Again, he obeys and Shade can do nothing but limp along, leaving me behind. As they clamber out of the crater, scrambling west, I take measured steps east. The army will stop for me. They must.
After one terrifying second, the Reds slow, their chains clinking as they halt. Behind them, Silvers balance black rifles on their shoulders, as if they were nothing at all. The war transports, great machines with treaded wheels, grind to a screeching stop somewhere behind the army. I can feel their power thrum through my veins.
The army is close enough now that I hear officers bark orders. “The lightning girl!” “Keep the line, stand firm!” “Take aim!” “Hold your fire!”
The worst comes last, ringing out against the suddenly quiet street. Ptolemus’s voice is familiar, full of hatred and rage.
“Make way for the king!” he shouts.
I stagger back. I expected Maven’s armies, but not Maven himself. He is not a soldier like his brother, and he has no business leading an army. But here he is, stalking through the parting troops, with Ptolemus and Evangeline on his heels. When he steps out from behind the Red line, my knees almost buckle. His armor is polished black, his cape crimson. Somehow he seems taller than he did this morning. He still wears his father’s crown of flames, though it has no place on a battlefield. I suppose he wants to show the world what he’s won with his lies, what a great prize he’s stolen. Even from so far away, I can feel the heat of his glare and his roiling anger. It burns me from inside out.
Nothing but the jets whistle overhead; it is the only sound in the world.
“I see you’re still brave,” Maven says, his voice carrying down the avenue. It echoes among the ruins, taunting me. “And foolish.”
Like in the arena, I will not give him the satisfaction of my anger and fear.
“They should call you the little quiet girl.” He laughs coldly, and his army laughs with him. The Reds remain silent, their eyes fixed on the ground. They don’t want to watch what’s about to happen. “Well, quiet girl, tell your rat friends it is over. They are surrounded. Call them out, and I will give them the gift of good deaths.”
Even if I could give such an order, I never would. “They’re already gone.”
Don’t lie to a liar, and Maven is the grandest liar of all.
Still, he looks unsure. The Scarlet Guard has escaped so many times already, in Caesar’s Square, in Archeon. Perhaps they might escape even now. What an embarrassment that would be. What a disastrous start to his reign.
“And the traitor?” His voice sharpens, and Evangeline moves closer to him. Her silver hair glints like the edge of a razor, brighter than her gilded armor. But he moves away from her, batting her aside like a cat would a toy. “What about my wretched brother, the fallen prince?”
He never hears my answer, for I have none.
Maven laughs again and this time it stabs through my heart. “Has he abandoned you too? Did he run away? The coward kills our father and tries to steal my throne, only to slink off and hide?” He bristles, pretending for the sake of his nobles and soldiers. For them, he must still seem the tragic son, a king never meant for a crown, who wants nothing more than justice for the dead.
I raise my chin in challenge. “Do you think Cal would do such a thing?”
Maven is far from foolish. He is wicked but not stupid, and he knows his brother better than anyone else alive. Cal is no coward and never will be. Lying to his subjects will never change that. Maven’s eyes betray his heart and he glances sidelong, at the alleys and streets leading away from the war-torn avenue. Cal could be hiding in any one, waiting to strike. I could even be the trap, the bait to draw out the weasel I once called my betrothed and my friend. When he turns his head, his crown slips, too big for his skull. Even the metal knows it does not belong to him.
“I think you stand alone, Mare.” He speaks softly. Despite all he’s done to me, my name in his mouth makes me shiver, thinking of days gone by. Once he said it with kindness and affection. Now it sounds like a curse. “Your friends are gone. You have lost. And you are an abomination, the only one of your wretched kind. It will be a mercy to remove you from this world.”
More lies, and we both know it. I mirror his cold laugh. For a second, we look like friends again. Nothing is further from the truth.
A jet overhead sweeps by, its wings almost scraping the tip of a nearby ruin. It’s so close. Too close. I can feel its electric heart, its whirring engines somehow keeping it aloft. I reach for it as best I can, like I have so many times before. Like the lights, like the cameras, like every wire and circuit since I became the lightning girl, I take hold of it—and shut it off.
The airjet dips, nose down, gliding for a moment on heavy wings. Its original trajectory meant to take it above the avenue, high over the legion to protect the king. Now it dives headfirst into them, sailing over the Red line to collide with hundreds of Silvers. The Samos magnetrons and Provos telkies aren’t quick enough to stop the jet as it plows into the street, sending asphalt and bodies flying. The resounding boom as it explodes nearly knocks me off my feet, pushing me farther away. The blast is deafening, disorienting, and painful. No time for pain repeats in my head. I don’t bother to watch the chaos of Maven’s army. I am already running, and my lightning is with me.
Purple-and-white sparks shield my back, keeping me safe from the swifts trying to run me down. A few collide with my lightning, trying to break through. They fall back in piles of smoked flesh and twitching bone. I’m grateful I can’t see their faces, or else I might dream of them later. Bullets come next, but my zigzagging sprint makes me a difficult target. The few shots that get close shriek apart in my shield, like my body was supposed to when I fell into the electric net at Queenstrial. That moment seems so long ago. Overhead, the jets scream again, this time careful to keep their distance. Their missiles are not so polite.
The ruins of Naercey stood for thousands of years, but will not survive this day. Buildings and streets crumble, destroyed by Silver powers and missiles alike. Everything and everyone has been unleashed. The magnetrons twist and snap steel support beams, while telkies and strong-arms hurl rubble through the ashen sky. Water bleeds up from the sewers as nymphs attempt to flood the city, flushing out the last of the Guardsmen hiding in the tunnels below us. The wind howls, strong as a hurricane, from the windweavers in the army. Water and rubble sting my eyes, the gusts so sharp they are nearly blinding. Oblivions’ explosions rock the ground beneath me and I stumble, confused. I never used to fall. But now my face scrapes against the asphalt, leaving blood in my wake. When I get back up, a banshee’s glass-shattering scream knocks me down again, forcing me to cover my ears. More blood there, dripping fast and thick between my fingers. But the banshee who flattened me has accidentally saved me. As I fall, another missile blasts over my head, so near I feel it ripple the air.
It explodes too close, the heat pulsing through my hasty lightning shield. Dimly, I wonder if I’ll die without eyebrows. But instead of burning through me, the heat stands constant, uncomfortable but not unbearable. Strong, bruising hands wrench me to my feet, and blond hair glints in the firelight. I can just make out her face through the biting windstorm. Farley. Her gun is gone, her clothes torn, and her muscles quiver, but she keeps holding me up.
Behind her, a tall, familiar figure cuts a black silhouette against the explosion. He holds it back with a single, outstretched hand. His shackles are gone, melted or cast away. When he turns, the flames grow, licking at the sky and the destroyed street, but never us. Cal knows exactly what he’s doing, directing the firestorm around us like water around rock. As in the arena, he forms a burning wall across the avenue, protecting us from his brother and the legion beyond. But now, his flames are strong, fed by oxygen and rage. They leap up into the air, so hot the base burns ghostly blue.
More missiles drop, but again, Cal contains their power, using it to feed his own. It’s almost beautiful, watching his long arms arc and turn, transforming destruction into protection with steady rhythm.
Farley tries to pull me away, overpowering me. With the flames defending us, I turn to see the river a hundred yards away. I can even see the hulking shadows of Kilorn and my brother, limping toward supposed safety.
“Come on, Mare,” she growls, half dragging my bruised and weakened body.
For a second, I let her pull me along. It hurts too much to think clearly. But one glance back and I understand what she’s doing, what she’s trying to make me do.
“I’m not leaving without him!” I shout for the second time today.
“I think he’s doing fine on his own,” she says, her blue eyes reflecting the fire.
Once, I thought like her. That Silvers were invincible, gods upon the earth, too powerful to destroy. But I killed three just this morning; Arven, the Rhambos strongarm, and the nymph lord Osanos. Probably more with the lightning storm. And they almost killed me, and Cal, for that matter. We had to save each other in the arena. And we must do so again.
Farley is bigger than me, taller and stronger, but I’m more agile. Even banged up and half-deaf. One flick of my ankle, one well-timed shove, and she stumbles backward, letting go. I turn in the same motion, palms outstretched, feeling for what I need. Naercey has far less electricity than Archeon or even the Stilts, but I don’t need to leach power from anything now. I make my own.
The first blast of nymph water pounds against the flames with the strength of a tidal wave. Most of it flash boils into vapor, but the rest falls on the wall, extinguishing the great tongues of fire. I answer the water with my own electricity, aiming for the waves curling and crashing in midair. Behind the wave, the Silver legion marches forward, lunging for us. At least the chained Reds have been pulled away, relegated to the back of the line. Maven’s doing. He won’t let them slow him down.
His soldiers meet my lightning instead of open air, and behind it, Cal’s fire jumps back up from the embers.
“Move back slowly,” Cal says, gesturing with an open hand. I mirror his measured steps, careful not to look away from the oncoming doom. Together we alternate back and forth, protecting our own retreat. When his flame falls, my lightning rises, and so on. Together, we have a chance.
He mutters little commands: when to step, when to raise a wall, when to let it drop. He looks more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him, his veins blue-black beneath pale skin, with gray circles rimming his eyes. I know I must look worse. But his pacing keeps us from giving out entirely, allowing little bits of our strengths to return just when we need.
“Just a little farther,” Farley calls, her voice echoing from behind. But she’s not running off. She’s staying with us, even though she’s just human. She’s braver than I gave her credit for.
“Farther to what?” I growl through gritted teeth, tossing up another net of electricity. Despite Cal’s commands, I’m getting slower, and a bit of rubble flies through. It breaks a few yards away, crumbling into dust. We are running out of time.
But so is Maven.
I can smell the river, and the ocean beyond. Sharp and salty, it beckons, but to what end, I have no idea. I only know that Farley and Shade believe it will save us from Maven’s jaws. When I glance behind me, I see nothing but the avenue, dead-ending at the river’s edge. Farley stands, waiting, her short hair stirring in the hot wind. Jump, she mouths, before plunging off the edge of the crumbled street.
What is it with her and leaping into an abyss?
“She wants us to jump,” I tell Cal, turning back just in time to supplant his wall.
He grunts in agreement, too focused to speak. Like my lightning, his fires grow weak and thin. We can almost see through them now, to the soldiers on the other side. Flickering flame distorts their features, turning eyes into burning coals, mouths into smiling fangs, and men into demons.
One of them steps up to the wall of fire, close enough to burn. But he doesn’t. Instead, he draws the flames apart like a curtain.
Only one person can do that.
Maven shakes embers from his silly cape, letting the silk burn away while his armor holds firm. He has the gall to smile.
And somehow, Cal has the strength to turn away. Instead of tearing Maven apart with his bare hands, he takes my wrist in his searing-hot grip. We sprint together, not bothering to defend our backs. Maven is no match for either of us, and he knows it. Instead, he screams. Despite the crown and the blood on his hands, he is still so young.
“Run, murderer! Run, lightning girl! Run fast and far!” His laughter echoes off the crumbling ruins, haunting me. “There is nowhere I won’t find you!”
I’m dimly aware of my lightning failing, giving out as I get farther away. Cal’s own flame crumbles with it, exposing us to the rest of the legion. But we’re already jumping through midair, to the river ten feet below.
We land, not with a splash but the resounding clang of metal. I have to roll to keep from shattering my ankles, but still feel a hollow, aching pain run up my bones. What? Farley waits, knee-deep in the cold river, next to a cylindrical metal tube with an open top. Without speaking she clambers into it, disappearing into whatever lies beneath us. We have no time to argue or ask questions, and follow blindly.
At least Cal has the good sense to close the tube behind us, shutting out the river and the war above. It hisses pneumatically, forming an airtight seal. But that won’t protect us for long, not against the legion.
“More tunnels?” I ask breathlessly, whirling to Farley. My vision spots with the motion and I have to slump against the wall, my legs shaking.
Like she did on the street, Farley puts one arm under my shoulder, supporting my weight. “No, this isn’t a tunnel,” she says with a puzzling smirk.
And then I feel it. Like a battery humming somewhere, but bigger. Stronger. It pulses all around us, down the strange hallway swimming with blinking buttons and low, yellow lights. I glimpse red scarves moving down the passage, hiding the faces of the Guardsmen. They look hazy, like crimson shadows. With a groan, the whole hall shudders and drops, angling downward. Into the water.
“A boat. An underwater boat,” Cal says. His voice is faraway, shaky, and weak. Just like I feel.
Neither of us makes it more than a few feet before we collapse against the sloping walls.