The bump of wheels against concrete jerks me awake, bouncing me in my seat. I open my eyes, only to squeeze them shut again, turning away from the bright stab of sunlight pouring through the cockpit windows. The others are wide awake, talking quietly, and I look over my shoulder to face them. Even though we’re tearing across the runway, slowing down but still moving, Kilorn lurches to my side. I guess his river legs are good for something, because the motion of the jet doesn’t seem to affect him at all.
“Mare Barrow, if I catch you dozing one more time, I’ll report you to the outpost.” He mimics our old teacher, the one we shared until he turned seven and left to apprentice with a fisherman.
I look up at him, grinning at the memory. “Then I’ll sleep in the stocks, Miss Vandark,” I reply, sending him into a bout of chuckles.
As I wake more fully, I realize I’m covered in something. Soft, worn fabric, dark in color. Kilorn’s jacket. He pulls it away before I can protest, leaving me cold without its warmth.
“Thanks,” I mutter, watching him pull it back on.
He just shrugs. “You were shivering.”
“It’s going to be a haul into the Bay.” Cal’s voice is loud over the roaring engines, still spooling down from the flight. He never takes his eyes off the runway and guides the jet to a halt. Like Nine-Five Field, this so-called ruin is surrounded by forest and totally deserted. “Ten miles through forest and outskirts,” he adds, angling his head toward Farley. “Unless you have something else up your sleeve?”
She laughs to herself, unbuckling her belts. “Learning, are you?” With a snap, she lays the Colonel’s map across her knees. “We can cut it to six if we take the old tunnels. And avoid the outskirts altogether.”
“Another Undertrain?” The thought fills me with a combination of hope and dread. “Is that safe?”
“What’s an Undertrain?” Nix grumbles, his voice faraway. I won’t waste my time explaining the rattling metal tube we left behind in Naercey.
Farley ignores him too. “There aren’t any stationed in the Bay, not yet, but the tunnel itself runs right under the Port Road. That is, if it hasn’t been closed up?”
She glances at Cal, but he shakes his head. “Not enough time to. Four days ago, we thought the tunnels were collapsed and abandoned. They aren’t even mapped. Even with every strongarm at his disposal, Maven couldn’t possibly have blocked them all by now.” His voice falters, heavy with thought. I know what he’s remembering.
It was only four days ago. Four days since Cal and Ptolemus found Walsh in the train tunnels beneath Archeon. Four days since we watched her kill herself to protect the secrets of the Scarlet Guard.
To distract myself from the memory of Walsh’s glassy, dead eyes, I stretch out of my seat, bend and flex my muscles. “Let’s get moving,” I say, and it sounds more like a command than I would like.
I’ve memorized the next batch of names. Ada Wallace. Born 6/1/290 in Harbor Bay, Beacon, Regent State, Norta. Current residence: Same as birth. And the other, also listed in Harbor Bay—Wolliver Galt. Born 1/20/302. He shares a birthday with Kilorn, identical down to the year. But he is not Kilorn. He is a newblood, another Red-and-Silver mutation for Kilorn to envy.
Strange then that Kilorn shows no animosity toward Nix. In fact, he seems friendlier than usual, hovering around the older man like an underfoot puppy. They talk quietly, bonding over the shared experience of growing up poor, Red, and hopeless. When Nix brings up nets and knots, a dull topic Kilorn adores, I turn my focus toward getting everything else situated. Part of me wishes I could join them, to debate the value of a good double-bone loop rather than the best infiltration strategy. It would make me feel normal. Because no matter what Shade says, we are anything but.
Farley is already on the move, pulling a dark brown jacket over her shoulders. She tucks her red scarf into it, hiding the color, and starts packing up rations from our stores. They aren’t low yet, but I make a mental note to lift anything I can during our journey, if I get the chance. Guns are another matter—we only have six total, and stealing more will be no easy feat. Three rifles, three pistols. Farley already has one of each, the long-barreled rifle across her shoulder and the pistol at her hip. She slept with them attached to her, like they were limbs. So it comes as a surprise when she unlatches them both, returning the guns to the storage locker on the wall.
“You’re going in unarmed?” Cal balks, his own rifle in hand.
In response, she pulls up a pant leg, revealing a long knife tucked into her boot. “The Bay’s a big city. We’ll need the day to find Mare’s people, and maybe the whole night to get them out. I won’t risk that carrying an unregistered firearm. An officer would execute me on the spot. I’ll take my chances with villages, where there’s less enforcement, but not the Bay,” she adds, hiding the knife again. “Surprised you don’t know your own laws, Cal.”
He flushes silver, the tips of his ears turning bone white in embarrassment. Try as he might, Cal never had a head for laws and politics. That was Maven’s domain, always Maven’s.
“And anyways,” Farley continues, her eyes slicing at us both, “I consider you and the lightning girl much better weapons than guns.”
I can almost hear Cal’s teeth grinding together, in anger and frustration. “I told you, we can’t—” he begins, and I don’t have to listen to his muttered words to know his arguments. We’re the most wanted people in the kingdom, we’re dangerous to everyone, we’ll jeopardize everything. And while my first instinct is to listen to Cal, my second, my constant, is not to trust him. Because sneaking is not his specialty—it’s mine. While he debates with Farley, I quietly prepare myself for the tunnels and Harbor Bay. I remember it from Julian’s books, and slide the map away from Farley. She doesn’t notice the smooth action, still busy badgering Cal. Shade joins, intervening on her behalf, and the jabbering three leave me to sit silently and plan.
The Colonel’s map of Harbor Bay is newer than the one Julian showed me, and more detailed. Just as Archeon was built around the massive bridge the Scarlet Guard destroyed, Harbor Bay, naturally, centers on its famous, bowl-like harbor. Most of it is artificially built, forming a too-perfect curve of ocean against land. Both greenwardens and nymphs helped build the city and the harbor, alternately burying and flooding the ruins of what once stood here. And dividing the ocean circle, jutting straight out into the water, is a straight roadway full of gates, army patrols, and choke points. It separates the civilian Aquarian Port from the aptly named War Port, and leads to Fort Patriot, perched on a flat square of walled land in the middle of the harbor. The fort is considered the most valuable in the country, the only base that services all three branches of the military. Patriot is home to the soldiers of the Beacon Legion, as well as squadrons of the Air Fleet. The water of the War Port itself is deep enough for even the largest of ships, creating an essential dock for the Nortan navy. Even on the map, the fort looks intimidating—hopefully Ada and Wolliver will be found outside its walls.
The city itself spreads around the harbor, crowding between the docks. Harbor Bay is older than Archeon, incorporating the ruins of the city that once stood here. The roads twist and split unpredictably. Next to the neat grid of the capital, the Bay looks like a tangle of knotted wire. Perfect for rogues like us. Some of the streets even dip underground, linking up with the tunnel network Farley seems to know so well. While extracting two newbloods from Harbor Bay won’t be easy, it doesn’t seem so impossible. Especially if a few power outages happen to roll through the city at just the right moment.
“You’re welcome to stay here, Cal,” I say, lifting my head from the map. “But I’m not sitting this one out.”
He stops midsentence, turning to face me. For a moment, I feel like a pile of kindling about to be set ablaze. “Then I hope you’re ready to do what you have to.”
Ready to kill everyone who recognizes me. Anyone who recognizes me.
“I am.”
I’m very good at lying.
THIRTEEN
It’s easy to convince Nix to stay behind. Even with his invulnerability, he’s still a village crabber who’s never gone farther than the salt marshes of his home. A rescue mission inside a walled city is no place for him, and he knows it. Kilorn is not so easily swayed. He agrees to stay on the jet only after I remind him that someone needs to keep an eye on Nix.
When he hugs me tightly, saying good-bye for the moment, I expect to hear a whispered warning, some advice maybe. Instead, I get encouragement, and it’s more comforting than it should be. “You’re going to save them,” he murmurs. “I know you are.”
Save them. The words echo in my head, following me down the jet ramp and into the sunlit forest. I will, I tell myself, repeating until I believe in myself as much as Kilorn does. I will, I will, I will.
The woods here are thinner, forcing us to be on constant guard. In the daylight, Cal doesn’t have to worry about flame, and keeps his fire ready, each fingertip burning like the wick of a candle. Shade is off the ground entirely, jumping himself from tree to tree. He searches the forest with a soldier’s precision, his hawk-like gaze sweeping in every direction before he’s satisfied. I keep my own senses open, feeling for any burst of electricity that might be a transport or low-flying airship. There’s a dull hum to the southeast, toward Harbor Bay, but that’s to be expected, just like the ebb and flow of traffic along the Port Road. We’re well out of earshot of the byway, but my inner compass tells me we’re getting closer with every step.
I feel them before I see them. It’s small, the slightest pressure against my open mind. The tiny battery bleeds electricity, probably powering a watch or radio.
“From the east,” I murmur, pointing toward the approaching energy source.
Farley whips toward the direction, not bothering to crouch. But I certainly do, dropping to a knee in the foliage, letting the first colors of autumn camouflage my dark red shirt and brown hair. Cal is right beside me, flames close to his skin, controlled so that they don’t set the forest on fire. His breathing is even, steady, practiced, as his eyes search through the trees.
I extend a finger, pointing toward the battery. A single spark runs down my hand and disappears, calling out to the electricity drawing near.
“Farley, get down,” Cal growls, his voice almost lost among the rustling leaves.
Instead of obeying, she backs against a tree, melting into the shadows of the trunk. Sunlight through the leaves above dapples her skin, and her stillness makes her look like part of the forest. But she is not quiet. Her lips part, and a low birdcall echoes through the branches. The same one she used outside Coraunt, to communicate to Kilorn. A signal.
The Scarlet Guard.
“Farley,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “What’s going on?”
But she isn’t paying attention to me and watches the trees instead. Waiting. Listening. A moment later, someone hoots out a trilling reply, similar but not the same. When Shade responds from the tree above us, adding his own call to the strange song, a bit of my fear lifts away. Farley could lead me into a trap, but Shade wouldn’t. I hope.
“Captain, thought you were stuck on that blasted island,” a coarse voice says, filtering out of a thick grove of elms. The accent, hard vowels and missing r’s, is thick and distinct—Harbor Bay.
Farley smiles at the sounds, pushing off her tree trunk smoothly. “Crance,” she says, beckoning to the figure picking through the underbrush. “Where’s Melody? I was supposed to meet her. Since when are you Egan’s errand boy?”
When he steps out from the foliage, I do my best to size him up, taking in the little details I taught myself to notice long ago. He leans, compensating for something heavy left behind. A rifle perhaps, or maybe a club. Errand boy indeed. He has the look of a dockworker or a brawler, with massive arms and a barrel chest hiding beneath the bulk of worn cotton and a quilted vest. It’s heavily patched, creating a motley plaid of discarded fabric, all red in hue. Strange that his vest is so battered, but his leather boots look new, polished to a high sheen. Stolen, probably. My kind of man.
Crance shrugs at Farley, a twitch tugging at his dark face. “She’s got business on the docks. And I prefer right-hand man, if you don’t mind.” He turns the twitch into a grin, then bows in a smooth, exaggerated motion. “Of course, Boss Egan bids you welcome, Captain.”
“It’s not Captain anymore,” Farley mutters, frowning as she clasps his forearm in some version of a handshake. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”
He merely shakes his head. “You’ll find few here who’ll go along with that. The Mariners answer to Egan, not your Colonel.”
Mariners? Another division within the Scarlet Guard, I suppose.
“Are your friends going to keep hiding in the bushes?” he adds, angling a glance at me. His blue eyes are electrifying, made even sharper by his umber skin. But they aren’t enough to distract me from the more pressing issue—I still feel the pulsing watch battery, and Crance isn’t wearing a watch.
“What about your friends?” I ask him, standing up from the forest floor.
Cal moves in time with me, and I can tell he’s scrutinizing Crance, sizing him up. The other man does the same, one kind of soldier to another. Then he grins, teeth gleaming.
“So this is why the Colonel’s making such a fuss.” He chuckles, taking one daring step forward.
Neither of us flinches, despite his size. We’re more dangerous than he is.
He lets out a low whistle, turning his gaze back to me. “The exiled prince and the lightning girl. And where’s the Rabbit? I knew I heard him.”
Rabbit?
Shade’s form appears behind Crance, one arm on his crutch, the other around Crance’s neck. But he’s smiling, laughing. “I told you not to call me that,” he chides, shaking Crance’s shoulders.
“If the shoe fits,” Crance replies, shrugging out of Shade’s grasp. He makes a hopping motion with his hand, laughing as he does so. But his grin fades a little at the sight of the crutch and bandages. “You fall down a flight of stairs or something?” Crance keeps his tone light, but darkness clouds his bright eyes.
Shade waves off his concern and grips one broad shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Crance. And I guess I should introduce you to my sister—”
“No introductions necessary,” Crance says, shoving an open hand my way. I take it willingly, letting him squeeze my own forearm in a hand twice the size of my own. “Good to meet you, Mare Barrow, but I have to say, you look better on the wanted posters. Didn’t know that was possible.”
The others grimace, just as frightened as I am of the thought of my face plastered in every door and window. We should’ve expected this.