I didn’t know what could possibly spur the exiled prince to action—until King Maven began his bleeding coronation tour. Clearly a ruse, definitely another plot. And it was headed straight for us. Everyone suspected an attack. And we had to strike first.
Cal was right about one thing. Taking the walls of Corvium was our best plan of action.
So he did it two days ago.
Working in conjunction with the Colonel and rebels already inside the fortress city, Cal led a strike force of Scarlet Guard and newblood soldiers. The blizzard was their cover, and the shock of an assault served them well. Cal knew better than to ask me to join. I waited back in Rocasta with Farley. Both of us paced by the radio, eager for news. I fell asleep, but she shook me awake before dawn, grinning. We held the walls. Corvium never saw it coming. The city boiled in chaos.
And we could no longer stay behind. Not even me. Admittedly, I wanted to go. Not to fight, but to see what victory actually looked like. And of course to get one step closer to the Choke, my brother, and some semblance of purpose.
So here I am, shrouded in the tree line with the rest of Farley’s unit, looking out at black walls and blacker smoke. Corvium burns from within. I can’t see much, but I know the reports. Thousands of Red soldiers, some spurred on by the Guard, turned on their officers as soon as Cal and the Colonel attacked. The city was already a powder keg. Fitting that a fire prince lit the fuse and let it explode. Even now, a day later, the fighting continues as we take the city, street by street. The occasional burst of gunfire breaks the relative silence, making me flinch.
I look away, trying to see farther than human reach. The sky here is dark already, the sun obscured by a cloudy gray sky. To the northwest, in the Choke, the clouds are black, heavy with ash and death. Morrey is out there, somewhere. Even though Maven released the underage conscripts, his unit hasn’t moved, according to our last intelligence reports. They’re the farthest away, deep in a trench. And the Scarlet Guard happens to be currently occupying the place his unit would return to. I try to block out the image of my twin huddled against the cold, his uniform too big, his eyes dark and sunken. But the thought is burned into my brain. I turn away, back to Corvium, to the task at hand. I need to keep my focus here. The sooner we take the city, the sooner we can get the conscripts moving. And then what? I ask myself. Send him home? To another hellhole?
I have no answers for the voice in my head. I can barely stomach the idea of sending Morrey back to the factories of New Town, even if it means sending him back to our parents. They’re my next goal, after I get my brother back. One impossible dream after another.
“Two Silvers just threw a Red soldier from a tower.” Ada squints into a pair of binoculars. Next to her, Farley remains still, arms calmly folded across her chest.
Ada continues to scan the walls, reading signals. In the gray light, her golden skin takes on a sallow hue. I hope she isn’t getting sick.
“They’re solidifying their position, retreating and regrouping into the central sector, behind the second ring wall. I calculate fifty at least,” she murmurs.
Fifty. I try to swallow my fear. I tell myself there’s no reason to be afraid. There’s an army between us and them. And no one is stupid enough to try to force me anywhere I don’t want to go. Not now, not with months of training behind me.
“Casualties?”
“A hundred of the Silver garrison dead. Most of the injured escaped with the rest into the wilderness. Probably to Rocasta. And there were less than a thousand in the city. Many had defected to the rebelling houses before Cal’s assault.”
“What about Cal’s newest report?” Farley asks Ada. “The Silvers deserting?”
“I included that in my calculations.” She almost sounds annoyed. Almost. Ada has a calmer disposition than any of us. “Seventy-eight are in holding now, under Cal’s protection.”
I put my hands on my hips, setting my weight. “There’s a difference between defection and surrender. They don’t want to join us; they just don’t want to end up dead. They know Cal will show mercy.”
“Would you rather he kill them all? Set everyone against us?” Farley snaps back, turning to me. After a second, she waves a hand dismissively. “There’s over five hundred of them still out there, ready to come back and slaughter us all.”
Ada ignores our jabbering and keeps her vigil. Up until she joined the Scarlet Guard, she was a housemaid to a Silver governor. She’s used to much worse than us. “I see Julian and Sara above the Prayer Gate,” she says.
I feel a squeeze of comfort. When Cal radioed in, he didn’t mention any casualties on his team, but nothing is ever certain. I’m glad Sara is all right. I squint toward the forbidding Prayer Gate, looking for the black-and-gold entry on the east end of the Corvium walls. On top of the parapets, a red flag waves back and forth, barely a glimmer of color against the overcast sky. Ada translates. “They’re signaling for us. Safe passage.”
She glances at Farley, waiting for her order. With the Colonel in the city, she’s the ranking officer here, and her word is good as law. Though she gives no indication of it, I realize she must be weighing her options. We have to cross open ground to get to the gates. It could easily be a trap.
“Do you see the Colonel?”
Good. She doesn’t trust a Silver. Not with our lives.
“No,” Ada breathes. She scans the walls again, her bright eyes taking in every block of stone. I watch her motions as Farley waits, still and stern. “Cal is with them.”
“Fine,” Farley says suddenly, her eyes lividly blue and resolute. “Let’s move out.”
I follow her begrudgingly. As much as I may hate to admit it, Cal isn’t the type to double-cross us. Not fatally, at least. He’s not his brother. I meet Ada’s eyes over Farley’s shoulder. The other newblood inclines her head a little as we walk.
I shove clenched fists into my pockets. If I look like a sullen teenager, I don’t care. That’s what I am: a scared, sullen teenager who can kill with a look. Fear eats me up. Fear of the city—and fear of myself.
I haven’t used my ability outside training in months, not since the magnetron bastards pulled our jet out of the sky. But I remember what it feels like, to use silence as a weapon. In Corros Prison, I killed people with it. Horrible people. Silvers keeping others like me trapped to slowly die. And the memory still makes me sick. I felt their hearts stop. I felt their deaths like they were happening to me. Such power—it frightens me. It makes me wonder what I could become. I think of Mare, the way she ricocheted between violent rage and numb detachment. Is that the price of abilities like ours? Do we have to choose—become empty, or become monsters?
We set out in silence, all of us hyperaware of our precarious position. We stand out sharply in the fresh snow, picking along in one another’s footprints. The newbloods in Farley’s unit are particularly on edge. One of Mare’s own, Lory, leads us with the awareness of a bloodhound, her head whipping back and forth. Her senses are incredibly heightened, so if there’s any imminent attack, she’ll see it, hear it, or smell it coming. After the raid on Corros Prison, after Mare was taken, she started dyeing her hair bloodred. It looks like a wound against the snow and iron sky. I level my gaze on her shoulder blades, ready to run if she so much as hesitates.
Even pregnant, Farley manages to look commanding. She pulls the rifle from her back, holds it in both hands. But she isn’t as alert as the others. Again her eyes slide in and out of focus. I feel a familiar pang of sadness for her.
“Did you come here with Shade?” I ask her quietly.
She snaps her head in my direction. “Why do you say that?”
“For a spy, you’re pretty easy to read sometimes.”
Her fingers drum along the barrel of her gun. “Like I said, Shade is still our main source of information on Corvium. I ran his operation here. That’s all.”
“Sure, Farley.”
We continue on in silence. Our breath mists on the air and the cold sets in, taking my toes first. In New Town we had winter, but never like this. Something to do with the pollution. And the heat from the factories kept us sweating at work, even in the depths of winter.
Farley is a Lakelander by birth, better suited to the weather. She doesn’t seem to notice the snow or the prickling cold. Her mind is still obviously somewhere else. With someone else.
“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go after my brother,” I mutter to the silence. Both for myself and for her. Something else to think about. “I’m glad he isn’t here.”
She glances at me sidelong. Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Is Cameron Cole admitting she was wrong about something?”
“I can do that much. I’m not Mare.”
Another person might think that rude to say. Farley grins instead. “Shade was stubborn too. Family trait.”
I expect his name to act as an anchor, dragging her down. Instead, it keeps her moving, one foot in front of the other. One word after the next. “I met him a few miles from here. I was supposed to be recruiting Whistle operatives from the Nortan black market. Use organizations already in place to better facilitate the Scarlet Guard. The Whistle in the Stilts gave me a lead on some soldiers up here who might be willing to coordinate.”
“Shade was one of them.”
She nods, thoughtful. “He was assigned to Corvium with the support troops. An officer’s aide. A good position for him, even better for us. He fed the Scarlet Guard miles of information, all funneled through me. Until it became clear he couldn’t stay any longer. He was being transferred to another legion. Someone knew he had an ability, and they were going to execute him for it.”
I’ve never heard this story. I doubt few have. Farley is not exactly forthcoming with her personal history. Why she’s telling me now, I can’t say. But I can see she needs to. I let her talk, giving her what she wants.
“And then when his sister . . . I’ve never seen him so terrified. We watched Queenstrial together. Watched her fall, watched her lightning. He thought the Silvers were going to kill her. You know the rest of that, I assume.” She bites a lip, looking down the length of her rifle. “It was his idea. We already had to get 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 care enough to follow through on dead Reds. Of course, his family minded. That part stuck him for a while.”
“But he still did it.” I try to be understanding, but I can’t imagine putting my own family through something like that, not for anything.
“He had to. And—and it served as a good motivation. Mare joined up after she found out. One Barrow for another.”
“So that part of her speech wasn’t a lie.” I think about what Mare was forced to say, glaring down a camera like it was a firing squad. They asked if I wanted vengeance for his death. “No wonder she has personality issues. No one tells the girl the truth about anything.”
“It’ll be a long road back for her,” Farley murmurs.
“For everyone.”
“And now she’s on that infernal tour with the king,” Farley rattles on. She spools up like a machine, her voice gaining momentum and strength with every passing second. Shade’s ghost disappears. “It will make things easier. Still horribly difficult, of course, but the knot is loosened.”
“Is there a plan in place? She’s getting closer by the day. Arborus, the Iron Road—”
“She was in Rocasta yesterday.”
The silence around us shifts. If the rest of our unit weren’t listening before, they certainly are now. I look back to lock my gaze on Ada. Her liquid-amber eyes widen, and I can almost see the cogs turning in her flawless mind.
Farley presses on. “The king visited the wounded soldiers evacuated from the first wave of attack. I didn’t know until we were halfway here. If I had, maybe . . .” she breathes. “Well, it’s too late for that now.”
“The king practically travels with an army,” I tell her. “She’s guarded night and day. There was nothing you could have done, not with just us.”
Still her cheeks flush, and not from the cold. Her fingers keep tapping idly on the stock of her gun. “Probably not,” she replies. “Probably not.” Softer, to convince herself.
Corvium casts a shadow over us, and the temperature drops in the gloomy shade. I pull up the neck of my collar farther, trying to burrow into its warmth. The black-walled monstrosity seems to howl at us.
“There. The Prayer Gate.” Farley points to an open mouth of iron fangs and golden teeth. Blocks of Silent Stone line the arch, but I can’t feel them. They don’t affect me. To my relief, Red soldiers man the gate, marked by rust-colored uniforms and worn boots. We move forward, off the snowy road and into the jaws of Corvium. Farley looks up at the Prayer Gate as we pass through, her eyes wide, blue, and trembling. Under her breath, I hear her whisper something to herself.
“As you enter, you pray to leave. As you leave, you pray never to return.”
Even though no one is listening, I pray too.
Cal bends over a desk, knuckles pressed against the flat of the wood. His armor piles in a heap in the corner, plates of black leather discarded to show the muscled hulk of the young man beneath. Sweat plasters black hair to his forehead and paints glistening lines of exertion down his neck. Not from heat, though his ability warms the room better than any fire. No, this is fear. Shame. I wonder how many Silvers he was forced to kill. Not enough, part of me whispers. Still, the sight of him, the horrors of the siege plainly written on his face, gives even me enough reason to pause. I know this is not easy. It can’t be.
He stares at nothing, bronze eyes boring holes. He doesn’t move when I enter the room, trailing behind Farley. She goes to the Colonel, sitting across from him, one hand on his temple, the other smoothing a map or schematic of some kind. Probably Corvium, judging by the octagonal shape and expanding rings that must be walls.
I feel Ada at my back, hesitant to join us. I have to give her a nudge. She’s better at this than anyone, her exquisite brain a gift to the Scarlet Guard. But a maid’s training is hard to break.
“Go on,” I murmur, putting a hand on her wrist. Her skin isn’t as dark as mine, but in the shadows we all start to blend together.
She gives me a tiny nod and an even tinier smile. “Which ring are they in? Central?”
“Core tower,” the Colonel replies. He raps the corresponding place on the map. “Well fortified, even at the subterranean levels. Learned that the hard way.”
Ada sighs. “Yes, the core is built for something like this. A final stand, well armed and provisioned. Sealed twice over. And stuffed to the brim with fifty trained Silvers. With the bottleneck, there might as well be five times that number in there.”
“Like spiders in a hole,” I mutter.
The Colonel scoffs. “Maybe they’ll start to eat each other.”
Cal’s wince does not go unnoticed. “Not while a common enemy hammers at the door. Nothing unites Silvers so much as someone to hate.” He doesn’t look up from the desk, keeping his eyes fixed on the wood. The meaning is clear. “Especially now that everyone knows the king is near.” His face darkens, a storm cloud. “They can wait.”
With a low growl, Farley finishes the thought for him. “And we can’t.”
“If ordered, the legions of the Choke can hard march back here in a day’s time. Less if . . . motivated.” Ada wavers over the last word. She doesn’t need to elaborate. I can already see my brother, technically freed by Maven’s new laws, being driven on by Silver officers, forced to run through the snow. Only to throw himself against his own.
“Surely the Reds would join us,” I say, thinking aloud, if only to combat the images in my head. “Let Maven send his armies. It will only bolster ours. The soldiers will turn like the ones here did.”
“She might have a point—” the Colonel begins, agreeing with me for once. A strange sensation. But Farley cuts him off.
“Might. The garrison in Corvium has been stirred up for months, inciting its own havoc, pushed and prodded and boiled to this explosion. I can’t say the same for the legions. Or the amount of Silvers he’ll convince into service.”
Ada agrees with her, nodding along. “King Maven has been careful with the Corvium narrative. He paints everything here as terrorism, not rebellion. Anarchy. The work of a bloodthirsty, genocidal Scarlet Guard. The Reds of the legions, the Reds of the kingdom, have no idea what’s happening here.”
Seething, Farley puts a protective hand on her belly. “I’ve lost enough on ifs and maybes.”
“We all have,” Cal says, his voice distant. Finally he pulls away from the desk and turns his back on us all. He crosses to the window in a few long strides, looking out over a city still burning.
Smoke drifts on the icy wind, spitting black into the sky. It reminds me of the factories. I shudder to remember them. The tattoo on my neck itches, but I don’t scratch with my crooked fingers. Broken too many times to count. Sara asked to fix them once. I didn’t let her. Like the tattoo, like the smoke, they remind me of what I came from, and what no one else should endure.
“I don’t suppose you have any ideas for this?” Farley asks, taking the map from her father’s hands. She glances sidelong at the exiled prince.
Cal shrugs, his broad shoulders rolling in silhouette. “Too many. All bad. Unless—”
“I’m not going to let them walk out of here,” the Colonel snaps. He sounds annoyed. I suppose they argued this through already. “Maven is too close. They’ll run to his side and come back with a vengeance, with more warriors.”
The gleaming bracelet at Cal’s wrist flickers, birthing sparks that travel along his arm in a quick burst of red flame. “Maven is coming anyway! You heard the reports. He’s already in Rocasta and moving west. He’s marching here in a parade, waving and smiling to hide that he’s coming to take back Corvium. And he’ll do it if you fight him in a broken city with our backs against a cage of wolves!” He spins around to face the Colonel, shoulders still smoldering with embers. Usually he can control himself enough to save his clothes. Not so now. Smoke clings to him, revealing charred holes in his undershirt. “A battle on two fronts is suicide.”
“And what about hostages? You mean to tell me there’s no one of value in that tower?” the Colonel barks back.
“Not to Maven. He already has the only person he would ever trade anything for.”
“So we can’t starve them, can’t release them, can’t bargain.” Farley ticks off words on her hand.
“And you can’t kill them all.” I tap a finger against my lip. Cal looks at me, surprised. I simply shrug. “If there was a way, if it was acceptable, the Colonel would have done it already.”
“Ada?” Farley prods softly. “Can you see anything we can’t?”
Her eyes fly back and forth, scanning the schematic as well as her memories. Figures, strategies, everything at her mammoth disposal. Her silence is not at all comforting.
“What we need is that bleeding seer,” I mumble. I never met Jon, the one who made it possible for Mare to find and capture me. But I’ve seen him enough on Maven’s broadcasts. “Make him do the work for us.”
“If he wanted to help, he’d be here. But that damned ghost is in the wind,” Cal curses. “Didn’t even have the decency to take Mare with him when he escaped.”
“No use dwelling on what we can’t change.” Farley scuffs her boot against the cold floor. “So is brute force the only thing left to us? Take the tower down stone by stone? Pay for every inch with a gallon of blood?”
Before Cal can explode again, the door wrenches open. Julian and Sara all but tumble inside, both of them wide-eyed and silver-flushed. The Colonel jumps to his feet, in surprise and defense. None of us are fools where Silvers are concerned. Our fear of them is bone-deep, bred into our blood.
“What is it?” he asks, his red eye a scarlet gleam. “Done with the interrogation so soon?”
Julian bristles at the word interrogation, sneering. “My questions are a mercy compared to what you would do.”
“Pah,” Farley scoffs. She eyes Cal and he shifts, embarrassed under her gaze. “Don’t tell me about Silver mercy.”
I care little for Julian and trust him less, but the look on Sara’s face is startling. She stares at me, her gray face full of pity and fear. “What is it?” I ask her, though I know only Julian can answer. Even in Corvium, she hasn’t yet found another skin healer willing to return her tongue. All of them must be in the core tower, or dead.
“General Macanthos oversees training command,” Julian says. Like Sara, he glances at me with hesitation. My pulse pounds in my ears. Whatever he’s about to say, I won’t like. “Before the siege, part of a legion was recalled for further instruction. They were unfit to man the trenches. Even for Reds.”
My rushing blood starts to howl in my ears, a gale that almost drowns Julian out. I feel Ada step to my side, her shoulder brushing mine. She knows where this is going. I do too.
“We retrieved the rolls. A few hundred children of the Dagger Legion, called back to Corvium. Unreleased, even after Maven’s decree. We accounted for most, but some . . .” Julian forces himself on, though he stumbles over the words. “They’re hostages. In the core, with the remaining Silver officers.”
I put a hand to the cool office wall, letting it steady me. My silence begs, pushing beneath my skin, wanting to expand and drag down everything in the room. I have to say the words myself, because apparently Julian won’t. “My brother is in there.”
The Silver bastard hesitates, drawing it out. Finally, he speaks. “We think so.”
The roar of my thrumming heart overpowers their voices. I hear nothing as I run from the room, evading their hands, sprinting down through the administrative headquarters. If anyone follows, I don’t know. I don’t care.
The only thing on my mind is Morrey. Morrey and the fifty soon-to-be corpses standing between us.
I am not Mare Barrow. I will not give my brother to this.
My silence curls around me, heavy as smoke, soft as feathers, dripping from every pore like sweat. It isn’t a physical thing. It won’t tear the core down for me. My ability is for flesh and flesh alone. I’ve been practicing. It scares me, but I need it. Like a hurricane, the silence churns around me, surrounding the eye of a growing storm.
I don’t know where I’m going, but Corvium is easy to navigate. And the core is self-explanatory. The city is orderly, well planned, a giant gear. I understand that. My feet slam against the pavement, propelling me through the outer ward. On my left, the high walls of Corvium scrape at the sky. To the right, barracks, offices, training facilities pile against the second ring of granite walls. I have to find the next gate, start working inward. My crimson scarf is camouflage enough. I look like Scarlet Guard. I could be Scarlet Guard. The Red soldiers let me run, too distracted or too excited or too busy to care about another wayward rebel tearing through their midst. They’ve overthrown their masters. I’m as good as invisible to them.
But not to His Bleeding Royal Highness, Tiberias Calore.
He grabs my arm, forcing me to spin. If not for my silence pulsing around us, I know he would be on fire. The prince is smart, using our momentum to toss me back—and keep himself out of my deadly hands.
“Cameron!” he shouts, one hand outstretched. His fingers flicker, the flames on them gasping for air. When he takes another step back, planting himself firmly in my path, they blaze stronger, licking up to his elbow. His armor is back on. Interlocking plates of leather and steel thicken his silhouette. “Cameron, you’ll die if you go in the tower alone. They’ll rip you apart.”
“What do you care?” I snarl back. My bones lock, joints tightening, and I push a bit more. The silence reaches him. His fire gutters and his throat bobs. He feels it. I’m hurting him. Hold it. Remember your constant. Not too much, not too little. I push a bit more and he takes another step back, another step in the direction I must go. The second gate taunts me from over his shoulder. “I’m here for one reason.” I don’t want to fight him. I just want him to stand aside. “I’m not letting your people kill him.”
“I know!” he growls back, his voice guttural. I wonder if all of his fire kind have eyes like his. Eyes that burn and smolder. “I know you’re going in there. So would I if—so would I.”
“Then let me go.”
He sets his jaw, a picture of determination. A mountain. Even now, in burned clothes, bruised, his body a wreck and his mind a ruin, he looks like a king. Cal is exactly the kind of person who will never kneel. It’s not in him. He was not made that way.
But I’ve been broken too many times to break again.
“Cal, let me go. Let me get him.” It sounds like begging.
This time he steps forward. And the flames on his fingers turn blue, so hot they singe the air. Still they waver before my ability, fighting to breathe, fighting to burn. I could snuff them out if I wanted to. I could seize all that he is and tear him apart, kill him, feel every centimeter of him die. Part of me wants to. A foolish part, ruled by anger and rage and blind vengeance. I let it fuel my ability, let it make me strong, but I don’t let it control me. Just as Sara taught. It’s a thin line to walk.
His eyes narrow, as if he knows what I’m thinking. So I’m surprised when he says the words. I almost don’t hear them over the sound of my hammering heart.
“Let me help.”
Before the Scarlet Guard, I used to think allies operated on exactly the same page. Machines in tandem, working toward the same goal. How naive of me. Cal and I are seemingly on the same side, but we absolutely do not want the same thing.
He’s open with his plan. Detailing it fully. Enough for me to realize how he intends to use my rage, use my brother, to fulfill his own ends. Distract the guards, get into the core tower, use your silence as a shield, and make the Silvers hand over their hostages in exchange for freedom. Julian will open the gates; I’ll escort them myself. No bloodshed. No more siege. Corvium will be entirely ours.
A good plan. Except the Silver garrison will go free, released to rejoin Maven’s army.
I grew up in a slum, but I’m not stupid. And I’m certainly not some moon-eyed girl about to swoon over Cal’s angled jaw and crooked smile either. His charm has its limits. He’s used to bewitching Barrow, not me.
If only the prince had a bit more edge. Cal is too softhearted for his own good. He won’t leave the Silver soldiers to the Colonel’s nonexistent mercy, even if the only alternative is letting them go just to fight us again.
“How long do you need?” I ask. Lying to his face isn’t difficult. Not when I know he’s trying to trick me too.
He grins. He thinks he’s won me over. Perfect. “A few hours to get my ducks in a row. Julian, Sara—”
“Fine. I’ll be at the outer barracks when you’re ready.” I turn away, forcing an oh-so-thoughtful stare into the distance. The wind picks up, stirring my braids. It feels warmer, not because of Cal, but from the sun. Spring will be here eventually. “Need to clear my head.”
The prince nods in understanding. He claps a fiery hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. In reply, I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. As soon as I turn my back, I let it drop. He stays behind, his eyes burning holes into my back until the gentle curve of the ring wall obstructs me from view. Despite the rising temperature, a shiver trembles down my spine. I can’t let Cal do this. But I’m not going to let Morrey spend one more second in that tower.
Up ahead, Farley marches in my direction, moving as fast as her body will allow. Her face darkens when she spots me, her brow furrowing so intensely her entire face turns beet red. It makes the pearly white scar at the side of her mouth stand out worse than usual. All in all, an intimidating sight.
“Cole,” she snaps, her voice as stern as her father’s. “I was afraid you were about to go and do something really stupid.”
“Not me,” I reply, dropping to a mutter. She cocks her head, and I motion for her to follow.
Once we’re safely inside a storeroom, I tell her everything as fast as I can. She huffs through it all, as if Cal’s plan is just an annoyance and not completely dangerous to us all.
“He’s putting the entire city at risk,” I finish, exasperated. “And if he goes through with it—”
“I know. But I told you before: Montfort and Command want Cal with us, at almost any cost. He’s all but bulletproof. Anyone else would be shot for insurrection.” Farley scratches both hands along her scalp, pulling at stray bits of her blond hair. “I don’t want to do that, but a soldier who has no incentive to take orders and harbors his own agenda is not someone I want watching my back.”
“Command.” I hate the word, and whoever the hell it stands for. “Beginning to think they may not have our best interests at heart.”
Farley doesn’t disagree. “It’s hard, putting all our faith in them. But they see what we don’t, what we can’t. And now . . .” She heaves a breath. Her eyes lock on the floor with laser focus. “I hear Montfort is about to get a lot more involved.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
I scoff. “Don’t have the full picture? I’m shocked.”
The glare she aims at me could cut through bone. “The system isn’t perfect, but it protects us. If you’re going to be sullen, I’m not going to help.”
“Oh, now you have ideas?”
She grins darkly.
“A few.”
Harrick hasn’t lost his tendency to twitch.
He bobs his head up and down as Farley hisses our plan, lips moving quickly. She won’t be going into the tower with us, but she’s going to make sure we can actually get in.
Harrick seems wary. He isn’t a warrior. He didn’t come to Corros and he didn’t participate in the Corvium raid either, even though his illusions would have helped immensely. He arrived with the rest of us, trailing behind the pregnant captain. Something happened to him back when we still had Mare, on a newblood recruitment gone wrong. Since then, he’s stayed out of the fray, on the defense instead of in the thick of battle. I envy him. He doesn’t know what it feels like to kill someone.
“How many hostages?” he asks, voice quivering like his fingers. A red flush blooms in his cheeks, spreading beneath winter-paled skin.
“At least twenty,” I answer as quickly as I can. “We think my brother is one of them.”
“With at least fifty Silvers on guard,” Farley adds. She doesn’t gloss over the danger. She won’t trick him into doing this.
“Oh,” he mumbles. “Oh dear.”
Farley nods. “It’s up to you, of course. We can find other ways.”
“But none with less chance of bloodshed.”
“That’s right. Your illusions—” I press on, but he holds up a trembling hand. I wonder if his ability shakes like he does.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. I wait on tenterhooks, imploring him with every nerve in my body. He has to see how important this is. He has to.
“Fine.”
I have to restrain myself from celebrating. This is a good step, but not victory, and I can’t lose sight of that until Morrey is safe. “Thank you.” I clasp his hands, letting them shake in mine. “Thank you so much.”
He blinks rapidly, brown eyes meeting mine. “Don’t thank me until it’s over.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Farley mutters. She tries not to look grim, for our sakes. Her plan is hasty, but Cal is forcing our hand. “All right, follow me,” she says. “This is going to be quick, quiet, and with a little luck clean.”
We follow in her wake as she dodges soldiers of the Scarlet Guard as well as the Reds defecting to our side. Many touch their brows in deference to her. She’s a well-known figure in the organization, and we’re banking on the level of respect she commands. I pull at my braids as we go, tightening them as best I can. The tug is a good pain. It keeps me sharp. And it gives my hands something to do. Or else I might twitch as badly as Harrick.
With Farley leading the way, no one stops us at the ring gates, and we march to the center of Corvium, where the core tower looms. Black granite thrusts into the sky, dotted with windows and balconies. All are neatly shut, while soldiers ring the base in the dozens, keeping watch over the two fortified entrances to the tower. Colonel’s orders, I bet. He wasted no time doubling the guard after he realized I want in—and Cal wants the Silvers out. The captain doesn’t lead us up to the tower, but past it, into one of the structures built up against the central ring wall. Like the rest of the city, it is gold, iron, and black stone, shadowed even in broad daylight.
My heartbeat thuds, faster with every step forward into the gloom of one of the many prisons dotting Corvium. As planned, Farley leads us down a staircase, and we descend to the cell level. My skin crawls at the sight of bars, the stone walls waxy in the dim light of too few bulbs. At least the cells are empty. Cal’s defecting Silvers are over the Prayer Gate, confined to the room directly above arches of Silent Stone, where their abilities are nonexistent.
“I’ll distract the lower-level guards while Harrick slips you both past,” she says quietly, trying not to let her voice echo. Farley smoothly passes me two keys. “Iron first.” She indicates the rough, black metal key as big as my fist, then the glinting, dainty one with sharp teeth. “Silver second.”
I tuck them into separate pockets, easily within reach. “Got it.”
“I can’t muffle sound as well as sight yet, so we have to be as quiet as possible,” Harrick murmurs. He nudges the inside of my arm and matches his steps to mine. “Stay close. Let me keep the illusion as small as I can for as long as possible.”
I nod, understanding. Harrick needs to save his strength for the hostages.
The cells wind deeper and deeper into the ground beneath Corvium. It gets damper and colder by the minute, until my breath fogs. When light blazes around a corner, I feel no comfort. This is as far as Farley goes.
She gestures silently, waving us both back. I tuck closer to Harrick. This is it. Excitement and fear rage through me. I’m coming, Morrey.
My brother is close, surrounded by people who would kill him. I don’t have time to care if they kill me.
Something wobbles before my vision, dropping like a curtain. The illusion. Harrick braces me against his chest and we walk together, our footsteps matching. We can see everything well enough, but when Farley looks back to check, her eyes search wildly, sweeping back and forth. She can’t see us. And neither can the Guardsmen around the corner.
“Everything okay down here?” she crows, stomping on the stone much louder than necessary. Harrick and I follow at a safe distance and turn the passage to see six well-armed soldiers with red scarves and tactical gear. They stand across the narrow hall, shoulder to shoulder, firmly set.
They jump to attention in Farley’s presence. One, a meaty man with a neck bigger than my thigh, addresses her on behalf of the rest. “Yes, Captain. No sign of movement. If the Silvers intend to make an escape attempt, it won’t be through the tunnels. Even they aren’t that foolish.”
Farley clenches her jaw. “Good. Keep your eyes—oh!”
Wincing, she doubles over, bracing a hand on one of the midnight-black walls. The other clutches her belly. Her face furrows in pain.
The Guardsmen are quick to aid her, three jumping to her side in an instant. They leave a gap in their ranks much bigger than they need. Harrick and I move quickly, sliding along the opposite wall to reach the sealed door dead-ending the passage. Farley watches the door as she kneels, still faking a cramp or something worse. The illusion around me ripples a bit more, indicating Harrick’s concentration. He’s not just hiding us now, but a door yawning open behind a half-dozen soldiers assigned to protect it.
Farley yelps as I shove the iron key into the lock, twisting the mechanism. She keeps it up, her hisses of discomfort and cries of pain alternating in steady rhythm to distract from any squeaky hinges. Luckily, the door is well oiled. When it swings open, no one can see, and no one hears.
I shut it slowly, preventing the slam of iron on granite. The light disappears inch by inch, until we are left in almost pitch-black darkness. Not even Farley or her soldiers’ fussing follows, sufficiently muffled by the closed door.
“Let’s go,” I tell him, linking my arm to his tightly.
One, two, three, four . . . I count my steps in the darkness, one hand trailing on the freezing cold wall.
Adrenaline kicks in when we reach the second door, now directly below the core tower. I didn’t have enough time to memorize its structure, but I know the basics. Enough to get to the hostages and walk them right out into the safety of the central ward. Without hostages, the Silvers will have nothing to bargain with. They’ll have to submit.
Feeling along the door, I poke around for the keyhole. It’s small, and it takes a good amount of scraping to get the key in the lock properly. “Here we go,” I murmur. A warning to Harrick, and to myself.
As I ease open the way into the tower, I realize this could be the last thing I ever do. Even with my ability and Harrick’s, we’re no match for fifty Silvers. We die if this goes wrong. And the hostages, already subjected to so many horrors, will probably die too.
I won’t let that happen. I can’t.
The adjoining chamber is just as dark as the tunnel, but warmer. The tower is tightly sealed against the elements, just like Farley said. Harrick crowds in behind me and we shut the door together. His hand brushes mine. It isn’t twitching now. Good.
There should be some stairs . . . yes. I nudge my toes against a bottom step. Keeping my grip on Harrick’s wrist, I lead us up, toward dim but steadily growing light. Two flights up, just like the two flights down we took in the prison cells.
Murmurs reverberate off the walls, deep enough to hear but too muffled to decipher. Harried voices, whispered arguments. I blink rapidly as the darkness lifts and we reach the ground floor of the tower, our heads poking up from the steps. Warm light pools around us, illuminating the circular stairwell twisting up the tall, central chamber. The spine of the tower. Doors branch off at several landings, each one bolted shut. My heart beats a thunderous rhythm, so loud I think the Silvers might hear it.
Two of them patrol the stairwell, tense and ready for an assault. But we’re not soldiers and we aren’t Scarlet Guard. Their figures ripple slightly, like the surface of disturbed water. Harrick’s illusions are back, shielding us both from unfriendly eyes.
We move as one, following the voices. I can barely stand to breathe as we ascend the steps, making for the central chamber about three stories up. In Farley’s schematics, it spread the width of the tower, occupying an entire floor. That’s where the hostages will be, and the bulk of the Silvers holding out for Maven’s rescue or Cal’s mercy.
The Silver patrolmen are heavily muscled. Strongarms. Both have stone-gray faces and arms the size of tree trunks. They can’t snap me in two, not if I use my silence. But my ability has no effect on guns, and both have many. Double pistols, along with rifles slung across their shoulders. The tower is well stocked for a siege, and I guess that means they have more than enough ammunition to hold out.
One strongarm descends the stairs as we approach, his footsteps lumbering. I thank whatever idiot Silver put him on watch. His ability is brute force, nothing sensory. But he would certainly feel us if we bumped into him.
We slip by him slowly, our backs edged against the exterior tower wall. He passes without so much as a whiff of uncertainty, his focus elsewhere.
The other strongarm is more difficult to pass. He leans against a door, long legs angled out in front of him. They almost block the steps entirely, forcing Harrick and me to the far side of the stairs. I’m grateful for my height. It allows me to step over him without incident. Harrick is not so graceful. His twitching returns tenfold as he straddles the steps, trying not to make a sound.
Gritting my teeth, I let silence pool beneath my skin. I wonder if I can kill both these men before they raise the alarm. I already feel sick at the thought.
But then Harrick lurches forward, his foot catching the next step. It doesn’t make much noise, but enough to stir the Silver. He looks back and forth, and I freeze, gripping Harrick’s outstretched wrist. Terror claws at my throat, begging to scream out.
When he turns his back, looking down at his comrade, I nudge Harrick.
“Lykos, you hear something?” the strongarm calls down.
“Not a thing,” the other responds.
Each word covers our darting steps, allowing us to reach the top of the stairs and the door cracked ajar. I breathe the quietest sigh of relief imaginable. My hands are shaking too.
Inside the room, voices bicker. “We have to surrender,” someone says.
Barks of opposition sound in response, drowning out our entry. We slip in like mice and find ourselves in a room crawling with hungry cats. Silver officers congregate along the walls, most of them wounded. The smell of blood is overpowering. Moans of pain permeate the many arguments arcing across the chamber. Officers shout each other down, their faces pale with fear, grief, and agony. Several of the wounded seem to be dying. I gag at the sight and stench of men and women in all states of injury. No healers here, I realize. These Silver wounds won’t disappear with the wave of a hand.
Even so, I’m not made of ice or stone. The ones with the worst injuries are lined up along the curved exterior wall, just a few yards from my feet. The closest one is a woman, her face scraped with cuts. Silver blood pools beneath her hands as she tries in vain to keep her guts inside her body. Her mouth flaps open and closed, a dying fish gasping for air. Her pain is too deep for ramblings or screams. I swallow hard. A strange thought comes to me: I could put her out of her misery if I wanted. I could extend a hand of silence and help her slip away in peace.
Just the idea is enough to make me gag, and I have to turn away.
“Surrender is not an option. The Scarlet Guard will kill us, or worse . . . ?”
“Worse?” sputters one of the officers lying on the floor, his body bruised and bandaged. “Look around, Chyron!”
I glance around, daring to hope. If they keep shouting at one another, this will be so much easier. On the far side of the room, I spot them. Huddled together, their flesh pink and brown, their blood Red, are no less than twenty fifteen-year-olds. Only fear keeps me rooted in place, separated from everything I want by a stretch of deadly, angry killing machines.
Morrey. Seconds away. Inches away.
We cross the chamber as carefully as we climbed the steps, and twice as slowly. The Silvers with lesser wounds rove about, either tending to the more seriously injured or walking off their nerves. I’ve never seen Silvers like this. Off guard, up close. So human. An older female officer with a riot of badges holds the hand of a young man, maybe eighteen. His face is bone white, drained of blood, and he blinks calmly at the ceiling, waiting to die. The body next to him is already there. I hold back a gasp, forcing myself to breathe evenly and quietly. Even with so many distractions, I’m not taking a chance.
“Tell my mother I love her,” one of the dying murmurs.
Another almost corpse calls for a man who isn’t here, yelping out his name.
Death looms like a cloud. It shadows me too. I could die here, same as the rest. If Harrick tires, if I step somewhere I shouldn’t. I try to ignore everything but my own two feet and the goal in front of me. But the farther I go into the chamber, the harder that is. The floor swims before my eyes, and not from Harrick’s illusion. Am I . . . am I crying? For them?
Angry, I wipe the tears away before they can fall and leave tracks. As much as I know I hate these people, I can’t find it in me to hate right now. All the rage I felt an hour ago is gone, replaced by strange pity.
The hostages are now close enough for me to touch, and one silhouette is as familiar as my own face. Curly black hair, midnight skin, gangly limbs, big hands with crooked fingers. The widest, brightest smile I’ve ever seen, though that is far, far away right now. If I could, I would tackle Morrey and never let him go. Instead, I creep up behind and slowly, surely crouch until I’m right next to his ear. I hope beyond hope he doesn’t startle.
“Morrey, it’s Cameron.”
His body jolts, but he doesn’t make a sound.
“I’m with a newblood; he can make us invisible. I’m going to get you out of here, but you have to do exactly as I say.”
He turns his head, just so, his eyes wide and afraid. He has our mother’s eyes, kohl black with heavy lashes. I resist the urge to hug him. Slowly, he shakes his head back and forth.
“Yes. I can do it,” I breathe. “Tell the others what I just told you. Be discreet. Don’t let the Silvers see. Do it, Morrey.”
After another long moment he clenches his teeth and concedes.
It doesn’t take long for knowledge of our presence to sweep through them. No one questions it. They don’t have the luxury of doing that, not here, in the belly of the beast.
“What you’re about to see isn’t real.”
I gesture to Harrick, who nods. He’s ready. Slowly, we move to our knees, crouching down to blend in with them. When his illusion on us lifts, the Silvers won’t notice us at first. Distracted. Hopefully.
My message travels quickly. The hostages tense. Even though they’re the same age as me, they seem older, worn by the months training to fight and then spent in a trench. Even Morrey, though he looks better fed than he ever was at home. Still invisible to his eye, I reach out and tentatively take his hand. His fingers close on mine, holding tight. And the illusion rendering us invisible drops. Two more bodies join the circle of hostages. The others blink at us, struggling to mask their surprise.
“Here we go,” Harrick murmurs.
Behind us, the Silvers continue bickering over the dead and dying. They don’t spare a thought for the hostages.
Harrick narrows his eyes, focusing on the curving tower wall to our right. He breathes heavily, air whistling through his nose and out his mouth. Gathering his strength. I brace myself for the blow, even though I know it doesn’t exist.
Suddenly the wall explodes inward in a bloom of fire and stone, exposing the tower to the sky. The Silvers shudder, scampering back from what they think is an attack. Airjets scream past, swooping through the false clouds. I blink, not believing my eyes. I shouldn’t believe my eyes. This isn’t real. But it looks amazingly, impossibly real.
Not that I have time to gape.
Harrick and I jump to our feet, herding the others with us. We bolt through the fire, flames licking close enough to burn us through. I flinch even though I know it isn’t there. The fire is distraction enough, startling the Silvers so that we can stampede through the door and onto the stairs.
I push on, leading the pack, while Harrick keeps the rear. He waves his arms like a dancer, weaving illusions out of thin air. Fire, smoke, another round of missiles. All of it keeps the Silvers from pursuing us, cowering from his spooling images. Silence blooms from me, a sphere of deadly power to fell the two Silver lookouts. Morrey clips my heels, almost making me trip, but he catches my arm, keeping me from going over the rail.
“Stop!” The first strongarm charges at me, head lowered like a bull. I pulse silence into his body, ramming my ability down his throat. He stumbles, feeling the full weight of my power. I feel it too, death rolling through his flesh. I have to kill him. And quickly. The force of my need crushes blood from his mouth and eyes as pieces of his body die off, organs one after the other. I smother the life from him faster than I’ve ever killed anyone before.
The other strongarm dies even faster. When I hit him with another exhausting pummel of silence, he trips sideways and falls headfirst. His skull cracks open on the stone floor, spilling blood and brain matter. A sob chokes in my chest, and I have no time to question my sudden disgust with myself. For Morrey. For Morrey.
My brother looks as agonized as I feel, his eyes glued to the dead strongarm bleeding all over the floor. I tell myself he’s just shocked, and not terrified of me.
“Go!” I bellow, voice choked with shame. Thankfully he does as I say, sprinting to the lower level with the rest.
Even though the ground entrance is blocked up, the hostages make quick work of it, tearing down the Silver fortifications until the double doors are laid bare, a single lock standing between all of us and freedom.
I vault over the strongarm’s crushed skull, tossing the small silver key. Morrey catches it. His conscription and my imprisonment have not stamped out our bond as twins. Sunlight streams through as he hauls the doors open and lunges into the fresh air, the other hostages sprinting with him.
Harrick comes flying down the stairs, false fire spewing in his wake. He waves me on, telling me to go, but I stay rooted. I’m not leaving without the illusionary.
We stumble out together, clutching each other tightly to face down a square full of perplexed guards armed to the teeth. They allow us through at Farley’s orders. She shouts nearby, directing them to focus on the tower entrance, in case the Silvers attempt to make a stand.
I don’t hear her words. I just keep walking until I have my brother in my arms. His heart beats rapidly in his chest. I revel in the sound. He’s here. He’s alive.
Not like the strongarms.
I still feel it, what I did to them.
What I did to every single person I ever killed.
The memories make me dizzy with shame. All for Morrey, all to survive. But no more.
I don’t have to be a murderer alongside everything else.
He clutches at me, eyes rolling in terror. “The Scarlet Guard,” he hisses, holding me close. “Cam, we have to run.”
“You’re safe; you’re with us now. They can’t hurt you, Morrey!”
But instead of calming down, his fear triples. Morrey’s grip on me tightens as his head whips back and forth, taking stock of Farley’s soldiers. “Do they know what you are? Cam, do they know?”
Shame bleeds into confusion. I push back from him a little, to get a better look at his face. He breathes heavily. “What I am?”
“They’ll kill you for it. The Scarlet Guard will kill you for what you are.”
Each word hits me like a hammer. And then I realize my brother isn’t the only one still afraid. The rest of his unit, the other teenagers, cluster together for safety, every one of them keeping clear of the Guard soldiers. Farley meets my eye from a few feet away, just as puzzled as I am.
Then I see her from my brother’s point of view. See them all for what he’s been told to see.
Terrorists. Murderers. The reason they were conscripted in the first place.
I try to pull Morrey into a hug, try to whisper an explanation.
He just goes cold in my arms. “You’re one of them,” he spits, looking at me with so much anger and accusation my knees buckle. “You’re Scarlet Guard.”
My soul fills with dread.
Maven took Mare’s brother.
Did he take mine too?
