Our own soldiers descend on the raiders. They must have orders to capture, not kill. Davidson himself imprisons one in a cage of shields, letting the raider pound uselessly at his blue prison.
Evangeline pursues one of the small raider magnetrons, running him down over the dirt. He tries to duel her, swirling twin blades that bleed between sword and whip. She is faster and more deadly. His swords are no match for her knives as they pepper his skin, her ability too strong for him to overcome. Evangeline Samos owes no allegiance to Davidson, and she doesn’t have his mercy. She cuts the raider apart, letting him bleed silver beneath the starlight.
Between the blood and the ash, the low foothills smell and taste like death. I gulp down the wretched air anyway, trying to catch my breath.
The remaining raiders know the battle is lost, and their engines begin to ebb away, attempting to escape into the wilderness. As they disappear, so does their influence, and the herd of beasts calms. They turn, charging away into the forest, leaving only corpses and trampled underbrush behind.
“Was that what you call a bison?” I pant, glancing at Davidson.
He nods grimly and I swallow around the irony. I can still feel the bison steak in my stomach, heavy as a stone.
In the distance, some ways down the road, headlights flare out of the plain. I clench a fist, tensing for a second wave.
But Tyton puts a hand on my arm. He looks down at me with flashing eyes. “It’s the Goldengrove transports. Reinforcements.”
Relief floods me and I drop my shoulders, exhaling. The movement sends a twinge through the cut on my back. I hiss, wincing, and put up a hand to feel the damage. The gash is long, but not so deep.
A few yards away, Tiberias watches me take stock of my wounds. He jumps when I meet his gaze and spins on his heel. “I’ll get you a healer,” he mutters, stalking off.
“If you’re done crying over paper cuts, I could use some help.” Still on the ground, Farley gestures with one hand, her teeth clenched together tightly. Her gun lies in the dirt, surrounded by spent bullet casings. One of them saved my life.
She leans to one side, careful not to move her right leg.
Because her knee is . . . wrong.
My vision swims for a second. I’ve seen many forms of injury, but the way her knee twists, the lower half of her leg out of position, something about it turns my stomach. I immediately forget the ache in my own muscles, the blood on my shoulder, even the touch of Silence, and rush to her side.
“Don’t move,” I hear myself say.
“No shit,” she growls back, her hands tight on mine.
TEN
Iris
The mountains are steep and perilous, guarding the valley cities from siege or an army’s onslaught. The thick pines make for dangerous obstacles to any transport that dares to turn off their defended roadways. And the elevation alone is a deterrent, weakening any who might hope to climb their way up into the city’s jaws. They think themselves safe in their fortress of cliff and sky. They see no danger, for no army could hope to march to their door. But we are often made weak by what also makes us strong.
Montfort is no exception.
We land to the east outside their borders, well within the bounds of Prairie. Our dropjet is unmarked, freshly painted in Prairie gold for appearance sake. It blends well with the tall grass as it sways like waves beneath the morning light. No one notices our arrival, out on the distant plains. We flew carefully, first through the wilds of the Lakelands before crossing the open and empty landscape. The Prairie lords are far-flung, their lands too vast and sprawling to patrol properly. And they are preoccupied with their own doings. They don’t know we crossed their lands. No one knows we’re here.
Except the raiders, of course.
Their involvement is necessary, to lure as many as we can out of Ascendant. With any luck, Tiberias Calore will be one of them. According to Maven, his brother would never pass up an opportunity to fight. To show off, he added, scowling at the idea when we discussed this. I don’t know the exiled prince. I’ve never met Tiberias Calore. But the Lakelands is not a blind country. We collected intelligence on him and all the royal family. They were our enemies for more than a century, after all. The reports revealed an altogether predictable prince. Raised to be a military leader like his father. Hammered by duty and expectation. Formed into a person who values the crown above all else. The brothers have that in common, I think, along with a very peculiar Red girl.
I have to agree with Maven’s assessment. If Tiberias really is here to bargain with Montfort, to strengthen their alliance, he will certainly try to prove himself and win their loyalty. What better way than to fight for them?
The raiders meet us at the agreed-upon location, a rise allowing full view of the surrounding landscape. They are masked and veiled, sitting astride smoke-spitting, old-fashioned cycles with even their eyes obscured by riding goggles. Silvers, all of them. Exiled from their own lands when the mountain kingdoms fell. Stripped of their own birthrights as lords and rulers. They outnumber us, but I feel little fear. I am a warrior by birth, bred by the strongest nymphs in my kingdom. And my five escorts are just the same—strong, noble, and useful.
Jidansa is still with me, eager to serve as well as protect. She’s careful to position herself between me and any raider who might come too close.
I keep my head down, my own face shadowed. The raiders are an isolated kind, and they probably wouldn’t know a princess of the Lakelands or the queen of Norta on sight, but it’s best this way. The others speak for me, going over the arrangement.
Our team of six is easy to transport, each of us clinging to one of the raiders as they ferry us across the plain. They know this land better than any of us, and we don’t even need to use our shadow of House Haven to hide our journey. Not yet.
The mountains in the distance loom closer with every passing second. They look more like a wall than any mountains I’ve ever seen. Fear tries to eat at my resolve, but I don’t let it. Instead I narrow my eyes and sharpen my focus on the task at hand, leaving little room for anything else.
As the hours bleed together, I run over the plan in my head. Each obstacle to be surmounted.
Cross the border.
That is done easily. The raiders know their paths and they know Montfort’s blind spots. They follow a stream through tight, dense pine forest, and only when we start climbing into the foothills do I realize we’re on the other side of the invisible dividing line between Prairie and Montfort.
Pay for your passage.
The string of jewels is mine. Sapphire, silver, and diamond. I hand them over at gunpoint. Our Haven shadow, a young, stocky Sentinel on loan from my royal husband, gives up the more valuable piece of the bargain. His own house is split, torn in two by the civil war erupting across Norta. The head of his house fights for Tiberias, but the majority of his kin remain at Maven’s side. An admirable thing, to be loyal to country and king over family. Even if that king is Maven Calore.
He doesn’t wear his Sentinel mask, leaving the black-jeweled tradition behind. Without it, he seems human. Blue eyes, red hair gleaming in the sunlight. Sentinel Haven gives the raiders the location of our resource drop some miles north. Crates of food, coin, batteries, as well as arms and ammunition to feed their endeavors. The raiders waste no time leaving us on the eastern mountainside, as high as they could ride. I never see their faces. But at least one has blond hair, a few strands of it visible beneath his wrapped head coverings.