Then he smashed the glass paperweight against Edgar’s temple, and for the second time that morning, the senator of the Sixth Republic crumpled to the floor.
All three Warnou sisters shrieked. Brianne with surprise, Cleo with horror, and Elodie with relief.
“Bri,” Rob called to his youngest sister, “hand me that curtain tie and come help me bind his feet.”
Elodie watched her brother from where she sat, shaking, on the study floor. “What are you doing?” It was a complicated question with more than one answer. For now, Rob chose the most straightforward.
“He’s useless to you up here,” Rob said, speaking in a way that evoked his father’s urgent, clipped tone. “In order to gain leverage, you’ll want to flaunt him as a hostage and let the other side know your demands.”
Elodie’s heart leapt. With Edgar captive, they might be able to barter their way to peace, to prevent the death and destruction synonymous with their current strategy.
This was how Tera Warnou’s four children found themselves hauling the limp body of Edgar DeVos down the steps of the palace. A swell of appreciation rose in Elodie as she witnessed her siblings’ determination and strength. She had been raised to believe that country and legacy were the two things that mattered most in the world. But her role model had been a cold, exacting monarch. A mother with secrets of her own, who had loved herself more than her children.
Yet the longer Elodie held the throne, the more apparent it became that a queen was nothing without allies. She needed the consultation of others, the insight and understanding of those who knew more—or at the very least, thought differently—than she.
Outside the confines of the castle, the air was charged with energy. Although the bells had finally stopped their ringing, the morning was still filled with noise. Shouts, pops, and the scrape of metal against metal rang out all around them, while the occasional boom echoed from the cannon a short distance away. A gray haze clung about the city below, and the breeze carried the stench of sulfur, bonfire, and the tang of steel. War was underway.
“It’s going to take too long to carry him down to the city,” Cleo moaned. “I’m exhausted already. Can’t we just leave him here tied with really tight knots?”
“If they can’t see him, they won’t take us seriously,” Brianne argued.
Elodie glanced down at her tormentor, at his freckle-spotted skin, his black suit, his distinctive, flame-red locks. “His hair!” She turned to her brother. “Rob, I need your sword.”
Rob frowned at her. “I don’t have a sword.”
“Well, then, go get a sword,” Elodie commanded, turning to her sisters. “Do either of you carry scissors?” Brianne shook her head, but the second Warnou sister shimmied something out of her stocking. “Cleo!” Elodie chastised as her sister handed over a dagger.
“Rob can have a sword,” her middle sister pouted. “Why can’t I have a knife?”
“I’m not angry at you for having a dagger,” Elodie clarified, using the blade’s edge to saw off a lock of Edgar’s bright hair. “I’m angry at you for storing it in your stocking. One fall down a flight of stairs and you’ll accidentally sever your tendon. You need to find a better place to secure it.” She offered the dagger back to Cleo, who stuffed it theatrically in her waistband. Elodie pocketed the fiery curl.
After sealing the unconscious Edgar securely in the confessional of the royal chapel, the Warnou siblings headed down into the city proper. The smoke grew thicker with each step toward the bell tower, the air filled with the thrum of destruction: the cracking of wood and groaning of men and splitting of stone. Elodie took the lead, heading for the barricade at the western gate.
The cobblestones of the Commerce District were mostly deserted, although many eyes peered down at the Warnou siblings from the safety of their windows. Elodie committed these details to memory—taking note of who had joined their ranks and who had chosen to sit idly by. In contrast, the Arts District was electric with energy, the explosives there more fireworks than bombs, filling the air with brilliant flashes of color and light.
The scene at the western gate was grim. The barricade was under severe pressure from the battering rams and soldiers on the other side. Flashes of black uniforms and silver swords were visible through the cracks of the straining wood. Maxine was atop the blockade, shouting orders. When she caught sight of the queen, she scowled.
“I told you to stay in the palace,” the commander shouted down at the queen, her voice hoarse.
“I have a hostage,” Elodie said, waving the lock of Edgar’s hair. “Of the highest rank. If we alert them, maybe we can negotiate their retreat.”
Maxine descended the toppling structure to join her on solid ground. “What about Tal?”
“Tal isn’t here,” Katrynn said, extracting herself from the barricade and wiping sweat from her brow.
“He isn’t?” Maxine frowned.
“Sabine is on her way to the Lower Banks,” she said. “Where it all began.”
Elodie swore. While it was a rather poetic place for their confrontation, she hated the idea of Sabine on her own against Tal and the Second Son. They had recruited an army of anger to bolster her power. Without it, Sabine had no support to rely on but herself.
Another gigantic, splintering crack. The western gate was beginning to give way. Katrynn chewed on her thumb, turning to Maxine. “We’re going to have to sacrifice the harbor.”
Elodie shook her head. “Not yet.”
“We knew it might come to this,” Katrynn reminded the queen gently. “Everyone is out—we made sure of it. Artur is in place with Mol’s descendants. All we have to do now is let the soldiers follow the road to the water. And then”—she waggled her fingers—“boom.”
“It’s too risky,” Elodie said, even as she glanced over her shoulder at the deteriorating blockade.
“War is the highest risk,” Maxine said, nodding slightly at Katrynn. “We go for the harbor. We hope for the best. We pray that it’s the only thing we lose.”
Elodie took a deep shuddering breath. She knew Maxine was right. They had missed the opportunity to negotiate over Edgar. There was no other choice but to relinquish Harborside, home of Velle’s risen deity. “Do it.”
Maxine sprang into action, shouting for their army to fall into position, to line the alleys, to direct all movement toward the water, to keep themselves out of harm’s way.
“Majesty,” Maxine shouted, “take shelter. Now!”
The Republics’ army cascaded forth with thundering voices, sharp elbows, and even sharper swords. They came from all sides, blowing past the barricade as easily as a knife through butter. Somewhere to Elodie’s left, Maxine was barking orders, shouting with all that was left of her voice. The queen reached for her youngest sister’s hand, pulling Brianne toward the safety of the side streets. But Brianne was charged by a graceless soldier, his shoulder smacking her in the face, causing her to stumble. Elodie doubled back, pulling Brianne to her feet before she could be trampled by the army’s polished leather boots.
The scuffle had cost them precious seconds, time they had needed to navigate out of harm’s way. Elodie could no longer see Cleo, and though she called her sister’s name, she could not hear her over the clamor of the crowd. Soldiers were still spilling into the city center, separating Elodie and Brianne in their wave of momentum, jostling forward, toward the harbor and its awaiting bombs.
Elodie shouted for her siblings, but the force of the crowd was too fearsome. She was headed toward danger, and no matter how hard she fought against the crush of bodies, they would not part. She had been a fool, to think herself strategic enough to wage war. A coward, to command grand plans for others to enforce. She had no business being queen. She could not protect her siblings, let alone an entire country. She had lost herself to hubris, and now Velle would pay the highest price.
The dock was drawing nearer, the salt air sharp in her nose. Then a glimmer of hope, as Elodie spotted Cleo’s lithe fingers waving for help. The queen very nearly managed to grab her, felt the brush of her middle sister’s soft skin. But just as she dared to believe that they might claw their way to safety, the cobblestones emitted a deep, low groan and Harborside exploded.
33
