War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,166
sounds like a crashing wave echoes beyond the trees, in the opposite direction from the beach. On her knees, Farley jumps, double-checking her sights, while her officers recoil.
I find myself climbing the sandy hill, desperate to get to higher ground and a better vantage point.
As I move, gunfire peppers the air, loud across the grassy field. Below me, Mare flinches. I clench a fist, counting the bullets as they dance on the edge of sensation. They rocket in opposite directions, one volley to answer another.
“They’re fighting . . . something,” I report.
On the ground, Cal sloshes forward, kicking up the water as his fists ignite. “Maven,” I think he snarls, low and under his breath. Mare stays in front of him, trying to hold him back without shocking him—or being burned. His grandmother doesn’t move at all.
As I climb, the water ebbs like a small tide, receding and flowing in as someone pulls it. From my spot, I can see color through the knobbled trees. Blue armor, red flame, the fiery robes of Sentinel guards. Someone screams, the sound echoing in a howl. The air turns to mist, as if someone is drawing a gray curtain across the world.
Quickly, my jewelry spreads, forming armor along my hands and wrists, skittering up to my shoulders. “Give me a gun, Farley,” I bark.
She doesn’t look at me, spitting on the ground instead.
“I have better aim and better range,” I snarl.
Her grip tightens on her long gun. “If you think I’m giving you anything—”
“If you think I’m asking,” I snap back, flicking my fingers. Her weapon jumps out of her hands, soaring up to mine.
“Really, ladies, there’s no need for that,” Anabel says, still oddly unaffected. “See now, it’s over.” She steps between us and points with a wrinkled finger, indicating the tree line.
The water rushes across the field again, moving with the figures that are approaching in the distance, barely shadows in the mist.
The corpses come first, floating along in the ankle-deep water, their Sentinel robes splayed wide and wet. Their masks are gone or broken, showing the faces beneath. Some I know; some I don’t.
The shadowy figures solidify and one raises a hand, waving the mist away. It condenses and drops, passing over us like a sudden rainstorm, revealing Cenra and Iris, their own guards fanned out behind them. Bracken follows, his chest flashing gold while his purple cape drags in the water. They position themselves strangely, obstructing the blue-uniformed guards from view for as long as possible. Then they halt, ten yards away, the risen waters gathered around their feet.
We stare, perplexed, puzzled at the sight before us. Even the premier, his brow furrowed.
Only Anabel and Julian remain unaffected.
“Be a dear and prepare the trade,” Anabel murmurs, turning over her shoulder to address the Jacos uncle. He looks oddly pale, as if sick, but nods to her request and turns away, taking two Lerolan guards with him.
Trade, she said.
I glance at Mare. She feels my gaze and turns, eyes wide in fear as well as confusion.
Trade for what? I want to ask.
Or who?
Something struggles in the circle of Lakelander guards, restrained. I see him through the gap between Cenra and Iris, fighting a losing battle against men much stronger than he is.
Maven bleeds from the lip, his crown askew on his mop of mussed black hair. He kicks fruitlessly, forcing the Lakelander guards to drag him by the arms. Water coils the length of his body, ready to strike. Next to him, Iris whistles, spinning his bracelets between her hands. The flamemakers, key to his ability, I realize with a swoop of shock. He’s defenseless, at the mercy of those he would never show mercy to.
The Lakelander princess grins sharply, a chilling sight in an otherwise measured persona. He spits at her, missing wide.
“Nymph bitch,” he snarls, kicking again. “You’ve made a mistake today.”
Cenra’s lip curls in a scowl, but she lets her daughter handle herself.
“Have I?” Iris replies, unperturbed. Slowly, she pulls the crown from his head and casts it into the water. “Or have you? Many, many mistakes, not the least of which was letting me into your kingdom.”
I can’t believe my eyes. Maven, the betrayer betrayed. The trickster tricked.
The war.
Over.
I might be sick.
My breathing turns shallow and I wrench my eyes away from Maven to watch his brother. Cal has gone deathly pale. It’s clear he didn’t know anything about this, whatever Anabel and Julian did. Whatever trade they’re about to make in his name.