“Form up,” Tyton says, taciturn to a fault.
We follow, organizing into hasty lines at Davidson’s back. His arm shakes as we move, holding on as long as he can. Rafe takes my left, Tyton my right. I glance between them, wondering if I should say something. I can feel the static energy blooming from them both, familiar but strange. Their electricity, not mine.
In the storm, the blue thunder continues to rage. Ella fuels us, and we leech to her lightning.
“Three,” Davidson says.
Green on my left, white on my right. The colors flicker on the edge of my vision, each spark a tiny heartbeat.
“Two.”
I suck in one more breath. My throat aches, bruised by the stoneskin. But I’m still breathing.
“One.”
Again the shield collapses, opening our insides to the oncoming storm.
“BREACH!” echoes along the ramparts as the forces turn their attention on the gap in the wall. The Silver army responds in kind, surging toward us with a deafening yell. Green and purple lightning shudders through the killing ground, leaping along the first wave of soldiers. Tyton moves like a man throwing darts, his minuscule needles of lightning exploding into blinding bolts that toss Silver troops into the air. Many seize and twitch. He has no mercy.
The bombers follow our lead, moving with us as we close the breach. They only need an open line of sight to work, and their destruction churns stone, flesh, and earth in equal measure. Dirt falls with the snow, and the air tastes like ash. Is this what war is? Is this what it feels like to fight in the Choke? Tyton tosses me back, throwing out an arm to move my body. Darmian and the other wreckers surge before us, a human shield. Their axes cut in and out, spraying blood until the ruined walls on either side are coated in mirrored swaths of liquid silver.
No. I remember the Choke. The trenches. The horizon stretched in every direction, reaching down to meet a land cratered by decades of bloodshed. Each side knew the other. That war was evil, but defined. This is just a nightmare.
Soldier after soldier, Lakelander and Nortan, pulses into the breach. Each pushed by the man or woman behind. As on the bridges, they funnel into a killing ground. The crowd moves like the pull of the ocean, one wave drawing us back before the other goes forward. We have the advantage, but only slightly. More strongarms pummel at the walls, hoping to widen the gap. Telkies lob rubble into our line, pulverizing one of the bombers, while another freezes solid, mouth fixed open in a silent scream.
Tyton dances with fluid movements, each palm blazing with white lightning. I use web on the ground, spreading a puddle of electric energy beneath the pounding feet of the advancing army. Their bodies pile up, threatening to form another wall across the breach. But the telkies just wave them away, sending corpses spinning into the black storm.
I taste blood, but my broken wrist is just a buzz of pain now. It hangs limp at my side, and I’m grateful for the adrenaline that won’t let me feel the snapped bone.
The street and earth turn to liquid beneath my feet, running with red and silver. The swampy ground claims more than a few. When a newblood falls, a nymph jumps on him, pouring water down his nose and throat. He drowns before my eyes. Another corpse lies on her side, roots curling from her eyeballs. All I know is lightning. I can’t remember my name, my purpose, what I’m fighting for—beyond the air in my lungs. Beyond one more second of life.
A telky splits us apart, sending Rafe flying backward. Then me in the opposite direction. I spiral forward, over the top of the force pushing through the wall breach. To the other side. To the killing fields of Corvium.
I land hard, rolling end over end until I come to an abrupt stop, half buried in freezing mud. A bolt of pain spikes through my adrenaline shield, reminding me of a very broken bone and perhaps a few more. The storm winds tear at my clothes as I try to sit up, shards of ice scraping at my eyes and cheeks. Even though the wind howls, it isn’t so dark out here. Not black, but gray. A blizzard at dusk rather than midnight. I squint back and forth, too winded to do anything but lie in pain.
What were open fields, green lawns sloping off either side of the Iron Road, are now frozen tundra, each blade of grass like a razor of icicle. From this angle, Corvium is impossible to make out. Just like we couldn’t see through the pitch black of the storm, neither can the assaulting forces. It hinders them as much as us. Several battalions cluster like shadows, cutting silhouettes against the storm. Some attempt the ice bridges still forming and re-forming, but now most surge toward the breach. The rest lie in wait behind me, a smudge outside the worst of the storm. Maybe hundreds held in reserve, maybe thousands. Blue and red flags snap in the wind, just bright enough to make out. Caught between a rock and a hard place, I sigh to myself. And I’m stuck in the mud, surrounded by corpses and the walking wounded. At least most are focused on themselves, on missing limbs or split bellies, rather than a single Red girl in their midst.
Lakelander soldiers dart around me, and I brace myself for the worst. But they march on, stomping for the thundering clouds and the rest of the army slouching toward destruction. “Get to the healers!” one of them shouts over their shoulder, not even looking back. I look down, realizing I’m covered in silver blood. Some red, but mostly silver.
Quickly, I rub mud over my bleeding wounds and the bits of my uniform that are still green. The cuts sear with pain, making me hiss through my teeth. I look back at the clouds, watching lightning pulse within. Blue at the crown, green at the base, where the breach is. Where I have to get back to.
The mud sucks at my limbs, trying to freeze solid around me. With my broken wrist tucked against my chest, I push off with one arm, fighting to be free. I pull away with a loud pop and start sprinting, heaving breath after breath. Each one burns.
I make it ten yards, almost to the back of the Silver army, before I realize this isn’t going to work. They’re packed too tightly to slip through, even for me. And they’ll probably stop me if I try. My face is well known, even covered in mud. I can’t chance it. Or the ice bridges. One might crumble beneath me, or the Red soldiers might shoot me dead as I try to get back over the wall. Each choice ends badly. But so does standing here. Maven’s forces will push another assault and send another wave of troops. I see no way forward and no way back. For one terrifying, empty moment, I stare at the blackness of Corvium. Lightning flickers within the storm, weaker than before. It seems a towering hurricane topped with a thunderhead, layered with a blizzard and gale-force winds. I feel small against it, a single star in a sky of violent constellations.
How can we defeat this?
The first scream of a jet sends me to my knees, covering my head with my good hand. It ripples in my chest, a burst of electricity hammering like a heart. A dozen follow at low altitude, their engines spiraling the snow and ash as they scream between the two halves of the army.
More jets spiral on the outer edge of the storm, around and around, carving through it. The clouds drift with the jets, as if magnetized to the wings. Then I hear another roar. Another wind, stronger than the first, blowing with the fury of a hundred hurricanes. The wind works to clear the storm, tearing it apart with force. The clouds part enough to show the towers of Corvium, where blue lightning reigns. The wind follows the jets, pooling beneath their freshly painted wings.
Painted bright yellow.
House Laris.
My lips tug into a smile. They’re here. Anabel Lerolan kept her word.
I look for the other houses, but a falcon screams around me, its blue-black wings beating the air. Talons gleam, sharp as a blade, and I jump back to cover my face from the bird. It just screeches keenly before flapping away, gliding over the battleground toward—oh no.
Maven’s reserves are coming. Battalions, legions. Black armor, blue armor, red armor. I’m going to be smashed between both halves of his army.
Not without a fight.
I let loose, purple bolts rocketing down around me. Pushing back soldiers, making them question every step. They know what my abilities look like. They’ve seen what the lightning girl can do. They pause, but only for a moment. Enough to let me set my feet and turn, angling my body. Smaller target, larger chance of survival. My good fist clenches, ready to take them all down with me.
Many of the Silvers assaulting the breach turn in my direction. The distraction is their downfall. Green lightning and white pulse through them, clearing the way for red flame as it charges toward me.
The swifts close the distance first and catch a web of lightning. Some zip backward but others fall, unable to outrun sparks. Storm bolts, crackling out of the sky, keep the worst at bay, forming a protective circle around me. From the outside, it looks like a cage of electricity, but it’s a cage of my own making. A cage I control.
I dare any king to put me in a cage now.
I expect my lightning to draw him, like a moth to a candle flame. I search the oncoming horde for Maven. A red cape, a crown of iron flames. A white face in the sea, his eyes blue enough to pierce mountains.
Instead, the Laris jets move in for another pass, swooping low over both armies. They split around me, making soldiers scramble for cover as screaming metal rushes overhead. A dozen or so figures tumble from the backs of the larger jets, somersaulting on the air before plummeting to the ground at a speed that would pancake most humans. Instead, they throw out their arms, stopping themselves abruptly, churning up dirt, ash, and snow. And iron. Lots of iron.
Evangeline and her family, brother and father included, turn to face the oncoming army. The falcon keens around them, screaming as it darts on the harsh wind. Evangeline spares a glance over her shoulder, her eyes finding mine.
“Don’t make this a habit!” she shouts.
Exhaustion hits me because, strangely, I feel safe.
Evangeline Samos has my back.
Fire blazes at the edge of my vision on either side. It hems me in, almost blinding. I stumble back and hit a wall of muscle and tactical armor. Cal cradles my broken wrist, holding it gently.
For once, I don’t remember the manacles.