for one last whisper, one last barb from Evangeline Samos before she disappears. Without her crown, without her house, without her colors. To become a new person entirely.
“If it isn’t too late for me, it isn’t too late for you.”
When we sit down on the train, its lights flickering and engine lumbering to life, only then do I dimly wonder where the tracks end.
It will be a long walk to Montfort.
THIRTY-THREE
Mare
I’m still not used to the purple hair.
It isn’t as garish as Ella’s, at least. I only let Gisa dye the gray ends, leaving the roots untouched. I twist a spare lock around my finger, staring at the odd color as I walk. Strange as it looks, it gives me a small burst of pride. I’m an electricon, and I’m not alone.
After the first attack on Archeon, Maven and his loyal advisers took up a campaign of collapsing or flooding the immense tunnel system beneath the city. They concentrated heavily on the southern edges, where the tunnels were more numerous, all of them leading to the ruins of Naercey at the mouth of the Capital River. Davidson originally suggested striking out from the abandoned city, but Farley and I knew better. Maven destroyed that too, rooting out the Scarlet Guard’s stronghold while obliterating whatever remained. He was inspired by the Guard as well, constructing tunnels of his own in addition to an escape train. I can’t be certain, not this deep or after this long underground, but I think we’ll link up with the train line eventually.
My inner compass spins, searching for true north in vain. We have to rely on Guard intelligence, what they know of the tunnels. And we have to rely on Maven. Stupid as it is, he is our best hope for getting as far into the city as we can. The combined force of Montfort and the Scarlet Guard is too big to simply strike from the air, or the river, or the ground. We have to do all three.
Of course I’m stuck scrabbling in the darkness, walking for hours beneath several tons of rock and soil.
Maven cuts a harsh silhouette, backlit by our lanterns. He’s still wearing the simple uniform the Montfortans gave him when they locked him up. Washed-out gray pants and shirt, the fabric too thin and the cut too big on his frame. It makes him look younger than he is, more gaunt and drawn than ever before.
I hang back, using Farley as a human shield between us. His own guards are close at hand as well, an even mix of Reds and newbloods. None of them falter, hands resting on their holstered guns. Tyton walks close by, never breaking his concentration on Maven. They’re prepared for the first sign of trouble.
So am I. My body buzzes, a live wire, not from my own electricity but from sheer nerves. I’ve felt it for hours, since Maven brought us down here, leading us through a service hatch a few miles north of the city limits.
Our army lumbers along with us. Thousands winding through the darkness, marching at an even, steady pace that echoes off the tunnel walls. It sounds like a heartbeat, rhythmic and pulsing, vibrating in my rib cage.
On my right, Kilorn shuffles along, his steps a bit stilted to keep pace with mine. He notices me staring and pulls a tight smile.
I try to return the gesture. He almost died in New Town. I remember the feel of his blood spraying across my lips. The memory fills me with a numb fear.
My old friend reads my face, even in the dim light. He nudges my arm. “You have to admit, I have a talent for survival.”
“Let’s hope it holds,” I mutter back.
I’m just as concerned for Farley, in spite of all her skills and wiles. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.
Farley has command of half the ground forces—all the Scarlet Guard soldiers as well as the Red Nortan defectors collected over the months of rebellion. Davidson leads the other half, though he is content to walk in line with the rest of us, letting her take precedence.
Up ahead, the tunnel splits. One side narrows but angles sharply upward, the path scrambling over a few ancient steps punctuated by gentle slopes of packed dirt. The other carries on like this one, wide and flat, with the slightest incline.
Maven slows before the fork, resting both hands on his hips. He seems amused by the guards flanking him, all six of