It is not a trap and it is not a trick.
Gisa shakes me awake sometime after midnight, her brown eyes wide and worried. I told my family what was going to happen over dinner. As expected, they weren’t exactly happy about my decision. Mom twisted the knife as much as she could. She wept over Shade, still a fresh wound, and my capture. Told me how selfish I was. Taking myself from them again.
Later, her reproaches turned into apologies and whispers of how brave I am. Too brave and stubborn and precious for her to let me go.
Dad just shut down, his knuckles white on his cane. We’re the same, he and I. We make choices and follow through, even if the choice is wrong.
At least Bree and Tramy understood. They weren’t called for this mission. That’s comfort enough.
“Cal is downstairs,” Gisa whispers, her keen hands on my shoulders. “You have to go.”
As I sit up, already dressed in my uniform, I pull her into one last embrace.
“You do this too much,” she mutters, trying to sound playful around the choking sobs in her throat. “Come back this time.”
I nod, but I don’t promise.
Kilorn meets us in the hall, bleary-eyed in his pajamas. He isn’t coming either. Corvium is far past his limits. Another bitter comfort. As much as I used to complain about dragging him along, worrying about the fish boy good at knots and nothing else, I’ll miss him dearly. Especially because none of that is true. He protected and helped me more than I ever did him.
I open my mouth to say all this, but he shuts me up with a quick kiss on the cheek. “You even try to say good-bye and I’ll throw you down the stairs.”
“Fine,” I force out. My chest tightens, though, and it becomes harder to breathe with every step down to the first floor.
Everyone waits in congregation, looking grim as a firing squad. Mom’s eyes are red and puffy, as are Bree’s. He hugs me first, lifting me clean off the floor. The giant lets loose one sob into the crook of my neck. Tramy is more reserved. Farley is in the hallway too. She holds Clara tightly, rocking her back and forth. Mom is going to take her, of course.
Everything blurs, as much as I want to hold on to every inch of this moment. Time passes far too quickly. My head spins, and before I know what’s happening, I’m out the door, down the steps, and tucked safely into a transport. Did Dad shake Cal’s hand or did I imagine that? Am I still asleep? Am I dreaming? The lights of the base stream through the dark like shooting stars. The headlights cut the shadows, illuminating the road to the airfield. Already I hear the roar of engines and the scream of jets taking to the skies.
Most are dropjets, designed to transport large numbers of troops at speed. They land vertically, without runways, and can be piloted directly into Corvium. I’m seized by a terrible sense of familiarity as we board ours. The last time I did this, I spent six months as a prisoner, and came back a ghost.
Cal senses my unease. He takes over buckling me into my jet seat, fingers moving swiftly as I stare at the metal grating beneath my feet. “It won’t happen again,” he murmurs, low enough so only I can hear. “This time is different.”
I take his face in my hands, making him stop and look at me. “So why does it feel the same?”
Bronze eyes search mine. Searching for an answer. He finds none. Instead, he kisses me, as if that can solve anything. His lips burn against my own. It lasts longer than it should, especially with so many people around, but no one makes a fuss.
When he pulls back, he pushes something into my hand.
“Don’t forget who you are,” he whispers.
I don’t need to look to know it’s an earring, a tiny bit of colored stone set in metal. Something to say farewell, to say stay safe, to say remember me if we are parted. Another tradition from my old life. I keep it tight in my fist, almost letting the sharp sting pierce my skin. Only when he sits down across from me do I look.
Red. Of course. Red as blood, red as fire. Red as the anger eating us both alive.
Unable to punch it through my ear right now, I tuck it away, careful to keep the tiny stone safe. It will join the others soon.
Farley moves with a vengeance, taking her seat near the Montfort pilots. Cameron follows closely, offering a tight smile as she sits down. She finally has an official green uniform, as does Farley, though Farley’s is different. Not green, but dark red, with a white C on her arm. Command. She shaved her head again in preparation, shedding inches of blond hair in favor of her old style. She looks severe, with her twisting facial scar and blue eyes to pierce any armor. It suits. I understand why Shade loved her.
She has a reason to stop fighting, more than any of us. But she keeps on. A bit of her determination floods into me. If she can do this, so can I.
Davidson boards our jet last, rounding out the forty of us aboard the drop. He follows a troop of gravitrons marked by downward lines of insignia. He’s still wearing the same battered uniform, and his normally smooth hair is unkempt. I doubt he slept. It makes me like him a bit more.
He nods at us as he passes, stomping the length of the jet to sit with Farley. They duck their heads together in thought almost immediately.
My electrical sense has improved since my work with the electricons. I can feel the jet down to its wiring. Every spark, every pulse. Ella, Rafe, and Tyton are coming of course, but no one dares put us all on a single dropjet. If the worst should happen, at least we won’t all die together.
Cal fidgets in his seat. Nervous energy. I do the opposite. I try to feel numb, to ignore the hungry fury begging to be set loose. I still haven’t seen Maven since my escape, and I imagine his face as it was then. Shouting for me through the crowd, trying to turn around. He didn’t want to let me go. And when I wrap my hands around his throat, I won’t let him go. I won’t be scared. Only a battle stands in my way.
“My grandmother is bringing as many with her as she can,” Cal mutters. “Davidson already knows, but I don’t think anyone filled you in.”
“Oh.”
“She has Lerolan, the other rebelling houses. Samos too.”
“Princess Evangeline,” I mutter, still laughing at the thought. Cal sneers with me.
“At least now she has her own crown, and doesn’t have to steal her way to someone else’s,” he says.
“You two would’ve been married by now. If . . .” If, meaning so many things.
He nods. “Married long enough to go absolutely crazy. She’d make a good queen, but not for me.” He takes my hand without looking. “And she would be a terrible wife.”
I don’t have the energy to follow that thread of implication, but a burst of warmth blooms in my chest.
The jet lurches, spooling into high gear. Rotors and engines whir, drowning out all conversation. With another lurch we’re airborne, rising into the hot summer night. I shut my eyes for a moment and imagine what is to come. I know Corvium from pictures and broadcasts. Black granite walls, gold and iron reinforcements. A spiraling fortress that used to be the last stop for any soldier heading into the Choke. In another life, I would have passed through. And now it’s under siege for the second time this year. Maven’s forces set out a few hours ago, landing at their controlled strip in Rocasta before heading overland. They should be at the walls soon. Before us.
Inches for miles, Davidson said.
I hope he’s right.
Cameron tosses her cards into my lap. Four queens smolder up at me, all of them teasing. “Four ladies, Barrow,” she snickers. “What next? Going to bet your bleeding boots?”
I grin and swipe the cards into my pile, discarding my useless hand of red numbers and a single black prince. “They wouldn’t fit you,” I answer. “My feet aren’t canoes.”
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 done growing. “Another round,” she goads, and holds out a hand for the cards. “I bet a week of laundry.”
Across from us, Cal stops his preparatory stretching to snort. “You think Mare does laundry?”
“Do you, Your Highness?” I snap back, grinning. He just pretends not to hear me.
The easy banter is both a balm and a distraction. I don’t have to dwell on the battle facing us if I’m being robbed blind by Cameron’s card skills. She learned in the factories, of course. I barely even understand how to play this game, but it helps me stay focused in the moment.
Beneath us, the dropjet sways, bouncing on a bubble of air turbulence. After many hours in flight, it doesn’t faze me, and I continue shuffling cards. The second bump is deeper, but no cause for alarm. The third sends the cards flying out of my hands, fanning out in midair. I slam back against my seat and fumble for my harness. Cameron does the same while Cal snaps himself back, his eyes flashing to the cockpit. I follow his gaze to see both pilots working furiously to keep the jet level.
More concerning is the view. It should be sunrise by now, but the sky ahead of us is black.
“Storms,” Cal breathes, meaning both the weather and the Silvers. “We have to climb.”
The words barely leave his lips before I feel the jet tip beneath me, angling upward to higher altitudes. Lightning flashes deep within the clouds. Real lightning, born of the thunderheads and not a newblood’s ability. I feel it thumping like a faraway heart.
I tighten my grip on the straps crossing over my chest. “We can’t land in that.”
“We can’t land at all,” Cal snarls.
“Maybe I can do something, stop the lightning—”
“It won’t just be lightning down there!” Even over the roar of the climbing plane, his voice rumbles. More than a few heads turn in his direction. Davidson’s is one of them. “Windweavers and storms are going to blow us off course the second we drop through the clouds. They’ll make us crash.”
Cal’s eyes flutter up and down jet, taking stock of us. The wheels turn in his head, working on overdrive. My fear gives way to faith. “What’s your plan?”
The jet bucks again, bouncing us all in our seats. It doesn’t faze Cal.
“I need gravitrons, and I need you,” he adds, pointing at Cameron.
Her gaze turns steely. She nods. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”
“Radio the other jets. We’re going to need a teleporter in here, and I need to know where the rest of the gravitrons are. They have to distribute.”
Davidson ducks his chin in a sharp nod. “You heard him.”
My stomach swoops at the implication as the jet bursts into activity. Soldiers double-check their weapons and zip into tactical gear, their faces full of determination. Cal most of all.
He forces himself out of his seat, clutching the supports to keep steady. “Get us directly over Corvium. Where’s that teleporter?”
Arezzo blinks into existence, dropping to a knee to stop her momentum. “I do not enjoy that,” she spits.
“Unfortunately you and the other ’porters are going to be doing it a lot,” Cal replies. “Can you handle jumping between the jets?”
“Of course,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Good. Once we’re down, take Cameron to the next jet in line.”
Down.
“Cal,” I almost whimper. I can do a lot of things, but this?
Arezzo cracks her knuckles, speaking over me. “Affirmative.”
“Gravitrons, use your cables. Six to a body. Keep it tight.”
The newbloods in question spring to their feet, pulling wound cords from special slots on their tactical vests. Each one has a mess of clips, allowing them to transport multiple people with their ability to manipulate gravity. Back at the Notch, I recruited a man named Gareth. He used his ability to fly or jump great distances.
But not to jump out of jets.
Suddenly I feel very sick, and sweat breaks out on my forehead.
“Cal?” I say again, my voice climbing higher.
He ignores me. “Cam, your job is to protect the jet. Put out as much silence as you can—picture a sphere; it’ll help keep us level in the storm.”
“Cal?” I yelp. Am I the only one thinking this is suicide? Am I the only sane person here? Even Farley seems nonplussed, her lips pursed into a grim line as she cables herself to one of the six gravitrons. She feels my eyes and looks up. Her face flickers for an instant, reflecting one ounce of the terror I feel. Then she winks. For Shade, she mouths.
Cal forces me up, either ignoring my fear or not noticing it. He personally straps me to the tallest gravitron, a lanky woman. He cables in next to me, one arm heavy across my shoulders while the rest of me is crushed against the newblood. All down the jet, the others do the same, flanking their gravitron lifelines.
“Pilot, what’s our position?” Cal shouts over my head.
“Five seconds to center,” comes a responding bark.
“Plan all passed on?”
“Affirmative, sir! Center, sir!”
Cal grits his teeth. “Arezzo?”
She salutes. “Ready, sir.”
There’s a very good chance I will throw up all over the poor gravitron in the middle of this honeycomb of people. “Easy,” Cal breathes in my ear. “Just hold on; you’ll be fine. Close your eyes.”
I definitely want to. I fidget now, tapping my legs, shuddering. All nerves, all movement.
“This isn’t crazy,” Cal whispers. “People do this. Soldiers train to do stuff like this.”
I tighten my grip on him, enough to make it hurt. “Have you?”
He just gulps.
“Cam, you can start. Pilot, begin drop.”
The wave of silence hits me like a sledgehammer. It isn’t enough to hurt, but the memory of it makes my knees buckle. I grit my teeth to keep from screaming and squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see stars. Cal’s natural warmth acts as an anchor, but a shaky one. I tighten my grip around his back, as if I can bury myself inside him. He murmurs to me but I can’t hear him. Not past the feel of slow, smothering darkness and an even worse death. My heartbeat triples, ramming in my chest until I think it might explode out of me. 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 stop remembering.
I barely feel the plane drop or rock against the storm. Cameron exhales in steady puffs, trying to keep her breathing even. If the rest of the plane feels the pain of her ability, they don’t show it. We descend in quiet. Or maybe my body is simply refusing to hear anymore.
When we shuffle backward, crowding onto the drop platform, I realize this is it. The jet rumbles, buffeted by winds Cameron cannot deflect. She shouts something I can’t decipher over the pound of blood in my ears.
Then the world opens beneath me. And we fall.
At least when House Samos ripped my last jet out of the sky, they had the decency to leave us in a cage of metal. We have nothing but the wind and freezing rain and swirling darkness pulling us every which way. Our momentum must be enough to keep us on target, as well as the fact that no sane person would expect us to be leaping out of planes a few thousand feet in the air in the middle of a storm. The wind whistles like a woman’s scream, clawing at every inch of me. At least the pressure of Cameron’s silence is gone. The veins of lightning in the clouds call to me, as if saying good-bye before I’m turned into a crater.
Everyone yells on the way down. Even Cal.
I’m still yelling when we start slowing about fifty feet above the jagged tips of Corvium, spiraling out in a hexagon of buildings and inner walls. And I’m hoarse when we bump gently against the smoothly paved ground, slick with at least two inches of rainwater.
Our newblood hastily unclips us all, and I fall backward, not caring about the bitterly cold puddle I’m lying in. Cal jumps to his feet.
I lie there for a second, thinking of nothing. Just staring up at the sky I plummeted through—and somehow survived. Then Cal grabs my arm and hoists me up, literally pulling me back to reality.
“The rest are going to be landing here, so we have to move.” He shoves me ahead of him, and I stumble a bit through the sloshing water. “Gravitrons, Arezzo will come down with the next batch to teleport you back up. Stay sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” they echo, bracing themselves for another round. I’m almost sick at the thought.
Farley actually is sick. She heaves up her guts in an alleyway, dumping whatever her quick breakfast was. I forgot she hates flying, not to mention teleporting. The drop was the worst of both.
I make for her, looping my arm to help her stand up straight. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she replies. “Just giving the wall a fresh coat of paint.”
I glance at the sky, still lashing us with cold rain. Oddly cold for this time of year, even in the north. “Let’s get moving. They aren’t on the walls yet, but they will be.”
Cal steams slightly and zips up the neck of his vest to keep the water out. “Shivers,” he calls. “I have a feeling we’re about to be snowed in.”
“Should we go to the gates?”
“No. They’re warded with Silent Stone. Silvers can’t pummel their way in. They have to go over.” He gestures for us and the rest of our dropjet to follow him. “We have to be on the ramparts, ready to push back whatever they throw. The storm is just the vanguard. Block us in, reduce our vision. Keep us blind until they’re on top of us.”
His pace is hard to match, especially through the rain, but I forge to his side anyway. Water soaks through my boots, and it isn’t long before I lose sensation in my toes. Cal stares ahead, as if his eyes alone can set the entire world on fire. I think he wants to. That would make this easier.
Once again he must fight—and probably kill—the people he was raised to protect. I take his hand, because there are no words I can say right now. He squeezes my fingers, but lets them go just as quickly.
“Your grandmother’s troops can’t get in the same way.” As I speak, more gravitrons and soldiers plummet out of the sky. All screaming, all safe when they touch down. We turn a corner, moving from one ring of walls to the next, leaving them behind. “How do we join our forces?”
“They’re coming from the Rift. That’s southwest. Ideally, we’ll keep Maven’s force occupied long enough for them to take the rear. Pin them between us.”
I gulp. So much of the plan relies on the work of Silvers. I know better than to trust such things. House Samos could simply not arrive and let us all be captured or killed. Then they would be free to challenge Maven outright. Cal isn’t stupid. He knows all this. And he knows Corvium and its garrison are too valuable to lose. This is our flag, our rebellion, our promise. We stand against the might of Maven Calore, and his twisted throne.
Newbloods man the ramparts, joined by Red soldiers with arms and ammunition. They don’t fire, only stare out into the distance. One of them, a tall string bean of a man with a uniform like Farley’s and a C on his shoulder, steps forward. He clasps arms with her first, nodding his head.
“General Farley,” he says.
She dips her chin. “General Townsend.” Then she nods to another ranking officer in green, probably the commander of the Montfort newbloods. The short, squat woman with bronze skin and a long, white braid coiled around her head returns the action. “General Akkadi.”
“What are we looking at?” Farley asks them both.
Another soldier approaches in red instead of green. Her hair is different, dyed scarlet, but I recognize her.
“Good to see you, Lory,” Farley says, all business. I would greet the newblood too if we had the time. I’m quietly happy to see another one of the Notch recruits not just alive but thriving. Like Farley, her red hair is closely cut. Lory belongs to the cause.
She nods at us all before throwing an arm out over the metal-edged ramparts. Her ability is extremely heightened senses, allowing her to see much farther than we can. “Their force is to the west, with their backs to the Choke. They have storms and shivers just inside the first ring of cloud cover, out of your sight.”
Cal leans forward, squinting at the thick black clouds and pelting rain. They make it impossible for him to see farther than a quarter mile from the walls. “Do you have snipers?”
“We tried,” General Townsend sighs.
Akkadi concurs. “Waste of ammunition. The wind just eats the bullet.”
“Windweavers too, then.” Cal sets his jaw. “They have the aim for that.”
The meaning is clear. The windweavers of Norta, House Laris, rebelled against Maven. So this force is Lakelander. Another person might miss the twitch of a smile or the release of tension in Cal’s shoulders, but I don’t. And I know why. He was raised to fight Lakelanders. This is an enemy that won’t break his heart.
“We need Ella. She’s best at storm lightning.” I point up at the looming towers overlooking this section of wall. “If we get her up high, she can turn the storm against them. Not control it, but use it to fuel herself.”
“Good, get it done,” Cal says with a clipped tone. I’ve seen him in a fight, in battle, but never something like this. He becomes another person entirely. Laser-focused, inhumanly so, without even a flicker of the gentle, torn prince. Whatever warmth he has left is an inferno, meant to destroy. Meant to win. “When the gravitrons finish the drops, put them here, evenly spaced. The Lakelanders are going to charge the walls. Let’s make it hard for them to move. General Akkadi, who else do you have on hand?”
“Good mix of defensive and offensive,” she responds. “Enough bombers to turn the Choke road into a minefield.” With a proud smirk, she indicates the nearby newbloods who have what look like sunbursts on their shoulders. Bombers. Better than oblivions, able to explode something or someone on sight instead of just touch.
“Sounds like a plan,” Cal says. “You keep your newbloods ready. Strike at your discretion.”
If Townsend minds being dictated to, and by a Silver at that, he doesn’t show it. Like the rest of us, he feels the thrum of death in the air. There’s no room for politics now. “And my soldiers? I’ve got a thousand Reds on the walls.”
“Keep them there. Bullets are just as good as abilities, sometimes more so. But conserve ammunition. Target only those who slip through the first wave of defenses. They want us to overexert, and we’re not going to do that.” He glances at me. “Are we?”
I grin, blinking away the rain. “No, sir.”
At first, I wonder if the Lakelanders are very slow to move, or very stupid. It takes the better part of the hour, but between Cameron, the gravitrons, and the teleporters, we manage to get everyone into Corvium from the thirty or so dropjets. About a thousand soldiers, all trained and deadly. Our advantage, Cal says, lies in uncertainty. Silvers still don’t know how to fight people like me. They don’t know what we’re truly capable of. I think that’s why Cal mostly leaves Akkadi to her own devices. He doesn’t know her troops well enough to command them properly. But Reds he knows. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, one I try to swallow away. In the stretch of time, I try not to wonder how many Reds the person I love sacrificed for an empty war.
The storm never changes. Always churning, dumping rain. If they’re trying to flood us, it’s going to take a long time. Most of the water drains, but some of the lower streets and alleys are six inches deep in murky water. It makes Cal uneasy. He keeps wiping off his face or pushing back his hair, skin slightly steaming in the cold.
Farley has no shame. She propped her jacket up over her head a long time ago, and looks like some kind of maroon ghost. I don’t think she moves for twenty minutes, her head resting on folded arms as she stares out at the landscape. Like the rest of us, she waits for a strike that may come at any second. It sets my teeth on edge, and the constant rage of adrenaline drains me almost as badly as Silent Stone.
I jump when Farley speaks.
“Lory, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
At another perch, Lory also has a jacket over her head. She doesn’t turn, unable to wrench her senses away. “I really hope not.”
“What?” I ask, looking between them. The movement sends fresh rainwater down my shirt collar, and I shiver. Cal sees it happen and moves closer to my back, extending some of his warmth to me.
Slowly, Farley turns, trying not to get drenched. “The storm is moving. Closing in. A few feet every minute, and getting faster.”
“Shit,” Cal breathes behind me. Then he springs into action, taking his warmth with him. “Gravitrons, be ready! When I say, you tighten your grip on that field.” Tighten. I’ve never seen a gravitron use their ability to strengthen gravity, only loosen it. “Drop whatever’s coming.”
As I watch, the storm picks up speed, enough to note at a glance. It continues swirling, but spirals closer and closer with every rotation, clouds bleeding over open ground. Lightning cracks deep within, a pale, empty color. I narrow my eyes, and for a moment, it flashes purple, veining with strength and rage. But I have nothing to aim at yet. Lightning, no matter how powerful, is useless without a target.
“The force is marching behind the storm, closing the distance,” Lory calls, confirming our worst fears. “They’re coming.”
