War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,200

turning off or on. Shifting his focus. He gathers himself and sniffs, his voice suddenly clear, more forceful. As if he is addressing a crowd of soldiers, rather than just me. “The Lakelands will strike Archeon soon,” he says. “Within a few weeks. They’re preparing as we speak, drilling their armies past the point of perfection. Tiberias Calore is weak and they know it.” I don’t have the heart or stomach to argue. He’s right, and I’m still reeling. “If they take the city, Tiberias will never win Norta. Not this year. Not the next. Not even a hundred years from now.”

I clench my teeth. “You could be lying.”

He ignores me, forging on. “If the capital falls to the queen of the Lakelands, the road becomes long and bloody, worse than anything you’ve experienced before.” In his lap, he knits his fingers together, knuckles going white against the gray of his clothes. “Even I can barely see the ending of that path. But I know it’s terrible.”

“I don’t like being your chess piece.”

“Everyone is someone else’s pawn, Mare, whether we know it or not.”

“Whose pawn are you?”

He doesn’t respond, only raising his eyes to the clear, cold sky. With a final sigh, he pushes himself to his feet, dislodging rocks with the motion. “You should get moving,” he says, gesturing down the mountain.

“So I can pass on your message?” I snap, sounding bitter. Taking Jon’s orders is the last thing I want to do right now, even if he’s right. I think I’d rather freeze than give him the satisfaction.

“So you can avoid that,” he replies. With his chin, he points off to the north, where a band of clouds gathers across the peaks. “Storms move quickly up here.”

“I can handle storms.”

“Do as you wish,” Jon replies, shrugging. He pulls his coat tighter around himself. “We will not see each other again, Mare Barrow.”

Still on the ground, I sneer up at him. “Good.”

He doesn’t respond and turns around to continue his climb.

I watch his figure grow smaller, a gray man against gray stone, until he disappears.

To rise, and rise alone.

The storm breaks on the summit as soon as I step into the protection of the tree line, escaping a howl of wind and freezing rain. It hurts almost as much as going up, my knees jarring with the hard impact of every step. I have to be careful and focus on where I put my feet, lest I break an ankle on the loose stones and pine needles piled over the trail. Above me, back up the mountain, a low thrum of thunder peals, alive as my own beating heart.

I reach Ascendant as the sun first sinks beneath the peaks across the valley. Even though I’m sore from the climb and aching from the conversation, my pace quickens as I enter the premier’s palace. I pass Montfort soldiers and officers, as well as politicians from his government, marked by their fine suits, all milling around the lower level of the building, leaving meetings or going to them. They watch me pass with scrutiny, but not fear. I’m not a freak here.

Two heads of shocking hair, one blue, one bone white, stand out in the crowd of dark green suits and uniforms. Ella and Tyton. My fellow electricons idle in one of the windowed alcoves, taking up enough space that they can be left alone.

“Waiting for me? You shouldn’t have,” I say with a smile, my breath still uneven and ragged from the climb.

Tyton looks me up and down, a lock of white hair falling into his face. He leans back calmly, one long leg planted against the seat across from him. “You shouldn’t climb mountains alone,” he says. “Especially when you’re not good at it.”

“You should spend more time with my brothers, Tyton,” I reply with little bite. “They’re better at teasing me than you are.”

His grin comes easily, but it doesn’t reach his dark eyes. Ella huffs at him. “Everyone’s in Davidson’s library. General Farley and the rest,” she offers, gesturing down the hall.

My stomach swoops at the prospect of facing yet another council. I grit my teeth. “How do I look?”

The woman licks her lips, her eyes running over me.

Tyton is less diplomatic. “Her hesitation should be answer enough. But you don’t exactly have time to put on your war paint, Barrow.”

“Right, great,” I grumble, leaving them both behind.

Quickly, I smooth my hair back, trying to hide the wind-tangled knots with a hasty braid. The rest. Who else