War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,157

Then she runs her eyes over Cal, teeth still bared. “And you don’t.”

“Thank you,” I say stiffly, through gritted teeth. I quickly regret any kind feeling I ever had toward her.

She revels in my sharp reply, and in the flush spotting Cal’s cheeks. Behind her, Ptolemus crosses his arms behind his back, puffing out his chest. Displaying the daggers proudly. Farley notes each one, her eyes wide and angry.

“A pity this meeting could not be held in the evening,” Ptolemus murmurs. His voice is deeper than Cal’s and infinitely less kind. He’s brave to speak here, especially to Farley and me.

I wonder if she sees Shade, as I do, speared by a blow from Ptolemus Samos. Even standing in his presence feels like a betrayal.

Farley has more restraint than me. While I can only keep my mouth firmly shut, she tosses her head with a sneer. “So your sister could have more time to paint her face?” she snaps, gesturing to the intricate makeup sculpting Evangeline.

The Samos princess shifts, if only a little, putting herself between her brother and us. Protective to the last. I almost expect her to shoo him off and out of our reach.

“So my father could attend,” she explains with a proud toss of her head. “King Volo will be here by sunset.”

Cal narrows his eyes. He sees the threat as clearly as I do. “With reinforcements?”

“More Samos-sworn to die for you? Hardly,” Evangeline sneers. “He’s come to oversee the final push against Maven.”

Oversee. Her storm-gray eyes darken, if only for a moment, shadowed by meaning. It isn’t hard to puzzle out the spaces between her words, what she means against what she says.

He’s coming to clean up our mess.

I shiver. The Samos children are formidable, violent, and dangerous, but they are tools at the end of it all. Weapons wielded by an even more powerful man.

“Good, saves me the time of summoning him here,” Cal says, resting a hand on the hilt of his bejeweled sword. He grins easily, as if the prospect of Volo Samos were his own idea. “I’m sure you’ll give him a happy welcome, Evangeline.”

The look she throws at him could poison rivers.

“Let’s get this nonsense over with,” she snarls under her breath.

Dawn streaks along the waves, bleeding from the horizon in shimmers of pink and paling blue. I keep my forehead braced against the cool glass of the dropjet window to watch our descent. As each second passes, my body tightens, my pulse a rising thrum, until I fear I might explode. It takes all my energy to keep my lightning at bay and the jet safe from my electric fits. Across from me, Farley stares at me, her hands ready at the buckles of her safety belts. To unfasten them and jump out the door if I happen to lose control.

Cal has more faith. He puts on a show of casual disregard, one leg stretched out in front of him, with the left side of his body braced against my side. He radiates soothing warmth, and his fingers brush mine every few seconds, a firm reminder of his presence.

If his grandmother is disgruntled or surprised by our closeness, she doesn’t show it. She sits quietly with Julian, his face shadowed like never before.

Davidson rounds out the rest of our jet, and thankfully, Evangeline and her brother are in the other craft, following along. I can see the reflection in the water, their small, whirring jet a blurring shadow among the waves. Dropjets are loud, horrendously so, and for once I’m glad for it. No one can talk right now, or scheme, or snipe. I try to lose myself in the constant hum.

Province Island comes too soon, a circle of green edged in a pale ribbon of sand. From above, it seems like one of Julian’s maps. Simply drawn, the village at the edge of the water a small grid of a few streets. The harbor is empty, but almost a dozen warships anchor about a half mile from shore. Maven could shoot us out of the air if he wanted, I think, imagining the distant rumble of artillery fire.

But we land without incident. The turning, tightening sensation in my chest grows, moving far beyond my tolerance. I grate my teeth together, feeling as if my jaw might shatter from the force of it, and hop out of the jet as quickly as I can, if only to suck down the fresh air.

And perhaps run right into the sea.

Instead I