where no one can reach her. When she returns to civilization, the entire country will know it.
Before I can possibly begin to list the many, many people I’ve sparred with, fought, and maimed, the answer quite literally flies by. Two air transports buzz us as we begin the climb up the hills, drowning out all conversation for a moment. I press my forehead to the window, feeling the heavy drone in my teeth as well as with my ability. The aircraft aren’t carrying any heavy weaponry that I can sense.
“Scarlet Guard,” I breathe, noting the torn crimson sun stamped on the side of the lead craft. The other might as well be dripping fresh paint. Its tail is marked with a new emblem. Three circles linked together—one red, one silver, one white. For each kind of blood. Woven as equals. “And the Nortan States.”
I know exactly who will be waiting for us at Ridge House, standing in the shell of my old life.
Normally the drive from the airfield to the estate is too long, but today I wish it wouldn’t end. We summit the rolling hills in what feels like a few seconds, with the familiar gates of the old palace looming through the trees. I lower my eyes as we pass through, unable to glance at the imposing façade of glass and steel.
I could shut my eyes if I wanted, and navigate the halls without any difficulty. It would be easy to walk to the throne room without even looking up. A coward would do it.
Instead I barely blink, and let everyone see me as I step down into the wide, leafy courtyard. A stream runs through, winding beneath fluid iron bridges as it tumbles from the spring near the center of Ridge House. The flowers and trees are the same as I remember, unchanged but for the brush of autumn’s fire. I glimpse familiar walls through the plant life, and instinctively remember the rooms looking down on the receiving courtyard. Guest chambers, the servant halls, galleries, guardrooms, a statuary. Nothing looks amiss. War has not reached the Ridge. It seems we have stepped back in time.
But that isn’t true. Before my father died, there were only Silvers flanking the doors. Warriors loyal to House Samos. Now there is only Scarlet Guard. Their crimson and cardinal scarves hang proudly, impossible to ignore. They watch, hard-eyed, as we approach.
The Montfort delegates are first to enter Ridge House, leading us all in their white or forest-green clothing. Their own guards are meant for us as well, and they are attentive as we walk. Some are Reds; some are newbloods; some are Silvers. All are armed in their own way, ready to fight should the need arise. I pity anyone who decides to attack Ptolemus and me here, in a place we know so well. There is no sense in fighting a magnetron in a palace made of steel. Even my Samos cousins would not try. They might be stupid enough to attempt a coup in my name, but they aren’t suicidal.
The air inside Ridge House tastes stale and old, shocking me from my ruminations. While the Ridge itself is intact, I immediately see the decay all around us. Even in a few months’ time so much has changed. Dust coats the usually pristine walls. Most of the rooms branching off the entrance hall are dark. My home, or this part of it, is abandoned.
Elane grips my hand tightly, her touch cool against mine. I’m suddenly aware of the flush crawling beneath my skin, making me sweat. I squeeze back, grateful for her presence.
Cords of wire almost blend into the stonework beneath our feet, winding through the shadows at the base of the wall to my left. It leads to the throne room, already prepared for what we must do and what we must say. The Sunset Stretch was our receiving hall once, before my father decided to call himself a king. It still holds our thrones now, along with a great deal else. I can feel the machinery from here. Cameras, broadcasting equipment, lightning. Aluminum, iron, edged with absences that can only be plastic or glass.
I don’t hesitate, as much as I want to. There are too many eyes, Montfort and Scarlet Guard. Too much risk in appearing weak. And the pressure of an audience has always made me a better performer.
Unlike the rest of the Ridge, my father’s throne room is pristine. The windows have been cleaned, offering a clear