We push on as one while the lightning overhead intensifies. No rain yet. And it’s not nearly hot enough or arid enough for dry lightning. Strange. If only I could feel it. Use it. Draw the jagged lines out of the sky and obliterate every single person around me.
The crowd is perplexed. Most look up; a few point. Some try to back away but find themselves hemmed in by one another. I glance between the faces, looking for an explanation. I see only confusion and fear. If the crowd panics, I wonder if even the Security officers can stop them from trampling us.
Up ahead, Maven’s Sentinels widen the gap between us. A few have taken to tossing people. A strongarm bodily shoves a man back several yards, while a telky sweeps away three or four with a wave of her hand. The crowd gives them a wide berth after that, clearing the space around the fleeing king and new queen. Through the tumult, I catch his eyes as he looks back to search for me. They are wide and wild now, vividly blue even from so far away. His lips move, shouting something I can’t hear over the thunder and the rising panic.
“Hurry!” Clover barks, pushing me onward toward the gap.
Our guards become aggressive, their abilities presenting. A swift lunges back and forth, pressing people back from our path. He blurs between bodies, a whirlwind. And then he stops cold.
The gunshot catches the swift between the eyes. Too close to dodge, too fast to escape. His head snaps back in an arc of blood and brain.
I don’t know the woman holding the gun. She has blue hair, jagged blue tattoos—and a bloody crimson scarf wrapped around her wrist. The crowd shudders around her, shocked for an instant, before springing into full-blown chaos.
With one hand still aiming her pistol, the blue-haired woman raises the other.
Lightning rips out of the sky.
It crashes toward the circle of Sentinels. She has deadly aim.
I tense, expecting an explosion. Instead, the blue-tinged lightning hits a sudden arc of shimmering water, running across the liquid but not through. It veins and flashes, almost blinding, but disappears in an instant, leaving only the watery shield. Beneath it, Maven, Evangeline, and even the Sentinels crouch, hands over their heads. Only Iris is left standing.
The water pools around her, curling and twisting like one of Larentia’s snakes. It grows with every second, leaching so quickly I taste the air drying on my tongue. Iris wastes no time, tearing off her veil. Dimly, I hope it doesn’t rain. I don’t want to know what Iris can do with rain.
Lakelander guards fight through the crowd, their dark blue forms trying to break through the fleeing crowd. Security officers meet the same obstacle and get caught up, tangled in the mess. Silvers dart in every direction. Some toward the commotion, others away from danger. I’m torn between wanting to run with them and wanting to run toward the blue-haired woman. My brain buzzes as adrenaline courses through me, fighting tooth and nail against the silence smothering my being. Lightning. She wields lightning. She’s a newblood. Like me. The thought almost makes me cry with happiness. If she doesn’t get out of here fast, she’ll end up a corpse.
“Run!” I try to scream. It comes out a whisper.
“Get the king to safety!” Evangeline’s voice carries as she jumps to her feet. Her gown quickly shifts into armor, scaling across her skin in pearly plates. “Evacuate!”
A few of the Sentinels comply, pulling Maven into their protective formation. His hand sparks with weak flame. It sputters, matching his fear. The rest of his detail draw guns of their own or explode into their abilities. A banshee Sentinel opens his mouth to scream but drops to a knee, gasping. He tears at his throat. He can’t breathe. But why, who? His comrades drag him back as he continues to choke.
Another lightning bolt streaks overhead, this one too bright to look at. When I open my eyes again, the blue-haired woman is gone, lost in the crowd. Somewhere, gunfire peppers the air.
Gasping, I realize not everyone in the crowd is running away. Not all of them are afraid, or even confused by the outburst of violence. They move differently, with purpose, motive, a mission. Black pistols gleam, flashing as they dig into a guard’s back or stomach. Knives glint in the growing dark. The screams of fear become screams of pain. Bodies fall, slumping against the tile of the square.
I remember the riots in Summerton. Reds hunted down and tortured. A mob turning on the weakest among them. It was disorganized, chaotic, without any order. This is the opposite. What looks like wild panic is the careful work of a few dozen assassins in a crowd of hundreds. With a grin, I realize they all have something in common. As the hysteria grows, each one dons a red scarf.
The Scarlet Guard is here.
Cal, Kilorn, Farley, Cameron, Bree, Tramy, the Colonel.
They’re here.
With everything I have, I butt my head back and crack my skull against Clover’s nose. She howls, and silver blood spurts down her face. In an instant her grip on me breaks, leaving only Kitten. I drive an elbow into her gut, hoping to throw her off. She lets go of my shoulder, only to wrap her arm around my neck and squeeze.
I twist, trying to get enough room to bend my neck and bite. No chance. She increases the pressure, threatening to crush my windpipe. My vision spots, and I feel myself being pulled backward. Away from the Treasury, Maven, his Sentinels. Through the lethal crowd. I trip backward as we reach the steps. I kick weakly, trying to catch on to anything. The Security officers dodge my poor efforts. Some drop to their knees, guns raised, covering the retreat. Clover looms over me, the bottom half of her face painted with mirrored blood.
“Double back through Whitefire. We have to keep orders,” she hisses at Kitten.
I try to shout for help, but I can’t summon air enough to make noise. And it wouldn’t be any use. Something louder than thunder screams across the sky. Two somethings. Three. Six. Metal birds with razor wings. Snapdragons? The Blackrun? But these airjets look different from the ones I know. Sleeker, faster. Maven’s new fleet, probably. In the distance, an explosion blooms with petals of red fire and black smoke. Are they bombing the square, or bombing the Scarlet Guard?
As the Arvens drag me into the palace, another Silver almost collides with us. I reach out. Maybe this person will help.
Samson Merandus sneers down, wrenching one arm out of my grip. I pull back like his touch burns. Just the sight of him is enough to bring on a splitting headache. He wasn’t allowed to attend the wedding, but he’s still dressed for it, immaculate in a navy suit with his ash-blond hair slicked to his skull.
“Lose her and I’ll turn you all inside out!” he snarls over his shoulder.
The Arvens look more frightened of him than of anyone else. They nod vigorously, as do the three remaining officers. All of them know what a Merandus whisper can do. If I needed any more incentive to escape, knowing that Samson will obliterate their minds is certainly it.
In my last glimpse of the square, black shadows loom out of the clouds, coming closer and closer. More airships. But these are heavy, swollen, not built for speed or even combat. Maybe they’re coming in to land. I never see them touch down.
I fight as much as I can, which is to say I mumble and squirm under the weight of silence. It slows my guards down, but only a little. Every inch feels hard won but futile. We keep moving. The halls of Whitefire spiral out around us. With my memorization, I know exactly where we are headed. Toward the east wing, the closest part of the palace to the Treasury. There must be passages to it, another way to Maven’s forsaken train. Any hope of escape will disappear the second they get me underground.