“I said, do it,” Maven snarls again. Trying to goad Tyton.

Or me.

Above us, the storm clouds churn. I feel the flash of lightning before it crackles across the sky, purple and white, an emblem of our presence. Let Cal know we’re here.

“You don’t have any more use for me.” Rainwater drips down his face, tracing familiar paths. “Be done with it.”

Slowly, he raises his eyes to mine. I expect sorrow, or defeat.

Not icy anger.

“Ty—” I start, but the word is hardly out of my mouth when a shell strikes true, exploding over the columned walls of the Treasury.

The force of it blows us sideways, falling over already slippery ground. My skull cracks against the tile and I see dizzy stars for a second. I try to stand and fall again, colliding with an equally disoriented Tyton. He holds me down, pushing me flat against the Square as a leaping tongue of flame passes over us, singing the air directly above our heads.

“Maven!” I scream, my voice lost in the surge of battle. Against the guns, the missiles, the mortar shells, the wind and the rain, I might as well whisper.

Beneath me, Tyton tenses, pushing up on his elbows. His head whips back and forth, searching the crowd around us for a gray form and black hair.

I roll to my knees, cursing, the twists of my hair already coming undone. Purple strands drift, unfamiliar. Kilorn skids to a stop at my shoulder, his face already sweaty and flush with exertion.

“Is he gone?” he pants, trying to help me up.

As my head clears, I manage to get my feet underneath me. My muscles tighten, ready to dodge another flaming blow. Not that I need to. That isn’t his way. Maven isn’t a warrior.

“He’s gone,” I hear myself hiss.

I can choose to hunt him down. Or I can make sure we finish what we’ve started. I can keep my friends alive.

With a burst of determination, I force myself to turn, face the gates of the Square, and the Bridge beyond. “We have work to do.”

Though it’s still shrouded in fog, I can just make out hundreds of soldiers spanning the Bridge, with the looming hulks of Lakelander ships below. In the sky, airjets give chase, with wings of yellow, purple, red, blue, and green swooping like deadly birds of prey. I can’t make out anything beyond the river. The other half of the city is entirely obscured. At least Farley and the officers have their radios. They should be able to communicate with Davidson on the far side.

Extending a hand, I take Tyton by the wrist, hoisting him to his feet. His face darkens as he scowls, disgusted with himself.

“I’m sorry,” I think I hear him whisper. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

Spinning on my heel, I make for Farley. “Join the club,” I mutter, sending another angry bolt across the sky.

In the fog, flashes of blue and green pulse, as if in reply.

“They made it across,” Kilorn muses, pointing out the distant lights. “Rafe and Ella. Davidson’s army.”

In spite of Maven’s escape, my lips twitch, wanting to smile. A small burst of triumph blooms in my chest. “Well, that’s something.”

More than something.

Caesar’s Square contains the center of Nortan government—the palace, the courts, the Treasury, and War Command—but the bulk of the capital is on the other side of the river. Our side might be more valuable, but East Archeon is larger, with a greater population. Red and Silver. They won’t be left to fend for themselves against the Lakelander assault while Cal’s army concentrates on the armada.

Farley stares down the gullet of the Bridge, standing tall and stoic, a statue against the soldiers moving around her. Her lieutenants bark orders, organizing their troops into predetermined formation. Half form a shield wall of bodies facing Whitefire and War Command, where some of Cal’s own Silvers could still be. The others face out, looking down the cliffs to the river or blocking this end of the Bridge.

Essentially trapping Cal between this side of the water and the other, suspended over the armada below.

We reach her without delay, the Scarlet Guard and Montfort soldiers parting to let us pass. Tyton is quick to get to work, hurling his blinding-white darts of electricity at the ships below. The steel leviathans seem impenetrable, even for magnetrons. Blue rumbles in the clouds, before one of Ella’s storm bolts hits the prow of a battleship with the keening scream of tearing metal. I squint over the walls of the cliff edge, searching the river. It should be hundreds of feet below, but it seems closer than I remember. My mouth goes dry when I realize the Lakelanders must have raised the river to allow their largest ships to sail this far.

“It’s still rising,” Farley says over her shoulder, making room for me on her perch. “We won’t be able to escape the way we came.”

I bite my lip, thinking of the tunnels beneath us. “Flooded?”

She nods. “More than likely.” Her eyes waver, looking between the river and the silhouettes on the bridge. Smoke spirals with the fog, black against the white and gray. “We made it through just in time.”

Kilorn settles in next to us. His attention is on the Bridge, not the water. From this vantage point, I can see that Cal’s forces aren’t defending the Bridge, but striking from it. Through the fog, swifts blur along the decks of the boats below, alongside strongarms, Anabel’s oblivions, and other Silvers best suited to close combat. Shivers of House Gliacon seem to be making the most headway. They use their abilities to freeze. One of the smaller battleships is completely iced in, frozen against the supports of the Bridge.

I sigh in relief when I don’t see fire dancing among the ships. Nothing but the usual explosive blasts. Cal isn’t down there fighting the armada himself. Yet.

“Do you think he knows we’re here?” Kilorn wonders, still looking at the Bridge.

Farley clenches her jaw. She rests her hand at her side, not on her gun but on the radio strapped high on her hip. “Cal seems a bit preoccupied.”

“He knows,” I mutter, another peal of purple lightning streaking across the sky. The air is thick, like the clouds have come down to obscure the battle raging before us. I flinch as another round strikes the Square, missiles crashing through a wing of the palace.

“I don’t see Maven,” Farley says, shifting closer to me. I find myself facing the full weight of her cerulean stare, clear and bright even in the haze. “Is it done?”

I bite my lip, almost drawing blood. The sharp pain is better than shame. She reads my hesitation, and her face purples quicker than I thought possible.

“Mare Barrow—”

The crackle of the radio at her side cuts her off, saving me from her rage. She rips it free, snarling into the receiver. “This is General Farley.”

The voice on the other end does not belong to a Command general or a Montfort officer. It isn’t Davidson either.

I would know that voice anywhere, even punctuated by gunfire.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Cal says, sounding tinny and far away, distorted by static. The electricity in the air must not be very good for radio waves.

Breathless, I look from Farley toward the Bridge. Sure enough, one of the shadows in the fog seems to be solidifying. Broad shoulders and a familiar, determined stride move closer and closer. I keep still, my feet rooted in place on our perch above the fray.

Farley smirks down at her radio. “So nice of you to make time for us.”

“It’s only polite,” he replies.

With a sigh, Farley angles herself toward the form on the Bridge, now less than fifty yards away. Cal is surrounded by his guards, and he halts, stopping the group. The Silvers seem tense, their guns ready, waiting for an order. He acknowledges us with a tip of his head. Farley furrows her brow a little, hesitant.

“I’m guessing you know where things stand, Cal,” she says.

His response is almost too quick. “I do.”

Farley bites her lip. “And?”

A long rush of static drones, before he speaks again. “Mare?”

The radio is in my hand before I can even think to ask for it.

“I’m here,” I say, locking eyes with him across a canyon.

“Is it too late?”