“Good to meet you, Miss Barrow,” a curly-haired general says, turning to look at me over her shoulder with the stern eye of a teacher. As if I’ve just disturbed a particularly important lesson. I nod in return, not wanting to interrupt the meeting any further. Though the subject matter does not seem dire. Many advisers talk among themselves, and conversation buzzes among the soldiers above.

“We’ve only just finished introductions,” Ada offers kindly, sidling up next to me.

Farley watches with a glint in her eye. She leans, whispering in my direction. “Don’t mind Swan,” she adds, nudging the female general. “She’s just giving you a hard time.”

To my surprise, the older woman smirks a little. They have a familiar way about them, like old friends or even family. But they share very little resemblance. Swan is short and slim, with sandy skin dusted in dark freckles. They give her an almost childish look, despite her lines of age.

“General Swan,” I murmur, ducking my head again in an attempt to be polite. She returns in kind, smiling this time.

Under her breath, Ada rattles off the other generals seated on the remaining couches. After her time at their headquarters, she knows them well. The remaining women are Horizon and Sentry, and the men are Drummer, Crimson, and Southern. Code names, clearly. Still in use, even here.

“General Palace is still in Norta, keeping our operations moving,” Ada says. “She’ll relay whatever we can dig up, in Norta and on the borders.”

“What about the Lakelands?” I ask. “Iris is going to invade, and we’ll need to know when.” A few weeks, Jon said. Not nearly specific enough.

Swan clears her throat. “The Lakelanders closed the borders. I wasn’t sure I would be able to get myself out, let alone my staff, and we went as quickly as we could.” Her eyes darken. “Took some doing, if you catch my meaning.”

Grimly, I nod and try not to think about how many dead friends she left behind.

My eyes skitter across the assembled soldiers and politicians, almost all of them Red. A few Silvers of Montfort sit with Davidson, but they are greatly outnumbered. I recognize Radis, the blond representative from the Gallery, among them. He nods his head in the smallest acknowledgment.

Davidson does the same, meeting my gaze.

With a flush, I clear my throat loudly, stepping out a little. Only the nearby generals turn to look at me. Their soldiers are more difficult to silence, and I have to try again, with more force. Slowly but surely, quiet ripples through them, until every eye in the library lands on me. I swallow hard against the familiar but still unsettling sensation. Don’t flinch. Don’t blush. Don’t hesitate.

“My name is Mare Barrow,” I say to the assembled crowd. Someone on the landing scoffs quietly. I suppose I need no introduction at this point. “Thank you for coming here.” I push on, searching for the right way to say what I have to. A man who can see the entire future passed along some tips just doesn’t sound right. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I was . . . climbing. And I met a man on the mountain.”

“Is that a metaphor?” General Crimson mutters gruffly, only to be hushed by the aptly named Drummer, a fantastically round man.

I glance at Ada, then down at Farley. “Jon,” I explain, and her eyes widen. The shock on her face speaks volumes to the room. “He’s a newblood seer, and we’ve dealt with him before.”

Davidson raises his chin. “So has Maven. If I’m not mistaken, that man was instrumental in your capture.”

“Yes,” I mutter, almost ashamed.

The premier purses his lips. “And he served Maven for a time.”

I nod again. “He did. For his own reasons.”

Even though several of his compatriots look dismissive, Davidson leans forward on his elbows, fixing me with his intense, unreadable gaze. “What did he say, Mare?”

“That we can’t let the Nortan capital fall to the Lakelands,” I reply. “If we do, the road will be ‘long and bloody.’ Worse than anything before. If they win Archeon, the Lakelands will control Norta for a hundred years.”

Radis huffs, inspecting his polished nails. He isn’t the only one to roll their eyes at such a statement. “I don’t need a seer to know that,” he mutters.

A few of the generals bob their heads in agreement. Swan speaks for them. “We know an invasion is coming; it’s just a matter of when.”

“A few weeks.” I can already feel the clock ticking against us. “That’s what Jon told me.”

Swan narrows her eyes, not with unkindness or suspicion, but with pity. “And you believe him? After all he did to you?”

Images flash in my head, memories of my captivity. The prison Jon bought me with whatever scheme of fate he put in motion. I told him before that I didn’t like being his pawn, and it’s exactly what I’m doing now.

“Somehow, I think I do,” I reply, fighting to keep my voice firm.

The words set off another round of murmurs and even a bit of shouting. From the generals, the representatives, even the soldiers above us.

Only three of us remain silent, trading glances.

Farley, Davidson, and myself.

As I look between them, jumping from golden eyes to blue, I see the same resolve in both of them, and feel it in myself.

We’ll fight again. We just need to figure out how.

As usual, Farley jumps in first.

She stands up, hands outstretched, motioning for quiet. It works a little, silencing her soldiers as well as the generals. Some of the Montfort diplomats still whisper among themselves.

“We need a plan,” she barks. “Regardless of what the seer says, we all know this road leads to Archeon. Montfort and the Scarlet Guard have to be able to overthrow the Nortan capital if we want any chance of freeing the country. No matter who sits on the throne.”

Swan nods. “I was stationed in the Lakelands before we fled here. I’ve seen more of their strength than anyone here. If the Cygnet queens gain the city before we can, it will be almost impossible to take it back. It’s in our best interest to fight the weaker enemy.”

Cal. Never have I thought of him as the weaker half of anything, but it’s certainly true. His position is precarious at best. I try not to picture him alone in his palace, trying to balance the world his father and brother broke.

“You still have Scarlet Guard in Archeon, yes?” Davidson asks, and his voice is enough to quiet the rest of his people.

“Palace is stationed just outside,” Farley says. “With her own teams still in place through as much of the country as can be managed. Harbor Bay, Delphie, the Archeon outskirts.”

Drummer, the portly general, jumps in. “Palace has orders to move into the city—quietly, of course. The new king is not his brother, and his regime is not yet openly hostile to the Scarlet Guard. We can risk it.”

“So we’ll have eyes in the city, at least,” Davidson muses. “Yours as well as our own. We’ll make sure they coordinate.”

“The Scarlet Guard has infiltrated Archeon before.” Drummer puffs out his impressive chest. “It can be done again.”

The premier’s lips press into a thin, grim line. “But not in the same way,” he says. “Too dangerous from the air, now that Cal has the full force of the Air Fleet behind him. We can’t match their aerial strength for a landing, and we can’t rely on surprise like we did at Maven’s wedding.”

“And the tunnels,” Farley mutters, thinking of a coup that failed before it even began. “King Maven closed up everything beneath the city.”

“Not everything,” I blurt out. The others blink at me, hard-eyed and eager. “I’ve seen Maven’s train, his escape plan. It runs straight under the Treasury, and there are more entrances below the palace. He used it to leave the city unseen. I’m willing to bet he left some tunnels intact, if only for his own use.”

With a will, Drummer rolls to his feet. He’s surprisingly agile for his age and size. “I can relay to Palace, have her start sniffing it out. Ada, you’ve got city plans in your head, yes?”

“I do, sir,” she anwers quickly. I can’t imagine what Ada doesn’t have preserved in her perfect mind.