War Storm (Red Queen) - Victoria Aveyard Page 0,248

willowy these days, and her dark red hair hangs in a long braid. The breakfast basket dangles in her hand, swinging idly. She wanted to watch the sun rise over the big spring, and who am I to deny my little sister anything?

“Look at the colors,” she murmurs as we reach our destination. Indeed, the big hot spring looks like something out of a dream. Ringed in red, then yellow, then bright green, and finally the deepest, purest blue, it doesn’t seem real.

We were well warned, and in spite of the urge, neither of us dips a finger in the waters below. I don’t fancy boiling the skin off my bones. Instead Gisa sits down on the walkway, her legs folded beneath herself. She pulls out a tiny notebook and starts to sketch, occasionally scribbling notes.

I wonder what this place might inspire in her.

I’m more inclined to eat, and I fish through the basket, pulling out a pair of still-warm breakfast rolls. Mom made sure we were well provisioned before we set off for the morning.

“Do you miss him?” she says suddenly, not looking up.

The question catches me off guard, especially the vagueness. She could be talking about anybody. “Kilorn is fine. He’s back in Ascendant, and Cameron will be there in a few days.”

Gisa doesn’t mind the thought of someone else with Kilorn. She cares more for the pretty shopgirl back in the city, these days.

“I don’t mean Kilorn,” she says pointedly, annoyed with my dodging.

“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow dramatically.

She doesn’t seem amused.

“Of course I miss him.”

I mean Cal. I mean Shade. I mean Maven, even in the smallest of pieces.

Gisa doesn’t press me further.

The silence feeds me as much as the breakfast. It’s easy to forget out here. To feel lost in another time. I relish the detachment, even with the usual worries clinging to the corners of my mind. What happens now? I still haven’t figured that out.

And, for a little while, I don’t have to.

“Bison,” Gisa says softly, raising a hand to point across the geyser basin.

I tense up, ready to spring. If one of those beasts gets too close, it’ll be my responsibility to get Gisa out of here safely. My lightning prickles beneath my skin, ready to unleash. It feels almost unfamiliar these days. I haven’t been training or sparring, not since we returned to Montfort. I keep telling myself I need the rest. Bree and Tramy keep telling me I’m lazy.

The bison are far off, fifty yards at least, and lumbering slowly in the opposite direction. The herd is small but impressive, a dozen at least, all shaggy and dark brown, moving with surprising grace for things so big and heavy. I remember my last encounter with a bison. It wasn’t exactly peaceful.

Gisa returns to her sketch, thoughtful. “Davidson’s guide told me something interesting.” The premier was good enough to send an escort with us into the valley.

“Oh, what’s that?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the herd. If they bolt, I’ll be ready.

My sister continues to chatter, oblivious to the possible threat currently picking its way across the basin. I’m quietly happy that she doesn’t know enough to be afraid. “She said that once, the bison were almost gone. Thousands upon thousands hunted and killed, maybe millions, until only a few were left on the entire continent.”

“That’s impossible,” I scoff. “They’re all over Paradise, and the plains.”

“Well, that’s what the guide said,” Gisa replies, sounding annoyed by my dismissal. “And it’s her job to know what goes on up here.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “So what happened?”

“They came back. Slowly, but they came back.”

My brow furrows, confused by the simplicity of her answer. “How?”

“People,” she says bluntly.

“I thought the people killed them—”

“They did, but something changed,” she replied, her voice sharpening. Now I think she despairs of my comprehension. “Something big enough to . . . change course.”

I don’t know why, but I’m reminded of something Julian taught me once, long ago.

We destroy. It’s the constant of our kind.

I’ve seen that firsthand. In Archeon, in Harbor Bay, on every battlefield. In the way Reds were treated and are still treated across the continent.

But that world is changing.

We destroy, but we also rebuild.

The bison move off, slowly disappearing into the trees on the horizon. Seeking new grasslands, oblivious to two small girls sitting at the edge of the water.

They returned from slaughter. So will we.

As we make our way back to the cabin, now sweating beneath the heat of the rising sun,