She’s been there, and I’ve been here, rotting, freezing, spending my days rewiring equipment older than I am. All of it a bleeding waste.
I steal one last minute in my bunk to think about my brother, where he might be, what he’s doing. Morrey. My twin in nothing but appearance. He was a soft boy in the hard alleys of New Town, constantly sick from the factory smoke. I don’t want to imagine what military training has done to him. Depending on who you ask, techie workers were either too valuable or too weak for the army. Until the Scarlet Guard started their meddling, killed a few Silvers, and forced the old king into some meddling of his own. We were both conscripted, even though we had jobs. Even though we were only fifteen. The bloody Measures enacted by Cal’s own father changed everything. We were selected, told to be soldiers, and we were marched away from our parents.
They split us up almost immediately. My name was on some list and his wasn’t. Once, I was grateful I was the one sent to Corros. Morrey would have never survived the cells. Now I wish we could trade places. Him free, and me on the lines. But no matter how many times I petition the Colonel for another attempt at the Little Legion, he always turns me away.
So I might as well ask again.
The tool belt is a familiar weight around my hips, thunking with every step. I walk with purpose, enough to deter anyone who might bother to stop me. But for the most part, the halls are empty. No one is around to watch me stalk past, gnawing on a breakfast roll. More captains and their units must be out on patrol again, scouting Trial and the border. Looking for Reds, I think, the ones lucky enough to make it north. Some come here to join up, but they’re always of military age or workers with skills useful to the cause. I don’t know where the families are sent: the orphans, the widows, the widowers. The ones who would only be in the way.
Like me. But I get underfoot on purpose. It’s the only way to get any kind of attention.
The Colonel’s broom closet—I mean office—is one floor above the bunk rooms. I don’t bother to knock, trying the doorknob instead. It turns easily, opening into a grim, cramped room with concrete walls, a few locked cabinets, and a currently occupied desk.
“He’s over in control,” Farley says, not looking up from her papers. Her hands are ink-stained, and there are even smudges on her nose and under her bloodshot eyes. She pores over what look like Guard communications, coded messages and orders. From Command, I know, remembering the constant whispers about the upper levels of the Scarlet Guard. No one knows much about them, least of all me. Nobody tells me anything unless I ask a dozen times.
I frown at her appearance. Despite the table hiding her stomach, her condition has begun to show. Her face and fingers look swollen. Not to mention the three plates piled with food scraps.
“Probably a good idea to sleep now and then, Farley.”
“Probably.” She seems annoyed by my concern.
Fine, don’t listen. With a low sigh, I turn back to the doorway, putting her behind me.
“Let him know Corvium is on the edge,” Farley adds, her voice strong and cutting. An order but also something else.
I glance over my shoulder at her, an eyebrow raised. “Edge of what?”
“There have been riots, sporadic reports of Silver officers turning up dead, and ammunition depots have developed a nasty habit of exploding.” She almost smirks at that. Almost. I haven’t seen her smile since Shade Barrow died.
“Sounds like familiar work. Is the Scarlet Guard in the city?”
Finally she looks up. “Not to our knowledge.”
“Then the legions are turning.” Hope flares sharp and raw in my chest. “The Red soldiers—”
“There’s thousands of them stationed at Corvium. And more than a few have realized they substantially outnumber their Silver officers. Four to one, at least.”
Four to one. Just like that, my hope sours. I’ve seen what Silvers are and what they can do firsthand. I’ve been their prisoner and their opponent, able to fight only because of my own ability. Four Reds against a single Silver is still suicide. Still an outright loss. But Farley doesn’t seem to agree.
She senses my unease and softens as best she can. Like a razor turning into a knife. “Your brother isn’t in the city. The Dagger Legion is still behind the lines of the Choke.”
Stuck between a minefield and a city on fire. Fantastic.
“It’s not Morrey that I’m worried about.” At the moment. “I just don’t see how they can expect to take the city. They might have the numbers, but the Silvers are . . . well, they’re Silvers. A few dozen magnetrons could kill hundreds without blinking.”