King's Cage
Page 134
I barely feel the plane drop or rock against the storm. Cameron exhales in steady puffs, trying to keep her breathing even. If the rest of the plane feels the pain of her ability, they don’t show it. We descend in quiet. Or maybe my body is simply refusing to hear anymore.
When we shuffle backward, crowding onto the drop platform, I realize this is it. The jet rumbles, buffeted by winds Cameron cannot deflect. She shouts something I can’t decipher over the pound of blood in my ears.
Then the world opens beneath me. And we fall.
At least when House Samos ripped my last jet out of the sky, they had the decency to leave us in a cage of metal. We have nothing but the wind and freezing rain and swirling darkness pulling us every which way. Our momentum must be enough to keep us on target, as well as the fact that no sane person would expect us to be leaping out of planes a few thousand feet in the air in the middle of a storm. The wind whistles like a woman’s scream, clawing at every inch of me. At least the pressure of Cameron’s silence is gone. The veins of lightning in the clouds call to me, as if saying good-bye before I’m turned into a crater.
Everyone yells on the way down. Even Cal.
I’m still yelling when we start slowing about fifty feet above the jagged tips of Corvium, spiraling out in a hexagon of buildings and inner walls. And I’m hoarse when we bump gently against the smoothly paved ground, slick with at least two inches of rainwater.
Our newblood hastily unclips us all, and I fall backward, not caring about the bitterly cold puddle I’m lying in. Cal jumps to his feet.
I lie there for a second, thinking of nothing. Just staring up at the sky I plummeted through—and somehow survived. Then Cal grabs my arm and hoists me up, literally pulling me back to reality.
“The rest are going to be landing here, so we have to move.” He shoves me ahead of him, and I stumble a bit through the sloshing water. “Gravitrons, Arezzo will come down with the next batch to teleport you back up. Stay sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” they echo, bracing themselves for another round. I’m almost sick at the thought.
Farley actually is sick. She heaves up her guts in an alleyway, dumping whatever her quick breakfast was. I forgot she hates flying, not to mention teleporting. The drop was the worst of both.
I make for her, looping my arm to help her stand up straight. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she replies. “Just giving the wall a fresh coat of paint.”
I glance at the sky, still lashing us with cold rain. Oddly cold for this time of year, even in the north. “Let’s get moving. They aren’t on the walls yet, but they will be.”
Cal steams slightly and zips up the neck of his vest to keep the water out. “Shivers,” he calls. “I have a feeling we’re about to be snowed in.”
“Should we go to the gates?”
“No. They’re warded with Silent Stone. Silvers can’t pummel their way in. They have to go over.” He gestures for us and the rest of our dropjet to follow him. “We have to be on the ramparts, ready to push back whatever they throw. The storm is just the vanguard. Block us in, reduce our vision. Keep us blind until they’re on top of us.”
His pace is hard to match, especially through the rain, but I forge to his side anyway. Water soaks through my boots, and it isn’t long before I lose sensation in my toes. Cal stares ahead, as if his eyes alone can set the entire world on fire. I think he wants to. That would make this easier.
Once again he must fight—and probably kill—the people he was raised to protect. I take his hand, because there are no words I can say right now. He squeezes my fingers, but lets them go just as quickly.
“Your grandmother’s troops can’t get in the same way.” As I speak, more gravitrons and soldiers plummet out of the sky. All screaming, all safe when they touch down. We turn a corner, moving from one ring of walls to the next, leaving them behind. “How do we join our forces?”
“They’re coming from the Rift. That’s southwest. Ideally, we’ll keep Maven’s force occupied long enough for them to take the rear. Pin them between us.”
I gulp. So much of the plan relies on the work of Silvers. I know better than to trust such things. House Samos could simply not arrive and let us all be captured or killed. Then they would be free to challenge Maven outright. Cal isn’t stupid. He knows all this. And he knows Corvium and its garrison are too valuable to lose. This is our flag, our rebellion, our promise. We stand against the might of Maven Calore, and his twisted throne.
Newbloods man the ramparts, joined by Red soldiers with arms and ammunition. They don’t fire, only stare out into the distance. One of them, a tall string bean of a man with a uniform like Farley’s and a C on his shoulder, steps forward. He clasps arms with her first, nodding his head.
“General Farley,” he says.
She dips her chin. “General Townsend.” Then she nods to another ranking officer in green, probably the commander of the Montfort newbloods. The short, squat woman with bronze skin and a long, white braid coiled around her head returns the action. “General Akkadi.”
“What are we looking at?” Farley asks them both.
Another soldier approaches in red instead of green. Her hair is different, dyed scarlet, but I recognize her.
“Good to see you, Lory,” Farley says, all business. I would greet the newblood too if we had the time. I’m quietly happy to see another one of the Notch recruits not just alive but thriving. Like Farley, her red hair is closely cut. Lory belongs to the cause.
When we shuffle backward, crowding onto the drop platform, I realize this is it. The jet rumbles, buffeted by winds Cameron cannot deflect. She shouts something I can’t decipher over the pound of blood in my ears.
Then the world opens beneath me. And we fall.
At least when House Samos ripped my last jet out of the sky, they had the decency to leave us in a cage of metal. We have nothing but the wind and freezing rain and swirling darkness pulling us every which way. Our momentum must be enough to keep us on target, as well as the fact that no sane person would expect us to be leaping out of planes a few thousand feet in the air in the middle of a storm. The wind whistles like a woman’s scream, clawing at every inch of me. At least the pressure of Cameron’s silence is gone. The veins of lightning in the clouds call to me, as if saying good-bye before I’m turned into a crater.
Everyone yells on the way down. Even Cal.
I’m still yelling when we start slowing about fifty feet above the jagged tips of Corvium, spiraling out in a hexagon of buildings and inner walls. And I’m hoarse when we bump gently against the smoothly paved ground, slick with at least two inches of rainwater.
Our newblood hastily unclips us all, and I fall backward, not caring about the bitterly cold puddle I’m lying in. Cal jumps to his feet.
I lie there for a second, thinking of nothing. Just staring up at the sky I plummeted through—and somehow survived. Then Cal grabs my arm and hoists me up, literally pulling me back to reality.
“The rest are going to be landing here, so we have to move.” He shoves me ahead of him, and I stumble a bit through the sloshing water. “Gravitrons, Arezzo will come down with the next batch to teleport you back up. Stay sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” they echo, bracing themselves for another round. I’m almost sick at the thought.
Farley actually is sick. She heaves up her guts in an alleyway, dumping whatever her quick breakfast was. I forgot she hates flying, not to mention teleporting. The drop was the worst of both.
I make for her, looping my arm to help her stand up straight. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she replies. “Just giving the wall a fresh coat of paint.”
I glance at the sky, still lashing us with cold rain. Oddly cold for this time of year, even in the north. “Let’s get moving. They aren’t on the walls yet, but they will be.”
Cal steams slightly and zips up the neck of his vest to keep the water out. “Shivers,” he calls. “I have a feeling we’re about to be snowed in.”
“Should we go to the gates?”
“No. They’re warded with Silent Stone. Silvers can’t pummel their way in. They have to go over.” He gestures for us and the rest of our dropjet to follow him. “We have to be on the ramparts, ready to push back whatever they throw. The storm is just the vanguard. Block us in, reduce our vision. Keep us blind until they’re on top of us.”
His pace is hard to match, especially through the rain, but I forge to his side anyway. Water soaks through my boots, and it isn’t long before I lose sensation in my toes. Cal stares ahead, as if his eyes alone can set the entire world on fire. I think he wants to. That would make this easier.
Once again he must fight—and probably kill—the people he was raised to protect. I take his hand, because there are no words I can say right now. He squeezes my fingers, but lets them go just as quickly.
“Your grandmother’s troops can’t get in the same way.” As I speak, more gravitrons and soldiers plummet out of the sky. All screaming, all safe when they touch down. We turn a corner, moving from one ring of walls to the next, leaving them behind. “How do we join our forces?”
“They’re coming from the Rift. That’s southwest. Ideally, we’ll keep Maven’s force occupied long enough for them to take the rear. Pin them between us.”
I gulp. So much of the plan relies on the work of Silvers. I know better than to trust such things. House Samos could simply not arrive and let us all be captured or killed. Then they would be free to challenge Maven outright. Cal isn’t stupid. He knows all this. And he knows Corvium and its garrison are too valuable to lose. This is our flag, our rebellion, our promise. We stand against the might of Maven Calore, and his twisted throne.
Newbloods man the ramparts, joined by Red soldiers with arms and ammunition. They don’t fire, only stare out into the distance. One of them, a tall string bean of a man with a uniform like Farley’s and a C on his shoulder, steps forward. He clasps arms with her first, nodding his head.
“General Farley,” he says.
She dips her chin. “General Townsend.” Then she nods to another ranking officer in green, probably the commander of the Montfort newbloods. The short, squat woman with bronze skin and a long, white braid coiled around her head returns the action. “General Akkadi.”
“What are we looking at?” Farley asks them both.
Another soldier approaches in red instead of green. Her hair is different, dyed scarlet, but I recognize her.
“Good to see you, Lory,” Farley says, all business. I would greet the newblood too if we had the time. I’m quietly happy to see another one of the Notch recruits not just alive but thriving. Like Farley, her red hair is closely cut. Lory belongs to the cause.
