War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,219
which side is weakest,” he says. “If both sides are balanced, they won’t find a weaker side to prey on. And we can pin them in the river.”
“Concentrate the Air Fleet over the city.” It isn’t a suggestion, but an order. And no one shoots me down. Despite our impending doom, I feel a surge of pride. “Use their weapons on the ships. If we can sink one downriver, we’ll slow their pace.” A dark grin plays on my lips. “Even nymphs can’t keep a ship full of holes afloat.”
There is no joy in Tiberias Calore when he speaks next, his eyes flickering with some inner torment. “Turn the river into a graveyard.”
A graveyard for both kinds of blood, Silver and Red. Lakelanders, soldiers of Piedmont. Enemies. That’s all they are. Faceless, nameless. Sent to kill us. It’s an easy equation to balance, with the people I love on one side. Still, my stomach turns a little, though I’ll never admit it to anyone. Not even Elane. What color will the river be when all this is over?
“We’ll be outnumbered on the ground.” Cal begins to pace, his words taking on a manic quality. He’s almost talking to himself, puzzling out a battle plan before our eyes. “And whatever their storms cook up will keep most of the Air Fleet busy.”
My father still hasn’t spoken a word.
“They’ll have Red soldiers among the Silvers,” Julian says. He sounds almost apologetic. Again my stomach churns, and Cal seems to feel the same trepidation. He falters a little in his steps.
Anabel merely scoffs. “That’s one advantage, at least. Their numbers are more vulnerable. And less dangerous.”
The rift between Cal’s closest advisers yawns like a canyon. Julian almost sneers at her, his usually calm manner fading a little. “That’s not what I meant.”
More vulnerable. Less dangerous. Anabel isn’t wrong, but not for the reason she thinks. “The Lakelands haven’t eased their treatment of Reds,” I say. “Norta has.”
The withered stare from the old queen is a thing of lethal beauty. “So?”
I speak slowly, like I’m explaining battle theory to a child. It rankles her delightfully. “So the Lakelander Reds might be less willing to fight. They might even want to surrender to a country where they’ll be given better treatment.”
Her eyes narrow. “As if we can rely on that.”
I shrug with a practiced smirk, raising the steel pauldrons on both shoulders. “They did in Harbor Bay. It’s worth keeping in mind.”
The bug-eyed looks of the Silvers around me are not difficult to interpret. Even Ptolemus is perplexed by what I’m saying. Only Cal and Julian seem open to the idea, their expressions measured but oddly thoughtful. My gaze lingers on Cal, and he meets my eyes firmly, inclining his head in a small, almost invisible nod.
He licks his lips, vaulting into another round of planning. “We don’t have any newblood teleporters, but if we can somehow get you two”—he gestures to Ptolemus and me—“onto the battleships again, neutralize their guns—”
“My children will do no such thing.”
Volo’s voice is low but resounding, almost vibrating on the air. I feel it in my chest, and suddenly I’m a little girl again, cowering before a commanding father. Willing to do whatever I must to keep him happy, to win a rare smile or show of affection, however small.
Don’t, Evangeline. Don’t let him do that.
My fist clenches at my side, nails digging into the flesh of my palm. It grounds me somehow. The sharp pain brings me back to who I am, and the cliff we all stand upon.
Cal glares openly at my father, the two of them locked in a silent battle of wills. Mother remains quiet, one hand resting on the head of a wolf. Its yellow eyes stare up at the young king, never wavering from his face.
My parents don’t intend to fight at all, or let us do it either. In Harbor Bay, they were willing to send us into the fighting. Risk us both. For victory.
They think this battle is already lost.
They’re going to run.
Father speaks again, breaking the tense silence. “My own soldiers and guards, my surviving cousins of House Samos, are yours, Tiberias. But my heirs are not yours to gamble with.”
Cal grits his teeth. He plants his hands on his hips, thumbs drumming. “And what about you, King Volo? Will you sit back as well?”
I blink, stunned. He all but called the king of the Rift a coward. A shudder runs through my mother’s wolf, mirroring her anger.