I can’t help but flinch. My team. They belonged to Farley or even Cal, but not to me. “Miss Barrow is also the first to volunteer to stop this tragedy before it happens.”
Kilorn’s neck cracks, he turns so quickly. He widens his green eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or impressed. Maybe a little bit of both.
“They’ve been nicknamed the Little Legion,” I say, forcing myself to my feet so I can address the crowd properly. They stare at me, expectant, every eye like a knife. Lady Blonos’s lessons will serve me well now. “According to our information, the children will be sent directly into the Choke, past the trench lines. The king wants them dead, to scare our people into silence, and he’ll succeed if we don’t do something. I propose a two-pronged operation, led by Colonel Farley and myself. I will infiltrate the legion outside Corvium, using soldiers who can pass for fifteen, in order to separate the Silver officers from the children. We will then proceed directly into the Choke.” I do my best to keep my eyes on the back wall, but they keep trailing back to Cal. This time, I’m the one who has to look away.
“That’s suicide!” someone shouts.
The Colonel moves to my side, shaking his head. “My own unit will be waiting in the north, on the Lakelander trench line. I have contacts within that army, and I can buy Miss Barrow enough time to get across. Once she reaches me, we’ll retreat to Lake Eris. Two grain freighters should be enough to ferry us across, and from there, we enter the disputed lands.”
“Ludicrous.”
I don’t need to look up to know Cal is standing. He’s flushed, fists clenched, annoyed at such a foolish plan. I almost smile at the sight.
“One hundred years and no Nortan army has ever crossed the Choke. Ever. You think you can do it with a bunch of kids?” He turns on me, imploring. “You’d have better luck turning them back to Corvium, hiding in the woods, anything other than crossing a damned kill zone.”
The Colonel takes this all in stride. “How long since you entered the trenches, Your Highness?”
Cal doesn’t falter. “Six months ago.”
“Six months ago, the Lakelanders had nine legions on the line, to match Nortan numbers. As of today, they have two. The Choke is open, and your brother does not realize it.”
“A trap? Or a diversion, then?” Cal sputters, puzzling out what this could mean.
The Colonel nods. “The Lakelanders plan to push across Lake Tarion, while your armies are busy defending a stretch of waste no one wants. Miss Barrow could walk across blindfolded and not get a scratch.”
“And that’s exactly what I intend to do.” Slowly, surely, I steel my heart. I hope I look brave, because I certainly don’t feel it. “Who’s coming with me?”
Kilorn is the first to stand, as I knew he would be. Many more follow—Cameron, Ada, Nanny, Darmian, even Harrick. But not Farley. She sits rooted, letting her lieutenants stand in her place. The scarf is wound too tight around her wrist, turning her hand faintly blue.
I try not to look at him. I certainly try.
At the back of the room, the exiled prince gets to his feet. He holds my gaze, as if his eyes alone could set me on fire. A waste. There is nothing in me left to burn.
The graves in Tuck’s cemetery are new, marked by freshly turned earth and a few woven bits of sea grass. Collected rocks stand in for headstones, each one painstakingly carved by loved ones. When we lower Shade’s plank coffin into the ground, all of us Barrows standing around the hole, I realize we are lucky. We have a body to bury, at the very least. But there are so many other graves marking nothing but earth. Their names are carved too. Nix, Ketha, and Gareth. Their bodies abandoned but not forgotten. According to Ada, they never got on the Blackrun or the cargo jet. They died in Corros, along with forty-two others by her impeccable count. But three hundred survived. Three hundred, traded for forty-five. A good deal, I tell myself. An easy bargain. The words sting, even in my head.
Farley clutches herself against the cold wind but refuses to wear a coat. The Colonel is here too, standing a respectful distance away. He’s here not for Shade but his grieving daughter, though he makes no move to comfort her. To my surprise, Gisa takes her side, worming one arm around the captain’s waist. When Farley lets her, the shock almost knocks me over. I didn’t know the two ever met, but they’re so familiar. Somehow, beneath my grief, I manage to feel a bit of jealousy. No one tries to comfort me, not even Kilorn. Shade’s funeral is too much for him to bear and he sits on the rise above, far away enough so that no one can see him cry. His head dips every once in a while, unable to watch when Bree and Tramy begin to shovel dirt into the grave.
We don’t say anything. It’s too hard. The whistling air goes straight through me, and I wish for warmth. I wish for comfortable heat. But Cal is not here. My brother is dead, and Cal cannot find it in his stubborn heart to watch us bury him.
Mom shovels the last bit of dirt, her eyes dry. She has no more tears left to give. We have that in common at least.
Shade Barrow, his headstone reads. The letters look clawed, written by some feral beast instead of my parents. It feels wrong to bury him here. He should be at home, by the river, in the woods he loved so well. Not here, on a barren island, surrounded by dunes and concrete, with nothing but empty sky to keep him company. This was not a fate he deserved. Jon knew this would happen. Jon let it happen. A darker thought takes hold. Perhaps this is another trade, another bargain. Perhaps this was the best fate he would ever face. My smartest, most caring sibling, who would always come to save me, who always knew what to say. How could this be his end? How is this fair?
I know better than most that nothing in this world is fair.
My vision blurs. I stare at the packed earth for who knows how long, until it’s just me and Farley left in the cemetery. When I look up, she’s staring at me, a storm raging between anger and sorrow. The wind ruffles her hair. It’s grown longer over the past few months, nearly reaching her chin. She shoves it away so violently I fear she might tear her scalp.
“I’m not going with you.” She forces out the words.
I can only nod. “You’ve done enough for us, more than enough. I understand.”
At that she scoffs. “You don’t. I couldn’t care less about protecting myself, not now.” Her eyes trail back to the grave. A single tear escapes, but she doesn’t notice. “The answer to my question,” she murmurs, not thinking about me anymore. Then she shakes her head and steps closer. “It wasn’t much of a question anyway. I knew, deep down. I think Shade did too. He is—was—very perceptive. Not like you.”
“I’m sorry for everyone you’ve lost,” I say, blunter than I wish to be. “I’m sorry—”
She only waves a hand, dismissing the apology. She doesn’t even care to ask how I know. “Shade, my mother, my sister. And my father. He might be alive, but I lost him too.”
I remember the worry on the Colonel’s face, the brief glint of concern when we returned to Tuck. He was afraid for his daughter. “I wouldn’t be so sure. No real father could ever be truly lost to the child he loves.”
The wind blows a curtain of hair across her face, almost hiding the look of shock flashing in her eyes. Shock—and hope. One hand splays across her stomach, strangely gentle. The other pats my shoulder. “I hope you make it out of this alive, lightning girl. You’re not entirely awful.”
It might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.
Then she turns, never to look back. When I leave a few minutes later, neither do I.
There’s no time to mourn Shade or the others properly. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I must board the Blackrun, forget my heart, and prepare to fight. It was Cal’s idea to wait until evening, to leave the island while our hijacked broadcast crosses the nation. By the time Maven’s dogs come hunting for us, we’ll already be in the air and on our way to the hidden airfield outside Corvium. The Colonel will continue north, using the cover of night to cross the lakes and circle around. By morning, if the plan holds, w
e’ll both be in charge of our own legions, one on each side of the border. And then we march.
The last time I left my parents, there was no warning. Somehow, that was easier than this. Saying good-bye to them is so hard I almost run to the Blackrun and its familiar safety. But I force myself to hug them both, to give them whatever small comfort I can, even if it might be a lie.
“I’ll keep them safe,” I whisper, tucking my head against Mom’s shoulder. Her fingers run through my hair, braiding it quickly. The gray ends have spread, almost reaching to my shoulders. “Bree and Tramy.”
“And you,” she whispers back. “Protect yourself too, Mare. Please.”
I nod against her, not wanting to move.
Dad’s hand finds my wrist, giving it a gentle tug. Despite his outburst earlier, he’s the one to remind me I must go. His eyes linger over my shoulder, at the Blackrun behind us. The others have already boarded, leaving only the Barrows on the runway. I suppose they want to give me some semblance of privacy, though I have no use for such a thing. I’ve spent the last few months living in a hole, and before that, a palace crawling with cameras and guards. I don’t care about spectators.
“For you,” Gisa blurts, holding out her good hand. She dangles a scrap of black silk. It feels cool and slick in my hand, like woven oil. “From before.”
Red and gold flowers decorate the fabric, embroidered with the skill of a master. “I remember,” I murmur, running a finger over the impossible perfection. She sewed this so long ago, the night before an officer broke her hand. It is unfinished, just like her old fate. Just like Shade. Shaking, I tie it around my wrist. “Thank you, Gisa.”
I reach into my pocket. “And I have something for you, my girl.”
A trinket, cheaply made. The single earring matches the winter ocean around us.
Her breath catches as she takes it. Tears quickly follow, but I can’t watch them. I turn away from them all and board the Blackrun. The ramp closes behind me, and by the time my heart stops racing, we’re in the sky, soaring high above the sea.
My soldiers are few compared to the many following the Colonel into the Lakelands. After all, I could only take people who looked young enough to play the part of the Little Legion, and preferably those who had served, who knew how to act like soldiers. Eighteen Guardsmen fit the bill, and have joined us in the sky. Kilorn sits with them, doing his best to acclimatize them to our close-knit group. Ada isn’t with us, and neither are Darmian and Harrick. Unable to pass for teenagers, they went with the Colonel, to aid our cause however they can. Nanny is not so restricted, despite her advanced age. Her appearance flickers, fluttering between different iterations of young faces. Of course Cameron has joined us—this was truly her idea in the first place, and she all but bounces with adrenaline. She’s thinking of her brother, the one she lost to the legion. I find myself envying her. She still has a chance to save him.
Cal and my brothers will be the hardest to disguise. Bree has a young face, but he’s larger than any fifteen-year-old should be. Tramy is too tall, Cal too recognizable. But their value lies in not their appearance or even their strength but their knowledge of the trench lines. Without them, we’ll have no one to navigate such a maze, and enter the nightmare wasteland of the Choke. I’ve only seen the Choke in photographs, news bulletins, and my dreams. After my ability was discovered, I thought I’d never have to go there. I thought I escaped that fate. How wrong I am.
“Three hours to Corvium,” Cal barks, not looking up from his instruments. The seat next to him is conspicuously empty, reserved for me. But I won’t join him, not after he abandoned me to face Shade’s funeral alone.
“Rise, Red as the dawn.” The Guardsmen speak in unison, banging the butts of their guns on the floor. It takes us all by surprise, though Cal does his best not to react. Still, I see distaste pull at the corner of his mouth. I’m not part of your revolution, he said once. Well, you sure look like it, Your Highness.
“Rise, Red as the dawn,” I say, quiet but sure.
Cal scowls openly, glaring out the window. The expression makes him look like his father, and I think of who he could have been. A thoughtful warrior prince, married to the viper Evangeline. Maven said he would not have lived past the coronation night, but I don’t truly believe that. Metal is forged in flame, not the other way around. He would have lived, and ruled. To do what though, I cannot say. Once, I thought I knew Cal’s heart, but now I realize that is impossible. No heart can ever be truly understood. Not even your own.
Time passes in suffocating silence. Within the jet, we are still, but on the ground, things are in motion. My message blares on video screens all over the kingdom.
I wish I were in Archeon, standing in the middle of the commercial sector, watching the world as it changes. Will the Silvers react as I hope? Will they see Maven’s betrayal for what it is? Or will they look away?
“Fires in Corvium.”
Cal leans against the cockpit glass, his mouth agape. “In the city center, and the River Town slums.” He runs a hand through his hair, at a loss. “Rioting.”
My heart leaps, then plunges. War has begun. And we have no idea what the cost may be.
The rest of the jet erupts in cheers, clapping, and too many handshakes to stomach. I almost stumble out of my seat, my feet tripping over themselves. I never trip. Never. But I barely make it to the back of the plane in one piece. I feel dizzy and sick, ready to lose the dinner I never ate all over the wall. One hand finds the metal, letting the coolness calm me. It works a little, but my head still spins. You wanted this. You waited for this. You made this happen. This is the bargain. This is the trade.
The control I’ve worked so hard to maintain starts to splinter. I feel every pulse of the jet, every turn of the engines. It veins in my head, a map of white and purple, too bright to stand.
“Mare?” Kilorn stands from his seat. He takes a step toward me, one hand outstretched. He looks like Shade did in his last moments.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
It’s like ringing a bell. Cal turns in his seat, finding me in an instant. He crosses the jet with strong, deliberate steps, boots slamming on the metal floor. The others let him pass, too afraid to stop the prince of fire. I share no such fear, and turn my back to him. He spins me around, not bothering to be gentle.
“Calm down,” he snaps. He has no time for temper tantrums. I’m seized by the urge to shove him away, but I understand what he’s trying to do. I nod, trying to agree, trying to do as he says. It stills him a little. “Mare, calm down,” he says again, this time just for me, soft as I remember. But for the pulse of the jet, we could be back at the Notch, in our room, in our cot, wrapped up in our dreams. “Mare.”
The alarm sounds seconds before the tail of the plane explodes.
The force knocks me on my back, so hard I see stars. I taste blood, and I feel blazing heat. If not for Cal, the fire would incinerate me. Instead, it licks at his arms and back, harmless as a mother’s touch. It recedes as quickly as it grows, pushed back by Cal’s power, containing itself to embers. But even he can’t rebuild the back of a jet—or keep us from falling out of the sky. The noise threatens to split my head, roaring like a train, screaming with the voice of a thousand banshee shrieks. I hold on to whatever I can, metal or flesh.
When my vision clears, I see black sky and bronze eyes. We hold on to each other, two children trapped in a falling star. All around us, the Blackrun peels apart, piece by piece, each tear another bloodcurdling screech. With every passing second, more of the jet disappears, until only thin bars of metal remain. It’s freezing cold, hard to breath, and impossible to move anything of my own volition. I cling to the bar beneath me, holding on with all I have left. Through slitted eyes, I watch the dark ground below, getting closer with every terrifying second. A shadow darts past. It has an electric heart and gleaming wings. Snapdragon.
My stomach plummets with the remnants of the Blackrun. I can’t even summon the strength to scream. But the
others certainly do. I hear them all, shouting, pleading, begging for mercy from gravity’s pull. The structure shudders all around, accompanied by a familiar clang. Metal, slamming together. Re-forming. With a gasp, I realize what’s happening to us.
The jet is no longer a jet. It is a cage, a steel trap.
A tomb.
If I could speak, I would tell Cal that I’m sorry, that I love him, that I need him. But the wind and the drop steal my breath away. I have no more words. His touch is achingly familiar, one hand at my neck, imploring me to look at him. Like me, he can’t speak. But I hear his apology all the same, and he understands mine. We see nothing but each other. Not the lights of Corvium on the horizon, the ground rising up to meet us, or the fate we’re about to find. There is nothing but his eyes. Even in darkness, they glow.
The wind is too strong, tearing at my hair and skin. My mother’s braid comes undone, the last vestige of her pulled away. I wonder who will tell her how I died, if anyone will even know the end we met. What a death for Maven to dream up. This must be his idea—to kill us together, and give us time to realize what is coming.
When the cage stops short, I scream.
There is stiff grass beneath my dangling arms, just kissing the tips of my fingers. How? I wonder, pulling away. It’s hard to find balance, and I fall. The cage rocks with my motion, like a swing hanging from a tree.
“Don’t move,” Cal growls, putting a hand to the back of my neck. The other clutches a steel bar, and it glows red in his fist.
I follow his gaze, looking across the forest clearing to the people standing in a wide circle around us. Their silver hair is hard to mistake. Magnetrons of House Samos. They stretch out their arms, moving in unison, and the cage lowers slowly. It drops the last inch, earning yelps from us all.