When I finally figured out how those two had cowed the court into unquestioning compliance, I was somewhat peeved. I’d never been a loose cannon, and if at all possible, I wanted to avoid hurting my own fighters. But Val had been around long enough to read the writing on the wall, and he was making preparations for the months ahead. Overly empowered high lord or not, Coileán’s designee or not, I was still a teenage mongrel in the eyes of many, and Val put his propaganda campaign into action without bothering to run it past me.
He knew then what I wouldn’t for weeks: my brother wasn’t going to be waking any time soon.
From his place at Oberon’s side, Val had seen what an incredible effort Oberon had been forced to make to keep the bind in place on Coileán. The old king had barely dared to sleep for fear of losing his control on the enchantment, he’d almost entirely stopped eating, and by the end, he’d hardly been doing more than sitting in bed, staring into space. With the power Oberon had been expending, it had taken a gargantuan effort for Coileán to cast off the enchantment and an even larger effort to climb upstairs and fight him. Even if Coileán had looked to be the healthier of the two, he’d still been scraping the bottom of the barrel of his last reserves. Sleep was his body’s final defense, a last-ditch effort to keep him alive and allow him time to heal.
Val had seen it happen plenty of times in the days before Mab and Oberon left the realm, and he’d lost guards for a week or a month or a season while the wounded recuperated. But given the circumstances, he knew that my brother’s was an extreme case, and Val couldn’t predict the duration of his absence. And so, whether because he knew it needed to be done or because he didn’t want to add one more worry to my mind while I was preoccupied with thoughts of faeries overrunning the silo, Val started laying the groundwork for a long regency without bothering to warn me up front of what could be ahead.
In retrospect, he made the right call. Even with the army on its best behavior, I was a nervous wreck, and Hel looked no happier as we watched from the steps of the Fringe’s fortress. As the last filed through the gate—a large, stable gate of Val’s creation, I noticed with a twinge of envy—Mina strolled through the camouflaging glamour to join us. She’d opted for a long-sleeved tunic belted over soft leather leggings and tall boots, but a thick fur mantle materialized around her even as she walked. “My lord. Magus Carver, I trust?” she asked in Fae, nodding at Hel.
My sister smiled tightly. “Lady Mina?”
She spread her gloved hands. “And I see that word travels. I’ll be heading the van, and Valerius will take the rear. Are your people in position?”
“As much as possible,” she replied, folding her arms against the chill. “We’ve got a skeleton crew at the front to keep up appearances, but anyone nonessential has been pulled back to give you room.”
“Excellent,” said Mina, then looked over Hel’s shoulder as the heavy doors opened and Vivi stepped out, sporting a black headset. “Your, uh…lieutenant?”
“Tech liaison,” said Vivi, inserting herself between Hel and me as she began passing around a short stack of papers. “These are the latest aerials,” she explained as I looked at the pictures she thrust into my hands. “Red circle is Moyna’s probable location—still on the southern side of the ring, same as yesterday. If you want to grab her quickly, strike from that angle.”
Mina frowned as she flipped through the grainy pictures. “How did you—”
“Drones,” Vivi interrupted. “Homemade drones with cameras. We used the quietest motors we could make, and then Toula cloaked the heck out of them. Lost a few,” she admitted, “but we’ve had eyes in the sky almost every day for the last month.”
“That…is impressive. Most impressive,” Mina murmured. “Have you any clearer images?”
“Sorry, no. Best we could do with what we had.”
“Hey, you try running sensitive electronics in a high-magic environment,” said Toula as she slipped out the front. “We had to make compromises between our toys and the amount of cloaking I could put on them.”
Mina nodded to her in acquiescence. “Only an enquiry, Toula. I’m in the habit of seeking information.”
“Understood,” said Toula, “but recognize that the Fringe has done wonders.”
“Undoubtedly.” She handed the pictures back to Vivi and stuffed her hands into her fur. “Toula told me of your organization,” she said, watching as Vivi shuffled the pictures back into order. “You’re a neutral party?”
“We fight for the greater good,” said Vivi. “Whatever that might be. The definition is a little hazy, you know, but for the moment, we’re here.”
“Mm. And your, uh…allegiance?”
“It’s to the Fringe,” she said, and smirked. “I have no other allegiance.”
“Ah,” said Mina, “a witch. Understood.”
Vivi bristled, and Toula slipped between them. “Actually,” she told Mina, “Vivi’s parents are of Oberon’s court—technically, that is, and I suppose it’s not his court any longer, but you get what I’m saying.”
Mina seemed momentarily confused, but her face softened as she noticed Vivi’s steel wristwatch. “Oh. Oh. I meant no offense, child, but when you said—”
“Yeah, whatever,” Vivi muttered, waving the apology off. “I’ve been called worse. So, I see the gang’s all here,” she continued, pointing to the massed troops—who, while my attention was diverted, had built themselves fire pits in the street. “What are we working with?”
“Three hundred and fourteen volunteers,” said Mina, looking at me. “The captain thought you would prefer volunteers to conscripts, my lord.”
I nodded. “As long as they accept the game plan.”
“They do.” She turned then to Hel and asked, “And the Arcanum? We may be able to rout them with the van alone, but if you’re taking the main, can you fill it?”
“I’ve got about six hundred in fighting condition,” my sister told her. “But that’s counting everyone from magi down to twenty-somethings with dragonscale wands.”
Mina’s brow wrinkled, and Toula explained, “Weaklings. Arcanum’s got the cannon fodder covered.”
“Let’s not use that term, all right?” Hel snapped. “So you’re splitting the court pack?” she asked, cutting her eyes between Mina and me.
I wasn’t sure of the right answer, but Mina stepped into the breach. “We thought half and half. Let the well-seasoned lead, but hold a good number in reserve. And…um…”
I turned around, following the direction of her sudden stare, and found Joey standing in the doorway, clad entirely in black body armor. His motorcycle boots seemed to have been polished, and he carried a helmet with a smoked visor under his arm. “Ladies,” he said, rubbing his beard with his gloved hand. “Sorry I’m late. Rufus and Harry couldn’t decide on the best places to pad.”
Georgie followed him out of the building, looking wide-eyed at the five of us on the stairs. “You fix me now?” she asked hopefully.
Hel turned to Toula and nodded, and Toula gave her shoulder a little squeeze in passing. “Come on, kid, let’s do this,” she said, beckoning to Georgie, who scampered after her, barefoot in the snow.
Mina looked at Joey, then at the retreating pair. “What—”
“Just watch,” Hel muttered, avoiding Joey’s eyes.
Toula led Georgie out from the glamour and down the street, past the milling crowd of faeries, then stopped in the middle of the road, far away from any buildings. She positioned Georgie in a safe spot, stepped well clear of her, and flicked her wrist.
The blue explosion of the breaking spell made me squint, even with the sun high and bright overhead, but when the spots cleared, the Georgie I knew was back.
Mina’s jaw dropped. “That…that’s a…how did you hide…”
Joey! Georgie interrupted, stretching her wings with what passed for a look of bliss on her scaly face. Come on, let’s go! Why are you waiting?
Before Joey could join her, Rufus jogged around
the building. “Ah,” he said, pointing to Joey, “there you are. Thought I’d missed you. I was going to ask—do you need some sort of saddle?”
“Actually, that would be fantastic,” he replied, slipping past us, and waved to Georgie as she snorted smoke above the nervous faeries. “Coming, sweetie!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Just a few more minutes, okay?”
Someone grunted softly behind me, and I turned to find Ned leaning against the door where Joey had been. “And that,” I told him, gesturing to the one hundred fifty feet of dragon down the road, “is Joey’s preferred mount. What were you saying about his martial skill, again?”
“Let’s just hope she remembers what she’s doing,” said Hel, and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got five minutes to noon. Vivi, tell them we’re on schedule, eh?”
Vivi stepped away, then touched her earpiece and mumbled into the microphone in her headset. As she relayed the message, Ned approached Hel and stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Carver.”
She hesitated only long enough to push her watch out of the way before meeting his grip. “Thanks. And if this goes belly-up—”
“Mother is standing by.” He released her and stepped back. “Do send Rufus along once he’s finished playing at saddlery, won’t you?”
“You’ve got it. Be safe,” said Hel, and led the way down the stairs toward the street.
Ned nodded at me before ducking back into the house, and I followed my sister, with Mina and Toula at our heels. “My lord,” Mina began, “you’ll have to pardon my ignorance, but who was—”
“Vivi’s brother. One of them,” I replied, scanning the crowd for Val.
“The Stowe boys are watching out for the Fringers,” Toula explained. “If the worst happens and Moyna’s people find them…”
“I see.” Her boots clipped on the cold concrete, a walkway that I was almost positive had been shoveled by magical means. “And the, uh…dragon?”
“Georgie and Joey are with us,” said Toula, patting Hel’s shoulder, “whether Carver here likes it or not.”
“Not to start an argument, Magus Carver,” said Mina, “but you’re opposed to using a dragon? Why? I’ve killed a few—they’re tough to take down. If that one is willing to fight with us—”
“It’s not about Georgie,” I muttered, glancing at Mina. “Joey is Hel’s boyfriend.”
“Fiancé.”
I whipped back around and caught Hel looking at me. “He’s my fiancé,” she repeated.
“Since when?”
“You’d already sneaked out this morning.” She glanced at Georgie, who was impatiently waiting while Rufus and Joey tested and tightened the new harness. “But seeing as neither of them listens to reason at times like this, yes, we’re using a dragon.”
We passed through the bubble of glamour, and the waiting faeries scrambled back to their ranks. “Congrats, Hel,” I murmured, catching the sleeve of her coat to slow her. “That’s…that’s really fantastic.”
She looked up at me, and I saw fear hiding in her smile. “Assuming we make it through this. Come on,” she said as Mina headed for the troops. “Let’s take a walk.”
I’d made the two-mile trek from Wright’s Mill to the silo thousands of times, but never with an army at my back. At least there was no one around on the weekend, I mused as we marched down the two-lane highway. Something told me that no one in the ranks would see anything to be gained by stepping aside for vehicular traffic.
As Vivi had suggested, we made our approach from the south of the silo, hoping to cut the head off our opponents before they quite knew what was upon them. Still, I doubted that we’d have much in the way of surprise on our side, given that the Arcanum forces were massing to meet us, we were processing in a three-hundred-strong pack, and walking at the head of the column was Georgie, who kept turning to shoot us impatient glances as she slowed again and again to keep pace. Joey, who was tucked in at his normal position on her long neck, kept patting her and offering reassurance that we’d be there soon enough, but Georgie was clearly itching to fly again after weeks on the ground. If she was at all saddened to lose the vocal skills she’d gained in our absence, she didn’t show it. Georgie kept up a telepathic conversation with Joey and Hel all the way to the silo, and she thought so loudly that I couldn’t help but overhear.
So, what difference does this make? she asked. You…mate more frequently? Try for a clutch? Help me out.
I couldn’t hear my sister’s explanation of her and Joey’s change in relationship status, nor was I at all confident that they could convey to the dragon the significance of taking that step, but Toula chuckled beside me and grinned when she met my eyes. “Seems like Georgie forgot her volume control. You want to tell her this isn’t a private conversation?”
“And risk making Hel drop dead from embarrassment before we actually get to the fight? Nah.”
She smirked. “At least it’s giving them something else to think about for the next couple of miles. You ready?”
I thought for a moment, listening to the familiar competing voices in my head, then nodded as the one I recognized as my own drowned them out. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Good.” Toula nudged my shoulder and smiled. “You’ve got this, bud,” she murmured. “Forget the rest. You’ve got this.”
“You seem awfully confident,” I muttered, glancing down at her.
Toula flipped the fur-rimmed hood of her parka over her head as the wind gusted again. “Val believes in you,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “I think I can trust his judgment this time.”
I snorted. “Do you have any idea how many times he’s kicked my ass in the last two weeks?”
“And somehow, you’re still standing,” she countered, then pointed to the horizon. “Home sweet silo, dead ahead.”
The snow drifts masked the land, but I could still make out the familiar silhouettes of the old trailers that hid the entrance to the silo. But as I watched the active magic swirling in my field of vision, I realized I was seeing an illusion. “Nice glamour,” I said.
“Thanks. Easier than asking the magi to do it—you know how twitchy they get,” she replied smugly. “The defensive wards are still running, but I didn’t want curious drivers stopping to have a look at the tents. The fewer mundanes running around here, the better.”
“Good call.” Something seemed off about the glamour, and as I was wondering if what I was seeing was just the end result of Toula’s hybridized magic, it hit me what was wrong: the colors were muted, far fainter than active magic usually was. While the construction seemed solid, there was barely enough magic flowing through the glamour to hold it intact. “Since we’re getting close, how about dropping it?”
The glamour fell like a lightbulb going out, and I stopped in the middle of the road to take in the scene before me.
The silo had been built in the middle of a wide plain of pastureland, and though mountains rose around it in the distance, you could easily see the trailer park from a couple of miles off on a clear day. Even in winter, when snow piled up against everything and created a new landscape of frozen hillocks, I’d always been able to pick the trailers out, a sort of beacon in the tundra. I’d learned to run in that stretch between school and home, pushing myself in an effort to outpace the boys who used me for target practice. I knew every inch of the road, every ankle-twisting dip in its shoulders, every turn of the creek bed to the east and the shallowest places to cross it in a pinch. This was my turf, and for better or worse, this land had always signaled that home was at hand.
I couldn’t see the silo.
Blocking the view, first and foremost, was the approaching mob of wizards, who seemed to have divided themselves into companies along installation lines. The magi and their senior assistants walked in the front, but these were far from the images of magi that usually came to mind. All were bundled against the cold except the middle-aged blonde I’d pegged as Irina Durov, the Russian-born head of Arcanum 4—a few years in Mon
golia had presumably done for her what Alaska had done for the Stowes. The procession moved slowly, almost haltingly, as people fell back and were replaced in the crowd, and I saw how weary the Arcanum’s forces were. They’d been camping in the middle of nothing and struggling against large-scale enchantments for weeks, and the effort had almost broken them. A few older wizards walked along only with the assistance of their children and grandchildren, leaning on them as they navigated the frozen ground.
Behind the pack of weary wizards rose a line of tents, which stretched far into the cow pastures before curving toward the horizon. I could make out the faint haze of magic rising behind the tents—the front line, I assumed—and through the gaps in the Arcanum’s camp, I could see more tents, elaborate constructions with colorful flashes of pennants and banners. Smoke hung over everything, the bluish fog of a dozen fires. I saw no trace of the cattle and presumed them dead, easy meals for the Arcanum army that was putting all of its magical resources into the fight.
I couldn’t say what condition Moyna’s siege army was in, but the Arcanum’s looked to be on the brink of giving up. Hel’s refusal to wait for the Council’s permission suddenly made more sense.
My sister crossed her arms and stared at her approaching troops. “You know, I think I liked it better with the glamour. Cleaner.”
“They’re wizards,” I said. “Surely someone’s emptied the port-a-lets—”
“You’d be surprised. With the number of casualties we’ve sustained thus far, you would think that sanitation would be a higher priority, but some people just can’t be bothered. I’ve done what I can, but you see how critical the magic deficit is becoming.” She wrinkled her nose as the wind carried to us the acrid smell of smoke and the stench of unwashed bodies.
Hel seemed older than I’d ever seen her, tired and worn but still defiant. “Did you warn them that we’d have a dragon?” I asked.
“Of course. They wouldn’t still be walking this way otherwise.” With a deep breath, she stepped out from our ranks to meet the approaching columns and raised her hand in greeting. The magi responded in kind, and Georgie, at Joey’s prodding, sank to her belly in the snow.
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