War Storm
Page 132

It’s no use lying. “He slipped us.”
He blinks at me. Another missile whines past. “This is a very odd time for a very odd joke, Mare.”
I waver, dropping my gaze. I’m not joking.
The flamemaker bracelet on his wrist sparks, and he turns the spark to a ball of flame. Angry, surprised, exasperated, he tosses the fiery orb over the edge of the Bridge, letting it singe the fog as it fades.
“So he’s somewhere in the city,” he snaps. “Fantastic.”
“You keep an eye on Kilorn and Farley. I’ll find him,” I say quickly, putting a hand to his arm. The plates of steel beneath my touch feel like they’ve been sitting in an oven.
Cal brushes me away gently. He glances back toward the Square again, teeth gritted. “No, I will.”
I’ve always been faster than he is. I dodge his hands with ease, planting myself firmly between him and the Square. Putting my palm on his chest, I hold him at arm’s length. “You’re a little busy,” I say, jerking my chin toward the armada below us.
“A little,” he grinds out.
“I can finish this.”
“I know you can.”
His armor warms beneath my hand, and he covers my fingers with his own.
Then the Bridge buckles beneath us as something slams into it, a dozen times, from all angles. Above, below. Missiles, shells. A crashing wave sends spray up the supports and onto the level where we stand. Heavier in his armor, Cal loses his balance, falling flat while I fight to stay upright.
Except there is no such thing as upright.
The three-tiered Bridge of Archeon, massive stone and steel, bows toward its center, drooping downward. It isn’t difficult to guess why. Another explosion shudders, and a spray of debris plummets outward, falling with the central supports of the Bridge.
Cal scrambles, trying to get his feet, and I seize him beneath the arm. I would drag him if I could, but the armor is too heavy.
“Help!” I shout, looking for his guards.
The Lerolan soldiers, his grandmother’s own kin, waste no time dragging Cal to his feet. But the Bridge fights us, falling faster and faster, roaring against its own demise.
I scream when the pavement under our feet gives way, slamming into the next tier thirty feet below. I land hard on my side and something cracks in my ribs, sending spiderwebs of pain over me. Hissing, I try to roll and get my bearings. Get off the Bridge, get off the Bridge drums in my head.
Cal is already on his knees, a hand outstretched. Not to grab me.
To stop me.
“Don’t move!” he screams, fingers splayed.
I freeze midstep, my arm wrapped around my rib cage.
His eyes stand out sharply, so afraid, his pupils blown wide and dark.
Instead of the armada, their guns raining concussive hell upon us, I can only hear one thing. Like a whisper, but worse.
Cracking. Crumbling.
“Cal—”
Everything collapses beneath us.
THIRTY-FOUR
Cal
I fall like a stone.
The useless, patronizing armor that never did anything but slow me down won’t protect me from a hundred-foot drop into raging water. It can’t save me, and I can’t save her. My hands claw through open air, reaching for anything to grab, but the fog just whistles through my fingers. I can’t even shout.
Debris tumbles with us, and I brace for the impact of solid concrete. Maybe it’ll crush me before I get the chance to drown. What a small mercy that would be.
I try to see her, even as the river rises up to meet me.
Someone grabs me around my middle, arms squeezing so tightly the breath is crushed from my lungs. My vision spots. I might be passing out.
Or not.
I howl as the river and the fog and the crumbling bridge disappear, swallowed up by a blackness. My entire body tightens, tensing up, and when I hit something solid, I expect all my bones to shatter into dust.
But nothing breaks.
“I didn’t know kings could scream like that.”
My eyes fly open to see Kilorn Warren standing over me, his face pale behind a friendly smile. He offers a hand and I take it gladly, letting him pull me up.
The Montfort teleporter looks on, panting slightly in her green uniform. She’s small, almost as small as Mare, and gives me a curt nod.
“Thanks,” I gasp, still trying to wrap my brain around surviving.
She shrugs. “Just following orders, sir.”
“Will we ever get used to that?” Mare says from a few feet away, still on her knees. She spits a little, looking a green in the face.
Her teleporter, the Montfort officer Arezzo, looks down at her with a smirk. “Would you prefer the alternative?”
Mare just rolls her eyes. She glances at me and sticks out her hand, gesturing for help. Kilorn takes one side, with me on the other, and we pull her to her feet. She pats dirt from her own uniform, the bloodred color of the Scarlet Guard, if only to do something for a moment. She’s just as unsettled as I am, though she is loath to show it. I suppose you never get used to being plucked from the jaws of death, no matter how many times it happens.
“How many fell?” she asks, still not looking up.
I bite my lip and glance around, spotting a few Lerolan guards recovering alongside us. But teleporters can only do so much, and I had hundreds of soldiers on the Bridge, with even more below. My stomach churns with the implication. Gritting my teeth, I get my bearings and realize we’re back at the edge of the Square, embedded within Farley’s troops now rapidly fortifying the cliff. Beyond, a skeleton of the Archeon Bridge remains, collapsed in the middle, with the river boiling below. One of the Lakelander ships is pinned, sinking beneath the weight of a bridge support that fell like a tree in a storm, crashing down on the steel hull. Too heavy, even for the Lakelander queens.
Through the fog, I can’t see the far end of the Bridge, but I can only hope the bulk of my forces made it to one of the surviving edges. We didn’t have much of an army to begin with, but every life lost is another weight on my shoulders. I feel as if the burden might crush me already, and this battle is far from over.
Mare shifts to stand at my side, looking out as I do. Her fingers lace with mine for a second before she reluctantly pulls away. “I need to find him,” she whispers.
As much as I want to help her in such an endeavor, I simply can’t. Not unless I want to leave Nanabel in command or, by my colors, Julian. Neither is equipped to defend Archeon properly, especially in conjunction with Diana Farley.
“Go,” I tell Mare, putting my hand on the small of her back. With a heavy sigh, I give her the slightest push. Toward my brother. To kill him. “Be rid of him.”
I should be the one to do it. I should have the spine for that.
But I can’t bear it. I can’t bear the weight of killing him. Not Mavey.
As she goes, Kilorn tagging along with her, I shut my eyes and draw in a long, rattling breath.
How many times do I have to say good-bye to him?
How many times have I lost him?
“The river!” someone barks.
I snap to attention, letting instinct take hold. I trained for years to be a warrior and a general, to see battle inches in front of me and from miles away. Immediately I try to picture the city in my head, split down the middle by the Capital River, now choked with the Lakelander armada. We’re cut off from the other side of Archeon, isolated here, with only teleporters for transport. How many, I don’t know. But it certainly isn’t enough if the Lakelanders decide to turn their attention on the cliffs and the people there.