Someone bumps my shoulder, jolting me out of the quicksand that is Tiberias Calore.
“Here,” Farley says gruffly, a warning. She hasn’t discarded her dark red uniform of Command, and she stares down at me, blue eyes wide. “Let me.”
Her fingers zip up the back of my suit with speed, tightening the ensemble around my frame. I shuffle a little, adjusting the thick-woven fabric of my too-long sleeves. Anything to keep my attention away from the exiled prince currently shoving his arms into his own suit.
“Nothing in your size, Barrow?”
Tyton’s deep drawl offers a well-needed distraction. He leans up alongside us, back braced against the wall with one long leg stretched out. His suit is the same as mine, albeit better fitted to his trim form. No lightning insignia. No markings. No indication of how deadly a man this newblood is. With him around, I realize Davidson has no need to arrange useful accidents to remove opponents. He only needs Tyton. The chilling thought is somehow a balm. This isn’t a trap, at the very least. It doesn’t need to be.
I slide on my boots, smirking. “I’ll have words with the tailor when we get back.”
Across the room, Tiberias rolls his sleeves, exposing his flamemaker bracelet. Evangeline looks almost bored at his side, her furs tossed to the floor to reveal the full armor covering her from fingertips to toes. She catches my glance and holds my gaze.
I don’t expect her to stick her neck out for anyone but Elane Haven, and yet I feel safer with her around. She’s saved me twice before. And I’m still of value to her. Our agreement still stands.
Tiberias must not win the throne.
The room clears as we prepare, moving from the changing area to the rows and rows of arms at the back of the room. Farley weighs herself down with ammunition, putting a pistol on her other hip and a snub machine gun across her back. I assume she already has her knives tucked away. I don’t take any weapons, but Tyton grabs a belt, pistol, and holster off the rack, shoving them toward me.
“No thanks,” I grumble, begrudging. I don’t like guns or bullets. I don’t trust them. And I don’t need them. I can’t control either one the way I can control my lightning.
“Some raiders are silents,” he replies, his voice a low whipcrack. Just the thought turns my insides. I know the feel of Silent Stone all too well. It isn’t a sensation I would like to bear again, not for any reason.
Without warning, Tyton fastens the gun belt around my waist, his eyes and fingers quick on the buckles. The gun slides into its holster, feeling heavy and unfamiliar at my side. “If you lose your ability,” he adds, “it’s best to have a backup.”
Behind us, the temperature rises, a rippling heat that can only mean one thing. I look up just in time to watch Tiberias shoulder by, keeping his distance, furiously intent on staring at the floor as he goes. Trying to ignore me.
He might as well wear a sign around his neck.
“Careful with those hands, Tyton,” he growls over his shoulder. “She bites.”
Tyton just chuckles darkly. He doesn’t need to respond, and doesn’t attempt to. It only incenses Tiberias further.
For once, I don’t care about the scarlet flush heating my cheeks. I step away from Tyton, who is still laughing.
Tiberias watches me as I catch up to him, his bronze eyes alight with something more than his usual fire. Electric energy pulses through my limbs. I keep it in check, using it to fuel my resolve.
“Don’t be such a possessive ass,” I snap, driving my elbow into his ribs as I stalk by. It’s like hitting a wall. “If you insist on calling yourself a king, you can at least act like one.”
Behind me, he lets loose something between a snarl and a frustrated sigh.
I don’t respond, don’t look back, and don’t stop until I’ve followed the steady current of soldiers outside onto the central plaza where we first arrived hours ago. Black and forest-green transports crowd the stone, the vehicles fanned out evenly. Davidson waits by the lead, Carmadon at his side. They embrace quickly, touching foreheads and kissing, before Carmadon backs away. Neither of them seems bothered by the impending skirmish. This must be a common occurrence—or they’re very good at masking their fear. It could be both.
The palace overlooks the growing number of soldiers, and shadows move on the balconies. Servants and guests alike. I squint, trying to find my family among the silhouettes. Gisa’s hair should stand out, but I spot Dad first. He hunches over a railing, leaning out to watch. When he sees me, he tips his head, but only a little. I want to wave, but it feels silly. And when the transports rev to life, their engines a growl across the pines, I know that calling to them is no use either.
I find Farley at the lead transport, waiting alongside Davidson. She clambers inside, hoisting herself up and into the raised vehicle. These transports are different from the ones I’m used to. The wheels are much bigger, almost my height, with deep treads for the rocky, jagged mountain terrain. The rest of the body is reinforced, piped with steel, and decorated with many handholds, toeholds, and dangling straps, for obvious purpose.
Tyton jumps up, scrambling onto the back of the lead. He links himself to the frame alongside another Montfort soldier. The straps connect to their waists, giving them enough slack to lean but not enough to bounce. Other soldiers, with all kinds of blood, do the same across the transports. Without their insignia, I can’t tell for certain, but I assume they are the best shots, with both bullets and ability.
Premier Davidson holds the door, waiting for me to join him inside the transport. Something hungry and wild drives me to do the opposite.
I climb up next to Tyton, tying myself in on his right. One corner of his mouth lifts, the only acknowledgment of my choice.
The transport behind us is for Tiberias and Evangeline, their guards flanking the vehicle in unmistakable colors. I watch as Evangeline halts, one foot on the step up. She looks, not at me, but back at the palace. At Carmadon waiting by the grand entrance, arms crossed, his white suit glowing in the floodlights. Anabel stands nearby, a few feet distant. On the edge of impolite. She raises her chin when Tiberias appears, striding across the plaza with long steps.
Without his colors, he seems like all the rest. A soldier with orders to answer to. Fitting. That’s who he thinks he is. Just another person under his father’s command, obeying the will of someone dead. Again we lock eyes, and something in both of us burns.
Despite everything, his presence feels like safety. No matter what, he chases away any fear I have for myself.
Of course, that only leaves fear for the people I love.
For Farley, for my family.
And still, always, for him.
A settlement down on the plain is at risk, calling for aid on the other side of the mountain. There isn’t time to go down the slope and wind around through the valley. So we go over it.
There are roads above the palace, weaving high into the pines. We scream over the steep landscape, beneath branches so tight they obscure the stars. I lean flat to the transport, afraid of being dashed into an overhanging bough. Soon the trees are gone entirely, and the earth beneath our transports turns rocky. My head tightens, my ears popping like they do during jet takeoffs. Snow pocks the sloping ground, gathered in hollows at first, until it blankets the final peak. My exposed face goes red with cold, but the suits are special-made, keeping me warm. Still, my teeth chatter, and I wonder exactly what possessed me to ride on the back of the transport rather than inside it.