War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,216

fear are worth the dwindling time we have left.

Our jet has dark green wings, a symbol of the Montfort fleet. I’m led up and into a military craft lined with seats, plus a lower compartment running the length of the fuselage. For more passengers or arms. Maybe both. My mouth turns sour as I realize this jet is Montfort-made, and certainly not the only one. The strange mountain country is better equipped than we realized, even after Corvium, after Harbor Bay. And they are mobilizing.

As I’m strapped into my seat, the buckles fastened just a hair too tight, I realize why Davidson was laughing.

The jets on the runway, the soldiers assembled outside—they’re just the beginning.

“How many thousands are you leading into Archeon?” I ask aloud, letting my voice carry over the bustle of the filling compartment.

I’m ignored, and that’s answer enough.

Across the jet, Mare takes her own seat, with Farley at her side. The pair of them glance at me, eyes hard as flint, and just as easy to spark. I fight the urge to wag my fingers at them.

Then a body crosses my vision, blocking the two women out.

I heave a sigh, and look up slowly.

So predictable.

“Try something,” the white-haired electricon says.

Instead I shut my eyes and lean back. “Shan’t,” I reply, doing my best to hide how difficult it is to breathe against these infernal belts.

He doesn’t move, even when the jet roars into the air.

So I keep my eyes shut, and I run through my precarious plan.

Again, and again, and again.

THIRTY-TWO

Evangeline

It’s been at least two weeks since Barrow left, a week since my betrothed was crowned king, and a few days since I saw Elane last. I can still feel her, though, her pale skin smooth and cool beneath my fingers. But she is far, far beyond my reach. Dispatched back to the Ridge, away from the danger.

Cal would have let me keep her here, if my father had allowed it. In spite of everything, an understanding is falling into place between us. Funny, I used to dream of such a thing. A king who left me to my own devices and my own crown. Now it’s the best I can hope for, and a prison all the same. It traps us both, locking us away from the ones we care about most. He can’t bring back Mare, and I won’t bring Elane back. Not with the Lakelander queens on the horizon and an invasion imminent. I won’t risk her life for a few days of my own comfort.

My new rooms in Whitefire Palace are meant for the queen, and they still echo with the presence of Iris Cygnet. Everything is blue, blue, blue, from the curtains to the plush carpets, even down to the flowers wilting in an obscene amount of crystal vases. With fewer servants, the process of clearing the rooms is slow going. I end up ripping down most of the curtains myself. They’re still in the salon outside my bedroom, collecting dust in a pile of cobalt-blue silk.

The long balcony overlooking the river is the only respite from her, the distant princess who will return to kill us all. And even here, standing with my face to the sun, I can’t escape the thought of the Cygnet nymph. The Capital River courses below, splitting the city of Archeon in two as it winds toward the sea. I try to ignore the rush of water, calm as it is. I focus on braiding my hair instead, pulling the silver strands back from my face. The simple act is a good distraction. The tighter the braids, the more severe, the more determined I feel.

I plan to train a little this morning, go through the motions. Run the barracks track, maybe spar with Ptolemus if he wants. I find myself wishing Barrow were here. She’s a good workout and a good challenge. And easier to deal with than my mother.

I’m surprised she hasn’t breezed in yet, as she often does these days. Trying to prod me toward more queenly activities, as she puts it. But I don’t have the stomach to charm or intimidate nobles today, especially for her benefit. My parents want me to sway more Silvers, earn the loyalty they pledged to Cal. To pull allies away from him, like saving rats from a sinking ship.

Mother and Father want me to be his queen the way Iris was Maven’s. A snake in his bed, a wolf at his side. Gathering strength and waiting for