She’s out there across the waves, somewhere in the city along the distant, crimson coast. Alive, obviously. Or else we would know it. Even though it’s only been a few hours, the death of the lightning girl would not be a secret for long. The same goes for my brother. They survived. The thought makes my head pound.
Harbor Bay was a logical choice for Cal, but the Red tech slum was obviously Mare’s own brainchild. She is so married to her cause, and all her red-blooded pride. I should have predicted she would go after New Town. It’s sad, really, to know that her cause relies on people like Cal, his sneering grandmother, and the Samos traitors. None of them will give her what she wants. It will only end in bloodshed. And probably her own death, when all is done.
If only I had kept her closer. A better guard, a tighter leash. Where would we be now? And where would I be if Mother could have removed her from me, as she removed Father and Cal? I can’t say. I don’t know. It hurts my head to wonder.
I look down the deck, at the soldiers manning the ship. She might have been beside me, if not for a few missteps. The wind in her hair, her eyes shadowed and sunken, wasted by the manacles keeping her tethered to me. An ugly sight, but still beautiful.
At the very least, she is still alive. Her heart still beats.
Not like Thomas.
I wince as his name crosses my thoughts. Mother couldn’t remove him either. Not the agony of his loss, nor the memory of his love.
That future is gone, killed, chased out of existence.
A dead future, that horrible newblood seer used to call it. I think Jon was my tormentor more than I was his jailer. Clearly he could have left whenever he wanted, and whatever he accomplished in my palace is still budding fruit. Again I look out to the water, to the east this time, over a vast and endless ocean. The emptiness should calm me, but two early stars hang above the waves. The bright, cheerful lights offend me too.
Queen Cenra’s ship is easy to spot as we sail closer. The waves beside it are calm, almost still, a flat quelling of water. Her ship hardly rocks, even this far from land.
The Lakelander ships aren’t as sleek as ours. Our manufacturing capabilities are better than those in the Lakelands, thanks in very large part to the tech slums that Mare is intent on destroying.
Even with her ships and my own, our guns are few, and anything we might use against the city will certainly meet resistance from magnetrons and newbloods, if not my foul brother himself. Only the Harbor Bay battleship, Iris’s for now, has any kind of artillery that could be of use this far out.
I glare at it, the steel craft anchored alongside Cenra’s ship. It casts a long, jagged shadow, planted firmly between the Lakelander queen and the coast. My scheming queen is using it as a shield. A very expensive shield.
I growl to myself as I board her ship, careful to keep my feet when I step from one deck to the next. My own Sentinels flank me as we walk, too close for comfort. I keep my hands at my sides, ungloved, fingers bare in threat.
“This way, Your Majesty,” a single Lakelander says, beckoning from an open door bolted with rivets and a wheel lock. “The queens are waiting.”
“Tell them the king waits on deck,” I reply, turning aside to walk the edge of the ship.
This isn’t a pleasure cruise, and there aren’t many places to stand, let alone congregate. But I’d rather stay on deck than go below, to be trapped behind steel with a pair of nymphs. My Sentinels walk ahead of me, careful to keep in formation, as we climb a set of stairs to a landing overlooking the prow.
It doesn’t take the queens long to appear, moving in tandem.
Cenra wears a flowing uniform, dark blue with silver and gold chasing. A black sash divides her body from shoulder to hip, clasped in precious sapphire. In mourning still. I don’t think Mother wore her mourning clothes for more than a few days. Perhaps the Lakelander queen cared for her husband. How strange. She watches me, storm-eyed, her skin a cold bronze washed gold by the setting sun.
I feel as if I can read the battle on Iris. Her blue sleeves are charred to the elbow, the threads stained in two kinds of blood. And her long black hair is undone, still wet, brushed over one shoulder. A healer trails her, tentatively working on Iris’s arms as she walks, smoothing away burns and cuts.
Keeping her at an arm’s length has been a wise decision. I want little to do with my wife, who would probably prefer to kill me. But like Reds, she can be controlled by fear. And need. She has both in equal measure.
So does Cenra. It’s why she dared to leave her borders. She knows I hold her daughter in the palm of my hand. I don’t doubt she wants to extricate Iris from our marriage. But she needs this alliance as much as I do. Without me, she faces Cal and his band of traitors and criminals. A united front against her. I’m her shield, as she is mine.
“My queens,” I say, bowing slightly to them both as they approach.
Her daughter looks more like a soldier than a queen made and princess born.
The queen of the Lakelands dips into a shallow curtsy. Her sleeves brush the deck. “Your Majesty,” she replies.
I turn my face to the horizon. “Harbor Bay has fallen.”
“For now,” Cenra says, her voice offensively calm.
“Oh?” I sneer, raising an eyebrow “You think we can win it back? Tonight, perhaps.”
Again, she dips her head. “In time.”
I finish for her. “When the rest of your armada arrives.”
Queen Cenra grits her teeth. “Yes, of course,” she reluctantly grinds out. “But—”
“But?” I ask. The sea air feels cold on my bared teeth.
“We do have our own shores to guard,” she says. At her side, Iris looks smug, glad to let her mother fight this battle. “The Lakes must remain defended, especially from Montfort. They can cross Prairie and strike our western border easily. As can the Kingdom of the Rift on our east.”
I have to laugh. Sneering, I wave a hand at the horizon. Full of Samos traitors and Montfort usurpers, all beneath my brother’s idiot command. “Strike your border with what army? The one currently occupying my city?”
Cenra flares her nostrils and a flush heats her face, dusting over her cliff-like cheekbones. “Samos has the Nortan Air Fleet, one of the biggest on the continent. Not to mention Montfort’s own capabilities, whatever they are. Your brother has the advantage from the air, and he has the speed. Anywhere could be at risk of attack.” She speaks slowly, as if I am a child who needs his hand held through war. It tingles my fingers. “That cannot be ignored, Your Majesty.”
As if on wretched cue, a battalion of airjets races over the coast in formation. The distant scream of them reaches us slowly, a dull and stretching roar. I fold my arms over my chest, tucking away my hands lest they ignite.
“Bracken’s Air Fleet should be enough to hold them off,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the jets as they move. Circling the city. Protective maneuvers.
Iris finally finds her voice. “The bulk of his fleet was cannibalized by the Montfort occupation. They can’t match what we’re up against.” She clearly delights in correcting me. I let her take this small comfort instead of losing my temper.
To look powerful is to be powerful. Mother said that too many times to count. Look calm, still, strong. Assured of yourself and your victory.
“Which is why we have to return to a place of strength,” Cenra says. “We’re no good out here on the waves, waiting to be picked off from the sky. Even the nymphs of Cygnet Line are not invincible.”
Of course they aren’t, you proud nit.
Instead I blink at her, trying to burn through her with my eyes. “You suggest a retreat?”
“We’ve already retreated,” Iris snaps. The healer at her side steps back a little, cowed by her anger. “Harbor Bay is one city—”
I clench a fist and a burst of heat ripples on the air. “Harbor Bay is not the only piece of my country lost to my brother,” I say quietly, slowly. Low enough that they must strain to hear. “The south is his, the Rift and Delphie. He took Corvium from me. And now he has Fort Patriot too.”