is still allied to Cal, and they use their ability to its full extent. A howling gale streaks over the Square, blowing from somewhere behind us. It knocks some of the shells and missiles off course, and a few land harmlessly in the river while others spiral off into the fog. I squint against the slapping wind, keeping Ptolemus and Wren in sight, but the hurricane force makes the soldiers tighten their ranks, squashing us in with them.
Gritting my teeth, I painstakingly shove my way through, slipping under arms, pressing past guns and torsos. Every step is an ordeal, made more difficult by the lashing wind, the rain, the press of the legion. The crowd tosses like the river below, now whitecapped with rising waves.
My hands close on Tolly’s wrist, his armor cold against my fingers. He heaves, pulling me to him over the last yard, until I’m tucked safely into his side. My brother holds Wren in the same manner, his arms braced across both our shoulders.
What now?
We have to get the edge of the crowd, but the walls and buildings of the Square keep the legion hemmed in, funneling all of us toward the Bridge. Even from a distance, I can see Cal elevated above the rest, his red armor like blood against the howling storm. He stands to the side of the open gates, perched on a stone turret.
Like some idiotic target.
A good sniper could pick him off from a thousand yards if they cared to try.
But he risks it for the morale of his troops, shouting encouragement as they charge onto the Bridge. More shells hurtle toward him, but he flicks a hand, exploding the rounds in midair before they can do any harm.
On the Bridge itself, Silver soldiers disappear into the fog. I can guess their destination. Even now, the rhythmic, haunting drum of the armada’s guns breaks its pattern. I try not to picture Nortan soldiers fighting on the ship decks, facing the full might of Queen Cenra’s and Prince Bracken’s forces.
If we can get you two onto the ships . . . Cal’s voice echoes in my head. I grit my teeth against the curl of shame licking through me. I’m not wading into this battle, not on another river. Not with them down there.
This is our chance, and we have to take it.
“Keep pushing!” I shout, hoping Tolly can hear me over the din. The Treasury is behind us now, the distance growing with every passing step. It’s suffocating, being shoved like this, prodded forward against my will.
I don’t have much armor left—my father stripped most of it away—but what little I have re-forms along my arm, flattening into a round shield. Ptolemus mirrors my action, creating a smooth disk over his arm. We use them like battering rams, pushing against the human tide with our abilities and our own strength. It works slowly but steadily, creating enough space for us to move.
Until red armor blocks our path, a fireball hovering over one hand.
Cal stares between us, and I expect accusation. His flame gutters against the rain, refusing to surrender. His soldiers form a protective cocoon around him.
Rainwater drips down his face, steaming on his exposed skin.
“How many are you taking with you?” he says, barely audible.
I blink water out of my eyes and gesture blankly at Wren and Ptolemus.
“Your father, Evangeline. How many will he manage to flee with?” Cal takes a long step forward, never breaking eye contact. “I need to know who I still have left.”
Something releases in my chest. I shake my head, slow at first, then faster and faster.
“I wouldn’t know,” I murmur.
Cal’s expression doesn’t change, but for a moment I think the flame in his hand burns a bit brighter. Again his gaze bounds between my brother and me, weighing us both. I let it wash over me like the rain and the fog and the rising smoke. Tiberias Calore is not my future anymore.
Without another word, he stands aside, and his soldiers move with him. Clearing a path over the slick tiles of the Square.
As I move past him, I feel a ghost of warmth bleeding from his hand as it hovers near my arm. I think he almost hugs me. Cal has always been an odd sort, different from other Silvers. Strange and soft in his inclinations, while the rest of us were raised to razors and hard edges.
Instead of embracing him, I grab his arm, just for a moment. Pull him close enough