War Storm

Davidson does the same, meeting my gaze.

With a flush, I clear my throat loudly, stepping out a little. Only the nearby generals turn to look at me. Their soldiers are more difficult to silence, and I have to try again, with more force. Slowly but surely, quiet ripples through them, until every eye in the library lands on me. I swallow hard against the familiar but still unsettling sensation. Don’t flinch. Don’t blush. Don’t hesitate.

“My name is Mare Barrow,” I say to the assembled crowd. Someone on the landing scoffs quietly. I suppose I need no introduction at this point. “Thank you for coming here.” I push on, searching for the right way to say what I have to. A man who can see the entire future passed along some tips just doesn’t sound right. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I was . . . climbing. And I met a man on the mountain.”

“Is that a metaphor?” General Crimson mutters gruffly, only to be hushed by the aptly named Drummer, a fantastically round man.

I glance at Ada, then down at Farley. “Jon,” I explain, and her eyes widen. The shock on her face speaks volumes to the room. “He’s a newblood seer, and we’ve dealt with him before.”

Davidson raises his chin. “So has Maven. If I’m not mistaken, that man was instrumental in your capture.”

“Yes,” I mutter, almost ashamed.

The premier purses his lips. “And he served Maven for a time.”

I nod again. “He did. For his own reasons.”

Even though several of his compatriots look dismissive, Davidson leans forward on his elbows, fixing me with his intense, unreadable gaze. “What did he say, Mare?”

“That we can’t let the Nortan capital fall to the Lakelands,” I reply. “If we do, the road will be ‘long and bloody.’ Worse than anything before. If they win Archeon, the Lakelands will control Norta for a hundred years.”

Radis huffs, inspecting his polished nails. He isn’t the only one to roll their eyes at such a statement. “I don’t need a seer to know that,” he mutters.

A few of the generals bob their heads in agreement. Swan speaks for them. “We know an invasion is coming; it’s just a matter of when.”

“A few weeks.” I can already feel the clock ticking against us. “That’s what Jon told me.”

Swan narrows her eyes, not with unkindness or suspicion, but with pity. “And you believe him? After all he did to you?”

Images flash in my head, memories of my captivity. The prison Jon bought me with whatever scheme of fate he put in motion. I told him before that I didn’t like being his pawn, and it’s exactly what I’m doing now.

“Somehow, I think I do,” I reply, fighting to keep my voice firm.

The words set off another round of murmurs and even a bit of shouting. From the generals, the representatives, even the soldiers above us.

Only three of us remain silent, trading glances.

Farley, Davidson, and myself.

As I look between them, jumping from golden eyes to blue, I see the same resolve in both of them, and feel it in myself.

We’ll fight again. We just need to figure out how.

As usual, Farley jumps in first.

She stands up, hands outstretched, motioning for quiet. It works a little, silencing her soldiers as well as the generals. Some of the Montfort diplomats still whisper among themselves.

“We need a plan,” she barks. “Regardless of what the seer says, we all know this road leads to Archeon. Montfort and the Scarlet Guard have to be able to overthrow the Nortan capital if we want any chance of freeing the country. No matter who sits on the throne.”

Swan nods. “I was stationed in the Lakelands before we fled here. I’ve seen more of their strength than anyone here. If the Cygnet queens gain the city before we can, it will be almost impossible to take it back. It’s in our best interest to fight the weaker enemy.”

Cal. Never have I thought of him as the weaker half of anything, but it’s certainly true. His position is precarious at best. I try not to picture him alone in his palace, trying to balance the world his father and brother broke.

“You still have Scarlet Guard in Archeon, yes?” Davidson asks, and his voice is enough to quiet the rest of his people.

“Palace is stationed just outside,” Farley says. “With her own teams still in place through as much of the country as can be managed. Harbor Bay, Delphie, the Archeon outskirts.”

Drummer, the portly general, jumps in. “Palace has orders to move into the city—quietly, of course. The new king is not his brother, and his regime is not yet openly hostile to the Scarlet Guard. We can risk it.”

“So we’ll have eyes in the city, at least,” Davidson muses. “Yours as well as our own. We’ll make sure they coordinate.”

“The Scarlet Guard has infiltrated Archeon before.” Drummer puffs out his impressive chest. “It can be done again.”

The premier’s lips press into a thin, grim line. “But not in the same way,” he says. “Too dangerous from the air, now that Cal has the full force of the Air Fleet behind him. We can’t match their aerial strength for a landing, and we can’t rely on surprise like we did at Maven’s wedding.”

“And the tunnels,” Farley mutters, thinking of a coup that failed before it even began. “King Maven closed up everything beneath the city.”

“Not everything,” I blurt out. The others blink at me, hard-eyed and eager. “I’ve seen Maven’s train, his escape plan. It runs straight under the Treasury, and there are more entrances below the palace. He used it to leave the city unseen. I’m willing to bet he left some tunnels intact, if only for his own use.”

With a will, Drummer rolls to his feet. He’s surprisingly agile for his age and size. “I can relay to Palace, have her start sniffing it out. Ada, you’ve got city plans in your head, yes?”

“I do, sir,” she anwers quickly. I can’t imagine what Ada doesn’t have preserved in her perfect mind.

Drummer ducks his chin. “Get on the comms with Palace. Help her run her operatives.”

Without hestitation, Ada nods. “Yes, sir,” she says, already walking from the library.

Farley clenches her jaw and watches our friend go, disappearing from the room. Then she glances sidelong at me, weighing my response. “Do we have time for that?”

“Probably not,” I mutter. If only Jon had been more precise in his damned warning. But I suppose that’s too easy. It isn’t his way.

“So what can we do?” she prods.

A sudden headache throbs at my temples and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Earlier today, I climbed a mountain to keep away from Maven.

Of course my efforts only prolonged the inevitable. And the necessary.

“Well, I guess we can just ask.”

Without Julian to sing a confession out of him, or any whispers, newblood or otherwise, an interrogation of Maven Calore will be a two-sided battle of wills and deception. Though Montfort has Silvers to spare, none can draw truth through ability alone.

But they can draw it through pain.

Before Maven is brought in, one of the officers returns with Tyton in tow, the white-haired electricon looking dour as he enters the room. He settles into his seat on Davidson’s side of the room and drums his fingers, the movement quick and twitching, like the lightning he may have to use on Maven. His ability is far more precise than my own, able to push a body to its limit without destroying what cannot be repaired.