“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 ass
ault. 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. Airj
ets 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.