Voices echo on the other side of the approaching door. Voices and footsteps.
“Immediate left,” Cal murmurs. He starts to reach for my hand, but thinks better of it. We can’t risk touching each other, not now, when our touch is deadly. “You run.”
Cal goes first, and the world beyond pulses with an expulsion of fire. It spreads across the massive entrance hall, over marble and rich carpet, until it crawls up the gilt walls. A tongue of flame licks up to a painting overlooking the hall. A giant portrait, newly made. The new king—Maven. He smirks like a gargoyle until the fire takes hold, burning at the canvas. The heat is too much, and his carefully drawn lips begin to melt, twisting into a snarl that suits his monstrous soul. The only thing untouched by the flames are two gold banners, dusty silk, hanging from the opposite wall. Who they belong to, I don’t know.
The guards waiting for us flee, shouting, their flesh smoking. They’re trying not to burn alive. Cal cuts through the fire, his footsteps leaving a safe path for us to follow, and Farley keeps close, sandwiched between us. She covers her mouth, trying not to breath in the smoke.
The officers who remain, nymphs or stoneskins, impervious to flame, are not so immune to me. This time, lightning races, splaying from me in a too-bright webwork of living electricity. I only have enough focus to keep Cal and Farley from the storm. The rest are not so lucky.
I’m a born runner, but my breath stings in my lungs. Each gasp is harder, more painful. I tell myself it’s the smoke. But as I vault through the grand entrance of Ocean Hill, the pain doesn’t disappear. It only changes.
We’re surrounded.
Rows upon rows of officers in black, soldiers in gray, choke the gate yard. All armed, all waiting.
“Submit to arrest, Mare Barrow!” one of the officers shouts. A flowered vine twists around one arm, while the other holds a gun. “Submit to arrest, Tiberias Calore!” He stumbles over Cal’s name, still reluctant to address a prince so informally. In any other situation, I would laugh.
Between us, Farley sets her feet. She has no weapon anymore, no shield, and she still refuses to kneel. Her strength is astounding.
“What now?” I whisper, knowing there is no answer.
Cal’s eyes dart back and forth, looking for a solution he’ll never find. Finally his eyes land on me. They are so empty. And so very alone.
Then a gentle hand closes around my wrist.
The world darkens, and I am squeezing through it, suffocated, confined, trapped for one long moment.
Shade.
I hate the sensation of teleporting, but in this moment, I relish it. Shade is all right. And we’re alive. Suddenly, I’m on my knees, staring at the cobblestones of a dank alley far away from the Security Center, Ocean Hill, and the kill zone of officers.
Someone vomits nearby—Farley, judging by the sound. I suppose teleporting and having your head bounced off a window are a bad combination.
“Cal?” I ask the air, already cooling in the afternoon light. A low tremor of fear begins, the first ripple of a cold wave, but he answers from a few feet away.
“I’m here,” he says, reaching out to touch my shoulder.
But instead of leaning into his hand, letting his now gentle warmth consume me, I pull away. With a groan, I get to my feet, only to see Shade standing over me. His expression is dark, pulled in anger, and I brace myself for a scolding. I shouldn’t have left him. It was wrong of me to do that.
“I’m—” I begin the apology, but never get to finish. He crushes me into an embrace, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I cling to him just as tightly. He trembles a little, still afraid for his little sister. “I’m fine,” I tell him, so quietly only he can hear the lie.
“No time for that,” Farley spits, forcing herself to her feet. She glances around, still off balance, but gauges our location. “Battle Garden’s that way, a few streets east.”
Wolliver. “Right.” I nod, reaching out to hold her steady. We can’t forget our mission here, even after that deadly debacle.
But I keep my eyes on Shade, hoping he knows what lies in my heart. He only shakes his head, dismissing the apology. Not because he won’t accept it, but because he’s too kind to want it.
“Lead on,” he says, turning to Farley. His eyes soften a little, noting her dogged resolve to continue, despite her injuries and her nausea.
Cal is also slow to his feet, unaccustomed to teleportation. He recovers as quickly as he can, following us through the alleyways of the city sector known as Threestone. The smell of smoke clings to him, as does a deeper rage. Silvers died back in the Security Center, men and women who were only following orders. His orders once. It can’t be an easy thing to stomach, but he must. If he wants to stay with us, with me. He must choose his side.
I hope he chooses ours. I hope I never have to see that empty look in his eyes ever again.
This is a Red sector, relatively safe for the time being, and Farley keeps us to twisting alleys, even pulling us through an empty shop or two to avoid detection. Security officers shout and dart over the main roads, trying to regroup, trying to make sense of what happened at the Center. They’re not looking for us here, not yet. They still don’t realize what Shade is, how fast and far he can move us.
We huddle against a wall, waiting for an officer to pass us by. He’s distracted, like all the others, and Farley keeps us to the shadows.
“I am sorry,” I mutter to Shade, knowing I must say the words.
Again, he shakes his head. He even butts me gently with his crutch. “Enough of that. You did what you had to. And look, I’m all right. No harm done.”
No harm done. Not to his body, but what about his mind? His heart? I betrayed him, my brother. Like someone else I know. I almost spit in anger, hoping to expel the thought that I have anything in common with Maven.
“Where’s Crance?” I say, needing to focus on something else.
“I got him away from the Seaskulls; then he went his own way. Ran off like a man on fire.” Shade’s eyes narrow, remembering. “He buried three Mariners in the tunnels. He’s got no place here anymore.”
I know the feeling.
“What about you?” He jerks his head, vaguely gesturing in the direction of Ocean Hill. “After all that?”
After almost dying. Again.
“I said I’m okay.”
Shade purses his lips, unsatisfied. “Right.”
We lapse into a stiff silence, waiting for Farley to move again. She leans heavily against the alley wall, but soldiers on when a crowd of noisy schoolchildren passes ahead. We move again, using them as cover to cross the bigger road before entering another maze of back streets.
Finally we duck under a low arch—or rather, the others duck; I simply walk through. I’m barely to the other side when Shade stops short, his free hand reaching out to stop me from going forward.
“I’m sorry, Mare,” he says, and his apology almost knocks me down again.
“You’re sorry?” I ask, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Sorry for what?”
He doesn’t answer, ashamed. A chill that has nothing to do with temperature runs through me as he steps back, allowing me to see past the mouth of the archway.
There’s a square beyond, clearly meant for Red use. Battle Garden. It’s plain but well maintained, with fresh greenery and gray stone statues of warriors all over. The one in the center is the largest, a rifle slung across his back, one dark arm extended into midair.
The statue’s hand points east.
A rope dangles from the statue’s hand.
A body swings from the rope.