On hands and knees, I sputter and choke, trying to spit up the water as quietly as possible. He thumps a fist on my back.
I can barely think, but I glance around anyway, eager to get my bearings. Even a second off guard could get us killed.
We’re under one of the docks of the Aquarian Port, in about six inches of lapping water. Boats hide us on either side, hemming us in with nothing but rotting seaweed, discarded rope, and barnacles.
Ptolemus looks beyond the dock into the few feet of space allowing us a prime view of the bridge and Fort Patriot beyond. The harbor is a surging cauldron, battered by dueling tides as the ocean itself rises and falls. Some wake crashes toward the shore, rapidly pushing water up to our necks. I sputter, grabbing at the rotted wood above my head, and for a moment I think we might find ourselves drowned onshore. But the water recedes, pulling back out again with unnatural force.
We move with it, clambering to the supports holding up the end of the dock. I only have my knives and bullets now, my armor discarded somewhere at the bottom of the port. Not that I care. I can find metal anywhere I want on land.
Ahead of us, waves assault the bridge again and again, tossing soldiers. Our battalion is a ruin, if not completely destroyed. House Samos will pay in blood today. The assault from the sea has failed.
A jet screams through the clouds, circling the thunderheads dissipating over the fort. Two more give chase, their wings tipped in Laris yellow. As I watch, the hunted plane bursts into flame, shearing apart before crashing into the distant waves. A strong wind tears across the harbor as other Laris jets dot the sky, flying low over the city. The sound of them threatens to rip my head open, but I would cheer them on if I could. The fleet is our real advantage.
Especially with Patriot half underwater.
Most of the fort is flooded, including the jetways. Only the navy ships survived intact, still operational. They turn their guns on the Laris jets as they pass, spitting hot iron. One of the jets falls, a wing obliterated, before two more follow.
“We have to disable the battleships,” I mutter flatly, already exhausted by the prospect.
Tolly looks at me like I’m crazy.
I very well may be.
We sprint the edge of the harbor as fast as we can, moving in and out of a full-blown battle. Cal’s land assault was the biggest of the three planned, utilizing hundreds of soldiers from our entire coalition, not to mention agents of the Scarlet Guard and their contacts already in the city. Trained soldiers grapple alongside thieves and criminals as guerrilla warfare overwhelms Harbor Bay from every gutter and alley. A city of white stone and blue roofs turns black and red, smoke and fire. Calore colors, I think bitterly. But for which brother?
The Nortan Silvers and conscripted Reds find themselves bogged down in the streets, restricted by their own regimented training. Bottlenecked, their numbers neutralized, but still dangerous. Tolly and I risk our lives as we run, re-forming our armor from whatever we can salvage. Rusty bits and all. If I had the time, I would feel disgusted with my own poor work.
Out on the water, maybe a mile out to sea, the Laris jets meet Nortan and Piedmont jets. Cal’s orders again. Keep the worst of their weapons and our own from the city. Even from this distance, I can hear the roar as they dance through the air at blinding speed. Bursts of fire and smoke spread across the aerial battle, sandwiched between the clouds and the horizon. I don’t envy the pilots, especially the ones who must contend with Laris windweavers. It’s difficult enough flying a jet without fighting the wind itself.
Iris must still be near the War Port, protecting the battleships from rough waves. As we approach, I can see that the water around the four massive steel hulls is still and smooth. The rest of the port boils and tosses, throwing back any attempts to take the ships from the mainland. Soon the Lakelander princess will turn the big guns on the jets out at sea, or the city itself. Destroy Harbor Bay the way she broke the fort. Leave nothing but a ruin, useless to either Calore brother.
Bright red slashes across my vision, jumping out onto the road from an alley. I never thought I’d be so relieved to find an armed squadron of Scarlet Guard. Especially one led by General Farley.
Her band of criminals rounds on us, guns raised. Reluctant but quick, I raise my hands, meeting her eyes. “Just us,” I pant, gesturing for Ptolemus to do the same.
She looks between us, eyes ticking like a pendulum. A scale settling on balance. My relief melts in an instant as I realize exactly what she could be weighing.
My brother’s life.
She could try to kill him, kill us, right here, and no one would know. We could just be casualties of the battle. And she would have her revenge.
It’s what I would do, if someone took Tolly from me.
The blond woman’s hand strays, finding the gun at her hip, fastened to a half-empty ammunition belt. She’s been busy. I hold her shivering blue gaze, saying nothing, barely daring to breathe. Trying not to tip her in the wrong direction.
I set my teeth on edge, reaching out with every piece of my exhausted ability I can muster. Grabbing for her gun, her remaining bullets, the knives hidden all over her body. To stop her if she decides to strike.
“Cal’s this way,” she finally says, snapping the string of tension between us. “We need to get those ships out of their hands.”
“Of course,” Ptolemus replies, and I almost punch him in the teeth.
Be quiet, I want to hiss.
Instead I step in front of him slightly, shielding his body from her wrath. Farley only twitches, staring at him for another blistering second. “Fall in, soldiers,” she sneers, before turning her back on us.
Soldiers. Not Your Highness, not our titles.
If that’s the worst she’s going to do, I’ll take it gladly.
We do as commanded, sliding into formation with the rest of her band. I don’t recognize any of them, and her Guard are distinguished only by red sashes tied around arms or waists or wrists. The Guard look ragtag, hastily thrown together, their clothes common. They could be servants or laborers, dockworkers, low traders, cooks, drivers. But they share her steely disposition and determination. And they’re armed to the teeth. I wonder how many Silvers kept such wolves in their own houses.
I wonder how many there still are in mine.
Our coalition holds a stretch of the Port Road as it curves around the harbor, looking out on the battleships blocking up the War Port. Behind us are more barracks and military outbuildings, all overtaken. Many of our soldiers take up defensive positions, poking out of windows and doorways, and others form up at the port side, waiting for orders.
Have we won the city?
Cal stalks among his lieutenants and guards, more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him, his hair slick with sweat, the rest of him striped with ash and blood. I can barely discern the armor beneath, shimmering a deep ruby red between the dirty patches. He paces at the edge of the water, harried and frustrated. And careful to keep out of reach of the surging waves.
Calore princes hold no love for water. It makes them uncomfortable.
Right now, Cal looks like he might crawl out of his own skin.
His grandmother watches as he paces, her silks and gowns discarded for a simple uniform with no insignia to mark her rank. Not even her colors. She could be just an old woman who wandered into the wrong crowd, but anyone with eyes knows better. Anabel Lerolan is not to be underestimated. At her side, Julian Jacos keeps silent, his lips pursed together, eyes fixed on the battleships. Waiting to be of some use.