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can do to human flesh. I

know I killed her without question, without

remorse, without regret. My ravaging storm

fed by Shade’s sudden death. The last clear

image I have of the Corros battle is of him

falling, his heart pierced by Ptolemus’s

needle of cold, unforgiving steel. Somehow

Ptolemus escaped my blind rage, but the

queen did not. At least the Colonel and I

made sure the world knew what happened to

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her, displaying her corpse during our

broadcast.

I wish Maven had some of her ability, so

he could look into my head and see exactly

what kind of ending I gave his mother. I

want him to feel the pain of loss as terribly as

I do.

His eyes are on me as he finishes his

memorized speech, one hand outstretched to

better display the chain binding me to him.

Everything he does is methodical, performed

for an image.

“I pledge myself to do the same, to end

the Scarlet Guard and the monsters like

Mare Barrow, or die in the attempt.”

Die, then, I want to scream.

The roar of the crowd drowns out my

thoughts. Hundreds cheer on their king and

his tyranny. I cried on the walk across the

bridge, in the face of so many blaming me for

their loved ones’ deaths. I can still feel the

tears drying on my cheeks. Now I want to

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weep again, not in sadness, but anger. How

can they believe this? How can they stomach

these lies?

Like a doll, I am turned from the sight.

With the last of my strength, I crane my neck

over one shoulder, hunting for the cameras,

the eyes of the world. See me, I beg. See how he lies. My jaw tightens, my eyes narrow, painting what I pray is a picture of resilience,

rebellion, and rage. I am the lightning girl. I am a storm. It feels like a lie. The lightning girl is dead.

But it is the last thing I can do for the

cause, and for the people I love still out

there. They will not see me stumble in this fi-

nal moment. No, I will stand. And though I

have no idea how, I have to keep fighting,

even here in the belly of the beast.

Another tug forces me to spin around to

face the court. Cold Silvers stare back, their

skin undertoned by blue and black and

purple and gray, leached of life, with veins of

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steel and diamond rather than blood. They

focus not on me, but on Maven himself. In

them I find my answer. In them I see hunger.

For a split second, I pity the boy king

alone on his throne. Then, deep down, I feel

the teasing breath of hope.

Oh, Maven. What a mess you’re in.

I can only wonder who will strike first.

The Scarlet Guard—or the lords and

ladies ready to slit Maven’s throat and take

everything his mother died for.

He hands my leash over to one of the Arvens

as soon as we flee the Whitefire steps, re-

treating into the yawning entrance hall of the

palace. Strange. He was so fixated on getting

me back, on putting me into his cage, but he

tosses my chains away without so much as a

glance. Coward, I tell myself. He can’t bring himself to look at me when it isn’t for

spectacle.

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“Did you keep your promise?” I demand,

breathless. My voice sounds raspy from days

of disuse. “Are you a man of your word?”

He doesn’t answer.

The rest of the court falls in behind us.

Their lines and rows are well practiced,

based on the complicated intricacies of

status and rank. Only I am out of place, the

first one to follow the king, walking a few

steps behind where a queen should be. I

could not be further from the title.

I glance at the larger of my jailers, hoping

to see something besides blind loyalty in

him. He wears a white uniform, thick, bullet-

proof, zipped tight up his throat. Gloves,

gleaming. Not silk, but plastic—rubber. I

flinch at the sight. Despite their silencing

ability, the Arvens won’t take any chances

with me. Even if I manage to slip a spark

past their continuous onslaught, the gloves

will protect their hands and allow them to

keep me collared, chained, caged. The big

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Arven doesn’t meet my gaze, his eyes focused

ahead while his lips purse in concentration.

The other is just the same, flanking me in

perfect step with his brother or cousin. Their

naked scalps gleam, and I’m reminded of Lu-

cas Samos. My kind guard, my friend, who

was executed because I existed, and because

I used him. I was lucky then, that Cal gave

me such a decent Silver to keep me prisoner.

And, I realize, I am lucky now. Indifferent

guards will be easier for me to kill.

Because they must die. Somehow. Some

way. If I am to escape, if I want to reclaim

my lightning, they are the first obstacles. The

rest are easy to guess. Maven’s