My fist clenches, and lightning strikes. It rips down with blinding force, hitting the circle dead center, like an arrow to a bull’s-eye. But it doesn’t dig into the ground, cracking the earth as it should. Instead, I use a combination of storm and web. The purple-white bolt flares across the sparring circle, racing over the dirt at knee height. Cal throws up an arm to protect his eyes from the bright flash, using the other hand to ripple the sparks around him, morphing them to blazing blue flame. I sprint and burst from the lightning he can’t bear to look at. With a roar, I slide into his legs, knocking him down. He hits the sparks and flops, seizing from the shock as I pop back to my feet.
Red-hot heat brushes my face, but I push it back with a shield of electricity. Then I’m on the ground too, legs swept out from under me. My face hits the ground hard and I taste dirt. A hand grabs my shoulder, a hand that burns, and I swing out with an elbow, catching his jaw. That burns too. His entire body is aflame. Red and orange, yellow and blue. Waves of heat distortion pulse from him, making the entire world sway and undulate.
Scrambling, I scoop my arm against the dirt and haul, chucking as much as I can into his face. He flinches, and it smothers some of his fire, giving me enough time to get to my feet. With another swing of my arms, I pull a whip of lightning into form, sparking and hissing in the air. He dodges each blow, rolling and ducking, light as a dancer on his feet. Fireballs spit from my electricity, the pieces I can’t entirely control. Cal pulls them into churning whips of his own, surrounding the circle in an inferno. Purple and red clash, spark and burn, until the packed dirt beneath us churns like a stormy sea, and the sky goes black, raining thunderbolts.
He dances close enough for a blow. I feel the force of his fist ripple as I drop beneath it, and I smell burned hair. I get in a strike of my own, landing a brutal elbow to a kidney. He grunts in pain but responds in kind, ripping flaming fingers down my back. My flesh ripples with fresh blisters, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Cal would stop the fight if he knew how much this hurt. And it hurts. Pain shrieks up my spine and my knees buckle. Scrambling, I throw out my arms to stop a fall, and the lightning pushes me to my feet. I push through the searing pain because I have to know what it feels like. Maven will probably do worse when the time comes.
I use web again, a defensive maneuver to keep his hands off me. A strong bolt races up his leg, into his muscles, nerves, and bones. The skeleton of a prince flashes in my head. I pull back the blow enough to avoid permanent damage. He twitches, falling onto his side. I’m on him without thinking, working the bracelets I’ve seen him latch and unlatch a dozen times. Beneath me, his eyes roll and he tries to fight me off. The bracelets go flying, glinting purple against my sparks.
An arm wraps around my middle, flipping me over. The ground against my back is like a tongue of white-hot fire. I scream this time, losing control. Sparks burst from my hands, and Cal flies back of his own accord, scrambling from the fury of lightning.
Fighting tears, I push up, fingers digging into the dirt. A few yards away, Cal does the same. His hair is wild with static energy. We’re both wounded, both too proud to stop. We stagger to our feet like old men, swaying on uneasy limbs. Without his bracelets, he calls to the grass burning on the edge of the circle, forming flame from embers. It rockets at me as my lightning bursts again.
Both collide—with a tingling blue wall. It hisses, absorbing the force of both strikes. Then it disappears like a window wiped clean.
“Perhaps next time you two should spar in the range field,” Davidson calls. Today the premier looks like everyone else in his plain green uniform, standing on the edge of the circle. At least, it was a circle. Now the dirt and grass are a charred mess, completely torn up, a battleground ripped apart by our abilities.
Hissing, I sit back down, quietly grateful for the end. Even breathing hurts my back. I have to lean forward on my knees, clenching my fists against the pain.
Cal takes a step toward me, then collapses as well, falling back on his elbows. He pants heavily, chest rising and falling with exertion. Not even enough strength to offer a smile. Sweat coats him from head to toe.
“Without an audience, if possible,” Davidson adds. Behind him, as the smoke clears, another blue wall of something divides the spectators from our spar. With a wave of Davidson’s hand, it blinks out of existence. He gives a tight, bland smile and indicates the symbol on his arm, his designation. A white hexagon. “Shield. Quite useful.”
“I’ll say,” Kilorn barks, charging toward me. He crouches at my side. “Reese,” he adds over his shoulder.
But the red-haired skin healer stops a few yards away. He holds his ground. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“Reese, stop it!” Kilorn hisses. He clenches his teeth in exasperation. “She’s burned all down the back and he can barely walk.”
Cal blinks at me, still panting. His face pulls in concern and regret, but also pain. I’m in agony and so is he. The prince does his best to look strong and tries to sit up. He just hisses, immediately falling back down.
Reese holds firm. “Sparring has consequences. We’re not Silver. We need to know what our abilities do to each other.” The words sound rehearsed. If I weren’t in so much pain, I would agree. I remember the arenas where Silvers battled for sport, without fear. I remember my Training at the Hall of the Sun. A skin healer was always waiting, ready to patch up every scrape. Silvers don’t care about hurting another person because the effects don’t last. Reese looks us both over and all but wags a scolding finger. “It’s not life-threatening. They spend twenty-four hours this way. That’s protocol, Warren.”
“Normally, I would agree,” Davidson says. With sure footing, he crosses to the healer’s side and fixes him with an empty stare. “But unfortunately I need these two sharp, and I need it now. Get it done.”
“Sir—”
“Get it done.”
The dirt squeezes through my fingers, the smallest relief as I claw my hands in the ground. If it means ending this torture, I’ll listen to whatever the premier wants, and I’ll do it with a smile.
My coverall uniform is itchy and it smells like disinfecting chemicals. I would complain, but I don’t have the brain capacity. Not after Davidson’s operatives’ latest briefing. Even the premier looks shaky, pacing back and forth in front of the long table of military advisers, including Cal and me. Davidson balls his fist beneath his chin and stares at the floor with his unreadable eyes.
Farley watches him for a long moment before glancing down to read Ada’s meticulous handwriting. The newblood woman with perfect intelligence is an officer now, working closely with Farley and the Scarlet Guard. I wouldn’t be surprised if baby Clara were made an officer too. She dozes against her mother’s chest, wrapped tightly in a cloth sling. A crown of dark brown fuzz spots over her head. She really does looks like Shade.
“Five thousand Red soldiers of the Scarlet Guard and five hundred newbloods of Montfort currently hold the Corvium garrison,” Farley recites from Ada’s notes. “Reports put Maven’s forces in the thousands, all Silver. Massing at Fort Patriot in Harbor Bay, and outside Detraon in the Lakelands. We don’t have exact numbers, or an ability count.”
My hands tremble on the flat of the table, and I quickly shove them under my legs. In my head, I tick off who could possibly be aiding Maven’s attempt to retake the fortress city. Samos is gone; Laris, Iral, Haven too. Lerolan, if Cal’s grandmother can be believed. As much as I want to disappear, I force myself to speak. “He has strong support in Rhambos and Welle. Strongarms, greenwardens. Arvens too. They’ll be able to neutralize any newblood attack.” I don’t explain further. I know what Arvens can do firsthand. “I don’t know the Lakelanders, beyond the nymph royals.”
The Colonel leans forward, bracing his palms on the table. “I do. They fight hard, and they endure. And their loyalty to their king is unyielding. If he throws his support to the wretch—” He stops himself and glances sidelong at Cal, who doesn’t react. “To Maven, they won’t hesitate to follow. Their nymphs are deadliest of course, followed by storms, shivers, and windweavers. Stoneskin berserkers are a nasty bunch too.”