King's Cage

by Victoria Aveyard

  “Hurry!” Clover barks, pushing me onward toward the gap.

  Our guards become aggressive, their abilities presenting. A swift lunges back and forth, pressing people back from our path. He blurs between bodies, a whirlwind. And then he stops cold.

  The gunshot catches the swift between the eyes. Too close to dodge, too fast to escape. His head snaps back in an arc of blood and brain.

  I don’t know the woman holding the gun. She has blue hair, jagged blue tattoos—and a bloody crimson scarf wrapped around her wrist. The crowd shudders around her, shocked for an instant, before springing into full-blown chaos.

  With one hand still aiming her pistol, the blue-haired woman raises the other.

  Lightning rips out of the sky.

  It crashes toward the circle of Sentinels. She has deadly aim.

  I tense, expecting an explosion. Instead, the blue-tinged lightning hits a sudden arc of shimmering water, running across the liquid but not through. It veins and flashes, almost blinding, but disappears in an instant, leaving only the watery shield. Beneath it, Maven, Evangeline, and even the Sentinels crouch, hands over their heads. Only Iris is left standing.

  The water pools around her, curling and twisting like one of Larentia’s snakes. It grows with every second, leaching so quickly I taste the air drying on my tongue. Iris wastes no time, tearing off her veil. Dimly, I hope it doesn’t rain. I don’t want to know what Iris can do with rain.

  Lakelander guards fight through the crowd, their dark blue forms trying to break through the fleeing crowd. Security officers meet the same obstacle and get caught up, tangled in the mess. Silvers dart in every direction. Some toward the commotion, others away from danger. I’m torn between wanting to run with them and wanting to run toward the blue-haired woman. My brain buzzes as adrenaline courses through me, fighting tooth and nail against the silence smothering my being. Lightning. She wields lightning. She’s a newblood. Like me. The thought almost makes me cry with happiness. If she doesn’t get out of here fast, she’ll end up a corpse.

  “Run!” I try to scream. It comes out a whisper.

  “Get the king to safety!” Evangeline’s voice carries as she jumps to her feet. Her gown quickly shifts into armor, scaling across her skin in pearly plates. “Evacuate!”

  A few of the Sentinels comply, pulling Maven into their protective formation. His hand sparks with weak flame. It sputters, matching his fear. The rest of his detail draw guns of their own or explode into their abilities. A banshee Sentinel opens his mouth to scream but drops to a knee, gasping. He tears at his throat. He can’t breathe. But why, who? His comrades drag him back as he continues to choke.

  Another lightning bolt streaks overhead, this one too bright to look at. When I open my eyes again, the blue-haired woman is gone, lost in the crowd. Somewhere, gunfire peppers the air.

  Gasping, I realize not everyone in the crowd is running away. Not all of them are afraid, or even confused by the outburst of violence. They move differently, with purpose, motive, a mission. Black pistols gleam, flashing as they dig into a guard’s back or stomach. Knives glint in the growing dark. The screams of fear become screams of pain. Bodies fall, slumping against the tile of the square.

  I remember the riots in Summerton. Reds hunted down and tortured. A mob turning on the weakest among them. It was disorganized, chaotic, without any order. This is the opposite. What looks like wild panic is the careful work of a few dozen assassins in a crowd of hundreds. With a grin, I realize they all have something in common. As the hysteria grows, each one dons a red scarf.

  The Scarlet Guard is here.

  Cal, Kilorn, Farley, Cameron, Bree, Tramy, the Colonel.

  They’re here.

  With everything I have, I butt my head back and crack my skull against Clover’s nose. She howls, and silver blood spurts down her face. In an instant her grip on me breaks, leaving only Kitten. I drive an elbow into her gut, hoping to throw her off. She lets go of my shoulder, only to wrap her arm around my neck and squeeze.

  I twist, trying to get enough room to bend my neck and bite. No chance. She increases the pressure, threatening to crush my windpipe. My vision spots, and I feel myself being pulled backward. Away from the Treasury, Maven, his Sentinels. Through the lethal crowd. I trip backward as we reach the steps. I kick weakly, trying to catch on to anything. The Security officers dodge my poor efforts. Some drop to their knees, guns raised, covering the retreat. Clover looms over me, the bottom half of her face painted with mirrored blood.

  “Double back through Whitefire. We have to keep orders,” she hisses at Kitten.

  I try to shout for help, but I can’t summon air enough to make noise. And it wouldn’t be any use. Something louder than thunder screams across the sky. Two somethings. Three. Six. Metal birds with razor wings. Snapdragons? The Blackrun? But these airjets look different from the ones I know. Sleeker, faster. Maven’s new fleet, probably. In the distance, an explosion blooms with petals of red fire and black smoke. Are they bombing the square, or bombing the Scarlet Guard?

  As the Arvens drag me into the palace, another Silver almost collides with us. I reach out. Maybe this person will help.

  Samson Merandus sneers down, wrenching one arm out of my grip. I pull back like his touch burns. Just the sight of him is enough to bring on a splitting headache. He wasn’t allowed to attend the wedding, but he’s still dressed for it, immaculate in a navy suit with his ash-blond hair slicked to his skull.

  “Lose her and I’ll turn you all inside out!” he snarls over his shoulder.

  The Arvens look more frightened of him than of anyone else. They nod vigorously, as do the three remaining officers. All of them know what a Merandus whisper can do. If I needed any more incentive to escape, knowing that Samson will obliterate their minds is certainly it.

  In my last glimpse of the square, black shadows loom out of the clouds, coming closer and closer. More airships. But these are heavy, swollen, not built for speed or even combat. Maybe they’re coming in to land. I never see them touch down.

  I fight as much as I can, which is to say I mumble and squirm under the weight of silence. It slows my guards down, but only a little. Every inch feels hard won but futile. We keep moving. The halls of Whitefire spiral out around us. With my memorization, I know exactly where we are headed. Toward the east wing, the closest part of the palace to the Treasury. There must be passages to it, another way to Maven’s forsaken train. Any hope of escape will disappear the second they get me underground.

  Three gunshots ring out, echoing so close I feel them in my chest. Whatever’s happening in the square is slowly bleeding into the palace. In the window, red flame bursts into the air. From an explosion or a person, I don’t know. I can only hope. Cal. I’m in here. Cal. I picture him just outside, an inferno of rage and destruction. Gun in one hand, fire in the other, bringing down all his pain and fury. If he can’t save me, I hope he can at least rip apart the monster that used to be his brother.

  “The rebels are storming Whitefire!”

  I jolt at the sound of Evangeline Samos. Her boots ring hard against the marble floor, each step the blow of an angry hammer. Silver blood stains the left side of her face, and her elaborate hair is a mess, tangled and windblown. She smells like smoke.

  Her brother is nowhere to be found, but she isn’t alone. Wren, the Skonos skin healer who spent so many days trying to make me look alive, trails her closely. Probably dragged along to make sure Evangeline doesn’t have to suffer scratches for more than an instant.

  Like Cal and Maven, Evangeline is no stranger to military training or protocol. She stays on her toes, ready to react. “The lower library and old gallery are overrun. We have to take her this way.” She points her chin to a branching hall perpendicular to ours. Outside, lightning flashes. It reflects against her armor. “You three”—she snaps her fingers at three of the guards—“defend our backs.”

  My heart sinks in my chest. Evangeline will personally make sure I get on that
train.

  “I’m going to kill you one day,” I curse at her around Kitten’s grip.

  She lets the threat glance off, too busy barking orders. The guards obey eagerly, dropping back to cover our retreat. They’re happy to have someone take charge in this infernal mess.

  “What’s happening out there?” Clover growls as we hurry along. Fear corrupts her voice. “You, reset my nose,” she adds, grabbing Wren by the arm. The Skonos skin healer works on the fly, popping Clover’s broken nose back into place with an audible crack.

  Evangeline looks over her shoulder, not at Clover but at the passage behind us. It darkens as the storm outside turns day to night. Fear crosses her face. An unfamiliar thing to see in her. “There were plants in the crowd, disguised as Silver nobles. Newbloods, we think. Strong enough to hold their own until . . .” She checks around a corner before waving us on. “The Scarlet Guard took over Corvium, but I didn’t think they had this many people. True soldiers, trained, well armed. Dropped right out of the sky like damn insects.”

  “How did they get in? We’re under full security protocols for the wedding. Over a thousand Silver troops, plus Maven’s newblood pets—” Kitten blusters. She cuts herself off as two figures in white pop out of a doorway. The weight of their silence slams into me, making my knees buckle. “Caz, Brecker, with us!”

  I think Egg and Trio are better names. They skid across the marble floor, sprinting to join my moving prison. If I had the energy, I would weep. Four Arvens and Evangeline. Any whisper of hope disappears. It won’t even help to beg.

  “They can’t win. It’s a lost cause,” Clover presses on.

  “They’re not here to win the capital. They’re here for her,” Evangeline snaps.

  Egg shoves me onward. “Waste of effort for this sack of bones.”

  We round another corner, to the long, stretching Battle Hall. Compared to the turmoil in the square, it seems serene, its painted scenes of war far away from the chaos. They tower, dwarfing all of us in their old grandeur. If not for the distant sound of screaming airjets and concussive thunder, I could trick myself into believing all that was a dream.

  “Indeed,” Evangeline says. Her steps falter so slightly the others don’t notice. But I do. “What a waste of effort.”

  She twists with smooth, feline grace, both hands darting out. I see it all as if time itself has slowed. The plates of her armor fly from both wrists, quick and deadly as bullets. Their edges gleam, sharpening to razors. They hiss through air. And flesh.

  The sudden drop of silence feels like the lifting of immense weight. Clover’s arm falls from my neck, her grip slack. She falls too.

  Four heads tumble to the floor, leaking blood. The bodies follow, all in white, hands gloved in plastic. Their eyes are open. They never had a chance. Blood—the smell, the sight—assaults my senses, and I taste bile rising in my throat. The only thing that keeps me from retching is the jagged spike of fear and realization.

  Evangeline isn’t going to take me to the train. She’s going to kill me. She’s going to end this.

  She looks shockingly calm for having just murdered four of her own. The plates of metal return to her arms, sliding back into place. Wren the skin healer doesn’t move, her eyes on the ceiling. She won’t watch what’s going to happen next.

  It will be no use to run. I might as well face it.

  “Get in my way and I’ll kill you slowly,” she whispers, stepping over a corpse to grab me by the neck. Her breath washes over me. Warm, tinged with mint. “Little lightning girl.”

  “Then get it over with,” I force through my teeth.

  At this range, I realize her eyes are not black but charcoal gray. Storm-cloud eyes. They narrow as she tries to decide how to kill me. It will have to be by hand. My manacles won’t let her abilities touch my skin. But a single knife will do the trick just fine. I hope it’s quick, though I doubt she has enough mercy for such a thing.

  “Wren, if you please,” Evangeline says, putting out her hand.

  Instead of a dagger, the skin healer pulls a key from a pocket on Trio’s now headless corpse. She presses it into Evangeline’s palm.

  I go numb.

  “You know what this is.” How could I not? I have dreamed of that key. “I’m going to make you a bargain.”

  “Make it,” I whisper, my eyes never wavering from the spiky bit of black iron. “I’ll give you anything.”

  Evangeline grabs my jaw, forcing me to look at her. I’ve never seen her so desperate, not even in the arena. Her eyes waver and her lower lip trembles. “You lost your brother. Don’t take mine.”

  Rage flares in my stomach. Anything but that. Because I’ve dreamed of Ptolemus too. Slitting his throat, cutting him apart, electrocuting him. He killed Shade. A life for a life. A brother for a brother.

  Her fingers dig into my skin, nails threatening to pierce flesh. “You lie and I’ll kill you where you stand. Then I’ll kill the rest of your family.” Somewhere in the twisting halls of the palace, the echoes of battle rise. “Mare Barrow, make your choice. Let Ptolemus live.”

  “He’ll live,” I croak out.

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear it.”

  Tears gather as she moves, quickly sliding off one manacle after the other. Evangeline tosses each one as far as she can. By the time she finishes, I’m a weeping mess.

  Without the manacles, the Silent Stone, the world feels empty. Weightless. I’m afraid I might float away. Still, the weakness is almost debilitating, worse than my last escape attempt. Six months of it will not disappear in an instant. I try to reach with my ability, try to feel the lightbulbs above my head. I can barely sense the buzz of them. I doubt I could even shut them off, something I used to take for granted.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. Words I never thought I would say to her. They unsettle us both.

  “You want to thank me, Barrow?” she mutters, kicking away the last of my bindings. “Then keep your word. And let this fucking place burn.”

  Before I can tell her I’ll be of no use, that I’ll need days, weeks, months to recover, Wren puts her hands to my neck. I realize now why Evangeline dragged a skin healer along. Not for herself. For me.

  Warmth bleeds down my spine, into my veins and bones and marrow. It pounds through me so completely I almost expect the healing to hurt. I drop to a knee, overtaken. The aches vanish. The trembling fingers, weak legs, sluggish pulse—every last ghost of Silent Stone flees before the touch of a healer. My head will never forget what happened to me, but my body quickly does.

  The electricity rushes back, thundering from the deepest part of me. Every nerve shrieks to life. All down the hallway, the lightbulbs shatter on their chandeliers. The hidden cameras explode into sparks and spitting wires. Wren jumps back, yelping.

  I look down to see purple and white. Naked electricity jumps between my fingers, hissing in the air. The push and pull is achingly familiar. My ability, my strength, my power has returned.

  Evangeline takes a measured step back. Her eyes reflect my sparks. They glow.

  “Keep your promise, lightning girl.”

  Darkness walks with me.

  Every light sizzles and blinks out as I pass. Glass shatters, electricity spits. The air buzzes like a live wire. It caresses my open palms, and I shiver at the feel of such power. I thought I had forgotten what this was like. But that’s impossible. I can forget almost everything else in this world, but not my lightning. Not who and what I am.

  The manacles made it exhausting to walk. Without them weighing me down, I fly. Toward the smoke, the danger, to what could finally be my salvation or my ending. I don’t care which, so long as I’m not stuck in this hellish prison one second longer. My dress flutters in ruby tatters, ripped enough to let me run as fast as I can. The sleeves smolder, burning with every new burst of sparks. I don’t hold myself back now. The lightning goes where it wants. It explodes through me with every heartbeat. The purple-white bolts and sparks dance along my fingers, blaz
ing in and out of my palms. I shudder in pleasure. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful. I keep looking at the electricity, enamored with every vein. It’s been so long. It’s been so long.

  This must be what hunters feel like. Every corner I turn, I hope to find some kind of prey. I run the shortest route I know, tearing through the council chamber, its empty seats haunting me as I sprint over the Nortan seal. If I had time, I would obliterate the symbol beneath my feet. Tear up every inch of the Burning Crown. But I have a real crown to kill. Because that’s what I’m going to do. If Maven is still here, if the wretched boy hasn’t gotten away. I’m going to watch his last breath and know he can never hold my leash again.

  The Security officers retreat in my direction, their backs to me. Still doing as Evangeline commanded. All three have their long guns tucked into the crooks of their shoulders, fingers on triggers as they cover the passageway. I don’t know their names, just their colors. House Greco, strongarms all. They don’t need bullets to kill me. One of them could break my back, crush my rib cage, pop my skull like a grape. It’s me or them.

  The first hears my footsteps. He turns his chin, looking over his shoulder. My lightning shrieks up his spine and into his brain. I feel his branching nerves for a split second. Then darkness. The other two react, swinging around to face me. The lightning is quicker than they are, splitting them both.

  I never break pace, vaulting over their smoking bodies.

  The next hall runs alongside the square, its once-gleaming windows streaked with ash. A few chandeliers lie smashed against the floor in twisted heaps of gold and glass. There are bodies too. Security officers in their black uniforms, Scarlet Guard with their red scarves. The aftermath of a skirmish, one of many raging within the larger battle. I check the closest Guardsman to me, reaching down to feel her neck. No pulse. Her eyes are closed. I’m glad I don’t recognize her.

  Outside, another burst of blue lightning forks through the clouds. I can’t help but grin, the corners of my mouth pulling sharply on my scars. Another newblood who can control lightning. I’m not alone.