lightning
shield. Dimly, I wonder if I’ll die without eyebrows. But instead of
burning through me, the heat stands constant, uncomfortable but not
unbearable. Strong, bruising hands wrench me to my feet, and blond
hair glints in the firelight. I can just make out her face through the
biting windstorm. Farley. Her gun is gone, her clothes torn, and her muscles quiver, but she keeps holding me up.
Behind her, a tall, familiar figure cuts a black silhouette against
the explosion. He holds it back with a single, outstretched hand. His
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shackles are gone, melted or cast away. When he turns, the flames
grow, licking at the sky and the destroyed street, but never us. Cal
knows exactly what he’s doing, directing the firestorm around us like
water around rock. As in the arena, he forms a burning wall across the
avenue, protecting us from his brother and the legion beyond. But now,
his flames are strong, fed by oxygen and rage. They leap up into the air,
so hot the base burns ghostly blue.
More missiles drop, but again, Cal contains their power, using it
to feed his own. It’s almost beautiful, watching his long arms arc and
turn, transforming destruction into protection with steady rhythm.
Farley tries to pull me away, overpowering me. With the flames
defending us, I turn to see the river a hundred yards away. I can even
see the hulking shadows of Kilorn and my brother, limping toward
supposed safety.
“Come on, Mare,” she growls, half dragging my bruised and weak-
ened body.
For a second, I let her pull me along. It hurts too much to think
clearly. But one glance back and I understand what she’s doing, what
she’s trying to make me do.
“I’m not leaving without him!” I shout for the second time today.
“I think he’s doing fine on his own,” she says, her blue eyes reflect-
ing the fire.
Once, I thought like her. That Silvers were invincible, gods upon
the earth, too powerful to destroy. But I killed three just this morning;
Arven, the Rhambos strongarm, and the nymph lord Osanos. Probably
more with the lightning storm. And they almost killed me, and Cal,
for that matter. We had to save each other in the arena. And we must
do so again.
Farley is bigger than me, taller and stronger, but I’m more agile.
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Even banged up and half-deaf. One flick of my ankle, one well-timed
shove, and she stumbles backward, letting go. I turn in the same
motion, palms outstretched, feeling for what I need. Naercey has far
less electricity than Archeon or even the Stilts, but I don’t need to leach
power from anything now. I make my own.
The first blast of nymph water pounds against the flames with
the strength of a tidal wave. Most of it flash boils into vapor, but the
rest falls on the wall, extinguishing the great tongues of fire. I answer
the water with my own electricity, aiming for the waves curling and
crashing in midair. Behind the wave, the Silver legion marches for-
ward, lunging for us. At least the chained Reds have been pulled away,
relegated to the back of the line. Maven’s doing. He won’t let them slow
him down.
His soldiers meet my lightning instead of open air, and behind it,
Cal’s fire jumps back up from the embers.
“Move back slowly,” Cal says, gesturing with an open hand. I
mirror his measured steps, careful not to look away from the oncom-
ing doom. Together we alternate back and forth, protecting our own
retreat. When his flame falls, my lightning rises, and so on. Together,
we have a chance.
He mutters little commands: when to step, when to raise a wall,
when to let it drop. He looks more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him,
his veins blue-black beneath pale skin, with gray circles rimming his
eyes. I know I must look worse. But his pacing keeps us from giving
out entirely, allowing little bits of our strengths to return just when we
need.
“Just a little farther,” Farley calls, her voice echoing from behind.
But she’s not running off. She’s staying with us, even though she’s just
human. She’s braver than I gave her credit for.
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“Farther to what?” I growl through gritted teeth, tossing up
another net of electricity. Despite Cal’s commands, I’m getting slower,
and a bit of rubble flies through. It breaks a few yards away, crumbling
into dust. We are running out of time.
But so is Maven.
I can smell the river, and the ocean beyond. Sharp and salty, it
beckons, but to
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