The prince nods in understanding. He claps a fiery hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. In reply, I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. As soon as I turn my back, I let it drop. He stays behind, his eyes burning holes into my back until the gentle curve of the ring wall obstructs me from view. Despite the rising temperature, a shiver trembles down my spine. I can’t let Cal do this. But I’m not going to let Morrey spend one more second in that tower.
Up ahead, Farley marches in my direction, moving as fast as her body will allow. Her face darkens when she spots me, her brow furrowing so intensely her entire face turns beet red. It makes the pearly white scar at the side of her mouth stand out worse than usual. All in all, an intimidating sight.
“Cole,” she snaps, her voice as stern as her father’s. “I was afraid you were about to go and do something really stupid.”
“Not me,” I reply, dropping to a mutter. She cocks her head, and I motion for her to follow.
Once we’re safely inside a storeroom, I tell her everything as fast as I can. She huffs through it all, as if Cal’s plan is just an annoyance and not completely dangerous to us all.
“He’s putting the entire city at risk,” I finish, exasperated. “And if he goes through with it—”
“I know. But I told you before: Montfort and Command want Cal with us, at almost any cost. He’s all but bulletproof. Anyone else would be shot for insurrection.” Farley scratches both hands along her scalp, pulling at stray bits of her blond hair. “I don’t want to do that, but a soldier who has no incentive to take orders and harbors his own agenda is not someone I want watching my back.”
“Command.” I hate the word, and whoever the hell it stands for. “Beginning to think they may not have our best interests at heart.”
Farley doesn’t disagree. “It’s hard, putting all our faith in them. But they see what we don’t, what we can’t. And now . . .” She heaves a breath. Her eyes lock on the floor with laser focus. “I hear Montfort is about to get a lot more involved.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
I scoff. “Don’t have the full picture? I’m shocked.”
The glare she aims at me could cut through bone. “The system isn’t perfect, but it protects us. If you’re going to be sullen, I’m not going to help.”
“Oh, now you have ideas?”
She grins darkly.
“A few.”
Harrick hasn’t lost his tendency to twitch.
He bobs his head up and down as Farley hisses our plan, lips moving quickly. She won’t be going into the tower with us, but she’s going to make sure we can actually get in.
Harrick seems wary. He isn’t a warrior. He didn’t come to Corros and he didn’t participate in the Corvium raid either, even though his illusions would have helped immensely. He arrived with the rest of us, trailing behind the pregnant captain. Something happened to him back when we still had Mare, on a newblood recruitment gone wrong. Since then, he’s stayed out of the fray, on the defense instead of in the thick of battle. I envy him. He doesn’t know what it feels like to kill someone.
“How many hostages?” he asks, voice quivering like his fingers. A red flush blooms in his cheeks, spreading beneath winter-paled skin.
“At least twenty,” I answer as quickly as I can. “We think my brother is one of them.”
“With at least fifty Silvers on guard,” Farley adds. She doesn’t gloss over the danger. She won’t trick him into doing this.
“Oh,” he mumbles. “Oh dear.”
Farley nods. “It’s up to you, of course. We can find other ways.”
“But none with less chance of bloodshed.”
“That’s right. Your illusions—” I press on, but he holds up a trembling hand. I wonder if his ability shakes like he does.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. I wait on tenterhooks, imploring him with every nerve in my body. He has to see how important this is. He has to.
“Fine.”
I have to restrain myself from celebrating. This is a good step, but not victory, and I can’t lose sight of that until Morrey is safe. “Thank you.” I clasp his hands, letting them shake in mine. “Thank you so much.”
He blinks rapidly, brown eyes meeting mine. “Don’t thank me until it’s over.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Farley mutters. She tries not to look grim, for our sakes. Her plan is hasty, but Cal is forcing our hand. “All right, follow me,” she says. “This is going to be quick, quiet, and with a little luck clean.”
We follow in her wake as she dodges soldiers of the Scarlet Guard as well as the Reds defecting to our side. Many touch their brows in deference to her. She’s a well-known figure in the organization, and we’re banking on the level of respect she commands. I pull at my braids as we go, tightening them as best I can. The tug is a good pain. It keeps me sharp. And it gives my hands something to do. Or else I might twitch as badly as Harrick.
With Farley leading the way, no one stops us at the ring gates, and we march to the center of Corvium, where the core tower looms. Black granite thrusts into the sky, dotted with windows and balconies. All are neatly shut, while soldiers ring the base in the dozens, keeping watch over the two fortified entrances to the tower. Colonel’s orders, I bet. He wasted no time doubling the guard after he realized I want in—and Cal wants the Silvers out. The captain doesn’t lead us up to the tower, but past it, into one of the structures built up against the central ring wall. Like the rest of the city, it is gold, iron, and black stone, shadowed even in broad daylight.
My heartbeat thuds, faster with every step forward into the gloom of one of the many prisons dotting Corvium. As planned, Farley leads us down a staircase, and we descend to the cell level. My skin crawls at the sight of bars, the stone walls waxy in the dim light of too few bulbs. At least the cells are empty. Cal’s defecting Silvers are over the Prayer Gate, confined to the room directly above arches of Silent Stone, where their abilities are nonexistent.
“I’ll distract the lower-level guards while Harrick slips you both past,” she says quietly, trying not to let her voice echo. Farley smoothly passes me two keys. “Iron first.” She indicates the rough, black metal key as big as my fist, then the glinting, dainty one with sharp teeth. “Silver second.”