Then I see her from my brother’s point of view. See them all for what he’s been told to see.

Terrorists. Murderers. The reason they were conscripted in the first place.

I try to pull Morrey into a hug, try to whisper an explanation.

He just goes cold in my arms. “You’re one of them,” he spits, looking at me with so much anger and accusation my knees buckle. “You’re Scarlet Guard.”

My soul fills with dread.

Maven took Mare’s brother.

Did he take mine too?

SIXTEEN

Mare

I can’t see Corvium through the low cloud cover. I stare anyway, my eyes glued on the eastern horizon stretching out behind us. The Scarlet Guard took the city. They control it now. We had to skirt around, giving the hostile city a wide berth. Maven is doing his best to keep it quiet; even he can’t hide such massive defeat. I wonder how the news will land across the kingdom. Will Reds celebrate? Will Silvers retaliate? I remember the riots that followed other attacks by the Scarlet Guard. Of course there will be repercussions. Corvium is an act of war. Finally, the Scarlet Guard has planted a flag that cannot simply be torn down.

My friends are so close I feel as if I could run to them. Tear the manacles off, kill the Arven guards, jump from the transport and disappear into the gray gloom, sprinting through the bare winter forest. In the daydream, they wait for me outside the walls of a broken fortress. The Colonel, his eye crimson, his weathered face and the gun on his hip a comfort like nothing else. Farley with him, bold and tall and resolute as I remember. Cameron, her silence a shield rather than a prison. Kilorn, familiar as my own two hands. Cal, angry and broken as I am, the embers of his rage ready to burn all thoughts of Maven from my mind. I imagine leaping into their arms, begging them to take me away, take me anywhere. Take me to my family, take me home. Make me forget.

No, not forget. It would be a sin to forget my imprisonment. A waste. I know Maven as no one else does. I know the holes in his brain, the pieces he can never make fit. And I’ve seen his court splinter firsthand. If I can escape, if I can be rescued, I can do some good still. I can make my fool’s bargain worth the terrible cost—and I can start to right so many wrongs.

Even though the transport windows are tightly sealed, I smell smoke. Ash. Gunpowder. The metallic, sour bite of a century of blood. The Choke nears, closer with every passing second as Maven’s convoy speeds west. I hope my nightmares of this place were worse than the reality.

Kitten and Clover are still at my sides, their hands gloved and flat upon their knees. Ready to grab me, ready to hold me down. The other guards, Trio and Egg, perch above, on the transport skeleton, harnessed to the moving vehicle. A precaution, now that we’re so close to the war zone. Not to mention a few miles from a city occupied by revolution. All four remain vigilant as ever. Both to keep me imprisoned—and to keep me safe.

Outside, the forest lining the last miles of the Iron Road thins into nothing. Naked branches fall away to reveal hard earth barely worthy of snow. The Choke is an ugly place. Gray dirt, gray skies, blending so perfectly I don’t know where the land ends and sky begins. I almost expect to hear explosions in the distance. Dad said you could always hear the bombs, even from miles away. I suppose that isn’t the case anymore, not if Maven’s gambit succeeds. I’m ending a war that millions died for. Just to keep killing under another name.

The convoy presses on toward the forward camps, a collection of buildings that remind me of the Scarlet Guard base on Tuck. They fade into the distance in either direction. Barracks, mostly. Coffins for the living. My brothers lived in those once. My father too. It might be my turn to keep up the tradition.

As in the cities along the coronation tour, people turn out to watch King Maven and his retinue. Soldiers in red, in black, in clouded gray. They line the main avenue bisecting the Choke camp with military precision, each one dipping their heads in respect. I don’t bother trying to count how many hundreds there are. It’s too depressing. Instead, I clasp my hands together, tight enough to give me another pain to dwell on. The injured Silver officer in Rocasta said Corvium was a massacre. Don’t, I tell myself. Don’t go there. Of course my mind does anyway. It’s impossible to avoid the horrors you really don’t want to think about. Massacre. Both sides. Red and Silver, Scarlet Guard and Maven’s army. Cal survived, that much I know from Maven’s demeanor. But Farley, Kilorn, Cameron, my brothers, the rest? So many names and faces who probably assaulted the walls of Corvium. What happened to them?

I press my fingers to my eyes, trying to keep the tears back. The effort exhausts me, but I refuse to cry in front of Kitten and Clover.

To my surprise, the convoy does not stop in the center of the Choke camp, even though there’s a square that looks perfectly suited to another of Maven’s honeyed speeches. A few of the transports, each carrying scions of several High Houses, peel off, but we speed through, pressing on, deeper and deeper. Even though they try to hide it, Kitten and Clover grow more on edge, their eyes darting between the windows and each other. They don’t like this. Good. Let them squirm.

Bold as I feel, a shadow of dread falls over me too. Is Maven out of his mind? Where is he taking us—all of us? Certainly he would not drive the court into a trench or a minefield or worse. The transports pick up speed, rolling faster and faster over earth packed hard into a roadway. In the distance, artillery cannons and heavy guns stand in hulking wrecks of iron, twisted shadows like black skeletons. Within a mile, we cross the first trench lines, our vehicles snarling over hastily built bridges. More trenches follow. For reserves, support, communication. Weaving like the passages of the Notch, burrowing into frozen mud. I lose count after a dozen. Either the trenches are abandoned or the soldiers are well hidden. I can’t see a single scrap of red uniform.