Glass Sword (Red Queen #2) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,8

throne, only to slink off and hide?” He bristles,

pretending for the sake of his nobles and soldiers. For them, he must

still seem the tragic son, a king never meant for a crown, who wants

nothing more than justice for the dead.

I raise my chin in challenge. “Do you think Cal would do such a

thing?”

Maven is far from foolish. He is wicked, but not stupid, and he

knows his brother better than anyone else alive. Cal is no coward and

never will be. Lying to his subjects will never change that. Maven’s

eyes betray his heart and he glances sidelong, at the alleys and streets

leading away from the war-torn avenue. Cal could be hiding in any

one, waiting to strike. I could even be the trap, the bait to draw out the

weasel I once called my betrothed and my friend. When he turns his

head, his crown slips, too big for his skull. Even the metal knows it does

not belong to him.

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“I think you stand alone, Mare.” He speaks softly. Despite all he’s

done to me, my name in his mouth makes me shiver, thinking of days

gone by. Once he said it with kindness and affection. Now it sounds

like a curse. “Your friends are gone. You have lost. And you are an

abomination, the only one of your wretched kind. It will be a mercy to

remove you from this world.”

More lies, and we both know it. I mirror his cold laugh. For a sec-

ond, we look like friends again. Nothing is further from the truth.

A jet overhead sweeps by, its wings almost scraping the tip of a

nearby ruin. It’s so close. Too close. I can feel its electric heart, its whirring engines somehow keeping it aloft. I reach for it as best I can, like I

have so many times before. Like the lights, like the cameras, like every

wire and circuit since I became the lightning girl, I take hold of it—and

shut it off.

The airjet dips, nose down, gliding for a moment on heavy wings.

Its original trajectory meant to take it above the avenue, high over the

legion to protect the king. Now it dives headfirst into them, sailing

over the Red line to collide with hundreds of Silvers. The Samos mag-

netrons and Provos telkies aren’t quick enough to stop the jet as it plows

into the street, sending asphalt and bodies flying. The resounding

boom as it explodes nearly knocks me off my feet, pushing me farther

away. The blast is deafening, disorienting, and painful. No time for pain repeats in my head. I don’t bother to watch the chaos of Maven’s army.

I am already running, and my lightning is with me.

Purple-and-white sparks shield my back, keeping me safe from the

swifts trying to run me down. A few collide with my lightning, trying

to break through. They fall back in piles of smoked flesh and twitching

bone. I’m grateful I can’t see their faces, or else I might dream of them

later. Bullets come next, but my zigzagging sprint makes me a difficult

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target. The few shots that get close shriek apart in my shield, like my

body was supposed to when I fell into the electric net at Queenstrial.

That moment seems so long ago. Overhead, the jets scream again, this

time careful to keep their distance. Their missiles are not so polite.

The ruins of Naercey stood for thousands of years, but will not

survive this day. Buildings and streets crumble, destroyed by Sil-

ver powers and missiles alike. Everything and everyone has been

unleashed. The magnetrons twist and snap steel support beams, while

telkies and strongarms hurl rubble through the ashen sky. Water bleeds

up from the sewers as nymphs attempt to flood the city, flushing out

the last of the Guardsmen hiding in the tunnels below us. The wind

howls, strong as a hurricane, from the windweavers in the army. Water

and rubble sting my eyes, the gusts so sharp they are nearly blinding.

Oblivions’ explosions rock the ground beneath me and I stumble, con-

fused. I never used to fall. But now my face scrapes against the asphalt,

leaving blood in my wake. When I get back up, a banshee’s glass-shat-

tering scream knocks me down again, forcing me to cover my ears.

More blood there, dripping fast and thick between my fingers. But the

banshee who flattened me has accidentally saved me. As I fall, another

missile blasts over my head, so near I feel it ripple the air.

It explodes too close, the heat pulsing through my hasty