War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,12

to us? Kill Tiberias, keep me?

Only time will tell. When he strikes again, and he will, I’ll know.

I only hope we’re ready.

Davidson’s troops, the Scarlet Guard and our spreading infiltration—we’re enough. We have to be.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t take precautions.

“When do we leave?”

It took some dreaded social interaction, but I managed to ask my way to Davidson’s quarters. He commands some larger offices in the administrative sector, forming a suite currently filled with Montfort brass. And Scarlet Guard too, although Farley isn’t here. The officers take my entrance in stride, giving way to the person they still call lightning girl. Most busy themselves with packing. Papers, folders, charts, mostly. Nothing that actually belongs to anyone here. Intelligence for smarter people than me to devour. Probably left over from whatever Silver officers used this space last.

Ada, one of my newblood recruits, is at the center of the activity. Her eyes run over every scrap of paper before someone else packs it away. She’s memorizing it all, using her ability of perfect memory. I catch her eye as I pass, and we share a nod. When we go to Montfort, Ada will be dispatched to Command at Farley’s orders. I don’t suppose I’ll see her again for a long time.

Davidson looks up from his bare desk. The corners of his angled eyes crinkle, the only indicator of a smile. Despite the harsh, unforgiving light of the office, he looks handsome as ever. Distinguished. Intimidating. A king in power if not title. When he waves me over, I swallow hard, remembering what he looked like in the siege. Bloody, exhausted, afraid. And determined. Just like the rest of us. It calms me a little.

“You did well up there, Barrow,” he says. With a toss of his head, he gestures in the vague direction of the core tower.

I blink, scoffing. “You mean I kept my mouth shut.”

At the window, someone laughs. I glance over to see Tyton leaning against the glass, arms crossed, his usual lock of white hair drooping over one eye. He has a clean forest-green uniform too, though a little short at the wrists and legs. No lightning insignia to mark him for what he is: an electricon like me. Because it isn’t his uniform. The last time I saw him, he was painted eyebrows to ankles in silver blood. He drums his fingers against his arm, brandishing them like the weapons they are.

“Is that possible?” he says without looking at me, his voice deep.

Davidson surveys me, shaking his head a bit. “Actually, I’m pleased with what you told the others, Mare. About accompanying me home.”

“Like I said, I’m curious about—”

The premier puts up his hand, palm out, to stop me short. “Save it. I think Lord Jacos is the only person here who does anything simply for the sake of curiosity.” Well, he isn’t wrong. “What do you really want from Montfort?”

At the window, Tyton’s eyes flicker in the light as he finally deigns to look at me.

I raise my chin. “Only what you promised.”

“Resettlement?” For once, Davidson looks truly startled. “You want to—”

“I want my family safe.” My voice never wavers. I push a little of what I remember from a dead Silver and her etiquette rules into my bearing. Straight spine, squared shoulders. Hold eye contact.

“We are truly at war,” I say. “Norta, Piedmont, the Lakelands, and your Republic too. Nowhere is safe, from either side. But you’re farthest away, and you seem to be the strongest, or at least the most defended. I think it will be best if I can take my family there myself. Before I come back to finish what better people started.”

“The promise was for newbloods, Miss Barrow,” Davidson says quietly. The flurry of activity around us almost drowns him out.

My stomach drops, but I harden my expression. “I don’t think so, Premier.”

He pulls that bland smile of his, retreating behind his usual mask. “Really, you think me so heartless?” A strange joke, but Davidson is nothing if not a strange man. He flashes even teeth. “Of course your family is welcome. Montfort would be proud to accept them as citizens. Ibarem, a word?” he adds, calling over my shoulder.

A man bustles in from one of the connecting rooms, and I can’t help but jump. He’s the spitting image of Rash and Tahir, the newblood twins. If I didn’t know Tahir was still in Piedmont and Rash embedded in Archeon, both relaying information for the cause, I would think he was