King's Cage

“Where’s Ella?” Kilorn asks, directing his question at a man with black skin and shockingly green hair. Dyed, clearly. His name is Rafe. “I sent her a message to come down and meet Mare. Tyton too.”

“Last I saw, they were practicing on top of Storm Hill. Which, technically”—he glances at me, almost apologetic—“is where electricons are supposed to train.”

“What’s an electricon?” I ask, and immediately feel foolish.

“You.”

I sigh, sheepish. “Right. I figured that about as soon as I asked.”

Rafe floats a spark over his hand, letting it weave between his fingers. I feel it, but not like my own lightning. The green sparks answer to him and him alone. “It’s an odd word, but we’re odd things, aren’t we?”

I stare at him, almost breathless with excitement. “You’re . . . like me?”

He nods, indicating the lightning bolts on his sleeves. “Yes, we are.”

Storm Hill is just like it sounds. It rises at a gentle incline in the middle of another field at the opposite end of the base, as far from the airfield as possible. Less chance of hitting a jet with a stray bolt of lightning. I get the sense the hill is a new addition, judging by the loose earth beneath my feet as we approach the summit. The grass is new growth too, the work of a greeny or newblood equivalent. It’s more lush than the training fields. But the crown of the slope is a mess, charred earth packed flat, crisscrossed by cracks and the smell of a distant thunderstorm. While the rest of the base enjoys bright blue skies, a black cloud revolves over Storm Hill. A thunderhead, rising thousands of feet into the sky like a column of dark smoke. I’ve never seen anything like it, so controlled and contained.

The blue-haired woman from Archeon stands beneath the cloud, her arms outstretched, palms up to the thunder. A straight-backed man with swooping white hair like a wave’s crest stands back from her, thin and lean in his green uniform. Both have lightning-bolt insignia.

Blue sparks dance over the woman’s hands, small as worms.

Rafe leads us, Cal close at my side. Even though he deals with his fair share of lightning, the black cloud puts him on edge. He keeps glancing up, as if expecting it to explode. Some blue flashes weakly in the darkness, illuminating it from within. Thunder rumbles with it, low and thrumming like a cat’s purr. It shivers my bones.

“Ella, Tyton,” Cal calls. He waves a hand.

They turn at their names, and the flashing in the clouds abruptly stops. The woman lowers her hands, tucking away her palms, and the thunderhead starts to dissolve before our eyes. She bounds over in leaps of energy, trailed by the more stoic man.

“I was wondering when we would meet,” she says, her voice high and breathy to match her dainty stature. Without warning, she takes my hands and kisses me on both cheeks. Her touch shocks, sparks leaping from her skin to mine. It doesn’t hurt, but it certainly perks me up. “I’m Ella, and you’re Mare, of course. And this tall drink of water is Tyton.”

The man in question is certainly tall, with tawny skin, a sprinkling of freckles, and a jaw sharper than the edge of a cliff. With a flick of his head, he tosses his white hair to one side, letting it fall over his left eye. He winks with the right. I expected him to be old, with hair like that, but he can’t be more than twenty-five. “Hello” is all he says, his voice deep and certain.

“Hi.” I nod at them, overwhelmed both by their presence and my own inability to act anywhere close to normal. “Sorry, this is a bit of a shock.”

Tyton rolls his eyes, but Ella bursts out laughing. A half second later, I understand and cringe.

Cal chuckles at my side. “That was pretty horrible, Mare.” He nudges my shoulder as discreetly as he can, a brush of warmth emanating from him. A very small comfort in the Piedmont heat.

“We understand,” Ella offers quickly, stealing the words away. “It’s always overwhelming to meet another Ardent, let alone three who share your ability. Right, boys?” She elbows Tyton in the chest and he barely reacts, annoyed. Rafe just nods. I get the feeling Ella does most of the talking and, based on what I remember from the blue lightning storm in Archeon, most of the fighting. “I despair of you both,” Ella mutters, shaking her head at them. “But I have you now, don’t I, Mare?”

Her eager nature and open smile take me severely off guard. People this nice are always hiding something. I swallow my suspicion enough to give her what I hope is a genuine smile.

“Thank you for bringing her,” she adds to Cal, her tone shifting. The cheery, blue-haired pixie draws up her spine and hardens her voice, becoming a soldier before my eyes. “I think we can take her training from here.”

Cal barks out a low laugh. “Alone? Are you serious?”

“Were you?” she shoots back, narrowing her eyes. “I saw your ‘practice.’ Little bursts on a target range is hardly sufficient to maximize her abilities. Or do you know how to coax a storm out of her?”

Based on the way his lips twist, I can tell he wants to say something decidedly inappropriate. I stop him before he can, grabbing his wrist. “Cal’s military background—”

“—is fine for conditioning.” Ella cuts me off. “And perfect for training you to fight Silvers the way he does. But your abilities stretch beyond his understanding. There are things he can’t teach you, things you must learn either the hard way—by yourself—or the easy way . . . with us.”