King's Cage

Cal watches, his face grim in the daylight. He extends a hand, helping me into the front seat like I’m some kind of invalid. The engine purrs, its electric heart a comfort and a reminder. I may be scared, but I’m not weak.

With one last wave to Kilorn, Cal guns the engine and spins the wheel, driving us down the street. The breeze ruffles his roughly cut hair, highlighting uneven spots.

I run a hand down the back of his head. “Did you do this yourself?”

He flushes silver. “I tried.” Leaving one hand on the wheel, he takes mine in the other. “Are you going to be all right for this?”

“I’ll get through it. I suppose your reports have most of the important parts. I just have to fill in the holes.” The trees thin on either side of us, where the officer street hits a larger avenue. To the left is the landing field. We turn right, the transport arcing smoothly over pavement. “And hopefully someone starts filling me in on all . . . this.”

“With these people, you have to demand answers rather than wait for them.”

“Have you been demanding, Your Highness?”

He chuckles low in his throat. “They certainly think so.”

It’s a five-minute drive to our destination, and Cal does his best to get me up to speed. There was a headquarters along the Lakelander border near Trial. All the Colonel’s soldiers evacuated north in anticipation of a raid on the island. They spent months belowground, in freezing bunkers, while Farley and the Colonel traded communications with Command and prepared for their next target. Corvium. Cal’s voice breaks a little when he describes the siege. He led the strike himself, taking the walls in a surprise raid and then the fortress city, block by block. It’s possible he knew the soldiers he was fighting. It’s possible he killed friends. I don’t prod at either wound. In the end, they completed the siege, removing the last Silver officers by offering them surrender or execution.

“Most are held hostage now, some ransomed back to their families. And some chose death,” he murmurs, his voice trailing off. He glances over at me, just for a moment, his eyes hidden behind lenses of darkened glass.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, and I mean it. Not just because Cal is in pain, but because I have long since learned how gray this world is. “Will Julian be at the debriefing?”

Cal sighs, grateful for the change in subject. “I don’t know. This morning he said the Montfort brass have been very accommodating where he is concerned—giving him access to the base archives, a laboratory, all the time he wants to continue his newblood studies.”

I can think of no better reward for Julian Jacos. Time and books.

“But they might not be too keen on letting a singer near their leader,” Cal adds, thoughtful.

“Understandable,” I reply. While our abilities are more destructive, Julian’s ability to manipulate is just as deadly. “So, how long has Montfort been at this?”

“I don’t know either,” he says, his annoyance obvious. “But they took real notice after Corvium. And now, with Maven’s alliance with the Lakelands? He’s uniting too, on the rebellion,” he explains. “Montfort and the Guard did the same. Instead of guns and food, Montfort started sending soldiers. Reds, newbloods. They already had a plan to spring you out of Archeon. Pincer move. Us from Trial, Montfort from Piedmont. They can organize, I’ll give them that. They just needed the right moment.”

I scoff. “They picked a hell of a moment.” Gunfire and bloodshed cloud my thoughts. “All that for me. Seems stupid.”

Cal’s grip on my hand tightens. He was raised to be the perfect Silver soldier. I remember his manuals, his books on military tactics. Victory at any cost, they said. And he used to believe it. Just as I used to think nothing on earth could make me go back to Maven.

“Either they had another target in Archeon, or Montfort really, really wants you,” Cal mutters as the transport slows.

We stop in front of another brick building, its front decorated by white columns and a long, wrapping porch. Again I think of Fort Patriot, its gates decorated in foreboding bronze. Silvers like beautiful things, and this is no exception. Flowering vines crawl up the columns, blooming with purple bursts of wisteria and fragrant honeysuckle. Soldiers in uniform walk beneath the plants, keeping to the shade. I spot Scarlet Guard in their mismatched clothes and red scarves, Lakelanders in blue, and a crawling mess of official Montfort green. My stomach flips.

The Colonel marches out to meet us, blissfully alone.

He starts in before I manage to get down from the transport. “You’ll be meeting with me, two Montfort generals, and one Command officer.”

Both Cal and I jolt, eyes wide. “Command?” I balk.

“Yes.” The Colonel’s good eye flashes. He spins on his heel, forcing us to keep up. “Let’s just say wheels are in motion.”

I roll my eyes, already exasperated. “How about you just say what you mean?”

“Probably because he doesn’t know,” replies a familiar voice.

Farley leans in the shadow of one of the columns, arms crossed high over her chest. I gape, jaw dropping open. Because she is hugely, hilariously pregnant. Her belly strains against an altered uniform of a tied shift dress and baggy pants. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave birth in the next thirty seconds.

“Ah” is all I can think to say.

She looks almost amused. “Do the math, Barrow.”