“Probably.” She seems annoyed by my concern.
Fine, don’t listen. With a low sigh, I turn back to the doorway, putting her behind me.
“Let him know Corvium is on the edge,” Farley adds, her voice strong and cutting. An order but also something else.
I glance over my shoulder at her, an eyebrow raised. “Edge of what?”
“There have been riots, sporadic reports of Silver officers turning up dead, and ammunition depots have developed a nasty habit of exploding.” She almost smirks at that. Almost. I haven’t seen her smile since Shade Barrow died.
“Sounds like familiar work. Is the Scarlet Guard in the city?”
Finally she looks up. “Not to our knowledge.”
“Then the legions are turning.” Hope flares sharp and raw in my chest. “The Red soldiers—”
“There’s thousands of them stationed at Corvium. And more than a few have realized they substantially outnumber their Silver officers. Four to one, at least.”
Four to one. Just like that, my hope sours. I’ve seen what Silvers are and what they can do firsthand. I’ve been their prisoner and their opponent, able to fight only because of my own ability. Four Reds against a single Silver is still suicide. Still an outright loss. But Farley doesn’t seem to agree.
She senses my unease and softens as best she can. Like a razor turning into a knife. “Your brother isn’t in the city. The Dagger Legion is still behind the lines of the Choke.”
Stuck between a minefield and a city on fire. Fantastic.
“It’s not Morrey that I’m worried about.” At the moment. “I just don’t see how they can expect to take the city. They might have the numbers, but the Silvers are . . . well, they’re Silvers. A few dozen magnetrons could kill hundreds without blinking.”
I picture Corvium in my head. I’ve only seen it in brief videos, snippets taken from Silver broadcasts or report footage filtered down through the Scarlet Guard. It’s more fortress than city, walled with foreboding black stone, a monolith looking north to the barren wastes of war. Something about it reminds me of the place I reluctantly called home. New Town had walls of its own, and so many officers overseeing our lives. We were thousands too, but our only rebellions were being late to shift or sneaking out after curfew. There was nothing to be done. Our lives were weak and meaningless as smoke.
Farley turns back to her work. “Just tell him what I said. He’ll know what to do.”
I can only nod, shutting the door as she tries and fails to hide a yawn.
“Have to recalibrate the video receivers, Captain Farley’s orders—”
The two Guardsmen flanking the door to central control step back before I even finish my sentence, my usual lie. Both look away, avoiding my gaze, and I feel my face burn with an ashamed flush.
Newbloods scare people as much as Silvers do, if not more so. Reds with abilities are just as unpredictable, just as powerful, just as dangerous, in their eyes.
After we first got here and more soldiers arrived, the whispers about me and the others spread like disease. The old woman can change her face. The twitchy one can surround you with illusions. The techie girl can kill you with thought alone. It feels terrible to be feared. And worst of all, I can’t blame anyone for it. We are different and strange, with powers not even Silvers can claim. We are frayed wires and glitching machines, still learning ourselves and our abilities. Who knows what we might become?
I swallow the familiar discomfort and step into the next room.
Central control usually buzzes with screens and communication equipment, but for now the room is oddly quiet. Only a single broadcaster whirs, spitting out a long strip of correspondence paper printed with a decrypted message. The Colonel stands over the machine, reading as the strip lengthens. His usual ghosts, Mare’s brothers, sit close by, both of them jumpy as rabbits. And the fourth occupant of the room is all I need to know about whatever report is coming in.
This is news of Mare Barrow.
Why else would Cal be here too?
He broods, as usual, his chin resting on interlocked fingers. Long days underground have taken their toll, paling his already-pale skin. For a prince, he really lets himself go in times of crisis. Right now he looks like he needs a shower and a shave, not to mention a few well-aimed slaps to wake him out of his stupor. But he’s a soldier still. His eyes snap to mine before the others’.
“Cameron,” he says, doing his best not to growl.
“Calore.” He’s an exiled prince at best. No need for titles. Unless I really want to piss him off.
Like father, like daughter. Colonel Farley doesn’t look up from the communication, but he acknowledges me with a dramatic sigh. “Let’s save ourselves some time, Cameron. I have neither the manpower nor the opportunity to attempt rescuing an entire legion.”
I mouth the words along with him. He says them to me almost every day.
“A legion of barely trained children who Maven will slaughter once given the opportunity,” I counter.
“So you keep reminding me.”
“Because you need to be reminded! Sir,” I add, almost wincing at the word. Sir. I’m not oathed to the Guard, no matter how much they treat me like a member of their club.
The Colonel’s eyes narrow in on part of the message. “She’s been interrogated.”
Cal stands so quickly he knocks over his chair. “Merandus?”
A tremor of heat pulses through the room, and I feel a ripple of sickness in me. Not because of Cal, but because of Mare. Because of the horrors happening to her. Upset, I knit my hands together behind my head, pulling the curly dark hair at the nape of my neck.
“Yes,” the Colonel replies. “A man named Samson.”
The prince curses quite colorfully for a royal.
“What does that mean?” Bree, Mare’s burly eldest brother, dares to ask.