War Storm
Page 133

Farley still holds her perch, a long gun slung over one shoulder. She presses her eyes to a pair of binoculars, looking downward, unmoving. Like a statue, silhouetted by mist and smoke.
“Is it still rising?” I ask, stepping up next to her for a better look. She passes me the binoculars without breaking her stare.
“And rising faster. Look downriver,” she adds, jerking her thumb to the south.
It isn’t hard to spot what she means. Whitecaps approach, waves breaking in choppy motion, as the Lakelanders pull in more and more water from the ocean. The river surges forward at a steady pace, solidifying into a wall of water like a single, unbroken ripple twenty feet high. I’d bet the river here has risen at least thirty feet so far, and it’s about to rise a lot more.
In spite of the Scarlet Guard fortifications, the cliffs take a beating, pieces of rock shearing away as another volley of missiles hits home. I duck, raising an arm to block the debris as it sprays over us. Farley simply turns her head.
“Julian’s running the infirmary at the barracks with Sara Skonos. Better get some runners ready,” I instruct, watching as a few soldiers turn away from the cliffs, their faces bloody.
“And Anabel?” she replies. Her tone is forcibly neutral.
“War Command.”
“With Samos?”
I hesitate, thinking about what Evangeline told me before my coronation. That Julian and Anabel were scheming to kill him. Remove the Rift from the equation. And maybe buy us some peace with his corpse. If that’s the price, I won’t stop her.
“Perhaps” is all I can manage before I try to change the subject. “What’s your plan?” I ask her. I’ve never known Diana Farley to strike without some kind of idea, maybe even an outright trick up her sleeve. Especially not with someone like Davidson backing her, not to mention the entire Scarlet Guard. “You’ve got one, right?”
“We might,” she replies. “And you?”
“We were trying to clog up the armada, trap them maybe, force a cease-fire, but those nymph queens are unbeatable on the water.”
“Are they?” Farley narrows her eyes at me. “I think that Iris gave you a good scare back in Harbor Bay.”
I try not to think about it. The crushing weight of water, pulling me down faster than I thought possible. “Perhaps.”
“Well then, we should return the favor.”
“Fine. I’ll take some oblivions, some teleporters, see if we can—”
To my surprise, she waves me off. I flush, taken aback by her dismissal. “There’s no need for that,” Farley says, turning away from me. She raises her radio and twists the knob to some corresponding channel. “Premier, how’s your side of things?”
Davidson’s voice filters back in reply, and I hear echoes of gunfire on his end. “Holding steady for now. Some Piedmontese tried the cliffs, but they didn’t expect to run into us. Sent them back.”
I imagine Piedmont soldiers in purple and gold, falling from the bank. Split apart by newblood troops.
“What about your end, General?” Davidson presses.
Farley grins. “I’ve got the more reasonable Calore with me here, and Barrow is going after the other one.”
“Premier,” I say into the radio, “I have a few hundred Silvers of my own spread between the Bridge ruins and still fighting down on the ships. Can you give them cover?”
“I can do you one better. They need to get off the water, and I’ll send my teleporters in now,” he replies.
“Mine as well,” Farley clips back. “Grab as many as we can before things really heat up.”
I glance at her, brow furrowed. “Another wave of ships?”
Her smile spreads. “Something like that.”
“Now isn’t really the time for surprises.”
“Honestly, it’s like you’ve forgotten what we’re capable of,” she chuckles. It’s an odd sight, to see her laughing against the backdrop of war and destruction. “We had to wait until the water was high enough. And luckily for us, those nymph queens were happy to oblige.”
I look at the water again, along with the surge now breaking against the ships, raising their hulls until they’re level with the lower cliffs. A few more surges and we’ll be staring right into their teeth, with every missile and shell pointed our way. Somehow I don’t see how that’s a desirable position to be in.
Farley looks amused by my confusion. “I’m glad you decided to see things our way, Cal.”
“The right way,” I reply. “The way it should be.”
Her smile fades, but not in displeasure. Surprise, maybe. For the first time, her touch is gentle, driven by compassion. Her finger graze my shoulder.
“No more kings, Calore.”
“No more kings,” I echo.
Instead of Farley, the missiles, the ships, the water, the scream of wounded soldiers, I hear my mother’s voice. The voice I think she had.
Cal will not be like the others.
She wanted a certain path for me, just like my father. She wanted me to be different, but she still wanted me to be a king.
I hope my choice would make her proud.
“Speaking of kings,” Farley mutters; her demeanor changes in an instant. She straightens and points at a figure crossing the Square. “Is that—”
His black cape flutters in the fog, snapping back to reveal limbs coated in perfect, mirrored armor. His steps are sure and quick as he moves through the crowd, soldiers jumping out of his way to let him pass. Without breaking pace, he steps onto the crumbling Bridge.
“Volo Samos,” I breathe, gritting my teeth. Whatever he’s about to do won’t end well for us.
But he doesn’t slow, even as the Bridge beneath him becomes more and more precarious. The ships, rising on the forced tide, are almost directly beneath him. And still he doesn’t stop.
Not even at the edge.
Farley gasps when he plummets, his body falling slowly, his cape and armor unmistakable through a gap in the fog.
I turn away, unable to watch him break himself on the steel below.
Across the Square, I spy my grandmother, standing resolute, her battle uniform aglow in red and orange. She stares at me through the fray of soldiers.
At her side, Julian hangs his head.
I don’t think he’s ever killed someone before.
THIRTY-FIVE
Iris
“Another tidal pull and we can off-load directly from the ships,” Mother mutters, stepping out of the ship’s bridge to stand in the open air. Rain pelts down, beading on her exposed face. I follow her closely, as do her guards. She’s armored to the throat, swathed in black and cobalt-blue plate. We won’t take any chances. A stray bullet could catch her at any moment and bring our invasion crashing down around our ears.
“Be patient, Mother,” I murmur, almost glued to her side. “They won’t be able to hold us off for much longer.”
I can’t help but hope. Tiberias Calore crippled his country so perfectly, betraying his own people as well as the Reds. Casting aside any chance he had to keep the throne he won from his wretched brother.
Archeon will fall, and fall soon.
I glance up at the cliffs on either side of the river, both edges wreathed in smoke and mist. Lightning streaks across the sky, oddly colored, and I’m reminded of my own wedding. The freak Reds and blood traitors of the mountains attacked the city that day, albeit with less success than we are having. The waters of the river thrum around us, caressing the hulls of our armada. I feel it keenly, every curve of the waves, as far as my ability can reach.