To my surprise, the tin can squeals around us, coming to a very sharp and sudden stop. Maven and I tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs, hitting the hard metal deck with a painful thunk. Lights beam down at us from the open door, revealing another platform lit by torches. It’s much larger and leads far back out of sight.
Farley steps over the pair of us without so much as a glance and trots onto the platform. “Aren’t you coming?”
Don’t move, Mare. This place will kill us!”
Something whines in my ears, almost drowning out Farley’s cold laugh. As I sit up, I can see she’s waiting patiently for both of us.
“How do you know the south, the Ruins, are still radiated?” she asks with a mad smile.
Maven trips over the words. “We have machines, detectors, they tell us—”
Farley nods. “And who built those machines?”
“Techies,” Maven croaks, “Reds.” Finally, he understands what she’s getting at. “The detectors lie.”
Grinning, Farley nods and extends a hand, helping him off the floor. He keeps his eyes on her, still wary, but allows her to lead us out onto the platform and up an iron set of stairs. Sunlight streams in from above, and fresh air swirls down to mix with the murky vapors of the underground.
Then we’re blinking in the open air, staring up at low-lying fog. Walls rise all around, supporting a ceiling that no longer exists. Only pieces of it remain, little bits of aquamarine and gold. As my eyes adjust, I can see tall shadows in the sky, their tops disappearing into the haze. The streets, wide black rivers of asphalt, are cracked and sprouting gray weeds a hundred years old. Trees and bushes grow over concrete, reclaiming little pockets and corners, but even more have been cleared away. Shattered glass crunches under my feet and clouds of dust drift in the wind, but somehow this place, the picture of neglect, doesn’t feel abandoned. I know this place from the histories, from the books and old maps.
Farley puts an arm around my shoulders, her smile wide and white.
“Welcome to the City of Ruins, to Naercey,” she says, using the old name forgotten long ago.
The ruined island contains special markers around the borders, to trick the radiation detectors the Silvers use to survey the old battlefields. This is how they protect it, the home of the Scarlet Guard. In Norta, at least. That’s what Farley said, hinting at more bases across the country. And soon, it will be the sanctuary of every Red refugee fleeing the king’s new punishments.
Every building we pass looks decrepit, coated in ash and weeds, but upon closer inspection, there’s something much more. Footprints in the dust, a light in a window, the smell of cooking wafting up from a drain. People, Reds, have a city of their own right here, hiding in plain sight. Electricity is scarce but smiles are not.
The half-collapsed building Farley leads us to must’ve been some kind of café once, judging by the rust-eaten tables and ripped-up booth seats. The windows have long since disappeared, but the floor is clean. A woman sweeps dust out the door, into neat piles on the broken sidewalk. I would be daunted by such a task, knowing that there is so much left to sweep away, but she carries on with a smile, humming to herself.
Farley nods at the cleaning woman, and she hurries away, leaving us in peace. To my delight, the booth closest to us holds a familiar face.
Kilorn, safe and whole. He even has the audacity to wink. “Long time no see.”
“There’s no time to get cute,” Farley growls, taking a seat next to him. She gestures for us to follow and we do, sliding into the squeaky booth. “I take it you saw the villages on your cruise down the river?”
My smile quickly fades, as does Kilorn’s. “Yes.”
“And the new laws? I know you’ve heard about them.” Her eyes harden, like it’s my fault I was forced to read the Measures.
“This is what happens when you threaten a beast,” Maven mutters, jumping to my defense.
“But now they know our name.”
“Now they’re hunting you,” Maven snaps, bringing a fist down on the table. It shakes the thin layer of dust, sending floating clouds into the air. “You waved a red flag in front of a bull, but didn’t do much more than poke at him.”
“They’re frightened though,” I pipe in. “They’ve learned to fear you. That has to count for something.”
“It counts for nothing if you slink back into your hidden city and let them regroup. You’re giving the king and the army time. My brother is already on your trail and it won’t be long until he tracks you down.” Maven stares at his hands, strangely angry. “Soon staying one step ahead won’t be enough. It won’t even be possible.”
Farley’s eyes glimmer in the light as she surveys us both, thinking. Kilorn is content to draw circles in dust, seemingly unmoved. I fight the urge to kick him under the table to make him pay attention.
“I couldn’t care less about my own safety, Prince,” Farley says. “It’s the people in the villages, the workers and the soldiers, who I care about. They’re the ones being punished right now, and harshly.”
My thoughts fly to my family and the Stilts, remembering the dull look in a thousand eyes as we passed. “What have you heard?”
“Nothing good.”
Kilorn’s head jerks up, though his fingers still swirl on the table. “Double work shifts, Sunday hangings, mass graves. It’s not pretty for the ones who can’t keep up the pace.” He’s remembering our village, just like I am. “Our people at the war front say it isn’t much different up there either. The fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds are being put into their own legion. They won’t survive the month.”
His fingers draw an X in the dust, angrily marking what he feels.
“I can stall that, maybe,” Maven says, brainstorming out loud. “If I convince the war council to hold them back, put them through extra training.”
“That’s not enough.” My voice is small but firm. The list seems to burn against my skin, begging to be let free. I turn to Farley. “You have people all over, don’t you?”
I don’t miss the shadow of satisfaction cross her face. “I do.”
“Then give them these names.” I pull Julian’s book from my jacket, opening to the beginning of the list. “And find them.”
Maven gently takes the book, his eyes scanning over it. “There must be hundreds,” he mutters, not looking away from the page. “What is this?”
“They’re like me. Red and Silver, and stronger than both.”
It’s my turn to feel smug. Even Maven’s jaw drops. Farley snaps her fingers and he hands it over without a thought, still staring at the little book that holds such a powerful secret.
“It won’t be long until the wrong person figures this out, though,” I add. “Farley, you must find them first.”
Kilorn glares at the names like they offer him some kind of insult. “This could take months, years.”
Maven huffs. “We don’t have that kind of time.”
“Exactly,” Kilorn agrees. “We need to act now.”
I shake my head. Revolutions cannot be rushed. “But if you wait, if you find as many as you can—you could have an army.”
Suddenly, Maven slaps the table, causing us all to jump. “But we do have one.”
“I have many under my command here, but not that many,” Farley argues, looking at Maven like he’s gone mad.
But he grins, alive with some hidden fire. “If I can get an army, a legion in Archeon, what could you do?”
She just shrugs. “Very little, actually. The other legions would crush them on the field.”
It hits me like a thunderbolt, and I finally realize what Maven is getting at. “But they won’t fight on the field,” I breathe. He turns to me, smiling like a crazed loon. “You’re talking about a coup.”
Farley frowns. “A coo?”
“A coup, a coup d’état. It’s a history thing, a before thing,” I explain, trying to wave off their confusion. “It’s when a small group quickly overthrows a large government. Sound familiar?”
Farley and Kilorn exchange glances, eyes narrowed. “Go on,” she says.
“You know the way Archeon’s built, with the Bridge, the West side, and the East side.” My fingers race along with my words, drawing a rough map of the city in the dust. “Now, the West side has the palace, command, the treasury, the courts, the entire government. And if somehow we can get in there, cut it off, get to the king, and make him agree to our terms—it’s all over. You said it yourself, Maven, you can run the whole country from Caesar’s Square. All we have to do is take it.”
Under the table, Maven pats me on the knee. He’s buzzing with pride. Farley’s usual suspicious look is gone, replaced by real hope. She runs a hand over her lips, mouthing words to herself as she eyes the dust-drawn plan.
“This might just be me,” Kilorn begins, falling back to his usual snide tone, “but I’m not exactly sure how you plan to get enough Reds in there to fight Silvers. You need ten of us to bring down one of them. Not to mention there’s the five thousand Silver soldiers loyal to your brother”—he glances at Maven—“all trained to kill, all trying to hunt us down as we speak.”
I deflate, falling back against the seat. “That could be difficult.” Impossible.
Maven brushes a hand over my dust map, wiping away West Archeon with a few strokes of his fingers. “Legions are loyal to their generals. And I happen to know a girl who knows a general very well.”
When his eyes meet mine, all his fire is gone, replaced now by bitter cold. He smiles tightly.
“You’re talking about Cal.” The soldier. The general. The prince. His father’s son. Again I think of Julian, of the uncle Cal would kill for his twisted version of justice. Cal would never betray his country, not for anything.
When Maven answers, it’s matter-of-fact. “We give him a hard choice.”
I can feel Kilorn’s eyes on my face, weighing my reaction, and it’s almost too much pressure to bear. “Cal will never turn his back on his crown, on your father.”
“I know my brother. If it comes down to it, to saving your life or saving his crown, we both know what he will choose,” Maven fires back.
“He would never choose me.”
My skin burns under Maven’s gaze, with the memory of one stolen kiss. It was him who saved me from Evangeline. Cal who saved me from escaping and bringing more pain upon myself. Cal who saved me from conscription. I’ve been too busy trying to save others to notice how much Cal saves me. How much he loves me.
Suddenly it’s very hard to breathe.
Maven shakes his head. “He will always choose you.”
Farley scoffs. “You want me to pin my entire operation, the entire revolution, on some teenaged love story? I can’t believe this.”
Across the table, a strange look crosses Kilorn’s face. When Farley turns to him, looking for some kind of support, she finds none.
“I can,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving my face.
TWENTY-FIVE
As Maven and I are driven across the Bridge, heading back to the palace after our long day of handshakes and secret plans, I wish the dawn would begin tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’m intensely aware of the rumble around us while we pass through the city. Everything pulses with energy, from the transports on the streets to the lights woven into steel and concrete. It reminds me of the moment in Grand Garden long ago, when I watched the nymphs play in a fountain or the greenys attend their flowers. In that instant, I found their world beautiful. I understand now why they want to keep it, to maintain their rule over all the rest, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let them.
There’s usually a feast to celebrate the king’s return to his city, but in light of recent events, Caesar’s Square is much quieter than it should be. Maven pretends to lament the lack of spectacle, if only to fill the silence.
“The banquet hall is twice the size of the one at the Hall,” he says as we enter the great gates. I can see part of Cal’s legion drilling at the barracks, a thousand of them marching in time. Their steps beat like a drum. “We used to dance until dawn—at least, Cal did. Girls didn’t ask me to dance much, not unless Cal made them.”
“I would ask you to dance,” I murmur back to him, my eyes still on the barracks. Will they be ours tomorrow?
Maven doesn’t answer, shifting in his seat as we coast to a stop. He will always choose you.
“I feel nothing for Cal,” I whisper in his ear as we clamber out of the transport.
He smiles, his hand closing around mine, and I tell myself it’s not a lie.
When the doors to the palace open to us, a wretched scream twists through the long marbled passages. Maven and I exchange glances, startled. Our guards bristle, hands straying to their guns, but they aren’t enough to stop me from bolting. Maven keeps up as best he can, trying to match my pace. The scream sounds again, accompanied by a dozen marching feet and the familiar clank of armor.
I break into a dead sprint, Maven right behind me. We burst into a round chamber, a council hall of polished marble and dark wood. There’s already a crowd and I almost collide with Lord Samos himself, but my feet stop me just in time. Maven slams into my back, nearly knocking us over.
Samos sneers at both of us, his black eyes cold and hard.
“My lady, Prince Maven,” he says, barely inclining his head to either of us. “Have you come to see the show?”
The show. There are other lords and ladies around us, along with the king and queen, all staring straight ahead. I push through them, not knowing what I’ll find on the other side, but I know it won’t be good. Maven follows, his hand never leaving my elbow. When we reach the front of the crowd, I’m glad for his warm hand, a comfort to keep me quiet—and to pull me back.
No less than sixteen soldiers stand in the center of the chamber, their booted feet tracking dirt over the great crown seal. Their armor is the same, scaled black metal, except for one with a reddish glint. Cal.
Evangeline stands with him, her hair pulled back into a braid. She breathes heavily, winded, but looks proud of herself. And where there’s Evangeline, her brother cannot be far behind.
Ptolemus appears from the back of the pack, dragging a screaming body by her hair. Cal turns away and meets my eyes the moment I recognize her. I can see regret there, but he does nothing to save her.
Ptolemus tosses Walsh to the polished floor, her face smashing against the rock. She barely spares a glance at me before turning her pained eyes on the king. I remember the playful, smiling servant who first introduced me to this world; that person is gone.
“The rats crawl in the old tunnels,” Ptolemus snarls, turning her over with his foot. She scrambles away from his touch, surprisingly quick for her many injuries. “We found this one trailing us near the river holes.”
Trailing them? How could she be so stupid? But Walsh isn’t stupid. No, this was an order, I realize with growing horror. She was watching the train tunnels, making sure the way was clear for us to get back from Naercey. And while we made it through safely, she did not.
Maven’s grip on my arm tightens, pulling me into him until his chest lies flush to my back. He knows I want to run to her, to save her, to help her. And I know we can’t do anything at all.
“We went as far as the radiation detectors would allow,” Cal adds, trying his best to ignore Walsh coughing up blood. “The tunnel system is huge, much larger than we originally thought. There must be dozens of miles in the area and the Scarlet Guard know them better than any of us.”
King Tiberias scowls beneath his beard. He gestures at Walsh, waving her forward. Cal seizes her by the arm, pulling her toward the king. A thousand different tortures fill my head, each one worse than the last. Fire, metal, water, even my own lightning, could be used to make her talk.
“I will not make the same mistake again,” the king growls into her face. “Elara, make her sing. Right now.”
“With pleasure,” the queen replies, freeing her hands from her trailing sleeves.
This is worse. Walsh will talk, she’ll implicate us all, she’ll ruin us. And then they’ll kill her slowly. They’ll kill us all slowly.
An Eagrie in the crowd of soldiers, an eye with the ability of foresight, suddenly jumps forward. “Stop her! Hold her arms!”
But Walsh is faster than his vision. “For Tristan,” she says, before slamming a hand to her mouth. She bites down on something and swallows, knocking her head back.
“A healer!” Cal snaps, grabbing her throat, trying to stop her. But her mouth foams white and her limbs twitch—she’s choking. “A healer, now!”
She seizes violently, twisting out of his grip with the last of her strength. When she hits the floor, her eyes are wide open, staring but not seeing. Dead.
For Tristan.
I can’t even mourn her.