King's Cage

by Victoria Aveyard

  Do it. Do it. Do it.

  I don’t feel the trigger. I won’t feel the bullet.

  Cal rips my arm back, spinning me away. He breaks my grip on the gun and tosses it across the tile. I’ve never seen him so afraid.

  Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

  My body obeys.

  I am a spectator in my own head. A furious battle rages before my eyes and I can’t do anything but watch. The tiled ground blurs as Samson makes me sprint, colliding head-on with Cal. I act as a human lightning rod, latching on to his armor, drawing electricity out of the sky to pour into him.

  Pain and fear cloud his eyes. His flame can only shield so much.

  I lunge, grabbing at his wrist. But the flamemaker bracelet holds firm.

  Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

  Fire pushes me back. I tumble end over end, shoulders and skull bouncing. The world spins, and dizzy limbs try to make me stand.

  Get up. Get up. Get up.

  “Stay down, Mare!” I hear from Cal’s direction. His figure dances before me, splitting into three. I might have a concussion. Red blood pulses across the white tile.

  Get up. Get up. Get up.

  My feet move beneath me, pushing hard. I stand too quickly, nearly falling over again as Samson forces me into drunken steps. He closes the distance between my body and Cal’s. I’ve seen this before, a thousand years ago. Samson Merandus in the arena, forcing another Silver to cut up his own insides. He’ll do the same to me too, once he uses me to kill Cal.

  I try to fight, though I don’t know where to start. Try to twitch a finger, a toe. Nothing responds.

  Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

  Lightning erupts from my hand, spiraling toward Cal. It misses, off balance like my body. He sends an arc of fire in response, forcing me to dodge and stumble.

  Get up. Kill him. Get up.

  The whispers are sharp, cutting wounds across my mind. I must be bleeding in my brain.

  KILL HIM. GET UP. KILL HIM.

  Through the flames, I see navy blue again. Cal stalks after Samson and skids to a knee, taking aim with a pistol of his own.

  GET UP—

  Pain crashes through me like a wave and I fall backward just as a bullet tears overhead. Another follows, closer. On pure instinct, fighting the ringing in my bruised skull, I scramble to my toes. I move of my own volition.

  Shrieking, I turn Cal’s fire to lightning, the red curls becoming purple-white veins of electricity. It shields me as Cal empties bullet after bullet in my direction. Behind him, Samson grins.

  Bastard. He’s going to play us off each other for as long as it takes.

  I push the lightning as fast as I can, letting it splinter toward Samson. If I can break his concentration, just for a second, it could be enough.

  Cal reacts, a puppet on strings. He shields Samson with his broad body, taking the brunt of my attack.

  “Someone help!” I shout to no one. We’re only three people in a battle of hundreds. A battle turning one-sided. The Silver ranks grow, fed by reinforcements from the barracks and the rest of the Archeon garrison. My five minutes have long passed. Whatever escape Crance promised is long gone.

  I have to break Samson. I have to.

  Another bolt of lightning, this time across the ground in a flood. No dodging that.

  KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.

  The whispers return, pulling back the electricity with my own two hands. It arcs backward in a crashing wave.

  Cal drops and spins, throwing out his leg in a sweeping kick. It connects, sending Samson sprawling.

  His control of me drops and I push forward. Another electric wave.

  This one washes through them both. Cal curses, biting back a yelp. Samson writhes and screams, a blood-curdling sound. He isn’t used to pain.

  Kill him—

  The whisper is far away, weakening. I can fight it.

  Cal grabs Samson by the neck, pulling him up only to smash his head back down.

  Kill him—

  I slice a hand through the air, pulling lightning with it. It splits a gash in Samson from hip to shoulder. The wound spurts Silver blood.

  Help me—

  Fire races down Samson’s throat, charring his insides. His vocal cords shred. The only screaming I hear now is in my head.

  I bring my lightning into his brain. Electricity fries the tissue in his skull like an egg in a pan. His eyes roll over white. I want to make it last longer, want to make him pay for what torture he gave to me and so many others. But he dies too quickly.

  The whispers disappear.

  “It’s done,” I gasp aloud.

  Cal looks up, still kneeling over the body. His eyes widen as if seeing me for the first time. I feel the same. I’ve been dreaming of this moment, wanting it for months and months. If not for the battle, for our precarious position wedged in the middle, I would wrap my arms around his neck and bury myself in the fire prince.

  Instead, I help him to his feet, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder. He limps, one leg a mess of muscle spasms. I’m hurt too, bleeding slowly from a tear in my side. I press my free hand to the wound. The pain sharpens.

  “Maven is below the Treasury. He has a train,” I say as we clamber away together.

  His arm tightens around me. He steers us toward the main gate, quickening his pace with every step. “I’m not here for Maven.”

  The gate looms, wide enough to allow three transports to drive through side by side. On the other side, the Bridge of Archeon spans the Capital River to meet the eastern half of the city. Smoke rises all over, reaching into the storm-black sky. I fight the urge to turn around and sprint for the Treasury. Maven will be gone by now. He is beyond my reach.

  More military transports speed toward us while airjets scream in our direction. Too many reinforcements to withstand.

  “What’s the plan, then?” I mumble. We’re about to be surrounded. The thought wears through my shock and adrenaline, sobering me up. All this for me. Bodies everywhere, Red and Silver. What a waste.

  Cal’s hands find my face, making me turn to look at him. In spite of the destruction around us, he smiles.

  “For once, we have one.”

  I see green out of the corner of my eye. Feel another hand grab my arm.

  And the world squeezes to nothing.

  NINETEEN

  Evangeline

  He’s late, and my heartbeat guns into overdrive. I fight the surge of fear, twisting it into fuel. Using the new energy, I shred apart the gilded frames holding portraits all down the palace hallway. The flecks of gold leaf twist into brutal, glinting shards. Gold is a weak metal. Soft. Malleable. Useless in a true fight. I let them drop. I don’t have the time or energy to waste on weak things.

  The pearly rhodium plates along my arms and legs vibrate with adrenaline, their mirror-bright edges rippling like liquid mercury. Ready to become whatever I need to stay alive. A sword, a shield, a bullet. I’m not in direct danger, not right now. But if Tolly isn’t here in one minute, I’m going out there after him, and then I certainly will be.

  She promised, I tell myself.

  It sounds idiotic, the wish of a particularly foolish child. I should know better. The only bond in my world is blood; the only promise is family. A Silver would smile and agree with another house and break their oath in the next heartbeat. Mare Barrow is not Silver—she should have less honor than any of us. And she owes my brother, owes me, less than nothing. She would be justified in slaughtering us all. House Samos has not been kind to the lightning girl.

  “We have a schedule, Evangeline,” Wren mutters next to me. She cradles one hand against her chest, doing her best not to antagonize an already-ugly burn. The skin healer wasn’t fast enough to avoid all of Mare’s returning ability. But she got the job done, and that’s all that matters. Now the lightning girl is free to wreak as much havoc as she can.

  “I’m giving him another minute.”

  The hallway seems to stretch before me
, growing longer with every second. On this side of the palace, we can barely hear the battle in the Square. The windows look out on a still courtyard, with only dark storm clouds above. If I wanted to, I could pretend this was another day of my usual torment. Everyone smiling with their fangs, circling an increasingly lethal throne. I thought the end of the queen would mean the end of danger. It’s not like me to underestimate a person’s evils, but I certainly underestimated Maven. He has more of his mother in him than anyone realized, as well as his own kind of monster.

  A monster I no longer have to suffer, thank my colors. Once we’re back home, I’ll send the Lakelander princess a gift for taking my place at his side.

  He’ll be far away by now, ferried to safety by his train. The new bride and groom were already in the Treasury when I left them. Unless Maven’s disgusting obsession with Mare won out. The boy is impossible to predict where she is involved. For all I know, he could have turned around to find her. He could be dead. I certainly hope he is dead. It would make the next steps infinitely easier.

  I know Mother and Father too well to worry about them. Woe to the person, Silver or Red, who might challenge my father in open combat. And Mother has her own contingencies in place. The attack on the wedding was not a surprise to any of us. House Samos is prepared. So long as Tolly sticks to the plan. My brother has a hard time backing down from a fight, and he is impulsive. Another man impossible to predict. We’re not supposed to hurt the rebels or impede their progress in any way. Father’s orders. I hope my brother follows them.

  We’ll be fine. I exhale slowly, holding on to those three words. They do little to calm my nerves. I want to be rid of this place. I want to go home. I want to see Elane again. I want Tolly to strut around the corner, safe and whole.

  Instead, he can barely walk.

  “Ptolemus!” I bark, forgetting every fear but one as he rounds the corner.

  His blood stands out sharply against black steel armor, silver spattered down his chest like paint. I can taste the iron in it, a sharp tang of metal. Without thinking, I yank on his armor, pulling him through the air with it. Before he can collapse, I brace my torso against his, keeping him on his feet. He’s almost too weak to stand, let alone run. Icy-cold terror trails fingers down my spine.

  “You’re late,” I whisper, earning a pained grin. Still alive enough for a sense of humor.

  Wren works swiftly, pulling off his plates of armor, but she’s not faster than me. With another jerk of my hand, it falls from his body in a few clattering echoes. My eyes fly to his bare chest, expecting to see an ugly wound. Nothing there but a few shallow cuts, none of them serious enough to level someone like Ptolemus.

  “Blood loss,” Wren explains. The skin healer pushes my brother to his knees, holding his left arm aloft, and he whimpers from the pain of it. I keep steady at his shoulder, crouching with him. “I don’t have time to heal this.”

  This. I trail my gaze along his arm, over white skin gray and black with fresh bruises. It ends in a bloody, blunt stump. His hand is gone. Cut clean through the wrist. Silver blood pulses sluggishly from the severed veins, despite his meager attempts to wrap the wound.

  “You have to,” Ptolemus grinds out, his voice hoarse with agony.

  I nod fervently. “Wren, it’ll only take a few minutes.” No magnetron is a stranger to a lost finger. We’ve been playing with knives since we could walk. We know how quickly a digit can be regrown.

  “If he ever wants to use that hand again, you’ll do as I say,” she replies. “It’s too complicated to do quickly. I have to seal the wound for now.” He makes another strangled noise, choking on the thought and the pain.

  “Wren!” I plead.

  She doesn’t back down. “For now!” Her beautiful eyes, gray Skonos eyes, bore into mine with urgency. I see fear in her, and no wonder. A few minutes ago she watched me murder four guards and free a prisoner of the crown. She is also complicit in the treason of House Samos.

  “Fine.” I squeeze Tolly’s shoulder, imploring him to listen. “For now. The second we’re in the clear, she’ll fix you.”

  He doesn’t reply, only nodding as Wren gets to work. Tolly turns his head, unable to watch the skin grow over his wrist, sealing up the veins and bones. It happens quickly. Blue-black fingers dance across his pale flesh as she knits him together. Skin growth is easy, or so I’m told. Nerves, bones, those are more complex.

  I do my best to distract him from the blunt end of his arm. “So who did it?”

  “Another magnetron. Lakelander.” He forces out each word. “Saw me breaking off to leave. Sliced me before I knew what was happening.”

  Lakelanders. Frozen fools. All stern in their hideous blue. To think Maven traded the might of House Samos for them. “I hope you repaid the favor.”

  “He no longer has a head.”

  “That’ll do.”

  “There,” Wren says, finishing up the wrist. She runs her hands along his arm and down his spine to the small of his back. “I’ll stimulate your marrow and kidneys, raise your blood production as much as I can. You’ll still be weak, though.”

  “That’s fine. As long as I can walk.” He already sounds stronger. “Help me up, Evie.”

  I oblige, bracing his good arm over my shoulder. He’s heavy, almost deadweight. “Ease up on the desserts,” I grumble. “Come on now, move with me.”

  Tolly does what he can, forcing one foot after the other. Nowhere near fast enough for my taste. “Very well,” I mutter, reaching out to his discarded armor. It flattens and re-forms into a sheet of rippled steel. “Sorry, Tolly.”

  I push him down onto it, using my ability to hold up the sheet like a stretcher.

  “I can walk . . . ,” he protests, but weakly. “You need your focus.”

  “Then focus for both of us,” I shoot back. “Men are useless when injured, aren’t they?”

  Keeping him elevated takes a corner of my ability, but not all of it. I sprint as fast as I can, one hand on the sheet. It follows on an invisible tether, flanked by Wren on the other side.

  Metal sings on the edge of my perception. I note each piece as we press on, filing them away on instinct. Copper wiring—a garrote with which to strangle. Door locks and hinges—darts or bullets. Window frames—iron hilts with glass daggers. Father used to quiz me on such things, until it became second nature. Until I couldn’t enter a room without marking its weapons. House Samos is never caught off guard.

  Father devised our swift getaway from Archeon. Through the barracks and down the northern cliffs to boats waiting in the river. Steel boats, specially made, fluted for speed and silence. Between Father and me, they’ll cut through the water like needles through flesh.

  We’re behind schedule, but only by a few minutes. In the chaos, it will take hours before anyone in Maven’s court realizes House Samos has disappeared. I don’t doubt other houses will take the same opportunity, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Maven is not the only person with an escape plan. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if every house has one of its own. The court is a powder keg with an increasingly short fuse and a spitfire king. You’d have to be an idiot not to expect an explosion.

  Father felt the winds shift the moment Maven stopped listening to him, as soon as it became clear that allying to the Calore king would be our downfall. Without Elara, no one could hold Maven’s leash. Not even my father. And then the Scarlet Guard rabble became more organized, a real threat rather than an inconvenience. They seemed to grow with each passing day. Operating in Piedmont and the Lakelands, whispers of an alliance with Montfort far to the west. They’re much larger than anyone anticipated, better organized and more determined than any insurrection in memory. All the while, my wretched betrothed lost his grip. On the throne, on his sanity, on anything but Mare Barrow.

  He tried to let her go, or so Elane told me. Maven knew as well as any of us what a danger his obsession would become. Kill her. Be done. Be rid of her poison, he used to mutter. Elane listened undetected,
quiet in her corner of his private quarters. The words were only words. He could never part with her. So it was easy to push her into his path—and push him off course. The equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull. She was his hurricane, and every nudge pulled him deeper into the eye of the storm. I thought she was an easy tool to use. A distracted king makes for a more powerful queen.

  But Maven shut me out of a place that was rightfully mine. He didn’t know to look for Elane. My lovely, invisible shadow. Her reports came later, under the cover of night. They were very thorough. I feel them still, whispered against my skin with only the moon to listen. Elane Haven is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in any capacity, but she looks best in moonlight.

  After Queenstrial, I promised her a consort’s crown. But that dream disappeared with Prince Tiberias, as most dreams do with the harsh break of day. Whore. That’s what Maven called her after the attempt on his life. I almost killed him where he stood.

  I shake my head, refocusing on the task at hand. Elane can wait. Elane is waiting, just as my parents promised. Safe in our home, tucked away in the Rift.

  The back courtyards of Archeon open onto flourishing gardens, which in turn are bounded by the palace walls. A few wrought-iron fences ward the flowers and shrubbery. Good for spears. The wall and garden patrols used to be guards of many different house—Laris windweavers, silks of Iral, vigilant Eagrie eyes—but things have changed in recent months. Laris and Iral stand in opposition to Maven’s rule, alongside House Haven. And with a battle raging, the king himself in danger, the other palace guards are scattered. I look up through the greenery, magnolia and cherry blossoms bright against the dark sky. Figures in black prowl the diamondglass ramparts.

  Only House Samos remains to man the wall.

  “Cousins of iron!”

  They snap toward my voice, responding in kind.

  “Cousins of steel!”

  Sweat trickles down my neck as the wall looms closer. From fear, from exertion. Only a few more yards. In preparation, I thicken the pearly metal of my boots, hardening my last steps.