Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard
Julian. Julian.
The residence halls crawl with Sentinels and Security, every one of them on edge. But I’ve long perfected the art of slipping by unnoticed, and Julian’s door is not far away. Despite the hour, he’s awake, poring over books. Everything looks the same, like nothing’s happened. Maybe he doesn’t know. But then I notice the bottle of brown liquor on the table, occupying a spot usually reserved for tea. Of course he knows.
“In light of recent events, I would think our lessons have been canceled for the time being,” he says over the pages of his book. Still, he shuts it with a snap, turning his full attention on me. “Not to mention it’s quite late.”
“I need you, Julian.”
“Does this have anything to do with the Sun Shooting? Yes, they’ve already thought up a clever name.” He points to the dark video screen in the corner. “It’s been on the news for hours now. The king’s addressing the country in the morning.”
I remember the fluffy blond newswoman reporting the capital bombing more than a month ago. There were few injuries then, and still the marketplace rioted. What will they do now? How many innocent Reds will pay?
“Or is this about the four terrorists currently locked in the cells of this structure?” Julian presses on, measuring my response. “Excuse me, I mean three. Ptolemus Samos certainly lives up to his reputation.”
“They’re not terrorists,” I reply calmly, trying to keep myself in check.
“Shall I show you the definition of terrorism, Mare?” His tone stings. “Their cause might be just, but their methods . . . besides, what you say doesn’t matter.” He gestures to the video screen again. “They have their own version of the truth and that’s the only one people will hear.”
My teeth grind together painfully, bone on bone. “Are you going to help or not?”
“I am a teacher and somewhat of an outcast, in case you haven’t noticed. What can I possibly do?”
“Julian, please.” I can feel my last chance slipping through my fingers. “You’re a singer, you can tell the guards—make them do anything you want. You can set the prisoners free.”
But he remains still, sipping peacefully at his drink. He doesn’t grimace like men normally do. The bite of alcohol is familiar to him.
“Tomorrow they’ll be interrogated. And no matter how strong they are, no matter how long they hold out, the truth will be found.” Slowly, I take Julian’s hand, holding fingers worn rough by paper. “This was my plan. I’m one of them.” He doesn’t need to know about Maven. It will only make him angrier.
The half lie does its job well. I can see it in Julian’s eyes.
“You? You did this?” he stammers. “The shooting, the bombing—?”
“The bomb was . . . unexpected.” The bomb was a horror.
He narrows his eyes and I can see the cogs turning in his mind. Then he snaps entirely. “I told you, I told you not to get in over your head!” He slams a fist down on the table, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. “And now,” he breathes, staring at me with so much sorrow it makes my heart hurt, “now I must watch you drown?”
“If they escape . . .”
He throws back the rest of his drink with a gulp. With a snap of his wrist, he smashes the glass on the floor, making me jump. “And what about me? Even if I take away the cameras, the guards’ memories, anything that could implicate either of us, the queen will know.” Shaking his head, he sighs. “She’ll take my eyes for this.”
And Julian will never read again. How can I ask for that?
“Then let me die.” The words stick in my throat. “I deserve it as much as they do.”
He can’t let me die. He won’t. I am the little lightning girl, and I am going to make the world change.
When he speaks again, he sounds hollow.
“They called my sister’s death a suicide.” Slowly, he traces his fingers across his wrist, dwelling on a long-ago memory. “That was a lie, and I knew it. She was a sad woman, but she never would have done such a thing. Not when she had Cal, and Tibe. She was murdered, and I said nothing. I was afraid, and I let her die in shame. And since that day, I’ve been working to fix that, waiting in the shadows of this monstrous world, waiting for my time to avenge her.” He raises his eyes to me. They sparkle with tears. “I suppose this will be a good place to start.”
It doesn’t take long for Julian to figure out a plan. All we need is a magnetron and some blind cameras, and luckily, I can provide both.
Lucas knocks on my bedroom door not two minutes after I summon him.
“What can I do for you, Mare?” he says, jumpier than usual. I know his time overseeing the queen’s interrogation of servants must not have been easy. At least he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m shaking.
“I’m hungry.” The rehearsed words come easier than they should. “You know, dinner never happened so I was wondering—”
“Do I look like a cook? You should’ve called the kitchens, that’s their job.”
“I just, well, I don’t think now’s a good time for the servants to be roaming around. People are still pretty on edge and I don’t want anyone getting hurt because I didn’t get dinner. You’d just have to escort me, that’s all. And who knows, you might get a cookie out of it.”
Sighing like an annoyed teenager, Lucas holds out an arm. As I take it, I glance at the cameras in the hall, making them die off. Here we go.
I should feel wrong about using Lucas, knowing firsthand what it’s like to have your mind toyed with, but this is for Kilorn’s life. Lucas is still chattering when we turn the corner, running smack into Julian.
“Lord Jacos—” Lucas begins, moving to bow his head, but Julian takes him by the chin, moving quicker than I ever thought he could. Before Lucas can respond, Julian glares into his eyes and the struggle dies before it even begins.
His honeyed words, smooth as butter and strong as iron, fall on open ears. “Take us to the cells. Use the service halls. Keep us away from patrols. Do not remember this.”
Lucas, usually all smiles and jokes, falls into a strange, half-hypnotized state. His eyes glaze over and he doesn’t notice when Julian reaches down to take his gun. But he marches all the same, leading us through the maze of the Hall. At each turn I wait for the feel of electric eyes, shutting off everything in our path. Julian does the same to the guards, forcing them not to remember us as we pass. Together, we make an unbeatable team and it’s not long before we stand at the top of the dungeon stairs. There will be Sentinels down there, too many for Julian to take care of on his own.
“Speak not a word,” Julian hisses to Lucas, who nods in understanding.
Now it’s my turn to lead us. I expect to be afraid, but the dim light and the late hour feel familiar. This is where I belong, sneaking and lying and stealing.
“Who is it? State your name and business!” one of the Sentinels shouts up at us. I recognize her voice—Gliacon, the shiver who tortured Farley. Perhaps I can convince Julian to sing her off a cliff.
I draw myself up to my full height, though it’s my voice and tone that matter most. “My name is Lady Mareena Titanos, betrothed of the prince Maven,” I snap, moving down the steps with as much grace as I can. My voice is cold and sharp, mirroring Elara’s and Evangeline’s. I have strength and power too. “And I don’t share my business with Sentinels.”
At the sight of me, the four Sentinels exchange glances, questioning each other. One, a large man with pig eyes, even looks me up and down in a rude manner. Behind the bars, Kilorn and Walsh jump to attention. Farley doesn’t move from her corner, arms curled around her knees. For a second I think she might be sleeping, until she moves and her blue eyes reflect the light.
“I need to know, my lady,” Gliacon says, sounding apologetic. She nods to Julian and Lucas, who follow me down. “Goes for you two as well.”
“I would like a private audience with these”—I throw as much disgust into my voice as I can; it’s not hard, with the pig-eyed Sent
Julian sneers, putting on a good show. “It’ll be easy to make them sing.”
“Not possible, m’lady,” Pig-Eyes snorts. His accent is hard and rough, from Harbor Bay. “Our orders are to stay right here, all night. We move for no one.”
Once, a boy in the Stilts called me a rotten flirt for charming him out of a good pair of boots. “You understand my position, don’t you? I will be a princess soon, and the favor of a princess is a very valuable thing. Besides, the Red rats must be taught a lesson. A painful one.”
Pig-Eyes blinks sluggishly at me, thinking it over. Julian hovers at my shoulder, ready with his sweet words if I need them. Two heartbeats pass before Pig-Eyes nods, waving to the others. “We can give you five minutes.”
My face hurts from smiling so widely, but I don’t care. “Thank you so much. I am in your debt, all of you.”
They tromp away in a single file, their boots scuffing. As soon as they reach the top landing, I allow myself to hope. Five minutes will be more than enough.
Kilorn almost jumps at the bars, eager to be free of his cell, and Walsh pulls Farley to her feet. But I don’t move at all. I don’t intend to free them, not yet.
“Mare—” Kilorn whispers, puzzled at my hesitation, but I silence him with a look.
“The bomb.” Smoke and fire cloud my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment the ballroom exploded. “Tell me about the bomb.”
I expect them to fall over themselves in apologies, to beg my forgiveness, but instead, the three exchange blank looks. Farley leans against the bars, her eyes on fire.
“I don’t know anything about that,” she hisses, barely audible. “I never authorized such a thing. It was supposed to be organized, with special targets. We do not kill at random, without purpose.”
“The capital, the other bombings—?”
“You know those buildings were empty. No one died there, not because of us,” she says evenly. “I swear to you, Mare, this was not our doing.”
“Do you really think we’d try to blow up our greatest hope?” Kilorn adds. I don’t need to ask to know he means me.
Finally, I nod over my shoulder to Julian.
“Open the cell. Quietly,” Julian murmurs, his hands on Lucas’s face.
The magnetron complies, forcing the bars into an open O wide enough to step through. Walsh comes out first, her eyes wide in amazement. Kilorn is next, helping Farley fit through the bars. Her arm still dangles helplessly—the healer missed a spot.
I gesture to the wall and they move soundlessly, mice on stone. Walsh’s eyes touch on Tristan’s body, still lifeless in the cell, but she stays put beside Farley. Julian shoves Lucas in next to them before taking his spot next to the foot of the stairs, across from the freed prisoners.
I take the other side, pressing myself in next to Kilorn. Even though he’s spent the night in the cells, with a dead body for company, he still smells like home.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispers in my ear. “I knew it.”
But there’s no time for pleasantries or celebrations. Not until they’re away safely.
Across the open gap of stairwell, Julian nods at me. He’s ready.
“Sentinel Gliacon, may I have a word?” I shout up the stairs, laying the bait for our next trap. The shuffle of feet tells me she’s taken it.
“What is it, my lady?”
When she reaches the floor, her eyes fly straight to the open cell and she gasps behind her mask. But Julian is too quick, even for a Sentinel.
“You went for a walk. You returned to find this. You do not remember us. Call down one of the others,” he murmurs, his voice a terrible song.
“Sentinel Tyros, you are needed,” she says flatly.
“Now you will sleep.”
She drops almost before the last word leaves his lips, but Julian catches her around the middle and lays her gently down behind him. Kilorn exhales in surprise, impressed by Julian, who allows himself a small, pleased smile.
Tyros comes down the stairs next, confused, but eager to serve. Julian does it again, singing his orders in a few whispered seconds. I didn’t expect Sentinels to be so stupid, but it makes sense. They’re trained from childhood in the art of combat; logic and intelligence are not their highest priorities.
But the last two, Pig-Eyes and the healer, are not complete fools. When Tyros calls out, ordering the skin healer Sentinel to come down, they mutter to each other.
“About finished, Lady Titanos?” Pig-Eyes calls, his voice wary.
Thinking quickly, I shout back to them. “Yes, we’re finished. Your companions have returned to their posts, I want to make sure you do as well.”
“Oh, have they? Is that right, Tyros?”
With blinding speed, Julian kneels over the fainted Tyros. He pries his eyes open, holding the lids. “Say you’ve returned to your post. Say the lady has finished.”
“Returned to my post,” Tyros drones. Hopefully the long stairwell and stone walls will distort his voice. “The lady has finished.”
Pig-Eyes grunts to himself. “Very well.”
Their boots stamp against the steps, both coming down together. Two. Julian cannot handle two alone. I feel Kilorn tense at my back, his fist clenching as he prepares for anything. With one hand I push him back against the wall, while the other grows white with sparks.
The footsteps stop, just beyond the opening. I can’t see them and neither can Julian, but Pig-Eyes breathes like a dog. The healer is there as well, waiting just beyond our reach. In total silence, it’s hard not to hear the click of a gun.
Julian’s eyes widen but he stands firm, one hand closing around his stolen weapon. I don’t even want to breathe, knowing the edge we’re all standing on. The walls seem to shrink, boxing us into a stone coffin with no escape.
I feel very calm when I slide out in front of the steps, my sparking hand behind my back. I expect to feel bullets at any minute, but the pain never comes. They won’t shoot me, not until I give them a good reason.
“Is there some problem, Sentinels?” I sneer, quirking an eyebrow like I’ve seen Evangeline do a hundred times. Slowly, I take a step up, bringing the pair of them into view. They stand side by side, fingers itching on twin triggers. “I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t point your guns at me.”
Pig-Eyes glares at me outright, but it does nothing to faze me. You are a lady. Act like it. Act for your life. “Where’s your friend?”
“Oh, he’s coming along. One of the prisoners has a mouth on her. She needed some extra attention.” The lie comes so easily. Practice really does make perfect.
Grinning, Pig-Eyes lowers his gun a bit. “The scarred bitch? Had to show her the back of my hand myself.” He chuckles. I laugh with him and dream about what lightning could do to his fleshy, pale eyes.
As I move closer, the skin healer puts one hand on the metal rail, blocking my way. I do the same. It feels cold in my hand, and solid. Easy does it, I tell myself, pushing just enough energy into my sparks. Not enough to burn, not enough to scar, but enough to take care of them both. It’s like threading a needle, and for once, I’m the sewing expert.
Above me, the healer doesn’t laugh with his friend. His eyes are bright silver and, with the mask and fiery cloak, he looks like a demon from a nightmare.
“What’s behind your back?” he hisses through the mask.
I shrug, allowing myself one more step. “Nothing, Sentinel Skonos.”
The next words are ragged. “You lie.”
We react in the same second, blasting into action. The bullet hits me in the stomach, but my lightning blazes up the metal rail, through his skin and into the healer’s brain. Pig-Eyes shouts, firing his own gun. The bullet digs into the wall, missing me by inches. But I don’t miss him, lashing with the ball of sparks behind my back. They slide past me, both unconscious, their muscles twitching with shocks.
&
I briefly wonder if the stone floor will smash my skull. I suppose that’s easier than bleeding to death. Instead, long arms catch me.
“Mare, you’ll be fine,” Kilorn whispers. His hand covers my stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. His eyes are green as grass. They stand out in a world fading to darkness. “It’s nothing at all.”
“Put those on,” Julian snaps to the others. Farley and Walsh rush past me to pull on the fire-red cloaks and masks. “You too!”
He yanks Kilorn off me, almost throwing him across the room in his haste.
“Julian—,” I choke out, trying to grab him. I must thank him.
But he’s beyond my reach, kneeling over the healer. He rips open the Sentinel’s eyelids and sings, ordering him to wake up. The next thing I know, the healer stares down at me, his hands on my wound. It only takes a second before the world shifts back to normal. In the corner, Kilorn breathes a sigh of relief and pulls a cloak over his head.
“Her as well.” I point to Farley. Julian nods and directs the healer over to her. With an audible pop, her shoulder snaps back into place.
“Much obliged,” she says, pulling the mask over her face.
Walsh stands over us all, her mask forgotten in her hand. She stares at the fallen Sentinels, jaw agape. “Are they dead?” she asks, whispering like a frightened child.
Julian looks up from Pig-Eyes, finished singing to him. “Hardly. This lot will be awake in a few hours, and if you’re lucky, no one will know you’re gone until then.”
“I can work with a few hours.” Farley smacks at Walsh, snapping her back to reality. “Get your head on straight, girl, we’ve got a lot of running to do tonight.”
It doesn’t take long to slip them through the last few passages. Even so, my fear grows with each passing heartbeat, until we find ourselves in the middle of Cal’s garage. The slack-jawed Lucas tears a hole in the metal door like he’s ripping paper, revealing the night beyond.
Walsh hugs me, taking me by surprise. “I don’t know how,” she mutters, “but I hope you become queen one day. Imagine what you could do then? The Red queen.”