.Everythinghe felt forbothofuswascorrupted,madeinto something worse.With you, hatred.Withme, obsession. And there isnothing either of us could do to change him. I don’t even think she couldundoherownwork.”

Hisonlyreply issilence, letting therevelationhang in theair.Myheartbreaksfortheexiledprince.IgivehimwhatIthinkheneeds.Myhand,mypresence,andmypatience.Afteralong,longtime,heopenshiseyes.

“As far as I know, there are nonewbloodwhispers,” he says. “Not onethatI’vefoundorbeentoldabout.AndI’vedonemyfairshareofsearching.”

ThisIdidnotexpect.Iblink,confused.

“Newbloods are stronger than Silvers. And Elara was just Silver. Ifsomeonecan…canfixhim,isn’titworthittotry?”

“Idon’tknow”isallIcansay.Justtheideanumbsme,andIdon’tknowhowtofeel.IfMavencouldbehealed,sotospeak,wouldthatbeenoughtoredeemhim?Certainly itwon’tchangewhathe’sdone.Notonly tomeandCal,tohisfather,buttohundredsofotherpeople.“Ireallydon’tknow.”

ButitgivesCalhope.Iseeitthere,likeatinylightinthedistanceofhiseyes. I sigh, smoothing his hair.He needs another cutwith a steadier handthanhisown.“IguessifEvangelinecanchange,maybeanyonecan.”

Hissuddenlaughechoeslowinhischest.“Oh,Evangelineisthesameasalways.Shejusthadmoreincentivetoletyougothantoletyoustay.”

“Howdoyouknow?”

“BecauseIknowwhotoldhertodoit.”

“What?”Iasksharply.

With a sigh,Cal gets up and crosses the room.Theoppositewall is allcabinetry,andmostlyempty.Hedoesn’thavemanypossessionsbeyondhis

clothes anda fewbitsof tacticalgear.Tomysurprise,hepaces. It setsmyteethonedge.

“The Guard blocked every attempt I made to get you back,” he says,handsmovingrapidlyashespeaks.“Nomessages,nosupportforinfiltration.Nospiesofanykind.Iwasn’tgoingtositinthatfreezingbaseandwaitforsomeonetotellmewhattodo.SoImadecontactwithsomeoneItrust.”

Realizationpunchesmeinthegut.“Evangeline?”

“Mycolors,no,”hegasps.“ButNanabel,mygrandmother—myfather’smother—”

AnabelLerolan.Theoldqueen.“Youcallher…Nanabel?”

Heflushessilverandmyheartskipsabeat.“Forceofhabit,”hegrumbles.“Anyway, shenevercame tocourtwhileElarawas there,but I thought shemight once she died. She knew what Elara was, and she knows me. Shewouldhaveseenthroughthequeen’slie.ShewouldhaveunderstoodMaven’sroleinourfather’sdeath.”

Communicatingwiththeenemy.There’snowayFarleyknewaboutthis,or theColonel.Nortanprinceornot,eitherof themwouldhaveshothimiftheydid.

“Iwasdesperate.Andinhindsight,itwasreally,reallystupid,”headds.“Butitworked.Shepromisedtogetyoufreewhentheopportunitypresenteditself.Theweddingwasthatopportunity.ShemusthavegivensupporttoVoloSamostoensureyourescape,anditwasworthit.You’reherenowbecauseofher.”

I speak slowly. I must understand. “So you let her know the raid onArcheonwascoming?”

He moves back to me with blinding speed, kneeling to take both myhands.Hisfingersareblazinghot,butIforcemyselfnottopullaway.“Yes.She’smoreopentochannelingwithMontfortthanIrealized.”

“Shecommunicatedwiththem?”

Heblinks.“Shestilldoes.”

For a second, I wish I had colors to curse with. “How? How is thispossible?”

“Iassumeyoudon’twantanexplanationofhowradiosandbroadcasterswork.”Hesmiles. Idon’t laughat the joke.“Montfort isobviouslyopen toworkingwithSilvers,inwhatevercapacity,toreachtheirgoals.Thisisan”—

he searches for the right words—“even partnership. They want the samething.”

I almost scoff indisbelief.RoyalSilversworkingwithMontfort…andtheGuard?Itsoundspositivelyludicrous.“Andwhatdotheywant?”

“Mavenoffthethrone.”

A chill goes throughme despite the summer heat and the closeness ofCal’sbody.TearsIcan’tcontrolspringtomyeyes.

“Buttheystillwantathrone.”

“No—”

“ASilverkingforMontforttocontrol,butaSilverkingallthesame.Redsinthedirt,asalways.”

“Ipromiseyou,that’snotwhatthisis.”

“Long live Tiberias the Seventh,” I whisper. He flinches. “When thehousesrebelled,Maveninterrogatedthem.Andeveryoneofthemdiedsayingthosewords.”

His face falls in sadness. “I never asked for that,” hemurmurs. “Neverwantedthat.”

Theyoungmankneeling in frontofmewasborn toacrown.Wanthadnothingtodowithhisupbringing.Wantwasstampedoutofhimatayoungage,replacedwithduty,withwhathiswretchedfathertoldhimakingshouldbe.

“Thenwhatdoyouwant?”WhenKilornaskedmethatsamequestion,itgavemefocus,purpose,aclearpathindarkness.“Whatdoyouwant,Cal?”

Heanswersquickly,eyesblazing.“You.”Hisfingerstightenonmine,hotbut steady in temperature.He’sholdinghimselfbackasmuchashecan.“Iaminlovewithyou,andIwantyoumorethananythingelseintheworld.”

Loveisnotawordweuse.Wefeelit,wemeanit,butwedon’tsayit.Itfeelssofinal,adeclarationfromwhichthereisnoeasyreturn.I’mathief.Iknowmyexits.AndIwasaprisoner.Ihatelockeddoors.Buthiseyesaresoclose,soeager.Andit’swhatIfeel.Eventhoughthewordsterrifyme,theyarethetruth.Didn’tIsayIwouldstarttellingthetruth?

“Iloveyou,”Iwhisper,leaningforwardtobracemyforeheadagainsthis.Eyelashesthatarenotmyownflutterclosetomyskin.“Promiseme.Promiseyou won’t leave. Promise you won’t go back. Promise you won’t undo

everythingmybrotherdiedfor.”

Hislowsighwashesacrossmyface.

“Ipromise.”

“Rememberwhenwetoldeachothernodistractions?”

“Yes.”He runs a blazing finger overmy earrings, touching eachone inturn.

“Distractme.”

TWENTY-SIXMare

My training continues twofold, leaving me exhausted. It’s for the best.Exhaustionmakesiteasytosleepandhardtoworry.Everytimedoubttugsatmy brain, over Cal or Piedmont or whatever comes next, I’m too tired toentertainthethoughts.IrunandweighttrainwithCalinthemornings,takingadvantageofthelastingeffectsofSilentStone.Aftertheirheaviness,nothingphysical seemsdifficult.Healso slips inabitof theorybetween laps, eventhoughIassurehimEllahasitcovered.Hejustshrugsandkeepson.Idon’tmention that her training ismorebrutal, designed tokill.Calwas raised tofight, but with a skin healer in the wings. His version of sparring is verydifferentfromhers,whichfocusesontotalannihilation.Calismoreorientedon defense. His unwillingness to kill Silvers unless absolutely necessary isthrownintoharshreliefbymyhourswiththeelectricons.

Ella isabrawler.Her stormsgatherwithblindingspeed, spinningblackcloudsoutofclearskiestofuelamercilessfusilladeoflightning.IrememberherinArcheon,wieldingagunwithonehandandlightningintheother.OnlyIrisCygnet’squickthinkingkeptherfromturningMaventoapileofsmokingash.Idon’tthinkmylightningwilleverbeasdestructiveashers,notwithoutyearsof training,buther tutelage is invaluable.Fromher I learn that stormlightningismorepowerfulthananyotherkind,hotterthanthesurfaceofthesun, with the strength to split even diamondglass. Just one bolt like hersdrains me so fully I can barely stand, but she does it for fun and targetpractice.Onceshemademerunthroughaminefieldofherstormlightningtotestmyfootwork.

Weblightning,asRafecallsit,ismorefamiliar.Heusesboltsandsparksthrownfromhishandsandfeet,usuallyinsplayingwebsofgreen,toprotecthisbody.Whilehecancallstormstoo,heprefersmoreaccuratemethods,andhefightswithprecision.Hislightningcantakeform.He’sbestattheshield,aweavingcrackleof electric energy that can stopabullet, andawhip to cutthrough rock and bone. The latter is striking to behold: a fraying arc ofelectricity thatmoves likedeadly rope, able toburn throughanything in itspath.Ifeeltheforceofiteverytimewespar.Itdoesn’thurtmeasmuchasitwouldanyoneelse,butany lightningIcan’twrenchcontrolofstrikesdeep.

Usually I end the day with my hair on end, and when Cal kisses me, healwaysgetsashockortwo.

The quiet Tyton doesn’t spar with any of us, or with anyone, for thatmatter.Hehasgivennonametohisspecialty,butEllacallsitpulselightning.Hiscontrolofelectricity isastounding.Thepurewhitesparksaresmallbutconcentrated,containingthestrengthofastormbolt.Likealive-wirebullet.

“I’d showyoubrain lightning,” hemutters tomeoneday, “but I doubtanyonewouldvolunteertohelpthedemonstration.”

Wepassthesparringcirclestogether,beginningthelongwalkacrossthebase to Storm Hill. Now that I’ve been with them awhile, Tyton actuallyspeaksmore than a fewwords tome. Still, it’s a surprise to hear his slow,methodicvoice.

“What’sbrainlightning?”Iask,intrigued.

“Whatitsoundslike.”

“Helpful,”Ella sneers atmy side.She continuesbraidingher vividhairbackfromherface.Ithasn’tbeendyedinafewweeks,asevidencedbythedirty-blondhairshowingattheroot.“Hemeansthatahumanbodyrunsonapulseofelectricalsignals.Verysmall,ridiculouslyfast.Difficulttodetectandalmost impossible to control. They’re most concentrated in the brain, andeasiesttoharnessthere.”

MyeyeswidenasIlookatTyton.Hejustkeepswalking,whitehairoveroneeye,handsshovedintohispockets.Unassuming.AsifwhatEllajustsaidisn’tterrifying.“Youcancontrolsomeone’sbrain?”Coldfearripsmelikeaknifetothegut.

“Notthewayyou’rethinking.”

“Howdoyouknow—”

“Becauseyou’reveryeasytopredict,Mare.I’mnotamindreader,butIknowsixmonthsatthemercyofawhisperwouldmakeanyonesuspicious.”With an annoyed sigh, he raises a hand.A spark brighter than the sun andmoreblindingweavesthroughhisfingers.Onetouchfromitcouldturnamaninsideoutwithitsforce.“Ella’stryingtosayIcanlookatapersonanddropthemlikeasackofhammers.Affecttheelectricityintheirbody.GivethemaseizureifI’mfeelingmerciful.Killthemoutrightifnot.”

IlookbackatEllaandRafe,blinkingbetweenthem.“Haveeitherofyoulearnedthat?”

Bothscoff.“Neitherofushasanywherenear thecontrol required,”Ellasays.

“Tytoncankill someonediscreetly,withoutanyoneelseknowing,”Rafeexplains.“Wecouldbehavingdinnerinthemesshallandthepremierdropsontheothersideoftheroom.Seizure.Hedies.Tytondoesn’tblinkandkeepsoneating.Ofcourse,”headds,clappingTytonontheback,“notthatwethinkyouwouldeverdothat.”

Tytonbarelyreacts.“Comforting.”

Whatamonstrous—anduseful—waytouseourability.

Inthesparringcircles,someoneyellsinfrustration.Thesounddrawsmyattention,andIturntoseeapairofnewbloodsgrappling.Kilornoverseesthesparandwavesatus.

“Goingtogivetheringsatrytoday?”hesays,gesturingatthecirclesofdirtmarkingthesparringgrounds.“Haven’tseenthelightninggirlsparkupinalongwhile.”

Ifeelasurprisinglyeagertug.SparringwithEllaorRafeisexciting,butmatching lightning to lightning isn’t exactly helpful. There’s no reason topracticefightingsomethingwewon’tencounterforalongtime.

EllaanswersbeforeIcan,steppingforward.“WesparonStormHill.Andwe’realreadylate.”

Kilornjustraisesaneyebrow.Hewantsmyanswer,nothers.

“Actually,Iwouldn’tmind.WeshouldbepracticingagainstwhatMavenhasinhisarsenal.”Itrytokeepmytonediplomatic.IlikeElla;IlikeRafe.IevenlikewhatIknowofTyton,whichisverylittle.ButIhaveavoicetoo.AndIthinkwecanonlygosofarfightingeachother.“I’dliketosparheretoday.”

Ellaopenshermouthtoargue,butit’sTytonwhospeaksfirst.“Fine,”hesays.“Who?”

TheclosestthingtoMavenwehave.

“Youknow,I’malotbetteratthisthanheis.”

Calstretchesanarmoverhishead,thebicepstrainingagainstthincotton.HegrinsasIwatch,enjoyingtheattention.Ijustglowerandcrossmyarmsovermychest.Hehasn’tagreedtomyrequest,buthehasn’tsaidnoeither.AndthefactthatCalcutshorthisowntrainingroutinetocometothesparringcirclessaysenough.

“Good.Thatwillmakefightinghimeasier.”I’mcarefulwithmywords.Fight, not kill. Ever since Cal mentioned his search for someone who can“fix”hisbrother,Ihavetotreadlightly.AsmuchasIwanttokillMavenforwhat he did tome, I can’t voice those thoughts. “If I train against you, hewon’tbedifficultatall.”

He scuffs the dirt beneath his feet. Testing the terrain. “We alreadyfought.”

“Undertheinfluenceofawhisper.Someoneelsepulledthestrings.That’snotthesame.”

Attheedgeofthecircle,abitofacrowdgatherstowatch.WhenCalandI step onto the same sparring ground, word travels quickly. I think Kilornmightevenbetakingbets,weavingthroughthedozenorsonewbloodswithashiftygrin.OneofthemisReese,thehealerIstruckwhenIwasfirstrescued.HeliesinwaitliketheskinhealersusedtowhenItrainedwithSilvers.Readytofixwhateverwebreak.

Myfingersdrumagainstmyarms,eachoneticking.Inmybones,Icalltolightning.Itrisesatmycommand,andIfeelthecloudsgatheroverhead.“Areyou going to keep wasting my time so you can strategize, or can we getstarted?”

Hejustwinksandcontinueshisstretches.“Almostdone.”

“Fine.” Stooping, I brush the finely ground dirt overmy hands,wipingawayanysweat.Caltaughtmethat.Hegrinsanddoesthesame.Then,tothesurpriseanddelightofmorethanafewpeople,hepullshisshirtcleanoffandtossesittotheside.

Better food and hard training have made us both more muscular, butwhereIamleanandagile,smoothlycurved,heisallhardanglesandcutlinesofdefinition.I’veseenhimundressedmanytimesandstillitgivesmepause,sending a flush from my cheeks all the way down to my toes. I swallowforcibly.At the edge ofmy vision, bothElla andRafe look him overwithinterest.

“Tryingtodistractme?”Ipretendtoshrugitoff,ignoringtheheatallovermyface.

Hecockshisheadtoside,apictureofinnocence.Heevenclapshishandtohis chest, forcing a falsegasp as if to sayWho,me? “You’ll just fry theshirtanyway.I’msavingsupplies.But,”headds,beginningtocircle,“agoodsoldieruseseveryadvantageathisdisposal.”

Aboveme,theskycontinuestodarken.NowIcandefinitelyhearKilorntakingbets.“Oh,youthinkyouhavetheadvantage?That’scute.”Imatchhismovements, circling in the opposite direction. My feet move of their ownaccord. I trust them. The adrenaline feels familiar, born of the Stilts, thetrainingarena,everybattleI’veeverbeenin.Ittakesholdinmynerves.

IhearCal’svoiceinmyhead,evenashetenses,settlingintoanall-too-familiarstance.Burner.Tenyards.Myhandsfalltomysides,fingersswirlingaspurple-whitesparksjumpinandoutofmyskin.Acrossthecircle,heflickshiswrists—andsearingheatblazesacrossmypalms.

Iyelp,jumpingbacktoseemysparksareredflame.Hetookthemfromme.With a burst of energy, I thrust them back into lightning. They ripple,wantingtobecomefire,butIholdmyconcentration,keepingthesparksfromburstingoutofcontrol.

“First blow toCalore!”Kilorn yells at the edge of the circle.Amix ofgroansandcheersrunsthroughthestill-growingcrowd.Heclapsandthumpshis feet. It reminds me of the arena, the Stilts, when he yelled for Silverchampions.“Let’sgo,Mare,pickitup!”

A good lesson, I realize.Cal didn’t have to open our spar by revealingsomething Iwasn’tprepared for.Hecouldhaveheld itback.Waited tousethatunseenadvantage.Instead,heplayedthatpiecefirst.He’sgoingeasyonme.

Firstmistake.

Ten yards away,Cal beckons, indicating forme to continue.A taunt asmuch as anything.He’s best on the defense.Hewantsme to come to him.Fine.

At theedgeof thecircle,Ellamuttersawarning to thecrowd.“I’dstepbackifIwereyou.”

Myfistclenches,andlightningstrikes. It ripsdownwithblindingforce,hittingthecircledeadcenter,likeanarrowtoabull’s-eye.Butitdoesn’tdigintotheground,crackingtheearthasitshould.Instead,Iuseacombinationof storm and web. The purple-white bolt flares across the sparring circle,racingoverthedirtatkneeheight.Calthrowsupanarmtoprotecthiseyesfrom thebright flash,using theotherhand to ripple the sparksaroundhim,morphingthemtoblazingblueflame.Isprintandburstfromthelightninghecan’tbeartolookat.Witharoar,Islideintohislegs,knockinghimdown.Hehitsthesparksandflops,seizingfromtheshockasIpopbacktomyfeet.

Red-hot heat brushes my face, but I push it back with a shield ofelectricity.Then I’mon theground too, legs sweptout fromunderme.MyfacehitsthegroundhardandI tastedirt.Ahandgrabsmyshoulder,ahandthatburns,andIswingoutwithanelbow,catchinghis jaw.Thatburns too.Hisentirebody is aflame.Redandorange,yellowandblue.Wavesofheatdistortionpulsefromhim,makingtheentireworldswayandundulate.

Scrambling,Iscoopmyarmagainstthedirtandhaul,chuckingasmuchasIcanintohisface.Heflinches,anditsmotherssomeofhisfire,givingmeenoughtimetogettomyfeet.Withanotherswingofmyarms,Ipullawhipoflightningintoform,sparkingandhissingintheair.Hedodgeseachblow,rolling and ducking, light as a dancer on his feet. Fireballs spit from myelectricity, the pieces I can’t entirely control. Cal pulls them into churningwhipsofhisown,surroundingthecircleinaninferno.Purpleandredclash,sparkandburn,untilthepackeddirtbeneathuschurnslikeastormysea,andtheskygoesblack,rainingthunderbolts.

Hedancescloseenoughforablow.IfeeltheforceofhisfistrippleasIdropbeneathit,andIsmellburnedhair.Igetinastrikeofmyown,landingabrutal elbow to a kidney. He grunts in pain but responds in kind, rippingflamingfingersdownmyback.Myfleshrippleswithfreshblisters,andIbitemy lip to keep from screaming. Cal would stop the fight if he knew howmuchthishurt.Andithurts.Painshrieksupmyspineandmykneesbuckle.Scrambling,Ithrowoutmyarmstostopafall,andthelightningpushesmetomyfeet.IpushthroughthesearingpainbecauseIhavetoknowwhatitfeelslike.Mavenwillprobablydoworsewhenthetimecomes.

Iusewebagain,adefensivemaneuvertokeephishandsoffme.Astrongbolt racesuphis leg, intohismuscles,nerves,andbones.Theskeletonofaprince flashes inmyhead. Ipullback theblowenough toavoidpermanentdamage. He twitches, falling onto his side. I’m on him without thinking,workingthebraceletsI’veseenhimlatchandunlatchadozentimes.Beneathme,hiseyesrollandhetriestofightmeoff.Thebraceletsgoflying,glintingpurpleagainstmysparks.

Anarmwrapsaroundmymiddle, flippingmeover.Thegroundagainstmybackislikeatongueofwhite-hotfire.Iscreamthistime,losingcontrol.Sparksburstfrommyhands,andCalfliesbackofhisownaccord,scramblingfromthefuryoflightning.

Fightingtears,Ipushup,fingersdiggingintothedirt.Afewyardsaway,Caldoesthesame.Hishairiswildwithstaticenergy.We’rebothwounded,both too proud to stop. We stagger to our feet like old men, swaying on

uneasylimbs.Withouthisbracelets,hecallstothegrassburningontheedgeof the circle, forming flame from embers. It rockets atme asmy lightningburstsagain.

Bothcollide—witha tinglingbluewall. Ithisses,absorbing theforceofbothstrikes.Thenitdisappearslikeawindowwipedclean.

“Perhaps next time you two should spar in the range field,” Davidsoncalls.Todaythepremierlookslikeeveryoneelseinhisplaingreenuniform,standingontheedgeofthecircle.Atleast,itwasacircle.Nowthedirtandgrassareacharredmess,completelytornup,abattlegroundrippedapartbyourabilities.

Hissing,Isitbackdown,quietlygratefulfortheend.Evenbreathinghurtsmyback.Ihavetoleanforwardonmyknees,clenchingmyfistsagainstthepain.

Cal takes a step towardme, then collapses aswell, falling back on hiselbows. He pants heavily, chest rising and falling with exertion. Not evenenoughstrengthtoofferasmile.Sweatcoatshimfromheadtotoe.

“Without an audience, if possible,” Davidson adds. Behind him, as thesmokeclears,anotherbluewallofsomethingdividesthespectatorsfromourspar.WithawaveofDavidson’shand,itblinksoutofexistence.Hegivesatight, bland smile and indicates the symbol on his arm, his designation. Awhitehexagon.“Shield.Quiteuseful.”

“I’ll say,” Kilorn barks, charging toward me. He crouches at my side.“Reese,”headdsoverhisshoulder.

But the red-haired skin healer stops a few yards away. He holds hisground.“Youknowthat’snothowitworks.”

“Reese, stop it!” Kilorn hisses. He clenches his teeth in exasperation.“She’sburnedalldownthebackandhecanbarelywalk.”

Calblinks atme, still panting.His facepulls in concernand regret, butalsopain.I’minagonyandsoishe.Theprincedoeshisbesttolookstrongandtriestositup.Hejusthisses,immediatelyfallingbackdown.

Reeseholdsfirm.“Sparringhasconsequences.We’renotSilver.Weneedtoknowwhatourabilitiesdotoeachother.”Thewordssoundrehearsed.IfIweren’tinsomuchpain,Iwouldagree.IrememberthearenaswhereSilversbattledforsport,withoutfear.IremembermyTrainingattheHalloftheSun.A skin healer was always waiting, ready to patch up every scrape. Silversdon’tcareabouthurtinganotherpersonbecausetheeffectsdon’tlast.Reese

looks us both over and all but wags a scolding finger. “It’s not life-threatening.Theyspendtwenty-fourhoursthisway.That’sprotocol,Warren.”

“Normally,Iwouldagree,”Davidsonsays.Withsurefooting,hecrossesto thehealer’s sideand fixeshimwithanemptystare.“Butunfortunately Ineedthesetwosharp,andIneeditnow.Getitdone.”

“Sir—”

“Getitdone.”

The dirt squeezes throughmy fingers, the smallest relief as I clawmyhandsintheground.Ifitmeansendingthistorture,I’lllistentowhateverthepremierwants,andI’lldoitwithasmile.

Mycoveralluniformisitchyanditsmellslikedisinfectingchemicals.Iwouldcomplain,butIdon’thavethebraincapacity.NotafterDavidson’soperatives’latestbriefing.Eventhepremierlooksshaky,pacingbackandforthinfrontofthelongtableofmilitaryadvisers,includingCalandme.Davidsonballshisfistbeneathhischinandstaresatthefloorwithhisunreadableeyes.

Farley watches him for a long moment before glancing down to readAda’s meticulous handwriting. The newblood woman with perfectintelligence is an officer now, working closely with Farley and the ScarletGuard. Iwouldn’tbesurprised ifbabyClaraweremadeanofficer too.Shedozesagainsthermother’schest,wrappedtightlyinaclothsling.Acrownofdarkbrownfuzzspotsoverherhead.ShereallydoeslookslikeShade.

“Five thousand Red soldiers of the Scarlet Guard and five hundrednewbloodsofMontfort currentlyhold theCorviumgarrison,”Farley recitesfromAda’s notes. “Reports putMaven’s forces in the thousands, all Silver.MassingatFortPatriotinHarborBay,andoutsideDetraonintheLakelands.Wedon’thaveexactnumbers,oranabilitycount.”

Myhandstrembleontheflatofthetable,andIquicklyshovethemundermylegs.Inmyhead,ItickoffwhocouldpossiblybeaidingMaven’sattemptto retake the fortresscity.Samos isgone;Laris, Iral,Haven too.Lerolan, ifCal’sgrandmothercanbebelieved.Asmuchas Iwant todisappear, I forcemyselftospeak.“HehasstrongsupportinRhambosandWelle.Strongarms,greenwardens. Arvens too. They’ll be able to neutralize any newbloodattack.”Idon’texplainfurther.IknowwhatArvenscandofirsthand.“Idon’tknowtheLakelanders,beyondthenymphroyals.”

TheColonel leans forward, bracing his palms on the table. “I do.Theyfighthard,andtheyendure.Andtheirloyaltytotheirkingisunyielding.Ifhe

throwshissupporttothewretch—”HestopshimselfandglancessidelongatCal, who doesn’t react. “To Maven, they won’t hesitate to follow. Theirnymphs are deadliest of course, followed by storms, shivers, andwindweavers.Stoneskinberserkersareanastybunchtoo.”

Iflinchashenameseachone.

DavidsonspinsonhisheeltofaceTahirinhisseat.Thenewbloodlooksincomplete without his twin, and leans oddly, as if to compensate for hisabsence. “Any update on the time frame?” the premier barks. “Within theweekisn’tnarrowenough.”

Squinting his eyes, Tahir focuses elsewhere, far beyond the room. Towhereverhistwinmightbe.Likemanyoftheoperationshere,Rash’slocationis classified, but I can guess. Salida was once embedded in Maven’snewbloodarmy.Rashisaperfectreplacementforher,probablyworkingasaRed servant somewhere in the court. It’s quite brilliant. Using his link toTahir,hecanferryinformationasquicklyasanyradioorcommunicationlink,withoutanyoftheevidenceorpossibilityofinterception.

“Stillconfirming,”hesaysslowly.“Whispersof…”Thenewbloodstills,andhismouthdrops intoanOofsurprise.“Within theday.Anattackfrombothsidesoftheborder.”

Ibitemylip,drawingblood.Howcouldthishappensoquickly?Withoutwarning?

Cal shares my sentiment. “I thought you were keeping watch on troopmovements.Armiesdon’tmassovernight.”Alowcurrentofheatripplesfromhim,bakingalongmyrightside.

“Weknowthebulkof theforce is in theLakelands.Maven’snewbrideandherallianceputus inabitof abind,”Farleyexplains. “Wedon’thavenearlyenoughresourcesthere,nowthatmostoftheGuardishere.Wecan’tmonitorthreeseparatecountries—”

“Butyou’resureit’sCorvium?You’reabsolutelysure?”Calsnaps.

Adanodswithouthesitation.“Allintelligencepointstoyes.”

“Mavenlikestraps.”Ihatesayinghisname.“Itcouldbeaploytodrawusoutinforce,catchusintransit.”Irememberthescreamofourjettornapartmidflight,sheeringintojaggededgesagainstthestars.“Orafeint.WegotoCorvium.HehitstheLowcountry.Takesourfoundationoutfromunderus.”

“Whichiswhywewait.”Davidsonclenchesafist inresolve.“Letthem

move first sowe canmake our counter. If they hold, we’ll know it was atrick.”

TheColonel flushes,skinredashiseye.“And if it’sanoffensive,plainandsimple?”

“We’llmovequicklyonceintentionsareknown—”

“Andhowmanyofmysoldiersdiewhileyoumovequickly?”

“Asmanyasmine,”Davidsonsneers.“Don’tactlikeyourpeoplearetheonlyoneswhowillbleedforthis.”

“Mypeople…?”

“Enough!” Farley shouts them both down, loud enough to wake Clara.TheinfantisbettertemperedthananyoneIknow,andjustblinkssleepilyattheinterruptionofhernap.“Ifwecan’tgetmoreintelligence,thenwaitingisouronlyoption.We’vemadeenoughmistakescharginginheadfirst.”

Toomanytimestocount.

“It’sasacrifice,Iadmit.”Thepremierlooksassoberashisgenerals,allstoicandstone-facedatthenews.Iftherewereanotherway,hewouldtakeit.Butnoneofusseeone.NotevenCal,whoremainssilent.“Butasacrificeofinches.Inchesformiles.”

The Colonel sputters in anger, slamming a fist on the council table. Aglasspitcherfullofwaterwobbles,andDavidsoncalmlyrightsitwithquick,evenreflexes.

“Calore,I’llneedyoutocoordinate.”

With his grandmother. With Silvers. People who stared at me and mychains and did nothing until it was convenient. People who still think myfamilyshouldbetheirslaves.Ibitemytongue.Peopleweneedtowin.

Caldipshishead.“TheKingdomof theRifthaspledgedsupport.We’llhaveSamossoldiers,Iral,Laris,andLerolan.”

“The Kingdom of the Rift,” I say under my breath, almost spitting.Evangelinegothercrownafterall.

“Whataboutyou,Barrow?”

I lookup toseeDavidsonstaring,stillwith thatblankexpression.He isimpossibletoread.

“Dowehaveyouaswell?”

Myfamilyflickersbeforemyeyes,butonlyforamoment.Ishouldfeelashamedthatmyownanger,therageIkeepburninginthepitofmystomachandthecornersofmybrain,outweighsthemall.MomandDadwillkillmefor leaving again.But I’mwilling to join awar to find some semblanceofpeace.

“Yes.”

TWENTY-SEVENMare

Itisnotatrapanditisnotatrick.

Gisashakesmeawakesometimeaftermidnight,herbrowneyeswideandworried.Itoldmyfamilywhatwasgoingtohappenoverdinner.Asexpected,they weren’t exactly happy about my decision. Mom twisted the knife asmuchasshecould.SheweptoverShade,stillafreshwound,andmycapture.ToldmehowselfishIwas.Takingmyselffromthemagain.

Later,her reproaches turned intoapologiesandwhispersofhowbraveIam.Toobraveandstubbornandpreciousforhertoletmego.

Dadjustshutdown,hisknuckleswhiteonhiscane.We’re thesame,heandI.Wemakechoicesandfollowthrough,evenifthechoiceiswrong.

AtleastBreeandTramyunderstood.Theyweren’tcalledforthismission.That’scomfortenough.

“Calisdownstairs,”Gisawhispers,herkeenhandsonmyshoulders.“Youhavetogo.”

As I sit up, already dressed in my uniform, I pull her into one lastembrace.

“Youdo this toomuch,”shemutters, trying tosoundplayfularoundthechokingsobsinherthroat.“Comebackthistime.”

Inod,butIdon’tpromise.

Kilornmeetsus in thehall,bleary-eyedinhispajamas.Heisn’tcomingeither.Corvium is far past his limits.Another bitter comfort.Asmuch as Iusedtocomplainaboutdragginghimalong,worryingaboutthefishboygoodatknotsandnothingelse,I’llmisshimdearly.Especiallybecausenoneofthatistrue.HeprotectedandhelpedmemorethanIeverdidhim.

Iopenmymouthtosayallthis,butheshutsmeupwithaquickkissonthecheek.“Youeventrytosaygood-byeandI’llthrowyoudownthestairs.”

“Fine,” I forceout.Mychest tightens, though,and itbecomesharder tobreathewitheverystepdowntothefirstfloor.

Everyonewaits in congregation, looking grim as a firing squad.Mom’seyesareredandpuffy,asareBree’s.Hehugsmefirst,liftingmecleanoffthefloor.Thegiantletslooseonesobintothecrookofmyneck.Tramyismorereserved. Farley is in the hallway too. She holds Clara tightly, rocking herbackandforth.Momisgoingtotakeher,ofcourse.

Everything blurs, as much as I want to hold on to every inch of thismoment. Time passes far too quickly. My head spins, and before I knowwhat’shappening,I’moutthedoor,downthesteps,andtuckedsafelyintoatransport.DidDadshakeCal’shandordidIimaginethat?AmIstillasleep?AmIdreaming?Thelightsofthebasestreamthroughthedarklikeshootingstars. The headlights cut the shadows, illuminating the road to the airfield.AlreadyIheartheroarofenginesandthescreamofjetstakingtotheskies.

Mostaredropjets,designedtotransportlargenumbersoftroopsatspeed.They land vertically, without runways, and can be piloted directly intoCorvium.I’mseizedbyaterriblesenseoffamiliarityasweboardours.ThelasttimeIdidthis,Ispentsixmonthsasaprisoner,andcamebackaghost.

Calsensesmyunease.Hetakesoverbucklingmeintomyjetseat,fingersmoving swiftly as I stare at the metal grating beneath my feet. “It won’thappen again,” hemurmurs, low enough so only I can hear. “This time isdifferent.”

I takehis face inmyhands,makinghimstopand lookatme. “Sowhydoesitfeelthesame?”

Bronzeeyessearchmine.Searchingforananswer.Hefindsnone.Instead,hekissesme,asifthatcansolveanything.Hislipsburnagainstmyown.Itlastslongerthanitshould,especiallywithsomanypeoplearound,butnoonemakesafuss.

Whenhepullsback,hepushessomethingintomyhand.

“Don’tforgetwhoyouare,”hewhispers.

Idon’tneedtolooktoknowit’sanearring,atinybitofcoloredstonesetinmetal.Somethingtosayfarewell,tosaystaysafe,tosayremembermeifweareparted.Another traditionfrommyold life. Ikeep it tight inmyfist,almostlettingthesharpstingpiercemyskin.OnlywhenhesitsdownacrossfrommedoIlook.

Red.Ofcourse.Redasblood,redasfire.Redastheangereatingusbothalive.

Unable to punch it throughmy ear right now, I tuck it away, careful to

keepthetinystonesafe.Itwilljointheotherssoon.

Farleymoveswithavengeance,takingherseatneartheMontfortpilots.Cameronfollowsclosely,offeringatightsmileasshesitsdown.Shefinallyhasanofficialgreenuniform,asdoesFarley,thoughFarley’sisdifferent.Notgreen,butdark red,withawhiteC onher arm.Command.She shavedherheadagain inpreparation, shedding inchesofblondhair in favorofheroldstyle.Shelookssevere,withher twistingfacialscarandblueeyes topierceanyarmor.Itsuits.IunderstandwhyShadelovedher.

Shehasareasontostopfighting,morethananyofus.Butshekeepson.Abitofherdeterminationfloodsintome.Ifshecandothis,socanI.

Davidsonboardsourjetlast,roundingoutthefortyofusaboardthedrop.Hefollowsatroopofgravitronsmarkedbydownwardlinesofinsignia.He’sstill wearing the same battered uniform, and his normally smooth hair isunkempt.Idoubtheslept.Itmakesmelikehimabitmore.

He nods at us as he passes, stomping the length of the jet to sit withFarley.Theyducktheirheadstogetherinthoughtalmostimmediately.

Myelectrical sense has improved sincemyworkwith the electricons. Icanfeelthejetdowntoitswiring.Everyspark,everypulse.Ella,Rafe,andTytonarecomingofcourse,butnoonedaresputusallonasingledropjet.Iftheworstshouldhappen,atleastwewon’talldietogether.

Cal fidgets in his seat. Nervous energy. I do the opposite. I try to feelnumb,toignorethehungryfurybeggingtobeset loose.Istillhaven’tseenMavensincemyescape,andI imaginehisfaceas itwas then.Shoutingformethroughthecrowd,tryingtoturnaround.Hedidn’twanttoletmego.Andwhen I wrap my hands around his throat, I won’t let him go. I won’t bescared.Onlyabattlestandsinmyway.

“Mygrandmotherisbringingasmanywithherasshecan,”Calmutters.“Davidsonalreadyknows,butIdon’tthinkanyonefilledyouin.”

“Oh.”

“ShehasLerolan,theotherrebellinghouses.Samostoo.”

“PrincessEvangeline,” Imutter, still laughingat the thought.Cal sneerswithme.

“Atleastnowshehasherowncrown,anddoesn’thavetostealherwaytosomeoneelse’s,”hesays.

“You two would’ve been married by now. If…” If, meaning somany

things.

He nods. “Married long enough to go absolutely crazy. She’d make agoodqueen,butnot forme.”He takesmyhandwithout looking. “Andshewouldbeaterriblewife.”

Idon’thavetheenergytofollowthatthreadofimplication,butaburstofwarmthbloomsinmychest.

The jet lurches, spooling into high gear. Rotors and engines whir,drowningoutallconversation.Withanotherlurchwe’reairborne,risingintothehotsummernight. I shutmyeyes foramomentand imaginewhat is tocome. I know Corvium from pictures and broadcasts. Black granite walls,goldandironreinforcements.AspiralingfortressthatusedtobethelaststopforanysoldierheadingintotheChoke.Inanotherlife,Iwouldhavepassedthrough. And now it’s under siege for the second time this year. Maven’sforces set out a few hours ago, landing at their controlled strip in Rocastabeforeheadingoverland.Theyshouldbeatthewallssoon.Beforeus.

Inchesformiles,Davidsonsaid.

Ihopehe’sright.

Camerontosseshercardsintomylap.Fourqueenssmolderupatme,allofthemteasing.“Fourladies,Barrow,”shesnickers.“Whatnext?Goingtobetyourbleedingboots?”

Igrinandswipethecardsintomypile,discardingmyuselesshandofrednumbersanda singleblackprince. “Theywouldn’t fityou,” I answer. “Myfeetaren’tcanoes.”

She cackles loudly, tossing her head back as she kicks her toes out.Indeed, her feet are very long and thin. I hope, for the sake of resources,Cameron is all donegrowing. “Another round,” shegoads, andholds out ahandforthecards.“Ibetaweekoflaundry.”

Acrossfromus,Calstopshispreparatorystretchingtosnort.“YouthinkMaredoeslaundry?”

“Doyou,YourHighness?”Isnapback,grinning.Hejustpretendsnottohearme.

Theeasybanterisbothabalmandadistraction.Idon’thavetodwellonthebattlefacingus if I’mbeingrobbedblindbyCameron’scardskills.Shelearnedinthefactories,ofcourse.Ibarelyevenunderstandhowtoplaythisgame,butithelpsmestayfocusedinthemoment.

Beneath us, the dropjet sways, bouncing on a bubble of air turbulence.Aftermanyhoursinflight,itdoesn’tfazeme,andIcontinueshufflingcards.Thesecondbumpisdeeper,butnocauseforalarm.Thethirdsendsthecardsflyingoutofmyhands,fanningoutinmidair.Islambackagainstmyseatandfumbleformyharness.CamerondoesthesamewhileCalsnapshimselfback,hiseyesflashingtothecockpit.Ifollowhisgazetoseebothpilotsworkingfuriouslytokeepthejetlevel.

More concerning is the view. It should be sunrise by now, but the skyaheadofusisblack.

“Storms,”Cal breathes,meaning both theweather and the Silvers. “Wehavetoclimb.”

The words barely leave his lips before I feel the jet tip beneath me,anglingupwardtohigheraltitudes.Lightningflashesdeepwithintheclouds.Reallightning,bornofthethunderheadsandnotanewblood’sability.Ifeelitthumpinglikeafarawayheart.

Itightenmygriponthestrapscrossingovermychest.“Wecan’tlandinthat.”

“Wecan’tlandatall,”Calsnarls.

“MaybeIcandosomething,stopthelightning—”

“It won’t just be lightning down there!” Even over the roar of theclimbing plane, his voice rumbles. More than a few heads turn in hisdirection.Davidson’sisoneofthem.“Windweaversandstormsaregoingtoblowusoffcourse thesecondwedrop throughtheclouds.They’llmakeuscrash.”

Cal’seyesflutterupanddownjet,takingstockofus.Thewheelsturninhis head, working on overdrive.My fear gives way to faith. “What’s yourplan?”

Thejetbucksagain,bouncingusallinourseats.Itdoesn’tfazeCal.

“Ineedgravitrons,andIneedyou,”headds,pointingatCameron.

Hergazeturnssteely.Shenods.“IthinkIknowwhereyou’regoingwiththis.”

“Radiotheotherjets.We’regoingtoneedateleporterinhere,andIneedtoknowwheretherestofthegravitronsare.Theyhavetodistribute.”

Davidsonduckshischininasharpnod.“Youheardhim.”

My stomach swoops at the implication as the jet bursts into activity.Soldiersdouble-checktheirweaponsandzipintotacticalgear,theirfacesfullofdetermination.Calmostofall.

He forceshimselfoutofhis seat, clutching the supports tokeep steady.“GetusdirectlyoverCorvium.Where’sthatteleporter?”

Arezzoblinksintoexistence,droppingtoakneetostophermomentum.“Idonotenjoythat,”shespits.

“Unfortunatelyyouandtheother’portersaregoingtobedoingitalot,”Calreplies.“Canyouhandlejumpingbetweenthejets?”

“Ofcourse,”shesays,likeit’sthemostobviousthingintheworld.

“Good.Oncewe’redown,takeCamerontothenextjetinline.”

Down.

“Cal,”Ialmostwhimper.Icandoalotofthings,butthis?

Arezzocracksherknuckles,speakingoverme.“Affirmative.”

“Gravitrons,useyourcables.Sixtoabody.Keepittight.”

Thenewbloodsinquestionspringtotheirfeet,pullingwoundcordsfromspecial slots on their tactical vests. Each one has amess of clips, allowingthem to transport multiple people with their ability to manipulate gravity.BackattheNotch,IrecruitedamannamedGareth.Heusedhisabilitytoflyorjumpgreatdistances.

Butnottojumpoutofjets.

SuddenlyIfeelverysick,andsweatbreaksoutonmyforehead.

“Cal?”Isayagain,myvoiceclimbinghigher.

He ignores me. “Cam, your job is to protect the jet. Put out as muchsilenceasyoucan—pictureasphere;it’llhelpkeepuslevelinthestorm.”

“Cal?”Iyelp.AmItheonlyonethinkingthisissuicide?AmItheonlysanepersonhere?EvenFarleyseemsnonplussed,herlipspursedintoagrimlineasshecablesherselftooneofthesixgravitrons.Shefeelsmyeyesandlooksup.Herfaceflickersforaninstant,reflectingoneounceoftheterrorIfeel.Thenshewinks.ForShade,shemouths.

Calforcesmeup,eitherignoringmyfearornotnoticingit.Hepersonallystrapsmetothetallestgravitron,alankywoman.Hecablesinnexttome,onearmheavy acrossmy shoulderswhile the rest ofme is crushed against the

newblood.Alldownthe jet, theothersdo thesame,flanking theirgravitronlifelines.

“Pilot,what’sourposition?”Calshoutsovermyhead.

“Fivesecondstocenter,”comesarespondingbark.

“Planallpassedon?”

“Affirmative,sir!Center,sir!”

Calgritshisteeth.“Arezzo?”

Shesalutes.“Ready,sir.”

There’saverygoodchanceIwillthrowupalloverthepoorgravitroninthemiddleofthishoneycombofpeople.“Easy,”Calbreathesinmyear.“Justholdon;you’llbefine.Closeyoureyes.”

Idefinitelywantto.Ifidgetnow,tappingmylegs,shuddering.Allnerves,allmovement.

“Thisisn’tcrazy,”Calwhispers.“Peopledothis.Soldierstraintodostufflikethis.”

Itightenmygriponhim,enoughtomakeithurt.“Haveyou?”

Hejustgulps.

“Cam,youcanstart.Pilot,begindrop.”

Thewaveofsilencehitsmelikeasledgehammer.Itisn’tenoughtohurt,but thememoryof itmakesmykneesbuckle. I gritmy teeth tokeep fromscreaming and squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see stars. Cal’s naturalwarmthactsasananchor,butashakyone.Itightenmygriparoundhisback,as if Icanburymyself insidehim.Hemurmurs tomebut Ican’thearhim.Notpastthefeelofslow,smotheringdarknessandanevenworsedeath.Myheartbeat triples, ramming inmychestuntil I think itmight explodeoutofme. I can’t believe it, but I actually want to jump out of the plane now.Anything to get away from Cameron’s silence. Anything to stopremembering.

Ibarelyfeeltheplanedroporrockagainstthestorm.Cameronexhalesinsteadypuffs, tryingtokeepherbreathingeven.If therestof theplanefeelsthepainofherability,theydon’tshowit.Wedescendinquiet.Ormaybemybodyissimplyrefusingtohearanymore.

Whenwe shuffle backward, crowding onto the drop platform, I realizethis is it. The jet rumbles, buffeted bywinds Cameron cannot deflect. She

shoutssomethingIcan’tdecipheroverthepoundofbloodinmyears.

Thentheworldopensbeneathme.Andwefall.

AtleastwhenHouseSamosrippedmylastjetoutofthesky,theyhadthedecency to leave us in a cage ofmetal.Wehave nothing but thewind andfreezing rain and swirling darkness pulling us every which way. Ourmomentummustbeenough tokeepuson target,aswellas the fact thatnosanepersonwouldexpectustobeleapingoutofplanesafewthousandfeetintheair in themiddleofa storm.Thewindwhistles likeawoman’s scream,clawing at every inch ofme.At least the pressure of Cameron’s silence isgone.Theveinsof lightning in thecloudscall tome,as ifsayinggood-byebeforeI’mturnedintoacrater.

Everyoneyellsonthewaydown.EvenCal.

I’mstillyellingwhenwestartslowingabout fifty feetabove the jaggedtipsofCorvium,spiralingoutinahexagonofbuildingsandinnerwalls.AndI’mhoarsewhenwebumpgently against the smoothlypavedground, slickwithatleasttwoinchesofrainwater.

Ournewbloodhastilyunclipsusall,andIfallbackward,notcaringaboutthebitterlycoldpuddleI’mlyingin.Caljumpstohisfeet.

I lie there fora second, thinkingofnothing. Just staringupat the sky Iplummeted through—and somehow survived. Then Cal grabs my arm andhoistsmeup,literallypullingmebacktoreality.

“Therestaregoingtobelandinghere,sowehavetomove.”Heshovesmeaheadofhim,andIstumbleabitthroughthesloshingwater.“Gravitrons,Arezzowill come downwith the next batch to teleport you back up. Staysharp.”

“Yes, sir,” they echo, bracing themselves for another round. I’m almostsickatthethought.

Farleyactually is sick.Sheheavesupherguts inanalleyway,dumpingwhatever her quick breakfastwas. I forgot she hates flying, not tomentionteleporting.Thedropwastheworstofboth.

Imakeforher,loopingmyarmtohelpherstandupstraight.“Youokay?”

“Fine,”shereplies.“Justgivingthewallafreshcoatofpaint.”

Iglanceatthesky,stilllashinguswithcoldrain.Oddlycoldforthistimeofyear,eveninthenorth.“Let’sgetmoving.Theyaren’tonthewallsyet,buttheywillbe.”

Calsteamsslightlyandzipsuptheneckofhisvesttokeepthewaterout.“Shivers,”hecalls.“Ihaveafeelingwe’reabouttobesnowedin.”

“Shouldwegotothegates?”

“No.They’rewardedwithSilentStone.Silvers can’tpummel theirwayin.Theyhave togoover.”Hegestures forusand the restofourdropjet tofollow him. “We have to be on the ramparts, ready to push backwhateverthey throw.The storm is just the vanguard.Block us in, reduce our vision.Keepusblinduntilthey’reontopofus.”

Hispace ishard tomatch,especially through therain,but I forge tohisside anyway.Water soaks throughmy boots, and it isn’t long before I losesensationinmytoes.Calstaresahead,asifhiseyesalonecansettheentireworldonfire.Ithinkhewantsto.Thatwouldmakethiseasier.

Onceagainhemustfight—andprobablykill—thepeoplehewasraisedtoprotect.I takehishand,becausetherearenowordsIcansayrightnow.Hesqueezesmyfingers,butletsthemgojustasquickly.

“Yourgrandmother’stroopscan’tgetinthesameway.”AsIspeak,moregravitronsandsoldiersplummetoutofthesky.Allscreaming,allsafewhentheytouchdown.Weturnacorner,movingfromoneringofwallstothenext,leavingthembehind.“Howdowejoinourforces?”

“They’re coming from the Rift. That’s southwest. Ideally, we’ll keepMaven’s force occupied long enough for them to take the rear. Pin thembetweenus.”

Igulp.Somuchof theplan relieson theworkofSilvers. Iknowbetterthantotrustsuchthings.HouseSamoscouldsimplynotarriveandletusallbecapturedorkilled.ThentheywouldbefreetochallengeMavenoutright.Cal isn’tstupid.Heknowsall this.AndheknowsCorviumanditsgarrisonaretoovaluabletolose.Thisisourflag,ourrebellion,ourpromise.WestandagainstthemightofMavenCalore,andhistwistedthrone.

Newbloods man the ramparts, joined by Red soldiers with arms andammunition.Theydon’tfire,onlystareoutintothedistance.Oneofthem,atallstringbeanofamanwithauniformlikeFarley’sandaConhisshoulder,stepsforward.Heclaspsarmswithherfirst,noddinghishead.

“GeneralFarley,”hesays.

Shedipsherchin.“GeneralTownsend.”Thenshenodstoanotherrankingofficer in green, probably the commander of theMontfort newbloods. Theshort, squatwomanwithbronze skin anda long,whitebraid coiled around

herheadreturnstheaction.“GeneralAkkadi.”

“Whatarewelookingat?”Farleyasksthemboth.

Anothersoldierapproachesinredinsteadofgreen.Herhair isdifferent,dyedscarlet,butIrecognizeher.

“Good to see you, Lory,” Farley says, all business. I would greet thenewbloodtooifwehadthetime.I’mquietlyhappytoseeanotheroneoftheNotchrecruitsnotjustalivebutthriving.LikeFarley,herredhairiscloselycut.Lorybelongstothecause.

She nods at us all before throwing an arm out over the metal-edgedramparts. Her ability is extremely heightened senses, allowing her to seemuchfartherthanwecan.“Theirforceistothewest,withtheirbackstotheChoke.Theyhavestormsandshiversjustinsidethefirstringofcloudcover,outofyoursight.”

Cal leans forward, squinting at the thick black clouds and pelting rain.Theymake it impossibleforhimtoseefarther thanaquartermilefromthewalls.“Doyouhavesnipers?”

“Wetried,”GeneralTownsendsighs.

Akkadiconcurs.“Wasteofammunition.Thewindjusteatsthebullet.”

“Windweaverstoo,then.”Calsetshisjaw.“Theyhavetheaimforthat.”

Themeaning is clear.Thewindweavers ofNorta,HouseLaris, rebelledagainstMaven. So this force is Lakelander.Another personmightmiss thetwitchofasmileorthereleaseoftensioninCal’sshoulders,butIdon’t.AndIknowwhy.HewasraisedtofightLakelanders.Thisisanenemythatwon’tbreakhisheart.

“WeneedElla.She’sbestat storm lightning.” Ipointupat the loomingtowersoverlookingthissectionofwall.“Ifwegetheruphigh,shecanturnthestormagainstthem.Notcontrolit,butuseittofuelherself.”

“Good,getitdone,”Calsayswithaclippedtone.I’veseenhiminafight,inbattle,butneversomethinglikethis.Hebecomesanotherpersonentirely.Laser-focused,inhumanlyso,withoutevenaflickerofthegentle,tornprince.Whateverwarmthhehas left isan inferno,meant todestroy.Meant towin.“When the gravitrons finish the drops, put them here, evenly spaced. TheLakelanders are going to charge the walls. Let’s make it hard for them tomove.GeneralAkkadi,whoelsedoyouhaveonhand?”

“Goodmixofdefensiveandoffensive,”sheresponds.“Enoughbombers

to turn theChoke road intoaminefield.”Withaproudsmirk, she indicatesthenearbynewbloodswhohavewhatlooklikesunburstsontheirshoulders.Bombers. Better than oblivions, able to explode something or someone onsightinsteadofjusttouch.

“Soundslikeaplan,”Calsays.“Youkeepyournewbloodsready.Strikeatyourdiscretion.”

IfTownsendmindsbeingdictated to,andbyaSilverat that,hedoesn’tshowit.Liketherestofus,hefeelsthethrumofdeathintheair.There’snoroom for politics now. “Andmy soldiers? I’ve got a thousandReds on thewalls.”

“Keepthemthere.Bulletsarejustasgoodasabilities,sometimesmoreso.Butconserveammunition.Targetonlythosewhoslipthroughthefirstwaveofdefenses.Theywantustooverexert,andwe’renotgoingtodothat.”Heglancesatme.“Arewe?”

Igrin,blinkingawaytherain.“No,sir.”

Atfirst,IwonderiftheLakelandersareveryslowtomove,orverystupid.Ittakesthebetterpartofthehour,butbetweenCameron,thegravitrons,andtheteleporters,wemanage to get everyone intoCorvium from the thirty or sodropjets.About a thousand soldiers, all trained and deadly.Our advantage,Calsays,liesinuncertainty.Silversstilldon’tknowhowtofightpeoplelikeme. They don’t know what we’re truly capable of. I think that’s why Calmostly leavesAkkadi toherowndevices.Hedoesn’tknowher troopswellenoughtocommandthemproperly.ButRedsheknows.Itleavesabittertasteinmymouth,one I try to swallowaway. In the stretchof time, I trynot towonderhowmanyRedsthepersonIlovesacrificedforanemptywar.

The storm never changes. Always churning, dumping rain. If they’retryingtofloodus,it’sgoingtotakealongtime.Mostofthewaterdrains,butsomeof the lower streets and alleys are six inches deep inmurkywater. ItmakesCaluneasy.Hekeepswipingoffhisfaceorpushingbackhishair,skinslightlysteaminginthecold.

Farleyhasnoshame.Sheproppedherjacketupoverherheadalongtimeago,andlookslikesomekindofmaroonghost.Idon’t thinkshemovesfortwenty minutes, her head resting on folded arms as she stares out at thelandscape. Like the rest of us, shewaits for a strike thatmay come at anysecond. It setsmy teethonedge,and theconstant rageofadrenalinedrainsmealmostasbadlyasSilentStone.

IjumpwhenFarleyspeaks.

“Lory,areyouthinkingwhatI’mthinking?”

Atanotherperch,Loryalsohasajacketoverherhead.Shedoesn’tturn,unabletowrenchhersensesaway.“Ireallyhopenot.”

“What?” I ask, looking between them. The movement sends freshrainwater downmy shirt collar, and I shiver.Cal sees it happen andmovesclosertomyback,extendingsomeofhiswarmthtome.

Slowly, Farley turns, trying not to get drenched. “The storm ismoving.Closingin.Afewfeeteveryminute,andgettingfaster.”

“Shit,”Cal breathes behindme. Then he springs into action, taking hiswarmthwithhim.“Gravitrons,beready!WhenIsay,youtightenyourgriponthatfield.”Tighten.I’veneverseenagravitronusetheirabilitytostrengthengravity,onlyloosenit.“Dropwhatever’scoming.”

As I watch, the storm picks up speed, enough to note at a glance. Itcontinues swirling, but spirals closer and closerwith every rotation, cloudsbleedingoveropenground.Lightningcracksdeepwithin,apale,emptycolor.Inarrowmyeyes,andforamoment,itflashespurple,veiningwithstrengthand rage. But I have nothing to aim at yet. Lightning, no matter howpowerful,isuselesswithoutatarget.

“Theforceismarchingbehindthestorm,closingthedistance,”Lorycalls,confirmingourworstfears.“They’recoming.”

TWENTY-EIGHTMare

Thewindhowls.Itbuffets thewallsandramparts,blowingmorethanafewbackfromtheirposition.Rainfreezesonthestonework,makingourfootingprecarious.Thefirstcasualtyisafall.ARedsoldier,oneofTownsend’s.Thewindcatcheshisjacket,blowinghimbackwardalongtheslickwalkway.Heshoutsashegoesovertheedge,plungingthirtyfeet—beforesailingskyward,bornofagravitron’sconcentration.Helandshardonthewall,collidingwithasickeningcrack.Thegravitrondidn’thaveenoughcontrol.Butthesoldierisalive.Injured,butalive.

“Brace yourself!” echoes down the lines of soldiers, passing betweengreenuniformsandred.Whenthewindroarsagain,webuckledown.Ituckmyself against the icy metal of a rampart, safe from the worst of it. Awindweavers’ strike is unpredictable, unlike normal weather. It splits andcurves,clawinglikefingers.Allwhilethestormtightensaroundus.

Cameronshovesinnexttome.Iglanceather,surprised.She’ssupposedtobebackwith thehealers, to forma lastwallagainstanysiege. Ifanyonecan defend them from Silvers, give them the time and space to treat oursoldiers, it’sher.The rainmakesher shiver,her teethchattering.Sheseemssmaller, younger, in the cold and closing darkness. I wonder if she’s eventurnedsixteenyet.

“Allright,lightninggirl?”shesayswithsomedifficulty.Waterdripsoverherface.

“Allright,”Imurmurback.“Whatareyoudoinguphere?”

“Wanted to see,” she says, lying. The young girl is here because shebelieves she has to be.Am I abandoning you? she asked before. I see thequestioninhereyesnow.Andmyansweristhesame.Ifshedoesn’twanttobeakiller,sheshouldn’thavetobe.

I shakemyhead. “Youprotect thehealers,Cameron.Getback to them.They’redefenseless,andiftheygodown—”

Shebitesherlip.“Wealldo.”

Westareateachother,tryingtobestrong,tryingtofindstrengthineach

other. Likeme, she’s soaked through. Her dark lashes clump together, andevery time she blinks it looks like she’s crying. The raindrops land hard,makingusbothsquintastheypeltdownourfaces.Untiltheydon’t.Untiltheraindropsstartrollingintheoppositedirection,flowingup.Hereyeswidenasminedo,watchingwithhorror.

“Nymphstrike!”Iscreaminwarning.

Above us, the rain shimmers, dancing on the air, joining together intolargerandlargerdroplets.Andthepuddles,theinchesofwaterinthestreetsandalleys—theybecomerivers.

“Brace!” echoes again. This time the blow is freezing water instead ofwind,foamingwhiteasitbreakslikeawave,curvingupandoverthewallsandbuildingsofCorvium.Aspraycatchesmehard,dashingmyheadagainsttherampart,andtheworldspins.Afewbodiesgooverthewall,spinningintothe storm. Their silhouettes disappear quickly, as do their screams. Thegravitronssaveafew,butnotall.

Cameronslidesaway,onhandsandknees, togetback to thestairs.Sheusesherabilitytomakeacocoonofsafetyasshesprintsbacktoherpostwellinsidethesecondwall.

Calskidsnexttome,almostlosinghisfooting.Inmydaze,Igrabathim,pullinghimclose.Ifhegoesoverthewall,IknowI’lljustgoafterhim.Hewatches,terrified,asthewaterassaultsourrankslikethewavesofachurningsea.Itmakeshimuseless.Flamehasnoplacehere.Hisfirecannotburn.Andmylightningisjustthesame.OnesparkandI’llshockwhoknowshowmanyofourowntroops.Ican’triskit.

AkkadiandDavidsonhavenosuchrestriction.Whilethepremierthrowsupaglowingblueshieldattheedgeofthewall,protectinganyoneelsefromgoingover theedge,Akkadi roars tohernewblood troops,barkingorders Ican’thearoverthecrashingwaves.

The water spikes, shuddering. Suddenly at war with itself. We havenymphstoo.

But no storms. No newbloods who can seize control of the hurricanearoundus.Itsdarknessclosesin,soabsoluteitseemslikemidnight.We’llbefightingblind.Andithasn’tevenstartedyet.Istillhaven’tseenasingleoneofMaven’ssoldiers,ortheLakelanderarmy.Notoneredbannerorblue.Butthey’recoming.They’recertainlycoming.

Igritmyteeth.“Getup.”

Theprinceisheavy,slowedbyhisfear.Puttingahandtohisneck,Igivehimthesmallestshock.ThegentlekindTytonshowedme.Herocketstohisfeet, alive and alert. “Right, thanks,” he mutters. With a glance, he takesstock.“Thetemperature’sdropping.”

“Genius,”Ihissback.Everypartofmefeelsfrozen.

Above us, the water rages, splitting and re-forming. It wants to crashdown, itwants todissipate.Someof itpeelsoffandvaultsoverDavidson’sshield,racingawayintothestormlikeastrangebird.Afteramoment,therestcrashesdown,drenchingusallanew.Acheergoesupanyway.Thenewbloodnymphs,whileoutnumberedandoffguard,justwontheirfirstbout.

Caldoesn’tjoininthecelebrations.Instead,herakeshiswriststogether,ignitinghishandsintoweakflame.Theysputterinthedownpour,fightingtoburn. Until, suddenly, the rain turns to bitter, blizzard snow. In the utterdarkness it winks red, gleaming in the weak lights of Corvium and Cal’sflame.

Ifeelmyhairstarttofreezeonmyheadandshakemyponytail.Splintersoficegoflyingineverydirection.

Aroarrisesoutofthestorm,differentfromthewind.Withmanyvoices.A dozen, a hundred, a thousand. The blackout blizzard presses in. Briefly,Cal’seyesfluttershut,andhesighsaloud.

“Prepareforattack,”hesayshoarsely.

ThefirsticebridgespikesthroughtheramparttwofeetawayfrommeandI vault back, yelping. Another splits the stone twenty feet away, spearingsoldierswith its jagged edges. Arezzo and the other teleporters spring intoaction, collecting the wounded to jump them back to our healers. Almostinstantly, Lakelander soldiers, their shadows like monsters, vault off thebridges—theyranuptheiceasitgrew.Readytostrike.

I’veseenSilverbattlesbefore.Theyarechaos.

Thisisworse.

Callungesforward,hisfiresjumpinghotandhigh.Theiceisthick,notsoeasilymelted,andhecarvespiecesfromthenearestbridgelikealumberjackwithachainsaw.Itmakeshimvulnerable.IslicethroughthefirstLakelandertogetnearhim,andmysparkssendthearmoredmanspinningintodarkness.Another quickly follows, until my skin crawls with purple-white veins ofhissing lightning. Gunfire drowns out whatever orders anyone might beshouting. I focus on myself, on Cal. Our survival. Farley stays close, gun

tuckedup.LikeCal,sheputsmetoherback,lettingmedefendherblindspot.She doesn’t flinch as she fires her gun, pummeling the nearest bridgewithbullets.Shecentersontheice,notthewarriorsburstingoutoftheblizzard.Itcracksandsplintersbeneaththeberserkers,crumblingintodarkness.

Thunder rumbles, closer by the second. Bolts of blue-white electricityexplodethroughtheclouds,crashingdownaroundCorvium.Fromthetowers,Ella’saimisdeadly,strikingjustoutsidethewalls.Anicebridgefallstoherwrath,crackingintwo—butitregrows,re-forminginmidairatthewillofashiverhidingsomewhere.Bombersdothesame,obliteratingglassyhunksoficewith bursts of explosive force. They just creep back, skittering throughanotherrampart.GreenlightningcracklessomewheretomyleftasRafearcshiswhipsintoastampedinghordeofLakelanders.Hisblowmeetsashieldofwater,whichabsorbsthecurrentastheyadvance.Waterdoesn’tstopbullets,though.Farleypeppersthemwithgunfire,droppingafewSilverswheretheystand.Theirbodiesslideoffintodarkness.

Iturnmyattentionstotheclosestbridgeofsoldiers.Insteadoftheice,Ifocus on the figures charging from the darkness.Their blue armor is thick,scaled,andwiththeirhelmetstheylookinhuman.Itmakesthemeasiertokill.Theyforceoneanother forward,pressingon to thewalls.Asnaking lineoffacelessmonsters.Purplelightningexplodesfrommyclawedhandsandracesthroughtheirhearts, jumpingfromonesuitofarmortotheother.Themetalsuperheats, fading from blue to red, and many fall off the bridge in theiragony.Morereplacethem,vaultingoutofthestorm.Itisakillingground,afunnel of death. Tears freeze on my cheeks as I lose count of how manyskeletonsIripthrough.

Thenthecitywallcracksbetweenmyfeet,onesideslidingfromtheother.A concussive blow shudders through my bones. Then another. The crackwidens. Quickly, I pick an edge, jumping to Cal’s side before the crackswallowsmewhole.Rootswormupthroughthefissure,thickasmyarm,andgrowing.Theypryapartthestonelikemassivefingers,sendingspidercrackspastmyfeetlikeboltsofstonelightning.Thewallbucksunderthestrain.

Greenwardens.

“Thewall is going to break,”Cal breathes. “They’ll crack it right openandgetbehindus.”

Iclenchafist.“Unless?”Hejuststaresblankly,ataloss.“Therehastobesomethingwecando!”

“It’sthestorm.Ifwecangetridofthestorm,getvisibility,wecanuseour

range….”Ashespeaks,hesetsfiretotheroots,nowcreepingcloser.Flameracesitslength,charringtheplant.Itjustgrowsback.“Weneedwindweavers.Blowthecloudsaway.”

“HouseLaris.Soweholduntiltheygethere?”

“Holdandhopethey’reenough.”

“Fine.As for this…” Inodat thegapwideningby the second.SoonaSilverarmywillburstrightthrough.“Let’sgivethemanexplosivewelcome.”

Calnods,understanding.“Bombers!”heroarsoverthehowlingwindandsnow. “Get down there and be ready!” Pointing, he indicates the streetrunningjustinsidetheouterwall.ThefirstplaceLakelanderswilloverrunus.

Adozenorsobombershearhimandobey,peelingofftheirpoststomanthestreet.Myfeetmoveoftheirownaccord, intendingtofollow.Calgrabsmywrist and I almost skid. “I didn’t say you,” he growls. “You stay righthere.”

Quickly,Ipeelhisfingersaway.Thegripistootight,heavyasamanacle.Evenintheheatofbattle,Ifindmyselfthrownbackthroughtime,toapalacewhere Iwasaprisoner.“Cal, I’mgoing tohelp thebombershold. Icandothat.”Hisbronzeeyesflicker in thedarkness, theredflamesof twoblazingcandles.“Iftheybreachthewall,you’regoingtobesurrounded.Andthenthestormwillbetheleastofourworries.”

Hisdecisionisquick—andstupid.“Fine,I’llcome.”

“They need you up here.” I put a palm to his chest, pushing him awayfromme.“Farley,Townsend,Akkadi—thesoldiersneedgeneralsontheline.Theyneedyouontheline.”

Ifnotforthebattle,Calwouldargue.Hejustgrazesmyhand.There’snotimeforanything.EspeciallywhenI’mright.

“I’llbe fine,” I tellhimas I jumpaway,slidingover frozenstones.Thestormeatshisresponse.Ispareoneheartbeattoworryforhim,towonderifwemightneverseeeachotheragain.Thenextheartbeaterasesthethought.Ihavenotimeforit.Ihavetostayfocused.Ihavetostayalive.

Ipickupmy feetupand slidedown the stairs, the frozen rails slippingthrough my curled hands. On the street, out of the wind, the air is muchwarmerandthepuddlesaregone.EitherfrozenorthewaterwasusedabovetoassaultthedefendersoftheCorviumwall.

Bombers face thecrack in thewall, spreading fartherwitheach second.

Upontherampartsitwidenstoseveralfeet,butherethecrackisjustinches—andgrowing.Anothershudderruns throughthestoneandbelowmyfeet,likeanexplosionoranearthquakeintheground.Iswallowhard,imaginingastrongarmontheothersideofthewall,herfistsrainingblowafterblowuponourfoundations.

“Wait to strike,” I tell the bombers. They look to me for orders, eventhough I’m not an officer. “No explosions until it’s clear they’re comingthrough.Wedon’tneedtohelpthemalong.”

“I’llshieldthebreachaslongaspossible,”avoicesaysbehindme.

Iwhirl toseeDavidson,his facestreaked ingraybloodsteadily turningblack.He looks pale beneath the blood, stunned by it. “Premier,” Imutter,dippingmyhead.Herespondsafteralongmoment.Dazedbythebattle.Sodifferentonthefieldthanitisinthewarroom.

Instead,Iturnmyelectricityonourattackers.Usingtherootsasamap,Irunlightningalongtheplantmatter,lettingitcurlandspiralwiththepathofthe root. Ican’t see thegreenwardenat the far side,but I feelhim.Thoughdulledbythedenseroot,mysparksripplethroughhisbody.Adistantshriekechoes through the cracks in the stone, somehow audible over the chaosaboveandaround.

Thegreenwardenisn’ttheonlySilverabletobringdownstone.Anothertakes his place, a strongarm judging by the way the stone shudders andcracks.Blowafterblowsendsrubbleanddustthroughthewideninggap.

Davidsonstandsonmyleft,mouthslightlyagape.Numb.

“Firstbattle?”Imutterasanotherthunderousstrikehitshome.

“Hardly,”hesays,tomysurprise.“Iwasasoldieroncetoo.I’mtoldIwasonalistofyours?”

DaneDavidson.Thenamefluttersinmymind,abutterflybrushingwingsagainstthebarsofabonecage.Itcomesbackasifthroughmud,slowly,withgreateffort.“Julian’slist.”

Henods.“Smartman,Jacos.Connectingdotsnooneelseevensees.Yes,Iwasoneof theNortanReds tobeexecutedby their legion.Forcrimesofblood,notbody.WhenIescaped,theofficersmarkedmeasdeadanyway.Sotheydidn’thavetoexplainanotherlostcriminal.”Helickslipscrackedbythecold.“IfledtoMontfort,collectingotherslikemealongtheway.”

Anothercrack.Thegapbeforeuswidensasfeelingreturnstomytoes.I

wiggletheminmyboots,preparingtofight.“Soundsfamiliar.”

Davidson’s voice gains strength and momentum as he speaks. As heremembers what we are fighting for. “Montfort was in ruin. A thousandSilvers claiming their own crowns, every mountain its own kingdom, thecountrysplinteredbeyondrecognition.OnlyRedsstoodunited.AndArdentswere in the shadows, waiting to be unleashed. Divide and conquer, MissBarrow.It’stheonlywaytobeatthem.”

The Kingdom of Norta, the Kingdom of the Rift, Piedmont, theLakelands.Silversatoneanother’sthroats,squabblingforsmallerandsmallerpieces while we wait to take the whole lot. Though Davidson looksoverwhelmed, I can almost smell the steel in his bones.A genius, perhaps,anddangerouscertainly.

Agust of snowbringsmeback.Theonly thing I need to be concernedwithiswhathappensnow.Survive.Win.

Blue-tingedenergyburststhroughthesplinteringwall,pulsingacrossthefoot-wideexpanseofemptiness.Davidsonholds the shield inplacewithanoutstretchedhand.Adropofblooddripsoffhischin,steaminginthecold.

Asilhouetteontheothersidepummelstheshield,fistsrainingknuckledhell down on the rippling field. Another strongarm joins the shadow andworkstowidenthegap,attackingstoneinstead.Theshieldgrowswiththeirefforts.

“Beready,”Davidsonsays.“WhenIsplittheshield,firewitheverything.”

Weobey,preparingtostrike.

“Three.”

Purple sparkswebbetweenmy fingersandweave intoapulsingballofdestructivelight.

“Two.”

Thebomberskneel in formation, like snipers. Insteadof guns, they justhavetheirfingersandeyes.

“One.”

Withatwitch,theblueshieldcutsintwoandslamsthepairofstrongarmsintothewallswithsickeningcracksofbone.Wefirethroughtheopening,mylightning a blaze. It illuminates the darkness beyond, showing a dozenberserkersoldiersreadytorushthebreach.Manydroptotheirknees,spittingfireandbloodasthebombersexplodetheirinsides.Beforeanycanrecover,

Davidsonsealstheshieldagain,catchingareturningvolleyofbullets.

Helookssurprisedbyoursuccess.

Onthewallaboveus,afireballchurnsintheblackstorm,atorchagainstthefalsenight.Cal’sfirespreadsandstrikesinasnakeofflame.Theredheatturnstheskytoscarlethell.

IjustclenchafistandgestureatDavidson.

“Again,”Itellhim.

It’simpossibletomarkthepassageoftime.Withoutthesun,Ihavenoideahowlongwespendbattlingthebreach.Eventhoughwepushbacktheassaultagainandagain,everyattemptwidensthegapbitbybit.Inchesformiles, Itellmyself.Onthewall,thewaveofsoldiershasnotwontheramparts.Theicebridgeskeepcomingback,andwekeepfightingthem.Afewcorpseslandin the street, beyond even a healer’s touch. Between strikes, we drag thebodies into thealleyways,outofsight. Isearcheachdeadface,holdingmybreatheverytime.NotCal,notFarley.TheonlyoneIrecognizeisTownsend,hisnecksnappedclean.Iexpectawashofguiltorpity,butIfeelnothing.Justthe knowledge that strongarms are up on the walls as well, tearing oursoldiersapart.

Davidson’sshieldstretchesacrossthegapinthewall,nowatleasttenfeetwide,yawningopenlikestonejaws.Bodieslieintheopenmouth.Smokingcorpsesfelledby lightning,orbrutallyrippedopenbyabomber’smercilessstare. Through the quivering field of blue, shadows gather in the darkness,waiting to try our wall again. Hammers of water and ice batter againstDavidson’sability.Abansheescreamreverberatesoff itsexpanse,andeventheechoispainfultoourears.Davidsonwinces.Nowthebloodonhisfacestreakswithsweatdrippingdownhisforehead,nose,andcheeks.Hesprintstowardhislimit,andwearerunningoutoftime.

“SomeonegetmeRafe!”Ishout.“AndTyton.”

Arunnersprintsoffassoonasthewordsareoutofmymouth,vaultingupthe steps to find them. I watch the wall above, searching for a familiarsilhouette.

Calworksamanicrhythm,perfectasamachine.Step,turn,strike.Step,turn, strike. Like me, he finds an empty place where survival is the onlythought. At every break in the oncoming rush of enemies, he re-forms hissoldiers,directingtheRedsintheirfire,orworkingwithAkkadiandLorytoeliminateanothertargetinthedarkness.Howmanyaredead,Ican’tsay.

Anothercorpsetumblesfromtheramparts,endoverend.IgrabhisarmstodraghimoffbeforeIrealizehisarmorisnotarmoratall,butscaledpiecesofstonyflesh,smolderingwiththeheatofafireprince’sanger.Idrawbacksurprised,asifburnedmyself.Astoneskin.Thefewclothesonhisdeadbodyareblueandgray.HouseMacanthos.Norta.OneofMaven’s.

Iswallowhardagainst the implication.Maven’sforceshavereachedthewalls.Wearen’tjustfightingLakelandersanymore.AroaroffuryrisesinmychestandIalmostwishIcouldstormthroughthebreachmyself.Tearthrougheverythingontheotherside.Hunthimdown.Killhimbetweenhisarmyandmine.

Thenthecorpsegrabsme.

He twists, andmywrist breakswith a snap. I shriek against the suddenbleedingpainracingupmyarm.

Lightningripplesfrommyflesh,escapingmelikeascream.Itcovershisbody inpurplesparksand lethal,dancing light.Buteitherhisstonyflesh istoo thick or his resolve is too strong. The stoneskin does not let go, hispincerlike fingers now clawing at my neck. Explosions blossom along hisback,theworkofbombers.Bitsofstonesloughoffhimlikedeadskinandhehowls.Hisgriponly tightenswith thepain. Imake themistakeof trying topryoffhishands,nowlockedaroundmythroat.Hisrockyfleshcutsmyskin,andbloodwellsupbetweenmyfingers,redandhotinthefrozenair.

Spotsdancebeforemyeyes,andIlooseanotherblastoflightning,lettingitpourfrommyagony.Theblowrocketshimoffmeandbackintoabuilding.Hecrashesthroughheadfirst,bodyhangingoutintothestreet.Thebombersfinishhimoff,explodingthroughtheexposedskinonhisback.

Davidsontremblesonhisfeet,stillholdingthethinningshield.Hesawitall,andcoulddonothingunlesshewantedtheinvadingforcetooverrunus.Acornerofhismouthquivers,asiftoapologizeformakingtherightdecision.

“Howmuch longer can you hold?” I ask, gasping out thewords. I spitbloodonthestreet.

Hegritshisteeth.“Alittlewhile.”

That’snothelpful,Iwanttosnap.“Aminute?Two?”

“One,”heforcesout.

“Onewilldo.”

I glare through the shield as itweakens, the vivid shade of blue fading

withDavidson’s strength. As it clears, so do the figures on the other side.Bluearmorandblackcutwithred.LakelandsandNorta.Nocrown,noking.Justshocktroopsmeanttooverwhelmus.Mavenwon’tsetfootinCorviumunless thecity ishis.While theCalorebrotheron thewallwill fight to thedeath,Maven isnot foolishenough to riskhimself ina fight.Heknowshisstrengthisbehindthelines,onathroneratherthanabattlefield.

RafeandTytonapproachfromoppositesides,havingheldtheirstretchofwall.WhileRafelooksmeticulous,greenhairstillslickedbackfromhisface,Tyton is positivelypainted inblood.All silver.He isn’twounded.His eyesglowwithastrangekindofanger,burningredinthechurningfirelightoverourheads.

InoteDarmianalongwithanumberofotherwreckers,allofthemgiftedwithinvulnerableflesh.Theycarrywickedaxes,theiredgesworkedtorazorsharpness. Good to combat strongarms. At close range, they’re our bestchance.

“Formup,”Tytonsays,taciturntoafault.

Wefollow,organizingintohastylinesatDavidson’sback.Hisarmshakesaswemove,holdingonaslongashecan.Rafetakesmyleft,Tytonmyright.Iglancebetween them,wondering if I should say something. I can feel thestaticenergybloomingfromthemboth,familiarbutstrange.Theirelectricity,notmine.

In the storm, the blue thunder continues to rage. Ella fuels us, andweleechtoherlightning.

“Three,”Davidsonsays.

Greenonmyleft,whiteonmyright.Thecolorsflickerontheedgeofmyvision,eachsparkatinyheartbeat.

“Two.”

Isuckinonemorebreath.Mythroataches,bruisedbythestoneskin.ButI’mstillbreathing.

“One.”

Againtheshieldcollapses,openingourinsidestotheoncomingstorm.

“BREACH!”echoesalongtherampartsas theforces turn theirattentiononthegapinthewall.TheSilverarmyrespondsinkind,surgingtowarduswithadeafeningyell.Greenandpurplelightningshuddersthroughthekillingground, leaping along the first wave of soldiers. Tyton moves like a man

throwing darts, his minuscule needles of lightning exploding into blindingbolts that toss Silver troops into the air.Many seize and twitch.He has nomercy.

The bombers follow our lead, moving with us as we close the breach.They only need an open line of sight towork, and their destruction churnsstone,flesh,andearthinequalmeasure.Dirtfallswiththesnow,andtheairtastes like ash. Is thiswhatwar is? Is thiswhat it feels like to fight in theChoke? Tyton tosses me back, throwing out an arm to move my body.Darmianandtheotherwreckerssurgebeforeus,ahumanshield.Theiraxescutinandout,sprayingblooduntiltheruinedwallsoneithersidearecoatedinmirroredswathsofliquidsilver.

No.IremembertheChoke.Thetrenches.Thehorizonstretchedineverydirection, reaching down tomeet a land cratered by decades of bloodshed.Each side knew the other. That war was evil, but defined. This is just anightmare.

Soldieraftersoldier,LakelanderandNortan,pulsesintothebreach.Eachpushedby themanorwomanbehind.Ason thebridges, they funnel intoakillingground.Thecrowdmoveslikethepulloftheocean,onewavedrawingus back before the other goes forward. We have the advantage, but onlyslightly. More strongarms pummel at the walls, hoping to widen the gap.Telkieslobrubbleintoourline,pulverizingoneofthebombers,whileanotherfreezessolid,mouthfixedopeninasilentscream.

Tyton dances with fluid movements, each palm blazing with whitelightning. I use web on the ground, spreading a puddle of electric energybeneath the pounding feet of the advancing army. Their bodies pile up,threateningtoformanotherwallacrossthebreach.Butthetelkiesjustwavethemaway,sendingcorpsesspinningintotheblackstorm.

Itasteblood,butmybrokenwristisjustabuzzofpainnow.Ithangslimpat my side, and I’m grateful for the adrenaline that won’t let me feel thesnappedbone.

Thestreetandearthturntoliquidbeneathmyfeet,runningwithredandsilver.Theswampygroundclaimsmorethanafew.Whenanewbloodfalls,anymph jumps on him, pouringwater downhis nose and throat.He drownsbefore my eyes. Another corpse lies on her side, roots curling from hereyeballs.All I know is lightning. I can’t remembermy name,my purpose,whatI’mfightingfor—beyondtheairinmylungs.Beyondonemoresecondoflife.

A telky splits us apart, sending Rafe flying backward. Then me in theoppositedirection.Ispiralforward,overthetopoftheforcepushingthroughthewallbreach.Totheotherside.TothekillingfieldsofCorvium.

Ilandhard,rollingendoverenduntilIcometoanabruptstop,halfburiedin freezing mud. A bolt of pain spikes through my adrenaline shield,reminding me of a very broken bone and perhaps a few more. The stormwindstearatmyclothesasItrytositup,shardsoficescrapingatmyeyesandcheeks.Eventhoughthewindhowls,itisn’tsodarkouthere.Notblack,butgray.Ablizzardatduskratherthanmidnight.Isquintbackandforth,toowindedtodoanythingbutlieinpain.

What were open fields, green lawns sloping off either side of the IronRoad,arenowfrozentundra,eachbladeofgrasslikearazoroficicle.Fromthis angle, Corvium is impossible to make out. Just like we couldn’t seethrough the pitch black of the storm, neither can the assaulting forces. Ithinders themasmuchasus.Severalbattalionscluster likeshadows,cuttingsilhouettesagainst thestorm.Someattempttheicebridgesstillformingandre-forming,butnowmostsurgetowardthebreach.Therestlieinwaitbehindme,asmudgeoutsidetheworstofthestorm.Maybehundredsheldinreserve,maybethousands.Blueandredflagssnapinthewind,justbrightenoughtomakeout.Caughtbetweenarockandahardplace,Isightomyself.AndI’mstuckinthemud,surroundedbycorpsesandthewalkingwounded.Atleastmostarefocusedonthemselves,onmissinglimbsorsplitbellies,ratherthanasingleRedgirlintheirmidst.

Lakelandersoldiersdartaroundme,andIbracemyselffortheworst.Buttheymarchon, stompingfor the thunderingcloudsand the restof thearmyslouching towarddestruction.“Get to thehealers!”oneof themshoutsovertheirshoulder,notevenlookingback.Ilookdown,realizingI’mcoveredinsilverblood.Somered,butmostlysilver.

Quickly,Irubmudovermybleedingwoundsandthebitsofmyuniformthatarestillgreen.Thecutssearwithpain,makingmehissthroughmyteeth.Ilookbackattheclouds,watchinglightningpulsewithin.Blueatthecrown,greenatthebase,wherethebreachis.WhereIhavetogetbackto.

Themudsucksatmy limbs, trying to freeze solidaroundme.Withmybrokenwristtuckedagainstmychest,Ipushoffwithonearm,fightingtobefree. I pull away with a loud pop and start sprinting, heaving breath afterbreath.Eachoneburns.

Imakeittenyards,almosttothebackoftheSilverarmy,beforeIrealize

thisisn’tgoingtowork.They’repackedtootightlytoslipthrough,evenforme. And they’ll probably stop me if I try. My face is well known, evencovered in mud. I can’t chance it. Or the ice bridges. One might crumblebeneathme,ortheRedsoldiersmightshootmedeadasItrytogetbackoverthewall.Eachchoiceendsbadly.Butsodoesstandinghere.Maven’sforceswill push another assault and send another wave of troops. I see no wayforward andnowayback.Forone terrifying, emptymoment, I stare at theblackness of Corvium. Lightning flickers within the storm, weaker thanbefore.Itseemsatoweringhurricanetoppedwithathunderhead,layeredwithablizzardandgale-forcewinds.Ifeelsmallagainstit,asinglestarinaskyofviolentconstellations.

Howcanwedefeatthis?

Thefirstscreamofajetsendsmetomyknees,coveringmyheadwithmygood hand. It ripples in my chest, a burst of electricity hammering like aheart.Adozenfollowatlowaltitude,theirenginesspiralingthesnowandashastheyscreambetweenthetwohalvesofthearmy.

More jets spiral on the outer edge of the storm, around and around,carving through it. The clouds drift with the jets, as if magnetized to thewings. Then I hear another roar. Another wind, stronger than the first,blowingwith thefuryofahundredhurricanes.Thewindworks toclear thestorm,tearingitapartwithforce.ThecloudspartenoughtoshowthetowersofCorvium,whereblue lightningreigns.Thewindfollowsthejets,poolingbeneaththeirfreshlypaintedwings.

Paintedbrightyellow.

HouseLaris.

Mylipstugintoasmile.They’rehere.AnabelLerolankeptherword.

Ilookfortheotherhouses,butafalconscreamsaroundme,itsblue-blackwings beating the air. Talons gleam, sharp as a blade, and I jump back tocovermy face from thebird. It just screecheskeenlybefore flappingaway,glidingoverthebattlegroundtoward—ohno.

Maven’s reserves are coming. Battalions, legions. Black armor, bluearmor,redarmor.I’mgoingtobesmashedbetweenbothhalvesofhisarmy.

Notwithoutafight.

Iletloose,purpleboltsrocketingdownaroundme.Pushingbacksoldiers,making them question every step. They know what my abilities look like.They’ve seen what the lightning girl can do. They pause, but only for a

moment.Enough to letme setmy feet and turn, anglingmybody. Smallertarget,largerchanceofsurvival.Mygoodfistclenches,readytotakethemalldownwithme.

Many of the Silvers assaulting the breach turn in my direction. Thedistraction is theirdownfall.Green lightningandwhitepulse through them,clearingthewayforredflameasitchargestowardme.

Theswiftsclosethedistancefirstandcatchaweboflightning.Somezipbackwardbutothersfall,unabletooutrunsparks.Stormbolts,cracklingoutofthesky,keeptheworstatbay,formingaprotectivecirclearoundme.Fromthe outside, it looks like a cage of electricity, but it’s a cage of my ownmaking.AcageIcontrol.

Idareanykingtoputmeinacagenow.

Iexpectmylightningtodrawhim,likeamothtoacandleflame.IsearchtheoncominghordeforMaven.Aredcape,acrownofironflames.Awhitefaceinthesea,hiseyesblueenoughtopiercemountains.

Instead,theLarisjetsmoveinforanotherpass,swoopinglowoverbotharmies. They split around me, making soldiers scramble for cover asscreaming metal rushes overhead. A dozen or so figures tumble from thebacks of the larger jets, somersaulting on the air before plummeting to thegroundataspeedthatwouldpancakemosthumans.Instead,theythrowouttheir arms, stopping themselves abruptly, churning up dirt, ash, and snow.Andiron.Lotsofiron.

Evangeline and her family, brother and father included, turn to face theoncomingarmy.Thefalconkeensaroundthem,screamingas itdartsontheharshwind.Evangeline spares a glance over her shoulder, her eyes findingmine.

“Don’tmakethisahabit!”sheshouts.

Exhaustionhitsmebecause,strangely,Ifeelsafe.

EvangelineSamoshasmyback.

Fireblazesattheedgeofmyvisiononeitherside.Ithemsmein,almostblinding. I stumble back and hit a wall of muscle and tactical armor. Calcradlesmybrokenwrist,holdingitgently.

Foronce,Idon’trememberthemanacles.

TWENTY-NINEEvangeline

ThedoorsofCorvium’s administrative tower are solid oak, but their hingesand trimmings are iron. They glide open in front of us, bowing before theRoyalHouseofSamos.Weenterthecouncilchambergracefully,infrontofthe eyes of our patchwork excuse for an alliance.Montfort and the ScarletGuardsitontheleft,simpleintheirgreenuniforms,ourSilversontherightintheir varying house colors. Their respective leaders, Premier Davidson andQueen Anabel, watch us enter in silence. Anabel wears her crown now,markingherself as aqueen, albeit to a long-deadking. It’s abeaten ringofrosegold,setwithtinyblackgems.Simple.Butitstandsoutallthesame.Shedrums her deadly fingers on the flat of the table, eagerly displaying herweddingring.Afieryredjewel,alsosetinrosegold.LikeDavidson,shehasthe lookof a predator, neverblinking, neverdistracted.PrinceTiberias andMareBarrowarenothere,orelseIcan’tseethem.Iwonderifthey’llsplittotheirrespectivesidesandcolors.

Windowsoneverysideofthetowerroomopenontheland,wheretheairstillsmolderswithashandthewesternfieldsarechokedinmud,floodedandswamped by the extraseasonal catastrophe. Even this high up, everythingsmellslikeblood.Iscrubbedmyhandsforwhatseemedlikehours,washingeveryinch,andstillIcan’tgetridofthescent.Itclingslikeaghost,hardertoforget than the faces of the people I killed on the field. Themetallic tanginfectseverything.

Despite the commandingview, all eyes focuson themore commandingpersonleadingourfamily.Fatherhasnoblackrobes,justhischromiumarmorshimmering like amirrormelded to his trim form.Awarrior king in everyinch.Motherdoesnotdisappointeither.Hercrownofgreenstonesmatchesthe emerald boa constrictor draped around her neck and shoulders like ashawl.Itslithersslowly,scalesreflectingtheafternoonlight.PtolemuslookssimilartoFather,thoughthearmorpaintedtohisbroadchest,narrowwaist,andleanlegsisblackasoil.Mineisamixofboth,stripedinskintightlayersof chromiumandblack steel. It isn’t the armor Iworeon the field, but thearmorIneednow.Terrible,threatening,showingeveryounceofSamosprideandpower.

Four chairs like thrones are set against thewindows, andwe sit asone,presentingaunitedfront.NomatterhowmuchIwanttoscream.

I feel like a traitor to myself, having let days, weeks pass withoutopposition.WithoutsomuchasawhisperofhowmuchFather’splanterrifiesme.Idon’twanttobequeenofNorta.Idon’twanttobelongtoanyone.Butwhat Iwantdoesn’tmatter.Nothingwill threatenmyfather’smachinations.KingVolo is not one to be denied.Not by his own daughter, his flesh andblood.Hispossession.

Anall-too-familiaracherisesinmychestasIsettleontomythrone.Idomybest to keep composed, quiet, and dutiful.Loyal tomyblood. It’s all Iknow.

Ihaven’tspokentomyfatherinweeks.Icanonlynodtohiscommands.Wordsarebeyondmyability.IfIopenmymouth,Ifearmytemperwillgetthebestofme.ItwasTolly’sideatostayquiet.Giveittime,Eve.Giveittime.Buttimeforwhat,Ihavenoidea.Fatherdoesn’tchangehismind.AndQueenAnabelishell-bentonpushinghergrandsonbacktothethrone.Mybrotherisjust as disappointed as I am. Everything we did—marrying him to Elane,betraying Maven, supporting Father’s kingly ambitions—was so we couldstaytogether.Allfornothing.He’llruleintheRift,marriedtothegirlIlove,whileI’mshippedofflikeacrateofammunition,oncemoreagifttoaking.

I’m grateful for the distractionwhenMareBarrowdecides to grace thecouncilwithherpresence,PrinceTiberiastrailingatherheels.Iforgotwhatatragicpuppyhebecameinherpresence,allwideeyesbeggingforattention.Hiskeensoldiersensetrainsonherinsteadofthetaskathand.Bothofthemare still vibrating with adrenaline from the siege, and nowonder. It was abrutalthing.Barrowstillhasbloodonheruniform.

Both trek down the central aisle splitting the council. If they feel theweight of their action, they don’t show it. Most conversation reduces to amurmurorstopsaltogethertowatchthepair,waitingtoseewhichsideoftheroomtheychoose.

Mare is quick, stalking past the front row of green uniforms to leanagainstthefarwall.Outofthespotlight.

Theprince,therightfulkingofNorta,doesn’tfollow.Heapproacheshisgrandmother instead,onehandoutstretchedtoembraceher.Anabel ismuchsmaller than him, reduced to an old woman in his presence. But her armsencirclehimeasily.Theyhavethesameeyes,burninglikeheatedbronze.Shegrinsupathim.

Tiberiaslingersinherembrace,justforamoment,holdingontothelastpieceofhisfamily.Theseatbesidehisgrandmotherisempty,buthedoesn’ttakeit.HeelectstojoinMareatthewall.Hecrosseshisarmsoverhisbroadchest, fixingFatherwithaheatedstare. Iwonder ifheknowswhat shehasplannedforthetwoofus.

Noone takes theseathe leftbehind.Noonedares take theplaceof therightfulheir toNorta.Mybelovedbetrothed echoes inmyhead.Thewordstauntmeworsethanmymother’ssnakes.

Suddenly, with a flick of his hand, Father drags Salin Iral by his beltbuckle,pullinghimupfromhisseat,overhistable,andacrosstheoakfloor.Nooneprotests,ormakesasound.

“You’resupposedtobehunters.”

Father’svoicerumbleslowinhisthroat.

Iral didn’t bother to wash off after the battle, evidenced by the sweatmatting his black hair.Ormaybe he’s just petrified. Iwouldn’t blame him.“YourMajesty—”

“YouensuredMavenwouldnot escape. I believeyour exactwords,mylord,were ‘no snake can escape a silk fist.’” Father doesn’t condescend tolook at this failure of a lord, an embarrassment to his house and his name.Motherwatchesenoughforbothofthem,seeingwithherowneyesaswellastheeyesof thegreen snake. It noticesme staringand flicks its forkedpinktongueinmydirection.

OtherswatchSalin’shumiliation.TheRedslookdirtierthanSalin,someofthemstillcakedinmudandbluewithcold.Atleasttheyaren’tdrunk.LordGeneralLaris sways in his chair, sipping conspicuously from a flask largerthananythingoneshouldhaveinpolitecompany.NotthatFatherorMotheroranyoneelsewillbegrudgehimtheliquor.Larisandhishousedidtheirjobbeautifully,bringingairjetstothecausewhiledissipatingthatinfernalstormthreateningtosnowCorviumunder.Theyprovedtheirworth.

Asdidthenewbloods.Sillyastheirchosennamesounds,theyheldofftheattackforhours.Withouttheirbloodandsacrifice,CorviumwouldbebackinMaven’shands.Instead,hefailedasecondtime.Hehasbeendefeatedtwice.Oncebyrabble,andnowatthehandsofaproperarmyandaproperking.Myguttwists.Eventhoughwewon,thevictoryfeelslikedefeattome.

Mare glowers at the exchange, her entire body tensing like a twistingwire.Hereyes tickbetweenSalinandmy father,before straying toTolly. I

feelatremoroffearformybrother,eventhoughshepromisednottokillhim.InCaesar’s Square she unleashed awrath like I’ve never seen.Andon theCorviumbattlefieldsheheldherown,evensurroundedbyanarmyofSilvers.Her lightning is far deadlier than I remember. If she chose tomurderTollyrightnow,Idoubtanyonecouldstopher.Punishher,ofcourse,butnotstopher.

I have a feeling she won’t be terribly pleased by Anabel’s plan. AnySilverwoman in lovewith a kingwouldbe content to be a consort, boundthoughnotmarried—but Idon’tbelieveReds think thatway.Theyhavenoideahowimportantthehousebondsare,orhowdeeplyvitalheirsofstrongblood have always been. They think lovematters when wedding vows arespoken. I suppose that is a small blessing in their lives. Without power,withoutstrength,theyhavenothingtoprotectandnolegacytouphold.Theirlivesareinconsequential,butstill,theirlivesaretheirown.

AsIthoughtminewas,forafewbrief,foolishweeks.

Onthebattlefield,I toldMareBarrownot tomakeahabitof lettingmesaveher.Ironic.NowIhopeshesavesmefromaqueen’sgildedprison,andaking’sbridalcage.Ihopeherstormdestroysthealliancebeforeiteventakesroot.

“…preparesforescapeaswellasattack.Swiftswereinplace,transports,airjets.WeneverevensawMaven.”Salinkeepsuphisprotest,handsraisedabovehishead.Fatherletshim.Fatheralwaysgivesapersonenoughropetohangthemselves.“TheLakelanderkingwasthere.Hecommandedhistroopshimself.”

Father’s eyes flash and darken, the only indication of his suddendiscomfort.“And?”

“Andnowheliesinagravewiththem.”Salinglancesupathissteelking,achildsearchingforapproval.Hetremblesdowntohisfingertips.IthinkofIris left behind in Archeon, a new queen on a poisoned throne. And nowwithoutherfather,cutofffromtheonlyfamilywhocamesouthatherside.Shewasformidable, tosaytheleast,but thiswillweakenherimmensely.Ifsheweren’tmyenemy,Imightfeelpity.

Slowly,Fatherrisesfromhisthrone.Helooksthoughtful.“WhokilledthekingoftheLakelands?”

Thenoosetightens.

Salingrins.“Idid.”

Thenoosesnaps,andsodoesFather.Withaclenchedfist,intheblinkofaneye,hetwistsSalin’sbuttonsoffhisjacket,rollingthemintothinspindlesofiron.Eachonewrapsaroundhisneck,pulling,forcingSalintostand.Theykeeprising,untilhistoesscrabbleagainstthefloor,searchingforpurchase.

Atthetables,theMontfortleaderleansbackinhischair.Thewomannexttohim,avery severeblondewith facial scars, curlsher lips intoa scowl. Iremember her from the attack on Summerton, the one that almost tookmybrother’s life. Cal tortured her himself and now they’re practically side byside. She’s Scarlet Guard, highly ranked, and, if I’m not mistaken, one ofMare’sclosestallies.

“Yourorders—”Salinchokesout.Heclawsattheironthreadsaroundhisneck,diggingintohisflesh.Hisfacegraysasbloodpoolsbeneathhisflesh.

“My orders were to kill Maven Calore or prevent his escape. You didneither.”

“I—”

“Killedakingofsovereignnation.AnallyofNortawhohadnoreasontodoanythingbutdefendthenewLakelanderqueen.Butnow?”Fatherscoffs,usinghisabilitytodrawSalincloser.“You’vegiventhemaratherwonderfulincentivetodrownusall.TherulingqueenoftheLakelandswillnotstandforthis.” He slaps Salin across the facewith a resounding crack. The blow ismeant to shame, not hurt. It works well. “I strip you of your titles andresponsibilities. House Iral, redistribute them as you see fit. And get thiswormoutofmysight.”

Salin’sfamilyisquicktodraghimfromthechamberbeforehecandigadeeper hole. When the iron threads spring free, all he does is cough andperhapscry.Hissobsechointhehallbutarequicklycutoffbytheslammingof thedoors.Apatheticman.Though I’mgladhedidn’tkillMaven. If theCalore brat died today, there would be no obstacle between Cal and thethrone.Calandme.Thisway,atleast,thereissomedarkhope.

“Doesanyonehaveanythingusefultocontribute?”FathersitsbackdownsmoothlyandrunsafingerdownthespineofMother’ssnake.Itseyesslideshutinpleasure.Disgusting.

JeraldHaven looks like hewants to disappear in his chair, and he justmight.Hestaresathisfoldedhands,willingmyfathernot tohumiliatehimnext. Luckily, he’s saved by the scowling Scarlet Guard commander. Shestands,scrapingbackherseat.

“OurintelligenceindicatesthatMavenCalorenowreliesoneyestokeephimsafe.Theycanseetheimmediatefuture—”

Mothercluckshertongue.“Weknowwhataneyeis,Red.”

“Goodforyou,”thecommanderreplieswithouthesitation.

IfnotforFatherandourprecariousposition,IexpectMotherwouldramheremeraldsnakedown theRed’s throat.She justpursesher lips.“Controlyourpeople,Premier,orIwill.”

“I’maCommandgeneralof theScarletGuard,Silver,” thewomanspitsback.IcatchMaresmirkingbehindher.“Ifyouwantourhelp,you’regoingtoshowsomerespect.”

“Of course,”Mother concedesgraciously.Her gems sparkle as shedipsherhead.“Respectwhererespectisdue.”

The commander still glowers, her rage boiling. She eyes my mother’scrownwithdisgust.

Thinking quickly, I clap my hands together. A familiar sound. Asummons.Quietly,aRedmaidofHouseSamosscampersintothechamber,aglassofwineinhand.Sheknowsherordersanddartstomyside,offeringmethedrink.With slow,exaggeratedmovements, I take thecup. Ineverbreakeyecontactwith theRedcommanderasIdrink.Myfingersdrumalong theetchedglasstohidemynerves.Atworst,I’llmakeFatherangry.Atbest…

Ismash theglassgobleton thefloor.EvenI flinchat thesoundandtheimplication.Fathertriesnottoreact,buthismouthtightens.Youshouldknowmebetterthanthis.I’mnotgivingupwithoutafight.

Without hesitation, the maid kneels to clean it up, sweeping shards ofglass into her bare hands. And without hesitation, the fierce Red womanvaultsoverhertable,settingoffaflurryofmotion.Silversjumptotheirfeet,asdoReds,andMareherselfpushesoff thewall,anglingherselfacrossherfriend’spath.

TheRedcommander towersoverher,butBarrowholdsherbackall thesame.

“Howcanweacceptthis?”thewomanshoutsatme,thrustingafistatthemaidonthefloor.Thetangofbloodincreasestenfoldassheslicesherhands.“How?”

Everyoneintheroomseemstobewonderingthesamething.Shoutsrisebetweenmorevolatilemembersofeachside.WeareSilverhousesofnoble

and ancient blood, allied with rebels, criminals, servants, and thieves.Abilitiesornot,ourwaysoflifestandindirectopposition.Ourgoalsarenotthesame.Thecouncilchamberisapowderkeg.IfI’mluckyitwillexplode.Blowapartanythreatofmarriage.Destroythecagetheywanttoputmebackin.

OverMare’sshoulder,thecommandersneersatme,hereyesliketwobluedaggers. If this room and my own clothes weren’t dripping with metal, Imightbeafraid.Istarebackather,lookingeveryinchtheSilverprincessshewasraisedtohate.Atmyfeet,themaidfinishesherworkandshufflesaway,her hands pincushionedwith pieces of glass. Imake amental note to sendWrentohealherlater.

“Poorlydone,”Motherwhispersinmyear.Shepatsmyarmandthesnakeslithersalongherhand,curlingovermyskin.Itsfleshisclammyandcold.

Igritmyteethagainstthesensation.

“Howcanweacceptthis?”

Theprince’svoicecutsthechaos.Itstunsmanyintosilence,includingthesneeringRedcommander.Marebodilyremovesher,escortingherbacktoherchairwithsomedifficulty.Therestturntotheexiledprince,watchinghimashestraightens.ThemonthshavebeengoodtoTiberiasCalore.Alifeofwarsuitshim.Heseemsvibrantandalive,evenafternarrowlyescapingdeathonthewalls.Inherseat,hisgrandmotherallowsherselfthesmallestsmile.Ifeelmyheartsinkinmychest.Idon’tlikethatlook.Myhandsclawthearmsofmythrone,nailsdiggingintowoodinsteadofflesh.

“Every single person in this room knows we have reached a tippingpoint.”His eyeswander to findMare.He draws his strength fromher. If Iwereasentimentalperson, Imightbemoved. Instead, I thinkofElane, leftsafelybehindatRidgeHouse.Ptolemushasneedofanheir,andneitherofuswantedherinthebattle.Evenso,Iwishshewereheretositbesideme.IwishIdidn’thavetosufferthisalone.

Calwastrainedtostatecraft,andheisnostrangertospeeches.Still,he’snot as talented as his brother, and he trips upmore than a few times as heprowlsthefloor.Unfortunately,nooneseemstomind.“Redshavelivedtheirlivesasglorifiedslaves,bondedtotheirlots.Beitinaslumtown,inoneofourpalaces—orinthemudofarivervillage.”AflushspreadsacrossMare’scheeks.“IusedtothinkasIwastaught.Thatourwayswereset.Redswereinferior. Changing their place would never come to pass, not withoutbloodshed.Notwithoutgreatsacrifice.Once,Ithoughtthosethingsweretoo

highacosttopay.ButIwaswrong.

“To thoseofyouwhodisagree”—heglaresatme,and I tremble—“whobelieveyourself better,whobelieve yourself gods, you arewrong.Andnotbecause people like the lightning girl exist. Not because we suddenly findourselves in need of allies to defeat my brother. Because you are simplywrong.

“Iwasbornaprince. I knewmoreprivilege thanalmost anyonehere. Iwas raised with servants at my beck and call, and I was taught that theirblood,becauseofacolor,meant less thanmine. ‘Redsare stupid;Redsarerats; Reds are incapable of controlling their own lives; Reds are meant toserve.’Thesearewordswe’veallheard.Andtheyarelies.Convenientonesthatmakeourliveseasier,ourshamenonexistent,andtheirlivesunbearable.”

He stops next to his grandmother, tall at her side. “It can’t be toleratedanymore.Itsimplycan’tbe.Differenceisnotdivision.”

Poor,naiveCalore.Hisgrandmothernodsinapproval,butIrememberherinmyownhouse,andwhatshesaid.Shewantshergrandsononthethrone,andshewantstheoldworld.

“Premier,”Tiberiassays,gesturingtotheMontfortleader.

Withaclearingofhisthroat,themanstands.Tallerthanmost,butweedy.Hehasthelookofapalefishwithanequallyemptyexpression.“KingVolo,wethankyouforyouraidinthedefenseofCorvium.Andhere,now,beforethe eyes of our leadership and your own, I would like to know yoursentimentsonwhatPrinceTiberiashasjustsaid.”

“Ifyouhaveaquestion,Premier,askit,”Fatherrumbles.

Themankeepshisfacestill,unreadable.Igetthesensehehidesasmanysecretsandambitionsastherestofus.WouldthatIcouldputthescrewstohim.“RedandSilver,YourMajesty.Whichcolorrisesinthisrebellion?”

Amusclequiversinonepalecheekasmyfatherexhales.Herunsahandthroughhispointedbeard.“Both,Premier.Thisisawarforusboth.Onthisyouhavemyword,swornontheheadsofmychildren.”

Thankyousomuch,Father.TheRedcommanderwouldcollectthatpricewithasmileifgiventheopportunity.

“Prince Tiberias speaks truthfully,” Father continues, lying though histeeth. “Ourworld has changed.Wemust changewith it.Common enemiesmakestrangeallies,butwearealliesallthesame.”

As with Salin, I sense a noose tightening. It loops around my neck,threateningtohangmeabovetheabyss.Isthiswhattherestofmylifewillfeellike?Iwanttobestrong.ThisiswhatItrainedandsufferedfor.Thisiswhat I thought Iwanted.But freedomwas too sweet.One gasp of it and Ican’tletgo.I’msorry,Elane.I’msosorry.

“Doyouhaveotherquestionsabouttheterms,PremierDavidson?”Fatherpusheson.“Orshallwecontinueplanningtheoverthrowofatyrant?”

“Andwhattermswouldthosebe?”Mare’svoicesoundsdifferent,andnowonder.Iknewherlastasaprisoner,smotheredalmostbeyondrecognition.Hersparkshavereturnedwithavengeance.SheglancesbetweenFatherandherpremier,lookingtothemforanswers.

Father is almost gleeful as he explains, and I holdmybreath.Saveme,MareBarrow.Loose the storm I knowyouhave.Bewitch theprinceasyoualwaysdo.

“The Kingdom of the Rift will stand in sovereignty after Maven isremoved.Thekingsofsteelwillreignforgenerations.WithallowancesmadeformyRedcitizens,of course. Ihaveno intentionof creatinga slave stateliketheoneNortais.”

Marelooksfarfromconvinced,butholdshertongue.

“Ofcourse,Nortawillneedakingofherown.”

Hereyeswiden.Horrorbleedsthroughher,andshewhipsherheadtoCal,lookingforanswers.Heseemsjustastakenabackasshefumes.Thelightninggirliseasiertoreadthanthepagesofachildren’sbook.

Anabelrisesfromherseattostandproudly.Herlinedfacebeamsassheturns to Cal, putting a hand to his cheek.He’s too shocked to react to hertouch.“MygrandsonistherightfulkingofNorta,andthethronebelongstohim.”

“Premier…,”Marewhispers,nowlookingattheMontfortleader.Sheisalmostbegging.Aflickerofsadnesspierceshismask.

“MontfortpledgestobacktheinstallmentofCa—”Hestopshimself.ThemanlooksanywherebutatMareBarrow.“KingTiberias.”

Acurrentofheatripplesontheair.Theprinceisangry,violentlyso.Andtheworstisyettocome,forallofus.IfI’mlucky,he’llburnthetowerdown.

“WewillcementthealliancebetweentheRiftandtherightfulkingintheusual way,” Mother says, twisting the knife. She enjoys this. It takes

everythingtokeepmytearsinside,wherenooneelsecansee.

Theimplicationofherwordsisnotlostonanyone.Calgivesastrangledsortofyelp,agaspveryunbecomingofaprince,letaloneaking.

“Evenafterallthis,Queenstrialstillbroughtfortharoyalbride.”Motherrunsahandovermine,herfingerscrossingwheremyweddingringwillbe.

Suddenlythehighchamberfeelsstifling,andthesmellofbloodcrashesthroughmysenses. It’sall Ican thinkabout,andI lean into thedistraction,lettingthesharpironbiteoverwhelmme.Myjawclenches,teethtightagainstall the things Iwant tosay.They rattle inmy throat,begging tobe loose. Idon’t want this anymore. Let me go home. Each word is a betrayal to myhouse, my family, my blood.My teeth grate against one another, bone onbone.Alockedcageformyheart.

Ifeeltrappedinsidemyself.

Makehimchoose,Mare.Makehimturnmeaside.

Shebreathesheavily,herchestrisingandfallingatrapidspeed.Likeme,shehas toomanywords shewants to scream. I hope she sees howmuch Iwanttorefuse.

“No one thought to consult me,” the prince hisses, pushing hisgrandmother away. His eyes burn. He has perfected the art of glaring at adozenpeopleatonce.“Youmeantomakemeaking—withoutmyconsent?”

Anabelhasnofearofflameandseizeshisfaceagain.“We’renotmakingyouanything.We’resimplyhelpingyoubewhatyouare.Yourfatherdiedforyour crown, and you want to throw it away? For who? Abandon yourcountry?Forwhat?”

Hehasnoanswer.Sayno.Sayno.Sayno.

But already I see the tug.The lure. Power seduces all, and itmakes usblind.Cal isnot immuneto it. Ifanything,heisparticularlyvulnerable.Allhis life he watched a throne, preparing for a day it would be his. I knowfirsthand that’snot ahabit apersoncaneasilybreak.And Iknow firsthandthat few things taste sweeter than a crown. I thinkofElane again.DoeshethinkofMare?

“Ineedsomeair,”hewhispers.

Ofcourse,Marefollowshimout,sparkstremblinginherwake.

Oninstinct,Ialmostcallforanothercupofwine.ButIrefrain.Mareisn’there to stop the commander if she snaps again, andmore alcoholwill just

makemesickerthanIalreadyam.

“LongliveTiberiastheSeventh,”Anabelsays.

The chamber echoes the sentiment. I only mouth the words. I feelpoisoned.

EPILOGUE

Hescrapeshisbraceletstogetherangrily,lettinghiswristsspitsparks.Noneofthemcatchorburstintoflame.Sparkafterspark,eachonecoldandweakcompared tomine.Useless.Futile. I followhimdowna spiraling stair to abalcony.Ifithasalovelyview,Idon’tknow.Idon’thavethecapacitytoseemuchfartherthanCal.Everythinginsidemequivers.

Hope and fear battle throughme in equalmeasure. I see it in Cal too,flashingbehindhiseyes.Astormragesinthebronze,twokindsoffire.

“You promised,” I whisper, trying to tear him apart without moving amuscle.

Calpaceswildlybeforeputtinghisback to the railsof thebalcony.Hismouth flops open and closed, searching for something to say. For anyexplanation.He’s notMaven. He’s not a liar, I have to remindmyself.Hedoesn’twanttodothistoyou.Butwillthatstophim?

“Ididn’tthink—whatlogicalpersoncouldwantmetobekingafterwhatI’vedone?Tellmeifyoutrulythoughtanyonewouldletmeneara throne,”hesays.“I’vekilledSilvers,Mare,myownpeople.”Heburieshisfaceinhisblazinghands,scrubbingthemoverhisfeatures.Likehewantstopullhimselfinsideout.

“YoukilledRedstoo.Ithoughtyousaidtherewasnodifference.”

“Differencenotdivision.”

Isnarl.“YoumakeawonderfulspeechaboutequalitybutletthatSamosbastardsitthereandclaimakingdomjustliketheonewewanttoend.Don’tlieandsayyoudidn’tknowabouthis terms,hisnewcrown….”MyvoicetrailsawaybeforeIcanspeaktherestaloud.Andmakeitreal.

“YouknowIhadnoidea.”

“Not one?” I raise an eyebrow. “Not awhisper fromyour grandmother.Notevenadreamofthis?”

Heswallowshard,unabletodenyhisdeepestdesires.Sohedoesn’teventry.“There’snothingwecandotostopSamos.Notyet—”

I slap him across the face.His headmoveswith themomentum of theblowandstaysthatway,lookingouttothehorizonIrefusetosee.

Myvoicecracks.“I’mnottalkingaboutSamos.”

“Ididn’tknow,”hesays,thewordssoftontheashwind.Sadly,Ibelievehim.Itmakesithardertostayangry,andwithoutangerIhaveonlyfearandsorrow.“Ireallydidn’tknow.”

Tearsburnsalty tracksdownmycheeks,and Ihatemyself forcrying. Ijust watched who knows how many people die, and killed many of themmyself.HowcanIshedtearsoverthis?Overonepersonstillbreathingrightbeforemyeyes?

Myvoicehitches.“IsthisthepartwhereIaskyoutochooseme?”

Becauseitisachoice.Heneedonlysayno.Oryes.Onewordholdsbothourfates.

Chooseme.Choosethedawn.Hedidn’tbefore.Hehastonow.

Shaking,Itakehisfaceinmyhandsandturnhimtolookatme.Whenhecan’t,when his bronze eyes focus onmy lips ormy shoulder or the brandexposedtothewarmair,somethinginsidemebreaks.

“Idon’thavetomarryher,”hemurmurs.“Thatcanbenegotiated.”

“No,itcan’t.Youknowitcan’t.”Ilaughcoldlyathisabsurdposturing.

His eyes darken. “Andyouknowwhatmarriage is to us—toSilvers. Itdoesn’tmeananything. Ithasnobearingonwhatwefeel,andwhowefeelfor.”

“Doyoureallythinkit’sthemarriageI’mangryabout?”Rageboilsinme,hot and wild and impossible to ignore. “Do you really think I have anyambitiontobeyour—oranyone’s—queen?”

Warmfingerstrembleagainstmine,theirgriptighteningasIstarttoslipaway.“Mare,thinkofwhatIcando.WhatkindofkingIcanbe.”

“Whydoesanyoneneedtobekingatall?”Iaskslowly,sharpeningeveryword.

Hehasnoanswer.

In the palace, duringmy imprisonment, I learned thatMaven had beenmadebyhismother,formedintothemonsterhebecame.Thereisnothingonearththatcanchangehimorwhatshedid.ButCalwasmadetoo.Allofuswere made by someone else, and all of us have some thread of steel that

nothingandnoonecancut.

I thoughtCalwas immune to the corruptive temptation of power.HowwrongIwas.

Hewas born to be a king. It’swhat hewasmade for. It’swhat hewasmadetowant.

“Tiberias.” I’ve never said his real name before. It doesn’t suit him. Itdoesn’tsuitus.Butthat’swhoheis.“Chooseme.”

Hishandssmoothovermine,hisfingerssplayingtomatchmyown.Ashedoes, I shutmyeyes. Iallowmyselfone longsecond tomemorizewhathefeels like.Like that day inPiedmont,when the rainstorm caught us both, Iwanttoburn.Iwanttoburn.

“Mare,”hewhispers.“Chooseme.”

Choose a crown. Choose another king’s cage. Choose a betrayal toeverythingyou’vebledfor.

Ifindmythreadofsteeltoo.Thinbutunbreakable.

“I am in lovewith you, and Iwant youmore than anything else in theworld.” His words sound hollow coming from me. “Anything else in thisworld.”

Slowly,myeyelidsflutteropen.Hefindsthespinetomatchmygaze.

“Thinkwhatwecoulddotogether,”hemurmurs,tryingtopullmecloser.Myfeethold firm.“Youknowwhatyouare tome.Withoutyou, Ihavenoone.Iamalone.Ihavenothingleft.Don’tleavemealone.”

Mybreathingturnsragged.

Ikisshimforwhatcouldbe,whatmightbe,whatwillbe—thelasttime.Hislipsfeelstrangelycoldaswebothturntoice.

“You aren’t alone.” The hope in his eyes cuts deeply. “You have yourcrown.”

IthoughtIknewwhatheartbreakwas.IthoughtthatwaswhatMavendidtome.Whenhe stood and leftmekneeling.Whenhe toldmeeverything Ieverthoughthimtobewasalie.Butthen,IbelievedIlovedhim.

I know now, I didn’t know what love was. Or what even the echo ofheartbreakfeltlike.

Tostandinfrontofapersonwhoisyourwholeworldandbetoldyouare

notenough.Youarenot thechoice.Youareashadowto thepersonwho isyoursun.

“Mare, please.” He begs like a child in his desperation. “How did youthinkthiswasgoingtoend?Whatdidyoureallythinkwouldhappennext?”Ifeeltheheatofhimevenaseverypartofmegoescold.“Youdon’thavetodothis.”

ButIdo.

Iturnaway,deaftohisprotests.Buthedoesn’ttrytostopme.Heletsmewalkaway.

Blooddrownsouteverythingbutmyscreamingthoughts.Terrible ideas,hatefulwords, brokenand twisted like abirdwithoutwings.They limpby,eachoneworsethanthelast.Notagod’schosen,butagod’scursed.That’swhatweallare.

It’sawonderIdon’tfalldownthespiralingstepsofthetower—amiracleImakeitoutsidewithoutcollapsing.Thesunoverheadishatefullybright,aharshcontrast to theabyss insideme. Ishoveahanddeep intomyuniformpocketandbarelyregisterthesharpstingofsomething.Itdoesn’ttakelongtorealize—theearring.TheoneCalgaveme.Ialmostlaughatthethoughtofit.Anotherbrokenpromise.AnotherCalorebetrayal.

Aburningneedtoruntugsatmyheart.IwantKilorn,IwantGisa.IwantShadetoappearandtellmethisisanotherdream.Iimaginethembesideme,theirwordsandopenarmsacomfort.

Anothervoicedrownsthemout.Itburnsmyinsides.

Calfollowsorders,buthecan’tmakechoices.

IsighatthethoughtofMaven’swords.Caldidmakeachoice.Andinthedeepest parts ofmyself, I’m not surprised. The prince is as he has alwaysbeen. A good person at his core, but unwilling to act. Unwilling to trulychangehimself.Thecrownisinhisheart,andheartsdonotchange.

Farley findsme in an alley, staring at awallwith blank eyes,my tearslongsincedried.Shehesitatesforonce,herboldnesslonggone.Instead,sheapproaches with almost tender slowness, a hand outstretched to touch myshoulder.

“Ididn’tknowuntilyoudid,”shemurmurs.“Iswearit.”

Thepersonshelovedisdead,stolenbysomeoneelse.Minechosetowalkaway.Chose everything I hate over everything I am. Iwonderwhich hurts

more.

Before I let myself relax into her, allow her to comfort me, I noticesomeoneelsestandingnearby.

“Iknew,”PremierDavidsonsays.Itsoundslikeanapology.AtfirstIfeelanother surge of anger, but it isn’t his fault. Cal didn’t have to agree. Caldidn’thavetoletmego.

Caldidn’thavetoeagerlyleapintoawell-baitedtrap.

“Divideandconquer,”Iwhisper,rememberinghisownwords.Thefogofheartbreak clears enough for me to understand. Montfort and the ScarletGuardwouldneversupportaSilverking,nottruly.Notwithoutothermotivesinplay.

Davidsonnodshishead.“It’stheonlywaytobeatthem.”

Samos, Calore, Cygnet. The Rift, Norta, the Lakelands. All driven bygreed,allreadytobreakoneanotherforanalready-brokencrown.AllpartofMontfort’sownplan.Iforceanotherbreath,andtrytorecover.TrytoforgetCal,forgetMaven,focusontheroadahead.Whereitleads,Idon’tknow.

Somewhereinthedistance,somewhereinmybones,thunderrolls.

We’regoingtoletthemkilleachother.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thankyoutothearmiesofpeoplewhomadeandcontinuetomakemybooksa possibility. To my editor Kristen and the entire editorial team, theHarperTeen andHarperCollins family,Gina, theElizabeths (bothWard andLynch),Margot,thebestcoverdesignerintheworld,SarahKaufman,andthedesign team.Toour foreignpublishersandagents, theUniversal film team,Sara, Elizabeth, Jay, Gennifer, and of course, the powerhouse that is NewLeafLiterary.Suzie,alwaysinmycorner.Pouya,Kathleen,Mia,Jo,Jackie,Jaida, Hilary, Chris, Danielle, and Sara keeping my head on straight andcomingthroughwithsomeamazingnotestoshapeKing’sCage.NewLeafisalwayspushingforward.Andoncemore,toSuzie,becauseIcanneverthankherenough.

Thankyou to the justas formidablearmy that ismyfriendsandfamily.Myparents,LouandHeather,stillthereasonforallthisandthedrivebehindeverythingIam.Mybrother,Andy,who isnowabetteradult thanme.Mygrandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins, with great love to Kim andMichelle, theclosest thingsIhave tosisters.Thankyou to friendsfrommyold home, Natalie, Alex, Katrina, Kim, Lauren, and more. Thank you tofriendsfrommynewhome,Bayan,Angela,Erin,Jenn,Ginger,Jordan,whatseemslikemostofCulverCity,andwhoeverendsupintherockingchairsforPMCCSunday.ThankyoutomybunkmatesinSlytherinCommonRoom,Jenand Morgan, and the missing bunkmate, Tori, who always has bedcouchwaiting.

Thismightbeabraggingparagraph,butI’vemadesomanyrealfriendsand grown so much throughmeeting other authors over the past year.WehaveaweirdjobthatIcouldnotdowithoutyouguys.Iwouldberemissnottoname,shame,andthankafewofyou.First,EmmaTheriault.Rememberthatname.Hersupporthasbeeninvaluableovertheyears.Thankyou,innoparticularorder,toAdamSilvera,ReneeAhdieh,LeighBardugo,JennyHan,Veronica Roth, Soman Chainani, Brendan Reichs, Dhonielle Clayton,Maurene Goo, Sarah Enni, Kara Thomas, Danielle Paige, and the entireYALLfamily.WarriormotherMargieStohl.The first friend I evermade inthisindustry,SabaaTahir,whocontinuestobeatorchagainstthenightfalling

aroundus.MydeepestloveandadmirationtoSusanDennard,whoisnotonlyan exemplary human, but a deeply talentedwriterwith unparalleled insightinto our craft. And of course, Alex Bracken, who tolerates too many textmessage rants to count, is both equally versed in StarWars and Americanhistory,hasthecutestchild-emperordogintheworld,andisatrulysteadfast,lovely,determined,intelligentfriendwhohappenstobeacrackerjackwriteraswell.IthinkIranoutofadjectives.

I’mblessedenoughtohavereaders,anditgoeswithoutsaying,Iextendmydeepestgratitude to eachandeveryoneofyou.Toquote JK, “no storylivesunlesssomeonewantstolisten.”Thankyouforlistening.Andthankyouto theentireYAcommunity.You’vebeena light through thedarkwavesof2016.

Last time around I thanked pizza, and that stands. Thank you to theNationalParksandtheNationalParksService,whocontinuetomaintainandprotect the natural beauty of the country I love. Happy 100th birthday! Tolearnmore,volunteer,ordonate,gotowww.nps.gov/getinvolved.Ournaturaltreasuresmustbeprotectedforgenerationstocome.

ThankyoutoHillaryRodhamClinton,BernieSanders,ElizabethWarren,PresidentBarackObama,FirstLadyMichelleObama,andallthoseworkingtodefendtherightsofwomen,minorities,MuslimAmericans,refugees,andLGBTQ+ Americans. Thank you to Mitt Romney for his unwaveringoppositiontodemagoguery,andhispatrioticdutytotheUnitedStates.Thankyou to JohnMcCain for his continued fight against torture, as well as hisyears of service and his defense ofmilitary families. Thank you toCharlieBaker, Governor of Massachusetts, for his support of common sense gunreform,women’s rights, andmarriage equality.And just in case any of theabovehasanabout-facebythetimewepublish,theseacknowledgmentswerewritteninNovember2016.

Thank you to the Khans, and to every Gold Star family in our nation.Thankyoutoeverymemberofourmilitary,everyveteran,andeverymilitaryfamily serving theUnited States with sacrificesmost of us cannot fathom.And thankyou toeveryeducator inourcountry.Youare thehandsshapingthefuture.

ThankyoutothepeopleofScotland,whovotedagainstdivisionandfear.Thankyouto theelectedrepresentativesofCalifornia,whowillcontinue todefendtheirconstituents.ThankyoutoLin-ManuelMirandaandthecastofHamilton, who have performed a true service to our country through theirlastingart.Youguysarenonstop.

Thankyoutoeveryoneinpositionsofpowerwhospeakandstandagainstinjustice, tyranny, and hatred in the United States, and across the globe.Thankyoutoeveryonelistening,andwatching,andkeepingyoureyesopen.

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ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

PHOTOCREDITSTEPHANIEGIRARDOFSTEPHANIEGIRARDPHOTOGRAPHY

VICTORIA AVEYARD was born and raised in East Longmeadow,Massachusetts, a small town known only for theworst traffic rotary in thecontinental United States. She moved to Los Angeles to earn a BFA inscreenwritingattheUniversityofSouthernCalifornia.Shecurrentlysplitshertime between theEast andWest coasts.As an author and screenwriter, sheuses her career as an excuse to read toomany books andwatch toomanymovies.Youcanvisitheronlineatwww.victoriaaveyard.com.

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RedQueen

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