My hands drop, leaving half my hair undone, and I squint at the massive structure spanning the river. The other side of Archeon gleams beneath the rising sun, its many buildings crowned with steel and bronze birds of prey. Nothing seems amiss. It’s still busy with transports and a roving populace. So is the Bridge, all three levels of it bustling with traffic. Less than usual, but that’s to be expected.
It’s the supports below that worry me, and the water breaking around them. Still steady, moving at the same speed. But the current, the wash of white breakwater at each base . . .
The river is flowing the wrong way.
And it’s rising.
I fly through my bedchamber and the adjoining rooms, seeing nothing until I reach Ptolemus’s quarters. The locked door unlatches without a thought, blowing back on twisted hinges as I sprint through. I barely hear myself shout his name. The buzzing in my head is far too loud, overwhelming everything but the cold, acid rush of adrenaline.
He stumbles out into the sitting room toward me, half dressed. I catch a glimpse of rumpled bedsheets through the door behind him, as well as a blue-black arm. It moves, pulling out of sight, as Wren Skonos busies herself with her clothes.
“What is it?” my brother asks, his eyes wide with panic.
I want to run; I want to scream; I want to fight.
“The invasion.”
“How could they do this? Move their army without us knowing?”
Ptolemus dogs at my heels, barely keeping pace as we stalk through the palace halls. Galleries, salons, receiving chambers, and even ballrooms blur at the edge of my vision. In a few hours it could all be destroyed. Burned or drowned or simply erased. For a moment, I see my brother’s corpse, broken and sprawled across the intricate marble floor, his blood like a mirror. I blink, fighting off the thought. Bile rises in my mouth anyway.
I glance back at him—alive and breathing, towering in his armor—if only to convince myself he’s still here. Wren follows, her healer’s uniform clearly marked. I hope they stay together over the next few hours. I would tie her to him if I could.
“We had eyes on their citadels,” I mutter, speaking to keep myself focused. “We knew the Lakelands were gathering for something, but not when.”
Wren’s voice is slow and steady, but not soothing. “They must have gone north. Moved overland.”
“Without the Scarlet Guard, we don’t have many eyes left in the Lakelands,” Ptolemus curses as we round another corner, angling for the throne room.
Our parents haven’t found us yet, and that can only mean they’re with the king and his advisers. They must already know.
Lerolan guards open the doors for us, putting their lethal hands to the tall, lacquered panels. We march past together, the three of us keeping a tight formation on the off chance the Lakelanders have already infiltrated the city. My ability buzzes, flung wide to catch any errant bullets. I count the rounds in the guards’ guns, letting them hang at the edge of my perception as we cross the floor.
At the raised platform containing Cal’s throne, as well as the seats for his uncle and grandmother, the royals collect. Mother and Father are here, with the latter armored as usual. Sunlight flashes off him with every small movement, and he is almost blinding to look at. Mother is more subdued, without armor but not without weapons. Larentia Viper has abandoned her beloved panther for now, despite its prowess as a hunter. Instead she has two shaggy wolves sitting at her heels, their eyes, ears, and snouts all twitching. Both are fearsome to behold, but just as skilled at detection as they are at fighting. No one will catch my mother unawares with them at her disposal.
Julian Jacos and Queen Anabel flank Cal. She is more prepared for battle than the singer uncle, her small, thick form belted into a flame-orange uniform, sculpted by snug body armor. Her hands are bare, even of her wedding ring. Julian is not so protected. His eyes are ringed by dark shadows, hinting at a night with no sleep. He remains close to his nephew, standing only a few inches away. I’m not sure who is more protective of who.
The king of Norta himself has burnished red-and-silver armor, not to mention a gun on one hip and a gleaming sword buckled to the other. No cloak or cape drapes across his shoulders. It would only get in the way. Cal is barely a man, but he seems to have aged overnight. And not from the impending battle. He is no stranger to war or bloodshed. Something else hangs on his heart, something even an invasion can’t distract from. He raises his shadowed face, watching me as I approach.
“How long do we have?” I ask aloud, not bothering with pleasantries.
Cal is quick to answer. “The Air Fleet is on the wing,” he says, casting his gaze to the south. “There’s a storm out to sea, moving too quickly. I’d wager there’s a Lakelander armada inside it.”
It’s a tactic we used ourselves in the battle of Harbor Bay, but in far fewer numbers and with much less strength. I shudder to think of what a nymph-born assault might look like with the queen of the Lakelands herself leading the charge. As before, I picture myself swathed in my steel, sinking quickly through deep and dark water, never to surface again.
I try not to let that fear bleed into my voice. “Their objective?” It’s the best way to fight, and fight back. Identify what your opponent is trying to do, and calculate how best to stop them.
Behind Cal, his uncle shifts uncomfortably. He lowers his eyes, touching his nephew on the shoulder. “That would be you, my boy. They get to you, and all this is finished before we have even begun.”
My father remains silent, weighing the outcomes. What it means for him if Cal is captured or dies. We still aren’t married. The Kingdom of the Rift is not so irrevocably tied to Norta, just as we weren’t tied to Maven. The last time enemy forces attacked Archeon, House Samos was prepared, and we fled. Will he do the same again?
I grit my teeth, already feeling a headache form on top of everything else.
“Maven’s escape train is still in use,” Julian continues. In reply, Cal shifts smoothly out of his grasp. “We can get you out of the city, at least.”
The young king pales, his skin turning the color of old bone. The suggestion makes him sick. “And surrender the capital?”
Julian responds quickly. “Of course not. We’ll defend her, and you’ll be well out of danger, far beyond their grasp.”
Cal’s retort is just as quick, and twice as resolute. Not to mention predictable. “I’m not running.”
His uncle doesn’t seem surprised. Still, he tries to argue valiantly. And in vain. “Cal—”
“I’m not going to let others fight while I hide.”
The old queen is more forceful, seizing him by the wrist. I despair of this family bickering but have little recourse. Even as the clock ticks against us. “You’re not a prince anymore, or a general,” Anabel pleads. “You are the king, and your well-being is integral to—”
As with his uncle, Cal gently extricates himself from her grip, peeling off her fingers and removing her hand. His eyes smolder and burn. “If I abandon this city, I abandon any hope of ever being a king. Don’t let your fear blind you to that.”
Sick of this nonsense, I cluck my tongue and say the obvious, if only to save precious time. “The remaining High Houses will never swear to a king who flees.” I lift my chin, utilizing all my court training to project the image of strength I need. “And the ones who have will never respect him.”
“Thank you,” Cal says slowly.
I point one finger at the windows, toward the cliffs. “The river has changed course, and it’s rising. High enough to allow their largest ships to come this far upriver.”
Cal nods, grateful for the return to the subject. He shifts, putting some distance between himself and his relatives. Crossing to my side.
“They intend to split the city in two,” he says, looking between my still-silent father and his own grandmother. “I’ve already given orders to even the guards on either side of the city, and supplement with the soldiers still in our service.”
Ptolemus wrinkles his nose. “Wouldn’t it be better to gather our strength, fortify the Square and the palace? Keep our ourselves united?”