War Storm

“Our fleet is still in the Lakes,” I offer, sounding apologetic. “It will take time.”

Maven doesn’t seem surprised, or even concerned, by my words. He passes closer to me, his hands inches from mine. I can feel the sickly heat of his skin. “I expected as much,” he says. “So I’ll give your royal mother some incentive.”

My stomach twists. “Oh?”

His smile flashes. I hate it.

“Have you ever been to Harbor Bay, Iris?”

“No, Maven.” If I were a lesser person, untrained, my voice would tremble. Not with the fear he wants from me. But with rage. It ripples through me, furious as a storm.

Maven doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. “I certainly hope you enjoy the visit,” he says, still grinning.

“So I’m bait,” I hiss.

“I would never call you bait. But incentive.” He heaves a sigh. “Yes, I believe I did call you that.”

“How dare you—”

He speaks over me, his voice louder than before. “With you in the city, ready to lead the defense, I’m certain your mother will do all she can to uphold her end of our alliance. Don’t you agree?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, and his voice turns ragged. A fist clenches at his side. “I need the armies I was promised. I need reinforcements. I need nymphs in the harbor to drown that city and everyone in it.”

Hastily, I nod. If only for the sake of placating him. “I’ll tell her. But I can’t guarantee—”

Maven closes the distance between us and I tense. His fist closes over my wrist, grip tight, as he pulls me forward. I bite back the instinct to fight. It will only end in pain. “Just as I cannot guarantee your safety there,” he says, stopping just short of the dark doorway. His lips twitch, amused. “Or even here.”

At some hidden signal, the doorway behind us crowds with a troop of Sentinels. They are all broad, masked and robed, glittering in their black jewels and flaming silks. My guards—and my jailers.

I realize what this is. What the next room, the black place where Maven stands so easily, is supposed to be.

His throne isn’t the only thing here made of Silent Stone.

The threat gleams, the edge of a razor pressed against my neck. His grip tightens, fingers cold on my skin. There will be no running from Maven’s commands.

“And what about you, my brave and just king?” I snarl, still staring into the black room. I can just feel it, the numbing edge of Stone.

He doesn’t rise to the insult. He’s too smart for that.

“Don your armor, Iris. Wait for the storm. And hope your mother moves as quickly as my brother can.”

EIGHTEEN

Mare

There are no stars this close to New Town. The sky around the slum is permanently choked with a haze of pollution. It smells foul and poisonous, even on the outskirts, where the noxious fog is thinnest. I draw up the kerchief around my neck, breathing through the fabric instead.

The other soldiers around me do the same, pulling faces at the toxic air. But not Cameron. She’s used to it.

Relief washes over me every time I look at Cameron, her lean, dark form moving nimbly through the pitch-black forest. She’s so tall, easy to pick out among the dozens moving with us. Kilorn keeps close to her side, his silhouette familiar. As I watch the pair of them, my relief quickly melts to shame.

Cameron escaped the Piedmont base, fleeing into the swamps with her brother and a few dozen more survivors. Many died where she did not. Red soldiers of the Dagger Legion, children we swore to keep safe. Newbloods of Montfort. Newbloods of the Notch. Silvers. Reds. So many dead it makes my head spin.

And I’m sending her right back into danger.

“Thanks for doing this, Cam,” I murmur, my voice almost inaudible. As if a simple thank-you means anything.

With a grin, she glances over her shoulder at me. Her teeth gleam in the weak light of our lanterns. In spite of the dire circumstances, I’ve never seen her smile like she does tonight.

“As if you could get this done without me,” she whispers back, almost teasing. “But don’t thank me, Barrow. I’ve been dreaming about a day like this since I was a little girl. New Town is not going to know what bleeding hit it.”

“No, it will not,” I mutter to myself, thinking of the morning ahead of us.

Fear and nerves carve me up, as they did on the flight from the Rift. We’re about to storm the tech slum she was born in, a place hemmed in by walls and guards and decades of oppression.

And we’re not the only assault on the move. Miles to the east, the rest of our coalition is heading toward Harbor Bay

The Rift soldiers will attack from the sea, with the Laris fleet ready on the wing. Tiberias and Farley are in the tunnels by now, ready to lead the main bulk of the army up into the city. I try to picture the three-pronged assault in my mind. It’s nothing like any battle I’ve survived before. Neither is this, separated from the fire prince, from Farley. From so many dear to me. At least I have faithful Kilorn still resolute at my side. There is some symmetry here, I guess. We return to who we were before. Creeping in alleys, clad in dirty clothes. Our faces obscured and unfamiliar. Shadows. Rats.

Rats with sharper teeth and longer claws.

“These trees are rotting,” Cameron says aloud, drawing a hand down the black bark of a barrier tree. One of thousands in this cursed forest. Created by greenwardens, the trees were meant to trap and filter out pollution from the slum. They ring all the tech towns, marching up to their walls. “Whoever grew these doesn’t care to maintain them. Whatever they’re supposed to do, they aren’t really doing it anymore.

“They think they’re just poisoning us,” she continues, her voice seething. “They’re poisoning themselves too.”

We move under the cover of Haven shadows and the muffling ability of Farrah, one of my old newblood recruits from the Notch. Instead of disguising our fifty troops individually, they mask us as a group, throwing their abilities over us like a blanket. We’re invisible and inaudible to anyone outside their circle of influence, able to pass in plain sight. We can see and hear one another, but no one a few yards away can see or hear us.

Premier Davidson steps softly behind me, flanked by his own guards. The vast majority of the Montfort army will assault Harbor Bay, but a few key newbloods are here with him. They don’t have their usual uniforms. Even Ella, Tyton, and Rafe have their hair covered, wrapped in scarves or a hat. They all blend in with the rest of us, dressed in discards—rags, hastily patched jackets and threadbare pants. All tech-issue clothing, courtesy of the Whistles network smugglers in Harbor Bay. I wonder if a thief passed them on. A girl with no other choice than to steal. No other way to survive.

The air thickens as we approach, and more than a few of us cough, gagging on the taste of smoke and fumes. The sickly sweet scent of gasoline settles over us, as if the dirt beneath our feet is saturated with it. Overhead, the greasy red leaves of the barrier trees tremble in a slight wind. Even in darkness, they look like blood.

“Mare.” Kilorn nudges my arm. “Wall’s coming up,” he says in warning.

I can only nod in thanks, squinting through the trees. Indeed the squat, thick walls of New Town loom ahead. Not as impressive as the diamondglass of a royal palace, or as intimidating as the high stone walls of a Silver city. But still an obstacle to overcome.

Leadership suits Cameron, though she’ll never admit it. She squares her shoulders as we approach, drawing herself up to her towering height. I wonder if she’s even turned sixteen yet. No teenager should be as calm, collected, and fearless as she is.