I know the feeling.
“From this day until my last day, I pledge myself to you, Iris of House Cygnet, princess of the Lakelands.”
In front of me, Maven holds out his hand. Fire licks at the tips of his fingers, gentle and weak as candle flame. I could blow it out if I tried.
“From this day until my last day, I pledge myself to you, Maven of House Calore, king of Norta.”
Iris mirrors his action, putting out her own hand. Her white sleeve, edged in bright blue, falls back gracefully, exposing more of her smooth arm as it leaches moisture from the air. A sphere of clear, trembling water fills her palm. When she joins hands with Maven, one ability destroys the other without even the hiss of steam or smoke. A peaceful union is made, and sealed with a brush of their lips.
He doesn’t kiss her the way he kissed me. Any fire he might have is far away.
I wish I were too.
The applause shudders in me, loud as a thunderclap. Most people cheer. I don’t blame them. This is the last nail in the coffin of the Lakelander War. Even though Reds died in the thousands, the millions, Silvers died too. I won’t begrudge them their celebrations of peace.
Another rumble sounds as many seats around the Royal Court shift, pushing back along stone. I flinch, wondering if we’re about to be crushed in a tide of well-wishers. Instead, Sentinels press in. I clutch at Iris’s train like a lifeline, letting her swift motions pull me through the heaving crowd and back out into Caesar’s Square.
Of course, the crush of noise only increases tenfold. Flags wave, cheers erupt, and sprinkles of paper drift down on us. I dip my head, trying to block it out. Instead, my ears start to ring. The sound doesn’t go away, no matter how much I shake my head. One of the Arvens takes my elbow, her fingers digging into flesh as more and more people press in around us. The Sentinels shout something, instructing the crowd to stay back. Maven turns to look over his shoulder, his face flushed gray in excitement or nerves or both. The ringing intensifies, and I have to let go of Iris’s train to cover my ears. It does nothing except slow me down, pulling me out of her circle of safety. She carries on, arm in arm with her new husband, with Evangeline trailing them both. The tide separates us.
Maven sees me stop and raises an eyebrow, his lips parting to ask a question. His steps slow.
Then the sky turns black.
Storm clouds bloom, dark and heavy, arcing over us like an inferno’s smoke. Lightning streaks across the clouds, bolts tinged white and blue and green. Each one jagged, vicious, destructive. Unnatural.
My heartbeat roars loud enough to drown out the crowd. But not the thunder.
The sound rattles in my chest, so close and so explosive it shakes the air. I taste it on my tongue.
I don’t get to see the next thunderbolt before Kitten and Clover throw me to the ground, our dresses be damned. They pin my shoulders, digging into aching muscles with their hands and their ability. Silence floods my body, fast and strong enough to push the air from my lungs. I gasp, struggling to breathe. My fingers scrabble over the tiled ground, feeling for something to grab. If I could breathe, I would laugh. This is not the first time someone has held me down in Caesar’s Square.
Another clap of thunder, another flash of blue light. The resulting push of Arven silence almost makes me vomit up my guts.
“Don’t kill her, Janny. Don’t!” Clover growls. Janny. Kitten’s real name. “It’ll be our heads if she dies.”
“It’s not me,” I try to choke out. “It’s not me.”
If Kitten and Clover can hear, they don’t show it. Their pressure never lessens, a new constant of pain.
Unable to scream, I force my head up, looking for someone to help me. Looking for Maven. He’ll stop this. I hate myself for thinking it.
Legs cross my vision, black uniforms, civilian colors, and distant, fleeing red-orange robes. The Sentinels keep moving, tight in their formation. Like at the banquet that ended in a near assassination, they spring into well-practiced action, focused on their one and only purpose: defend the king. They change direction quickly, herding Maven not toward the palace, but to the Treasury. To his train. To his escape.
Escape from what?
The freak storm isn’t mine. The lightning isn’t mine.
“Follow the king,” Kitten—Janny—snarls. She hoists me onto wobbly legs, and I almost fall again. The Arvens don’t let me. Neither does the sudden wall of uniformed officers. They surround me in diamond formation, perfect for cutting through the surging crowd. The Arvens lessen their pulsing ability, if only to allow me to walk.