King’s Cage (Red Queen Book 3)

The green-uniformed teleporter lands evenly, on steady feet. It’s been a long time since the world squeezed and blurred for me. The last time was Shade. The split-second memory of him aches. Paired with my wound and the nauseating rush of pain, it’s no wonder I collapse to my hands and knees. Spots dance before my eyes, threatening to spread and consume. I will myself to stay awake and not vomit all over . . . wherever I am.

Before I can look much farther than the metal beneath my fingers, someone pulls me up into a crushing embrace. I cling on as hard as I can.

“Cal,” I whisper in his ear, lips brushing flesh. He smells like smoke and blood, heat and sweat. My head fits perfectly in the space between his neck and shoulder.

He trembles in my arms, shaking. Even his breath hitches. He’s thinking the same thing I am.

This can’t be real.

Slowly, he pulls back, bringing his hands to cup my face. He searches my eyes and glares over every inch of me. I do the same, looking for the trick, the lie, the betrayal. Maybe Maven has skin changers like Nanny. Maybe this is another Merandus hallucination. I could wake up on Maven’s train, to his ice eyes and Evangeline’s razor smile. The entire wedding, my escape, the battle—some horrific joke. But Cal feels real.

He’s paler than I remember, with blunt, close-cut hair. It would curl like Maven’s if given the chance. Rough stubble lines his cheeks, along with a few minor nicks and cuts along the sharp edges of his jaw. He is leaner than I remember, his muscles harder beneath my hands. Only his eyes remain the same. Bronze, red-gold, like iron brought to blazing heat.

I look different too. A skeleton, an echo. He runs a limp lock of hair through his fingers, watching the brown fade to brittle gray. And then he touches the scars. At my neck, my spine, ending with the brand below my ruined dress. His fingers are gentle, shockingly so after we almost ripped each other apart. I am glass to him, a fragile thing that might shatter or disappear at any moment.

“It’s me,” I tell him, whispering words we both need to hear. “I’m back.”

I’m back.

“Is it you, Cal?” I sound like a child.

He nods, his gaze never wavering. “It’s me.”

I move because he won’t, taking us both by surprise. My lips mold to his with ferocity, and I pull him in. His heat falls like a blanket around my shoulders. I fight to keep my sparks from doing the same. Still, the hairs on his neck rise, responding to the electric current jumping in the air. Neither of us closes our eyes. This might still be a dream.

He comes to his senses first, scooping me off my feet. A dozen faces pretend to look away in some semblance of propriety. I don’t care. Let them look. No flush of shame rises. I’ve been forced to do far worse in front of a crowd.

We’re on an airjet. The long fuselage, dull roar of engines, and clouds slipping past make it unmistakable. Not to mention the delicious purr of electricity pulsing through wires spanning every inch. I reach out, laying my palm flat against the cool, curved metal of the jet wall. It would be easy to drink the rhythmic pulse, pull it into me. Easy and stupid. As much as I want to gorge myself on the sensation, that would end very poorly.

Cal never removes his hand from the small of my back. He turns to look over his shoulder, addressing one of the dozen people harnessed in their seats.

“Healer Reese, her first,” he says.

“Sure thing.”

My grin disappears the second an unfamiliar man puts his hands on me. His fingers close around my wrist. The grip feels wrong, heavy. Like stone. Manacles. Without thought, I smack him away and jump back, as if burned. Terror mauls my insides as sparks spit from my fingers. Faces flash, clouding my vision. Maven, Samson, the Arven guards with their bruising hands and hard eyes. Overhead, the lights flicker.

The red-haired healer flinches back, yelping, as Cal smoothly angles between us.

“Mare, he’s going to treat your wounds. He’s a newblood, with us.” He braces one hand against the wall by my face, shielding me. Boxing me in. Suddenly the decent-sized jet is too small, the air stale and suffocating. The weight of manacles is gone but not forgotten. I still feel them at my wrists and ankles.

The lights flicker again. I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to focus. Control. But my heartbeat rages on, my pulse a thunder. I suck down air through gritted teeth, willing myself to calm down. You’re safe. You’re with Cal, the Guard. You’re safe.

Cal takes my face again, pleading. “Open your eyes, look at me.”

No one else makes a sound.

“Mare, no one is going to hurt you here. It’s all over. Look at me!” I hear the desperation in him. He knows as well as I do what could happen to the jet if I lose control entirely.

The jet shifts beneath my feet, angling down in a steady decline. Getting us close to the ground should the worst happen. Setting my jaw, I force my eyes open.

Look at me.

Maven said those words once. In Harbor Bay. When the sounder threatened to tear me apart. I hear him in Cal’s voice, see him in Cal’s face. No, I escaped you. I got away. But Maven is everywhere.

Cal sighs, exasperated and pained. “Cameron.”

The name rips my eyes open and I slam both fists into Cal’s chest. He stumbles back, surprised by the force. A silver flush colors his cheeks. He knits his brows in confusion.

Behind him, Cameron keeps one hand on her seat, steadily swaying with the motion of the jet. She looks strong, zipped into thick-weave tactical gear, with her fresh braids tightly wound to her head. Her deep brown eyes bore into mine.

“Not that.” Begging comes too easily. “Anything but that. Please. I can’t—I can’t feel that again.”

The smother of silence. The slow death. I spent six months beneath that weight and now, feeling myself again, I may not survive another moment with it. A gasp of freedom between two prisons is just another torture.

Cameron keeps her hands at her sides, long, dark fingers still. Waiting to strike. The months have changed her too. Her fire has not disappeared, but it has direction, focus. Purpose.

“Fine,” she replies. With deliberate motions, she crosses her arms over her chest, folding away her lethal hands. I almost collapse in relief. “It’s good to see you, Mare.”

My heartbeat still thrums, enough to make me breathless, but the lights stop flickering. I dip my head in relief. “Thank you.”

At my side, Cal looks on grimly. A muscle ripples in his cheek. What he’s thinking, I can’t say. But I can guess. I spent six months with monsters, and I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to be a monster myself.

Slowly, I sink into an empty seat, putting my palms on my knees. Then I lace my fingers together. Then sit on my hands. I don’t know which looks the least threatening. Furious with myself, I glare at the metal between my toes. Suddenly I’m very aware of my army jacket and battered dress, ripped at almost every seam, and how cold it is in here.

The healer notes my shiver and quickly drapes a blanket around my shoulders. He moves steadily, all business. When he catches my eye, he gives me a half smile.

“Happens all the time,” he mutters.

I force a chuckle, a hollow sound.

“Let’s see that side, okay?”

As I twist to show him the shallow but long gash along my ribs, Cal takes the seat next to me. He offers a smile of his own.

Sorry, he mouths to me.

Sorry, I mouth back.

Even though I have nothing to be truly sorry for. For once. I’ve come through horrendous things, done horrendous things to survive. It’s easier this way. For now.

I don’t know why I pretend to sleep. As the healer does his work, my eyes slip closed and they stay that way for hours. I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long it’s almost overwhelming. The only thing I can do is lean back and breathe easy. I feel like a bomb. No sudden moves. Cal stays close to my side, his leg pressed up against mine. I hear him shift occasionally, but he doesn’t speak with the others. Neither does Cameron. Their attention is reserved for me.

Part of me wants to talk. Ask them about my family. Kilorn. Farley. What happened before, what’s happening now. Where the hell we’re even going. I can’t get past thinking the words. There’s only enough energy in me to feel relief. Cool, soothing relief. Cal is alive; Cameron is alive. I’m alive.

The others mutter among themselves, their voices low out of respect. Or they just don’t want to wake me up and risk another brush with fickle lightning.

Eavesdropping is second nature at this point. I catch a few words, enough to paint a hazy picture. Scarlet Guard, tactical success, Montfort. The last takes me a long moment of contemplation. I barely remember the newblood twins, envoys of another nation far away. Their faces blur in my memory. But I certainly remember their offer. Safe haven for newbloods, provided I accompany them. It unsettled me then and unsettles me now. If they’ve made an alliance with the Scarlet Guard—what was the price? My body tenses at the implication. Montfort wants me for something, that much is clear. And Montfort seems to have aided my rescue.

In my head, I brush against the electricity of the jet, letting it call to the electricity inside me. Something tells me this battle isn’t over yet.

The jet lands smoothly, touching down after sunset. I jump at the sensation and Cal reacts with catlike reflexes, his hand coming down on my wrist. I flinch away again with a spike of adrenaline.

“Sorry,” he sputters. “I—”

Despite my churning stomach, I force myself to calm down. I take his wrist in my hand, fingers brushing along the steel of his flamemaker bracelet.

“He kept me chained up. Silent Stone manacles, night and day,” I whisper. I tighten my grip, letting him feel a bit of what I remember. “I still can’t get them out of my head.”

His brow furrows over darkening eyes. I know pain intimately, but I can’t find the strength to see it in Cal. I drop my gaze, running a thumb along his hot skin. Another reminder that he is here and I am here. No matter what happens, there is always this.

He shifts, moving with his lethal grace, until I’m holding his hand. Our fingers lace and tighten. “I wish I could make you forget,” he says.

“That won’t help anything.”

“I know. But still.”

Cameron watches from across the aisle, one tapping leg crossed over the other. She looks almost amused when I glance at her. “Amazing,” she says.

I try not to bristle. My relationship with Cameron, though short, was not exactly smooth. In hindsight, my fault. Another in a long line of mistakes I desperately want to fix. “What?”

Grinning, she unstraps from her seat and stands as the jet slows. “You still haven’t asked where we’re going.”

“Anywhere’s better than where I was.” I throw a pointed glance at Cal and pull my hand away to fool with the buckles of my harness. “And I figured someone would fill me in.”

He shrugs as he gets up. “Waiting for the right time. Didn’t want to overload you.”

For the first time in a long time, I truly laugh. “That is an absolutely horrific pun.”

His wide smile matches mine. “Does the job.”

“This is bleeding unbearable,” Cameron mutters to herself.

Once I’m free from my seat, I approach her, tentative. She notes my apprehension and shoves her hands in her pockets. It’s not like Cameron to back down or soften, but she does for me. I didn’t see her in the battle and I’d be stupid not to realize her true purpose. She’s on this jet to keep an eye on me, a bucket of water next to a campfire should it rage out of control.

Slowly, I put my arms around her shoulders, hugging her close. I tell myself not to flinch at the feel of her skin. She can control it, I tell myself. She won’t let her silence touch you. “Thanks for being here,” I tell her. I mean it.

She nods tightly, her chin brushing the top of my head. So damn tall. Either she’s still growing or I’ve started shrinking. Even money on both.

“Now tell me where here is,” I add, pulling back. “And what the hell I’ve been missing.”

She ducks her chin, gesturing toward the tail of the plane. Like the old Blackrun, this airjet features a ramp entrance. It lowers with a pneumatic hiss. Healer Reese leads the others out, and we follow, a few paces behind. I tense as we go, not knowing what to expect outside.

“We’re a lucky bunch,” Cameron says. “We get to see what Piedmont looks like.”

“Piedmont?” I glance at Cal, unable to hide my shock or my confusion.

He rolls his shoulders. Discomfort flashes across his face. “I wasn’t aware until this was planned. They didn’t tell us much.”

“They never do.” That’s how the Guard works, how it keeps ahead of Silvers like Samson or Elara. People know exactly what they need to, and nothing more. It takes a lot of faith, or stupidity, to follow orders like that.

I walk down the ramp, each step lighter than the last. Without the deadweight of manacles, I feel like I could fly. The other Guardsmen keep on ahead of us and join in with a crowd of other soldiers.

“The Piedmont branch of the Scarlet Guard, right? Big branch, by the looks of it.”

“What do you mean?” Cal mutters in my ear. Over his shoulder, Cameron eyes us both, equally puzzled. I glance between them, searching for the right thing to say. I choose the truth.

“That’s why we’re in Piedmont. The Guard has been operating here as in Norta and the Lakelands.” The words of the Piedmont princes, Daraeus and Alexandret, echo in my mind.

Cal holds my gaze for a moment, before turning to look at Cameron. “You’re close to Farley. You hear anything about this?”

Cameron taps her lip. “She never mentioned it. I doubt she knows. Or has clearance to tell me.”

Their tones change. Sharper, all business. They don’t like each other. On Cameron’s end, I understand. On Cal’s? He was raised a prince. Even the Scarlet Guard can’t scrub away every inch of brat.

“Is my family here?” I sharpen too. “Do you know that, at least?”

“Of course,” Cal replies. He’s not a good liar, and I see no lie in him now. “I was assured of it. They came from Trial with the rest of the Colonel’s team.”

“Good. I’m going to see them as soon as possible.”

The Piedmont air is hot, heavy, sticky. Like the deepest hole of summer, even though it’s only spring. I’ve never started sweating so quickly. Even the breeze is warm, offering no respite as it rolls across the flat, hot concrete. The landing field is awash with floodlights, so bright it almost crowds out the stars. In the distance, more jets line up. Some are forest green, same as the ones I saw in Caesar’s Square. Airjets like the Blackrun, as well as bigger cargo craft. Montfort, I realize as the dots connect in my brain. The white triangle on their wings is their mark. I saw it before, back at Tuck on crates of equipment and on the twins’ uniforms. Peppered in with the Montfort crafts are deep blue jets, as well as yellow-and-white ones, their wings painted in stripes. The first are Lakelander, the second from Piedmont itself. Everything around us is well-organized and, judging by hangars and outbuildings, well funded.

Clearly, we’re on a military base, and not the kind the Scarlet Guard is used to.

Both Cal and Cameron look just as surprised as I do.

“I just spent six months a prisoner, and you’re telling me I know more about our operations than the both of you?” I scoff at them.

Cal looks sheepish. He’s a general; he’s Silver; he was born a prince. Being confused and helpless deeply unsettles him.

Cameron just bristles. “Took you just a few hours to regain your self-righteousness. Must be a new record.”

She’s right, and it stings. I hurry to catch her, Cal at my side. “I just—sorry. I thought this would be easier.”

A hand at the small of my back bleeds warmth, soothing my muscles. “What do you know that we don’t?” Cal asks, his voice achingly gentle. Part of me wants to shake him out of it. I’m not a doll—not Maven’s doll, no one’s—and I’m in control again. I don’t need to be handled. But the rest relishes his tender treatment. It’s better than anything I’ve experienced in so long.

I don’t break my stride, but I keep my voice low. “On the day House Iral and the others tried to kill Maven, he was holding a feast for two princes from Piedmont. Daraeus and Alexandret. They questioned me beforehand, asking about the Scarlet Guard, their operations in their kingdom. Something about a prince and princess.” The memory sharpens into focus. “Charlotta and Michael. They’re missing.”

A dark cloud crosses Cal’s face. “We heard the princes were in Archeon. Alexandret died afterward. In the assassination attempt.”

I blink, surprised. “How do you—”

“We kept tabs on you as best we could,” he explains. “It was in the reports.”

Reports. The word spirals. “Is that why Nanny was embedded in court? To keep an eye on me?”

“Nanny was my fault,” Cal spits out. He glares at his feet. “No one else’s.”

Next to him, Cameron scowls. “Damn right.”

“Miss Barrow!”

The voice isn’t a shock. Where the Scarlet Guard goes, so does Colonel Farley. He looks almost the same as always: careworn, gruff, and brutish, close-cropped white-blond hair, his face lined with premature stress, and one eye clouded with a permanent film of scarlet blood. The only changes are the steady graying of his hair, as well as a sunburn across his nose and more freckles on his exposed forearms. The Lakelander isn’t used to Piedmont sunshine, and he’s been here long enough to feel it.

Lakelander soldiers of his own, their uniforms a split of red and blue, accompany him in flanking position. Two others in green trail along as well. I recognize Rash and Tahir at a distance, walking in even step. Farley isn’t with them. And I don’t see her on the concrete, leaving one of the airjets. It isn’t like her to turn from a fight—unless she never made it out of Norta. I swallow the sobering thought and focus on her father.

“Colonel.” I dip my head in greeting.

He surprises me when he puts out one incredibly callused hand.

“Good to see you whole,” he says.

“Whole as can be expected.”

That unsettles him. He coughs, looking between the three of us. A precarious place to be for a man who openly fears what we are.

“I’m going to see my family now, Colonel.”

There’s no reason to ask permission. I move to sidestep him, but his hand stops me cold. This time, I fight the gut urge to flinch away. No one else is going to see my fear. Not right now. Instead, I level my eyes on his, and let him realize exactly what he’s doing.

“This isn’t my decision,” the Colonel says firmly. He raises his eyebrows, imploring me to listen. Then he tips his head to the side. Over his shoulder, Rash and Tahir nod at me.

“Miss Barrow—”

“We’ve been instructed—”

“—to escort you—”

“—to your debriefing.”All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

The twins blink at me in unison, finishing their maddening tandem speech. Like the Colonel, they sweat in the humidity. It makes their matching black beards and ocher skin gleam.

Instead of punching them both, as I wish I could, I take a small step back. Debriefing. The thought of explaining all I’ve been through to some Guard strategist makes me want to scream or storm—or both.

Cal cuts between us, if only to cushion whatever blow I might send their way.

“You’re really going to make her do this now?” His tone of disbelief is undercut with warning. “It can wait.”

The Colonel exhales slowly, the picture of exasperation. “It may seem heartless”—he throws a cutting glare at the Montfort twins—“but you have vital information on our enemies. These are our orders, Barrow.” His voice softens. “I wish they weren’t.”

With a light touch, I push Cal to the side. “I’m—going—to—see—my—family—now!” I shout, speaking back and forth between the insufferable twins. They just scowl.

“How rude,” Rash mutters.

“Quite rude,” Tahir mutters back.

Cameron conceals a low laugh as a cough. “Don’t tempt her,” she warns. “I’ll look the other way if lightning strikes.”

“The orders can wait,” Cal adds, using all of his military training to seem commanding, even if he has little authority here. The Scarlet Guard sees him as a weapon, nothing more. I know because I used to see him the same way.

The twins don’t budge. Rash blusters, drawing himself up like a bird fluffing its feathers. “Certainly you have as much motive as anyone to aid in King Maven’s downfall?”

“Certainly you know the best ways to defeat him?” Tahir carries on.

They’re not wrong. I’ve seen Maven’s deepest wounds and darkest parts. Where to hit him to make him bleed most. But in this moment, with everyone I love so close, I can barely see straight. Right now, if someone chained Maven to the ground in front of me, I wouldn’t stop to kick him in the teeth.

“I don’t care who’s holding your leash, any of you.” I step neatly around them both. “Tell your master to wait.”

The brothers trade glances. They speak in each other’s thoughts, debating. I would walk away if I knew where to go, but I’m hopelessly adrift.

My mind already races ahead, to Mom, Dad, Gisa, Tramy, and Bree. I picture them holed up in another barracks, squeezed into a dormitory room smaller than our stilt house. Mom’s bad cooking stinking up the space. Dad’s chair, Gisa’s scraps. It makes my heart ache.

“I’ll find them myself,” I hiss, intending to leave the twins behind for good.

Instead, Rash and Tahir bow back, waving me on. “Very well—”

“Your debriefing is in the morning, Miss Barrow.”

“Colonel, if you would escort her to—”

“Yes,” the Colonel says sharply, cutting them both off. I’m grateful for his hastiness. “Follow me, Mare.”

The Piedmont base is much larger than Tuck, judging by the size of the landing field. In the dark it’s hard to tell, but it reminds me more of Fort Patriot, the Nortan military headquarters in Harbor Bay. The hangars are larger, the aircraft numbering in the dozens. Instead of walking to wherever we’re going, the Colonel’s men drive us in an open-topped transport. Like some of the jets, its sides are striped yellow and white. Tuck I could understand. An abandoned base, out of sight, out of mind, was probably easy for the Scarlet Guard to take. But this is none of those things.

“Where’s Kilorn?” I mumble under my breath, nudging Cal beside me.

“With your family, I assume. He bounced between them and the newbloods most of the time.”

Because he has no family of his own.

I drop my voice lower, to save the Colonel any offense. “And Farley?”

Cameron leans around Cal, her eyes oddly kind. “She’s in the hospital, but don’t worry. She didn’t go to Archeon; she isn’t injured. You’ll see her soon.” She blinks rapidly, selecting her words with care. “You two will have . . . things to talk about.”

“Good.”

The warm air tugs at me with sticky fingers, tangling my hair. I can barely sit still in my seat, too excited and nervous. When I was taken, Shade had just died—because of me. I wouldn’t blame anyone, including Farley, if they hated me for it. Time doesn’t always heal wounds. Once in a while, it makes them worse.

Cal keeps a hand on my leg, a firm weight as a reminder of his presence. Next to me, his eyes whip back and forth, noting every turn of the transport. I should do the same. The Piedmont base is unfamiliar ground. But I can’t bring myself to do much more than chew my lip and hope. My nerves buzz, but not from electricity. When we make a right, turning in to a network of cheery brick row houses, I feel like I might explode.

“Officers’ quarters,” Cal mutters under his breath. “This is a royal base. Government funded. There’s only a few Piedmont bases of this size.”

His tone tells me he wonders as I do. Then how are we here?

We slow in front of the only house with every window ablaze. Without thought, I vault over the side of the transport, almost tripping over the rags of my dress. My vision narrows to the path in front of me. Gravel walk, flagstone steps. The ripples of movement behind curtained windows. I hear only my heartbeat, and the creak of an opening door.

Mom reaches me first, outstripping both my long-limbed brothers. The collision almost knocks the air from my lungs, and her resulting hug actually does. I don’t mind. She could break every bone in my body and I wouldn’t mind.

Bree and Tramy half carry both of us up the steps and into the row house. They’re shouting something while Mom whispers in my ear. I hear none of it. Happiness and joy overwhelm every sense. I’ve never felt anything like it.

My knees brush against a rug and Mom kneels with me in the middle of the large foyer. She keeps kissing my face, alternating cheeks so quickly I think they might bruise. Gisa worms in with us, her dark red hair ablaze in the corner of my eye. Like the Colonel, she has a dusting of new freckles, brown spots against golden skin. I tuck her close. She used to be smaller.

Tramy grins over us, sporting a dark, well-kept beard. He was always trying to grow one as a teenager. Never got further than patchy stubble. Bree used to tease him. Not now. He braces himself against my back, thick arms wrapping around Mom and me. His cheeks are wet. With a jolt, I realize mine are too.

“Where’s . . . ?” I ask.

Thankfully, I don’t have time to fear the worst. When he appears, I wonder if I’m hallucinating.

He leans heavy on Kilorn’s arm and a cane. The months have been good to him. Regular meals filled him out. He walks slowly from an adjoining room. Walks. His pace is stilted, unnatural, unfamiliar. My father has not had two legs in years. Or more than one working lung. As he approaches, eyes bright, I listen. No rasp. No click of a machine to help him breathe. No squeak of a rusty old wheelchair. I don’t know what to think or say. I forgot how tall he is.

Healers. Probably Sara herself. I thank her a thousand times silently inside my heart. Slowly, I stand, pulling the army jacket tight around me. It has bullet holes. Dad eyes them, still a soldier.

“You can hug me. I won’t fall over,” he says.

Liar. He almost topples when I wrap my arms around his middle, but Kilorn keeps him upright. We embrace in a way we haven’t been able to since I was a little girl.

Mom’s soft hands brush my hair away from my face, and she settles her head next to mine. They keep me between them, sheltered and safe. And for that moment, I forget. There is no Maven, no manacles, no brand, no scars. No war, no rebellion.

No Shade.

I wasn’t the only one missing from our family. Nothing can change that.

He isn’t here, and never will be again. My brother is alone on an abandoned island.

I refuse to let another Barrow share his fate.