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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