Crystal War E-Book

Joshua Palmatier

• Herausgeber: Zombies Need Brains, LLC
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Crystal Cities
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 550

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Rebellion Brings With It… Daunting Responsibility Devon Alamort, Lane Illea, and Dalton Trent have escaped the city of Iandolo, hoping to find refuge in Brovetto…with the Iandolan army on their heels. When they arrive, they find the city controlled by Prefect Raias Burdock, who attempts to arrest the entire group of refugees at the gate. But after being captured and imprisoned in Iandolo—with Lane sent to be executed and Devon tortured for the knowledge he possesses about how the magic within the Crystal Cities works—the two are willing to die rather than be retaken. Realizing that Lane could destroy him, even with his own Iandolan mages on hand, Burdock agrees to a stalemate, allowing Lane and the refugees into the city unmolested…but taking her parents, Dalton, and others as hostage. Devon knows what the Iandolans are capable of when it comes to the treatment of their prisoners, and Lane has no intention of leaving her mother in Burdock's hands for long. Both of them know it's only a matter of time before Councilor Havvelan, Proctor Favian, and Prefect Arctus lead the Iandolan army down the wayfare to attack Brovetto. After the riots incited in Iandolo, those from Iridesque plan to wipe the rebellious city and all of its people out, no matter the cost. Lane, Devon, and the citizens of Luminesque have only a short time to prepare. But Brovetto is a shell, a mining city depleted of its resources by the voracious Council. Only three of its levels have running water, one entire section is a burned-out husk, and almost none of its lucent works. Lane and Devon face an impossible task: Defend a city already half deserted with a handful of untrained mages and ordinary citizens as an army.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Title Page

Other Novels by Joshua Palmatier:

CRYSTAL WAR

Copyright © 2025 by Joshua Palmatier

Part I: Brovetto

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Part II: The Manse

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part III: The Siege

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

About the Author

CRYSTAL WAR

Other Novels by Joshua Palmatier:

The “Ley” Series:

Shattering the Ley

Threading the Needle

Reaping the Aurora

The “Well” Series:

Well of Sorrows

Leaves of Flame

Breath of Heaven

The “Throne of Amenkor” Series:

The Skewed Throne

The Cracked Throne

The Vacant Throne

The “Crystal Cities” Series:

Crystal Lattice

Crystal Rebel

Crystal War

Anthologies from Zombies Need Brains:

After Hours: Tales from the Ur-bar

The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity

Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs Aliens

Temporally Out of Order * Alien Artifacts * Were-

All Hail Our Robot Conquerors!

Second Round: A Return to the Ur-bar

The Modern Deity’s Guide to Surviving Humanity

Solar Flare * Submerged * Guilds & Glaives * Apocalyptic

When Worlds Collide * Brave New Worlds * Dragonesque

The Death of All Things * The Razor’s Edge * Portals

Temporally Deactivated * Galactic Stew

Derelict * Alternate Peace * Noir

My Battery Is Low and It Is Getting Dark

Shattering the Glass Slipper * Artifice & Craft * Game On!

Skull X Bones

CRYSTAL WAR

A Novel of the Crystal Cities

by

Joshua Palmatier

Zombies Need Brains LLC

www.zombiesneedbrains.com

Copyright © 2025 by Joshua Palmatier

All Rights Reserved

Interior Design (ebook): ZNB Design

Interior Design (print): ZNB Design

Cover Design by ZNB Design

Cover Art “Crystal War”

by Justin Adams

ZNB Book Collectors #39

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions of this book, and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

First Printing, Zombies Need Brains Edition, June 2025

Print ISBN-13: 978-1940709703

Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1940709710

Printed in the U.S.A.

Part I:

Brovetto

Chapter One

“So that’s Brovetto.”

Dalton stood with ex-Councilor Varenov, Lane, and the leader of the Brovettan rebels, John Senn, on the wayfare before the city. The refugees that had fled Iandolo—both Brovettan and those from other Crystal Cities—formed a makeshift camp in the predawn light on the elevated road behind them. It had grown in size as they traveled, until it now stood at over a thousand souls, all haggard and hungry, all exhausted.

But their goal was in sight.

Like Iandolo, Brovetto was built on a massive plateau high above the harsh and desolate Flatlands below. But that was where the resemblance ended. This city was low and wide, only five levels high. Instead of towering spires of lucent reaching into the heavens, there were squat buildings with rounded domes surrounded by walls and turrets, all rising toward an off-center complex of buildings that housed the governmental offices and army barracks. Obscured by darkness, he could only pick out odd angles and edges at first, outlined by the few sources of lucent light brightening the night. Iandolo would have been vibrant with lucent—in the towers, at mid-level, even some on the edges of the lower levels. Brovetto was the reverse, the bands of lucent few and far between. The lack of lucent was unsettling, even though Dalton had known to expect it based on everything Varenov and John had told him of the city on their way here.

But when the first rays of dawn touched the buildings, he sucked in a sharp breath. “It looks…dead.”

“It nearly is,” Varenov said.

“What you saw hidden in the depths of the lower levels of Iandolo—in the streets the gangs run and the dead zones near the hub—all of that is here, but on the surface.” Senn waved a hand at the crumbled buildings, the cracked lucent. “This is what has become of Brovetto after years of neglect and the constant incursions from Iandolo’s army. Once we depleted our mines of lucent, then of any other valuable ores, we were abandoned.”

Varenov frowned. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“But it is.”

Lane made a strangled noise. “Stop it. Both of you.” She nodded toward the slowly emerging city, the ruins a burnished gold. “We’re going to reach its waygate today. What should we expect?”

No one spoke.

Dalton faced Senn. “You were here most recently.”

Senn shrugged. “But that means nothing. Prefect Arctus and the Iandolan Army more or less rooted out all of the main rebel locations while he was here. I’m certain a few members have survived, but not many. I fled with those I could find before Arctus was finished. From what I heard while in Iandolo, he gutted the governmental structure here, since they backed Terrial’s attack at the Lyceum. I don’t know who’s in charge now. Likely someone from Iandolo, perhaps even someone from the army.”

Dalton turned to Varenov. “And what about you? Will they recognize you as Councilor?”

“It’s possible. I don’t know if the Council sent out reports about my removal and arrest. But even if those reports were never sent, there were refugees fleeing ahead of us. Whoever is in charge in Brovetto will have heard of the uprising, of the breaking of the waygate, of Erilyn’s activation of the Warding. They will be expecting us.”

“By now, they would have seen our group from the walls,” Senn added.

Dalton mulled it over, but it was Lane who spoke up first.

“I think we should have my mother approach them first. If they aren’t certain about her status as Councilor, perhaps we can get in that way. The refugees may not have thought to tell them of her slated execution.”

“It may be enough to at least get all of these people inside the gates,” Varenov said. “We can’t survive much longer out here on the wayfare. We’re barely surviving as it is.”

“And if not—” Lane crooked her hand. “—we can always force our way in.”

“Let’s hope that’s not necessary.”

“You’re assuming that once we’re close to the city your magic will work,” Senn said. “You haven’t been able to use it on the wayfare.”

Lane’s hand fell. “That’s true. But why wouldn’t it? It worked for the mages of the Iandolan Army when they were here.”

“I don’t know. But even now, all of you are underestimating how bad off the streets of Brovetto are. Even you, Varenov. It’s ten times worse than when you were here last.”

“Regardless,” Varenov interceded, “it’s probably best that you lay low, Lane, at least at first. No need to reveal all of our secrets. Let them think we are merely refugees.”

“There are going to be stories from those that came before us,” Senn said. “Of what she did at the waygate. They’re going to be searching for her.”

“Then we can only hope they don’t know what our daughter looks like.”

Dalton shifted to catch Varenov and Senn’s attention. “I’ll send Nic and Picall ahead of us to scout out the gate and the walls. We’ll make a decision on how to approach the city then. They may simply be letting all of the refugees in.”

Varenov nodded, although it was clear she didn’t believe him. She and Senn retreated, heads bent together, their conversation intense, Lane and Dalton following a few paces behind.

“You don’t really believe they’ll be letting everyone in, do you?” Lane asked.

Dalton sighed. “No. I expect the gates to be closed and that we’ll need your help getting them open.”

They entered the edge of the camp through the loose ring of guards, people beginning to stir. Most were bedded down as comfortably as possible on the stone of the wayfare, bundles of meager possessions used as pillows, blankets pulled tight against the night’s chill. Their faces were gaunt and hollow, but they were still alive. With the help of Maupin and the tullers, who had brought what food they could from the tull and hunted the Flatlands along the way when possible, and with what provisions had been stored along the way at regular waypoints, they’d managed to feed everyone with strict rationing. They’d only lost six people enroute—four to wounds received during the fight to escape Iandolo and two more to the harshness of the journey and the elements. Others had simply vanished, either walking away in the middle of the night or throwing themselves over the edge of the wayfare to the Flatlands a thousand feet below.

Dalton’s stomach growled as they passed the wagon that held all of the remaining food stock. He nodded at Arch, the bartender and his mercenaries already doling out the meager breakfast to those awake. Some bowed their heads to Dalton and Lane as they clutched the small bowls to their chest; others merely stared as they passed. Dalton had learned to ignore it all, although it still made him uncomfortable.

“Your mother’s hopes that you can lay low are pointless,” he said, motioning to all the attention they were drawing. “Everyone here knows who you are.”

“Do you think they’d betray us?”

“It only takes one.”

“True.” Lane glanced around them. “But do you notice a difference this morning? Everyone is a little more energetic, more animated.”

“Because we’re almost there. They likely haven’t thought about what might be waiting to greet us.”

They reached the wagon that had been converted into a medical unit, the bed covered with a rough tent to keep the sun off of those recovering. Lane snagged Dalton’s arm to halt him, forced him to face her.

“How’s Devon doing?”

“More or less the same as when you saw him last.”

“He knows we don’t blame him for anything that happened when he was in Havvelan’s hands, right?”

“He knows. We’ve said it enough times. But he doesn’t believe it.”

She clenched her hand in frustration, hatred flickering across her face, then focused on Dalton again. “Maybe once we reach Brovetto, once he’s all healed up…”

Dalton gave her a strained smile; Lane deserved at least that. “Maybe.”

She squeezed his arm. “I’ll get our gear together.” Then she headed off to their own pallets.

Dalton rounded the end of the wagon, to where the folds of the canopy lay closed, but paused. Shoulders bent, he gripped the wood of the wagon’s back panel, struggling to regain control. Straightening, he scrubbed at his face and eyes with one hand, glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his momentary lapse, then hauled himself up and through the flaps into the wagon bed.

Nic and Raven looked up as he entered, Nic reaching for his knife before recognition hit. Raven barely flinched. Devon lay in one of the pallets. Two others were occupied—one with a man who’d succumbed to heat exhaustion during the travels the day before and the second with a woman with a low-grade fever that hadn’t broken yet. A fourth was Raven’s, although Dalton rarely found her using it.

Dalton checked in on Devon first. The erstwhile Science student was asleep, his face still bruised and scuffed, but the marks were fading. His torn ear still looked like gnawed gristle, but hadn’t gotten infected. The swelling around his eye had receded.

He ran his hand through Devon’s sweat-matted hair, traced his fingers down the side of his face. Devon stirred, groaned in irritation, which made Dalton smile as he pulled away and let him settle again.

“He’s healing faster than I am,” Raven said quietly.

Dalton took a seat beside Nic, the other two shifting to make room. “Yet you’re the one up and about. I’ve even seen you outside the tent, walking with the others.”

“I’m a Regular. I can’t sit in this wagon tent all day. I get restless.”

“And irritable,” Nic said. “Downright grumpy, which is dangerous for everyone.” He jutted his chin out toward Devon. “No change. Moans in his sleep. Cries out once in a while. Quiet when he’s awake.”

“I didn’t expect anything else.” They sat in silence for a long moment before Dalton stirred. “Where’s Picall?”

“Guard duty.”

“Find her. We’re going to reach Brovetto today. I want you two to check it out before we get there.”

Nic stood, Raven a heartbeat behind. When the ex-gang member gave her a questioning look, she said, “I’ll come with you.”

Dalton ignored the silent communication that passed between them before they both climbed out of the wagon. As soon as they were gone, he slid down and lay next to Devon, draping one arm over Devon’s side. When he tensed, Dalton tightened his hold and kissed the back of Devon’s neck, until Devon shuddered and relaxed.

They lay like that for ten minutes, Dalton listening to the camp waking up. Devon whimpered and stiffened against his chest, then jolted awake with a choked cry, gasping. His hand fumbled for Dalton’s, clenched tight as he calmed.

“Nightmares again?” When Devon didn’t answer, he added, “The tower?”

“Favian was trying to get me to reveal more about the mage sigils, about the Source and the Outcome. I’d already told him everything, but he didn’t believe me. So he ordered Arctus to bring me your eye.” He twisted inside Dalton’s grip, until he could see Dalton’s face, one hand raised so he could brush his fingers over Dalton’s eyes. “When he tossed it on the floor before me, I woke up.”

“I’m fine. It was just a dream.”

“I can see that. But it was so real. Not just the dream, but when I was really there, in that room, tied to that chair. When he pulled back the cloth and revealed that toe, told me it was yours, I…I believed him. I could feel you, in that other room. Knew you were being tortured, being mutilated, all because of me.”

“It wasn’t me. I wasn’t there.”

Devon’s face crumpled as he fought back guilt and tears. “I know that now,” he choked out, voice thick with phlegm. “I do. But I still told them everything—about the double pyramids, about the sigils we learned from the Brovettan mages, about what Lane had discovered on her own. Everything.” He clenched his eyes closed. “I betrayed you all.”

Dalton pulled Devon’s head into his shoulder. “You didn’t betray us. None of us think so. Not even Lane. She said the Iandolan mages were already learning the Brovettan mages’ sigils. They used them to defend the internment camps, when they captured her. The cantrip? They used that to try to kill us during the executions at the Pulpit. And both cantrips and lightning when we were trying to escape the city.” He pulled back, caught Devon’s gaze, made certain he was listening. “You didn’t give them anything they didn’t already know or wouldn’t have figured out eventually on their own. At most, you helped them make the connections faster, that’s all.”

“But—”

“No. There’s nothing more to say. Besides—” He kissed Devon’s forehead and sat up. “—you didn’t tell them everything. You didn’t say anything about how you can fix lucent, right?”

“Favian only asked about the magecraft.”

“Then he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does. Now get up.” He stood and held out a hand. “We’re going to reach Brovetto today and from what I’ve seen, we’re going to need your help.”

Devon hesitated. “But…Lane.”

“You’re going to have to face her eventually. You can’t cower in this wagon forever.”

It hurt to see Devon flinch, but Dalton quashed the urge to let him stay. He gave a silent sigh of relief when Devon reached up and gripped his hand.

When he stepped down from the wagon, he found Lane waiting for him, their pallets and satchels clutched in her hands. But the moment she saw Devon emerging behind him, she dropped them and dashed forward, colliding with an audible thump.

“Careful,” Devon gasped. “I’m still healing up.”

Lane didn’t appear to hear, her grip tightening, tears in her eyes. “You bastard, making me worry like that.” She pulled back, checking him all over, sending an uncertain glance toward Dalton as she did so. He merely shrugged.

“Lane,” Devon said, catching her shoulders to draw her attention. His voice caught, but he continued. “Lane, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger. I’m sorry I told them about what we—what you—discovered.”

Lane shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. They would have found out eventually anyway. I’m sorry they did this to you.”

“They didn’t hurt you, did they? They told me—”

“No,” Lane interrupted sharply. “No, they didn’t hurt me. Not like they did you and a few others they were holding. They needed me for something else.”

“The execution. Dalton told me.”

“And a failsafe. In case they couldn’t get you to talk.”

Guilt twinged across Devon’s face again and Dalton started forward, but they were interrupted by the arrival of Varenov.

“Devon! Good to finally see you on your feet.” The ex-councilor gave him a curt nod as she passed out dried strips of meat to all of them from her pouch.

Dalton bit off a chunk of his. “Lizard,” he muttered as he chewed. “My favorite.” He noticed Devon had already finished and handed the rest of his over.

“Senn has spread the word,” Varenov said, the camp around them already beginning to shift forward. “We’re headed out.”

“I sent Nic, Picall, and Raven ahead.”

“Good.”

Mindell’s daughter appeared, the healer himself already climbing into the seat of the wagon.

“Did you want to ride?” she asked Devon.

He glanced at Lane, then Dalton. “I think I’ll walk. For as long as I can.”

“Let me know when you get tired. You can join my father on the driver’s bench.”

She climbed up into the back of the wagon, slapping its side. A moment later it lurched into motion.

Dalton grabbed Devon’s shoulder. “Let’s find out what Brovetto has to offer us.”

* * *

Nine hours later, a shout rose from the front of the group of refugees. Devon perked up on the bench to the healer’s wagon, then glanced down to where Dalton kept pace at its side.

“They’re calling for you, Dalton.”

“Stay here,” he ordered, then began to jog forward, the rest of the refugees grinding to a weary halt around him, most simply collapsing where they stopped.

He found Varenov, Senn, Lane, and Maupin waiting for him, Nic and Raven trotting in from the direction of Brovetto. The city walls filled the horizon, shimmering in liquid heat waves, maybe an hour distant at their current pace. The city itself barely rose above the walls, a blister on top of the plateau. Having only lived in the towering city of Iandolo, Dalton felt as if the city were missing, the place where it should stand achingly vacant.

He arrived at the same time as Nic and Raven, Senn motioning with one hand. “Report.”

Nic shot a glance at Dalton, but straightened. “The Luminesque waygates are closed and there are soldiers on the walls. They’re expecting us.”

“However,” Raven added, “there are no refugees outside the walls waiting to get in. I’d wager that they’ve been letting those who came before us inside and have only closed the gates recently.”

“Probably because of the size of our group,” Varenov said. “We’re large enough they may see us as a threat.”

“Where’s Picall?” Dalton asked.

“She stayed behind to see if they reacted. We’re fairly certain they saw us checking it out. There aren’t really any places to hide on the wayfare.”

“Then we should send someone to speak to them,” Varenov said. “Reassure them we aren’t the forefront of an army, that we’re merely refugees.”

“It has to be you, Varenov,” Senn said. “Whether they recognize you as councilor or not, you’re still the best negotiator we’ve got.”

Varenov stared toward the far walls, then nodded. “I’ll need a minimal escort. Dalton and Maupin as guards, along with Picall when we reach her. None of you have Iandolan uniforms—that alone will tip them off that I’m no longer officially a councilor—but it can’t be helped.”

“What about me?” Lane asked.

“You need to stay here,” Senn said, “with me, in case we need to force our way in.”

“Why aren’t you going?” Dalton asked.

“We can’t risk anyone recognizing me, knowing I was part of the rebellion from before. Those of us here in the group are going to try to blend in with the other refugees. I’ve already spread the word.”

Lane was clearly unhappy, but agreed with a quick, “Be careful,” to her mother and Dalton before retreating with Senn, Nic, and Raven to get the rest of the refugees prepared.

“Any particular words of wisdom?” Dalton asked Varenov as he, Varenov, and Maupin headed out at a brisk pace intended to outdistance the group behind them.

“Nothing springs to mind.”

Twenty minutes later Picall emerged from the heat shimmer, standing to one side of the wayfare, tuller staff cocked to one side. She joined them without a word. Ten minutes after that, they came within sight of the waygate.

Like that of Iandolo, the gate was a massive construct of metal and lucent, although here it was a burnt umber in color, unlike the vibrant blue of the gate Lane had broken in their escape. Dalton judged the gate and walls were smaller than that of Iandolo’s as well. Pennants snapped from the parapet and soldiers could be seen watching them from above.

“Nothing has changed since Nic and Raven left to report,” Picall said. “Some activity up above when they saw you approaching, but—”

A sharp metallic clang cut her off and a moment later one side of the gate began to open, wide enough to allow a group of ten soldiers dressed in the maroon and white of Iridesque to emerge. Dalton and Maupin stepped forward, but Varenov restrained them, bringing their group to a halt.

When the Iandolan guards approached, Dalton noted the green and gold armband—the colors of Luminesque—wrapped around their upper arm. They were in a standard protective formation, but when they halted ten paces away, those in front parted and a prefect stepped forward. He held himself stiffly, face narrow, eyes hard, puckered scars along one cheek. He scanned all four of them, brow pinched in uncertainty, then focused on Varenov.

“Councilor Varenov,” he said with a slight nod.

“Not a councilor any longer, Prefect Burdock.”

A tension in the prefect’s shoulders eased slightly. “So we have heard—from the refugees we’ve already received and our most recent reports from the Council and Prefect Arctus.” Burdock’s gaze shifted behind them. “May I assume that those with you are refugees as well?”

“They are. Some of them are wounded, all of them hungry.”

“I can imagine. I’m surprised you made it all the way from Iandolo with this many.”

“We lost a few along the way.”

Dalton didn’t see Burdock signal, but the nine other soldiers began to spread out to either side of them. Picall reacted instantly, skipping backwards and bringing her staff to the ready. Dalton and Maupin drew their swords, Dalton pulling Varenov in behind him. The soldiers tensed, their arc half complete.

“Hold!” Burdock commanded, and all of them halted, weapons steady.

Burdock took a step toward Varenov. “I will allow them within the gates on one condition—that you surrender yourself.”

“Don’t,” Maupin said. “They’ll kill you. Or send you back to Iandolo so Havvelan can finish what he started.”

“Maupin, Dalton, Picall, stand down,” Varenov said. “I knew this was the likely outcome, especially once I recognized Prefect Burdock. He has always been loyal to Arctus. I suspect that’s why he was placed in charge here in Brovetto.” She drew herself upright, as regal as if she were still a councilor. “You will allow them entry? Feed them and provide healers for the wounded?”

“Of course.”

“Then I agree.”

Dalton’s hand clenched tight on the handle of his sword. “Varenov—”

She shot him a glance and shook her head. “This is the only way. Maupin, Picall, head back to the refugee group. Tell them they’ve agreed to let us in. Don’t tell anyone on what condition.”

With clear reluctance, Maupin backed toward Picall, then both tullers retreated, wary at first, then at a run.

Dalton sheathed his sword and sidled closer to Varenov. “What are you doing?”

“Ensuring that everyone gets inside the gates. None of them will survive much longer trapped outside.” At Dalton’s look, she added, “I may not officially be a councilor for Luminesque, but I am still responsible for protecting them.”

Consternation crossed Burdock’s face, but he motioned to his men. “If you will follow me.”

Varenov didn’t move. “Not until all of the refugees are inside Brovetto.”

The two glared at each other until Burdock relented. “Very well.” He turned and issued orders to two of his men, both heading back into the city at a run. Shortly after, the gate opened wider.

They waited, the small group edging to one side as the sun began to set. Dalton wiped sweat from his forehead, felt the grit that had stuck there, and fidgeted, trying to capture Varenov’s gaze. But she ignored him.

Then the refugees arrived, Dalton surprised to find Maupin and Picall leading them, with Nic, Arch, and Raven urging everyone forward around the three wagons. Arch’s mercenaries and Maupin’s tullers were scattered throughout the group, Senn’s rebels blending in with the regular refugees, both the Brovettans they’d freed and those regular citizens from all of the other Crystal Cities that they’d accumulated those first few days’ march from Iandolo’s broken and Warded gates. He nearly missed Senn, walking with a woman and two children, one of them held in his arms. Lane was helping an elderly man with a cane, although she cast her mother a surreptitious worried frown. When he didn’t see Devon, Dalton inadvertently stepped forward, until he caught a hand wave from Mindell indicated he was inside the tented wagon.

As the last of the refugees filed through the gates, Burdock said, “After you, Varenov.”

They entered, Dalton staying close to Varenov’s side. The refugees had been herded into the center of the plaza, surrounded by ranks of Iandolan soldiers.

“What is the meaning of this, Prefect Burdock?” Varenov demanded as the gates behind them began to close.

“I’m afraid, Councilor Varenov, that—like all of those who came before you—everyone is under arrest.”

“For what?”

“For being insurrectionists.”

Varenov spun on him. “These people are not insurrectionists! Most of them are Brovettans, simply hoping to return home. The rest are citizens that got caught up in the upheaval in Iandolo and fled for their lives!”

“Agreed. And I have no doubt that some of them are indeed insurrectionists, the instigators of that upheaval. Until I am certain which are which, you are all under arrest.”

The gates rumbled shut with a hollow boom.

“Welcome to Brovetto, councilor.”

Chapter Two

Varenov watched in mute anger as Prefect Burdock’s soldiers moved on the crowd of refugees in the square. A squad seized Maupin, Picall, Raven, Nic, and Arch, those who had led the Brovettans and others into the city, and escorted them off to the side. The others began dividing the refugees into two groups, herding them toward two large buildings on either side of the gates—an army barracks and an armory. People began to protest, some vociferously, many struggling, but they were all exhausted and there were too many soldiers. She caught sight of Mindell on the medical wagon, Cerelle and Sadie, a few others, but not Lane or John.

Dalton stood at her side, hands clenched. She could feel his tension.

Facing Burdock, she asked, “You promised to aid them.”

“And I will,” Burdock answered. “They are citizens of the Crystal Cities, after all.”

From the main thoroughfare behind him, a slew of carriages arrived. One of them pulled up beside them. Burdock stepped forward and opened the door, motioned with one hand. “After you, councilor.”

She glanced to the side to see Maupin and the others forced into the other carriages. Nic looked her way with a dark frown.

Turning back, she gave Burdock a similar look, then stepped up into the carriage. Dalton and Burdock joined her a moment later with another captain, who slapped the roof before they were all settled, the carriage lurching into motion.

She shifted in the cramped quarters, the carriage jolting over a rough patch of stone. “Where are you taking us?”

“The governmental buildings on the Fifth Level, to the councilor’s quarters actually. They’re currently unoccupied.”

“They’ve been unoccupied for nearly twenty years.”

“True. But isn’t that your fault, councilor? You were the representative of this province, yet you rarely traveled here.”

“I felt I was helping the Brovettans more by being in Iandolo, where I could influence the other councilors.”

“And yet, look at the city you left behind.” He motioned toward the window.

She hesitated, then pulled the curtain aside.

People filled the streets, stepping into shops or pausing at carts pulled up along buildings, but everyone looked weary and worn down. Nearly everyone was gaunt, their clothes hanging off of them, as tattered and worn as their faces. They stared at the carriages as they passed, some fearfully, others with hatred. Many buildings appeared abandoned, even on this main thoroughfare, some with vacant windows or doors, a few with walls or roofs collapsed inwards. Active lucent was rare, the streets lined with oil lamps instead, their harsh smell prickling her nose. Varenov had seen places like this in Iandolo, but they were all in the lower levels, and even then the people had appeared more robust. But she knew she hadn’t been deep inside the city. Not as deep as Lane and Devon and the others had been. She’d only seen the surface.

They passed a marketplace, more active and energetic than the streets, giving her hope, then a park. But as they passed up through the levels, nothing much changed. When they finally reached the Fifth Level and Burdock motioned her and Dalton out, she noted that even the governmental buildings had rough edges—cracks in the stone and scars along rooftops and around windows. Black char surrounded the double doors into the hall, residual signs of the fighting that had gone on when Prefect Arctus had come to purge the city of the rebels who’d fallen in with Terrial and attacked Iandolo. Inside, the results of the fighting were more evident, with doors torn from their moldings, additional signs of mage fire, cracked walls, and broken lucent.

Maupin, Arch, Nic, Picall, and Raven were led inside, then taken off to the left. Soldiers moved forward to separate Dalton and Varenov, but Dalton stiffened, hand moving toward his sword.

Varenov placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t. Go with them. We don’t want any trouble. Everything will be fine.”

He gave her a troubled look, but didn’t resist when they took him off in the same direction as the others.

When she turned back, Burdock gave her a tight smile and preceeded her up the curved stairs in the foyer. Here, some of the lucent still worked, a few flickering, but most intact and glowing brightly. Veins of it swirled up the wall in blue and yellow.

Upstairs, down a long hall, Burdock stopped before an open door and motioned her inside, where a chair sat at the end of a long table.

“Have a seat, Councilor Varenov. We have a lot to talk about.”

* * *

“I can get us out of here within minutes,” Lane said, stepping forward and raising one hand, but her father restrained her.

When she twisted herself free, he said, “They have your mother hostage.”

“My mother wouldn’t want that to stop me.”

“That’s true, and we’ll use your talent if necessary, but right now we have other, less violent, means.”

“What do you mean?”

Senn glanced around the barracks where they’d been herded by the Iandolan soldiers, then motioned her to one side. The group had been split between two buildings to either side of the gates. The wagons had been taken to the armory across the way. Lane had tried to follow them, hoping to reach Devon, but the soldiers had moved too quickly, dividing the rest of the group into two. She’d been caught up with Senn and the families they’d pretended to be part of and escorted into the old barracks. Maupin, Picall, Raven, Nic, and Arch had been singled out and led off with her mother and Dalton toward the governmental buildings—all of those that had acted as leaders when they’d arrived. She’d seen Cerelle and Sadie near the wagons earlier and assumed they’d been taken in with them, but she didn’t know where any of the others were.

Senn drew up near three men, all Brovettan, who gave curt nods. One of them turned away, strode off a few paces, and kept an eye on the Iandolan soldiers around the barracks still getting the captives situated as the other two sidled closer.

“What’s the situation?” Senn asked.

“We lost a third of us to the other group, but some of Maupin’s tullers can make up for that. They should be willing, since they hauled off Maupin himself.”

“Good. What about Arch’s mercenaries?”

The two glanced at each other and the second man said, “We can approach them.”

“And Mouse?”

The first man snorted. “He’s already outside. You can’t keep him locked up.”

“Then for now, we wait. See who else you can gather up.”

The two men nodded, then drifted away, the lookout headed in a different direction.

Irritated, Lane asked, “What was that all about?”

“Planning.” When she crossed her arms over her chest, his mouth twisted into a faint smile and he shook his head. “Just like your mother.” Then he faced her. “Neither your mother nor I thought we’d walk into Brovetto and take over, so we planned ahead.”

“You knew we’d be arrested?”

“We thought it likely, yes.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Right now, one of my men—Mouse—has slipped out of the barracks. He’s good at things like that. He’s going to head into the city to see if any of our rebel friends are still around. I don’t think there will be many, but they couldn’t have all been caught or killed. Once we know what kind of support we’ll have from the outside, we’ll figure out our next move.”

Lane remained silent for a moment, troubled, then: “You said ‘walk into Brovetto and take over.’ Is that the end goal? To take over?” She couldn’t help letting an edge of accusatory anger creep into her voice. “That’s what you want isn’t it? To seize control? Like you did with our attempts to help the Brovettans as soon as you arrived in Iandolo.”

Her father rubbed at his eyes with the fingers of one hand, pinched the bridge of his nose. When his hand fell, he stared off toward the roof of the barracks, collecting himself, then turned back.

“That wasn’t what we wanted in the beginning, all those years ago. We just wanted regular meals, a decent place to live. That’s what we were fighting for. Peacefully, at first. It’s why your mother got involved. But nothing changed, no matter how much we protested or begged. Things only got more desperate. So we started to fight back. That’s when your mother got disillusioned. When the protests became violent, she pulled away—from the group…from me. I knew I was losing her but I couldn’t see any other option. And I couldn’t just…” He grasped at the air with both hands, then let them fall. “I couldn’t just let it go. Not for her. Not when there were so many here starving, killing themselves just to survive. And for a while, the violence worked. Things improved, because others began to pay attention to those living in the slums. We stopped the violence because things got better, but that faded. Without the reminders, without the threat, it’s easy for people to forget.

“So we started up again, pushed harder. We wanted change, not just a few placating words and an empty promise that lasted only as long as the breath taken to make it. Real change. And with every action we took, your mother stepped farther and farther away. Until we went too far, or pushed too hard, and triggered a response from the Council.”

“The raid led by Favian.”

Senn nodded. “The group’s intent was to capture Councilor Orland and demand change from the Council. The Iandolan Army that had been sent to protect him found out about it and when they interceded…it all went to hell. Orland was killed, among others, which they blamed on us, of course. Our group managed to escape in the aftermath, for the most part, shocked at how brutal it had all become. Both sides were reeling. Your mother saw an opportunity and she took it, never thinking that the Council would end up appointing her as Orland’s replacement. She’d simply seen a chance to end it all without violence—improve conditions for those in Brovetto and allow Iridesque a clean way out of the debacle.

“But as before, the attention and aid faded over time. Oh it took longer, much longer, but our group never really went away. The core of it remained, always in the background, and eventually we began to emerge again, this time with a mage.”

“Terrial.”

“We thought it would give us an advantage, especially when she began training other mages. We never expected her to break away on her own and offer her mages to the leaders of the government at the time, who had their own ambitions. The idiots.”

“So they attacked Iandolo, triggered the Warding, and nearly seized control of the Crystal Cities. I don’t see how that justifies why you need to take over here, now. It would seem to be the reverse.”

“Because none of them were Brovettan! We haven’t had anyone leading Luminesque who was Brovettan for decades! We are Brovettan. We should be the ones making decisions about our own city!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “Our city is controlled by the Council. And our representative on the Council has been a pawn of Iandolo for as long as anyone here can remember. We need to break that cycle. And unlike those that used Terrial to create the Warding, we aren’t trying to take over all of the Crystal Cities. We just want control of our own.”

Some of the stiff anger bled from Lane’s shoulders. Since her father’s sudden appearance in Iandolo, she’d kept her distance, even on the enforced journey from Iandolo to Brovetto along the wayfare. She’d avoided him, had resented his arrival, caught off guard because her mother had led her to believe that her father was dead. His first action had been to seize control of Maupin’s operation to rescue the Brovettans. That had become his main focus. It hadn’t seemed as if he wanted to connect with her, his own daughter. He’d cared more about breaking down the internment camps. That hadn’t changed even after Lane’s capture, according to Nic.

So she’d avoided him, shoved him away whenever he tried to approach her to talk. He’d said more to her in the last ten minutes than he had since he’d first arrived in Iandolo. His presence put her on edge, but at least now she understood a little better why he’d been so intent on the Brovettans’ plight before.

Still wary, she asked, “And how are you going to do that? How are you going to take over?”

“First, we’re going to have to eliminate the Iandolan guard that Prefect Arctus left here.”

Lane didn’t like the word ‘eliminate,’ but she didn’t have time to protest as someone called out her name. She turned to find Proctor Arrend and a cadre of the Lyceum students and proctors he’d brought with him headed toward her.

“Lane!” Arrend repeated. His gaze flicked toward her father. “And John Senn. Good to see you both.” He drew up close, the proctors and students—Lane recognized Jillian, Itch, and Alan, along with a few of the younger mage students—shuffling to a halt behind him. He glanced around surreptitiously. “I presume we don’t intend to stay here?”

“And why is that?” her father asked.

“Because none of us fled Iandolo with the hopes that we’d be arrested in Brovetto and sent immediately back.”

“We can help,” Jillian said. “We want to help.”

Alan and Itch nodded.

Arrend gave the History student a strained look. “As Jillian says, we want to help. The proctors with us are mostly Arts and Humanities, but we do have a few War students and mages.” He looked at Lane pointedly. “They can be taught.”

Her father looked the group over with a frown. “I’m not certain—”

“Listen up!” someone shouted from the front of the abandoned barracks.

A man in a captain’s uniform climbed up onto one of the few chairs scattered around the room amongst the pallets along the walls. Those in the hall, clumped in fearful and uncertain groups, slowly fell silent. Behind him, in the open space before the doors, soldiers appeared and began to set up tables and chairs in two tiers.

“You are all under arrest,” the captain began, then raised a hand at the sudden grumble from everyone gathered. “We know most of you are simply refugees from the recent troubles in Iandolo, but we also know there are insurgents among you that caused the uprising in the first place. If you know of any of these insurgents, it would be best if you pointed them out to us immediately.” He paused, glancing around. Lane wanted to shrink back, but her father didn’t budge, stood perhaps a touch straighter. There was a restless shifting around the suddenly silent room, glances thrown in all directions, but no one spoke up.

“Very well,” he said, and motioned with one hand. The soldiers in the first tier sat and set out paper and ink, while others moved into the crowd. “We’re going to interview each of you one at a time. Provide your name, occupation, and any family with you. We will ask you additional questions about the unrest in Iandolo. Any weapons you have on you will be confiscated. If you know of any insurgents among you, this will be your last chance to point them out. We know many of you are wounded and that all of you are hungry. After you’ve been questioned, we will provide a healer, if necessary, and food.”

The doors opened, guarded by a squad of soldiers on either side, and others were escorted in. A group of four began setting out medical supplies on one of the tables in the second tier, while the others began pulling loaves of bread, apples, and other assorted foods from baskets and crates brought in behind them.

The scent of fresh baked bread struck Lane like a hammer. Her gut seized and her mouth flooded with saliva. She nearly groaned. Many of those gathered took an involuntary step forward.

The captain smiled.

The soldiers that had moved into the crowd of refugees each singled out someone and drew them forward. A few resisted, at which the soldiers became more forceful. One woman cried out and wrested herself free, stumbling to the ground. As a Brovettan tried to help her up, two additional soldiers stepped forward and shoved the man back, snatching the woman up and hauling her forward to one of the tables, throwing her to her knees before it and standing behind her to keep her there.

Lane noticed men and women scattered throughout the room casting furtive glances toward her father, a few adjusting position to indicate their swords or knives, but he signaled back with a shake of his head, then turned slightly toward Lane and Arrend.

“This complicates things.”

“Should we do something?” Arrend asked.

“Not at the moment. But you should be prepared to act if necessary.” He looked at Lane in particular. “Your mother may be a hostage, but that doesn’t mean she’s powerless.”

* * *

Varenov settled herself into the single chair, back stiff, hands in her lap. She eyed Burdock across the length of the table. “What do you intend to do?”

Burdock placed both hands on the table and leaned toward her. “Send you back to Iandolo, to face your delayed execution.”

“That may be harder than you think, but I didn’t mean with me. I meant with the refugees.”

The Prefect hesitated, then pushed himself back upright. “My men are processing them now.”

“Processing?”

“Each will be interviewed. The insurrectionists will be rooted out and returned with you to Iandolo to face judgment. Those that are true refugees, whether Brovettan or not, will be allowed to stay.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Oh, I believe we’ll find someone willing to point out those responsible.”

Two Iandolan soldiers entered with trays of cheese, bread, and sliced apples. A third poured two glasses of wine. Then all three departed.

Burdock waved to Varenov’s tray and glass. “Eat. Drink.” His voice grew harder. “And tell me everything that happened in Iandolo that led you to this.”

Varenov shifted forward and rested her clasped hands on the table but didn’t touch anything. “It’s simple. After Arctus left to come here to purge Luminesque of the conspirators who allied with the mage Terrial, the Council decided to round up and imprison all of those of Brovettan blood.”

“Imprison?”

Varenov narrowed her eyes. “That’s not what the Council called it, of course. They sequestered them in established zones at different levels of the city. I objected to this plan, vehemently, but I was overruled by the other councilors. Others also disagreed and the zones were attacked and the Brovettans freed. The Council concluded I had helped those who aided the Brovettans and so I was arrested and slated for execution.”

“And did you help them?”

“I helped the Brovettans who’d been forced into the zones. The living conditions were deplorable and the soldiers ostensibly guarding them were treating the Brovettans like animals. Less than animals, actually. I had no contact with those that eventually freed them. Or, at least, freed most of them.”

Burdock frowned. “Iandolan army soldiers were guarding them?”

“Supplemented by those who’d volunteered or been recruited into the new War colleges that were initiated shortly before you and Arctus left for Brovetto.”

“But they could not possibly have been fully trained—”

“They weren’t.”

They stared at each other, Burdock’s brow creased in consternation, and Varenov drew in a sudden breath of comprehension.

“You’ve heard none of this before now, have you? You haven’t been getting reports from Arctus. You only know what you’ve managed to gather from the refugees that arrived before us.”

“What happened after you were arrested?” Burdock asked, voice sharp. “What happened at the execution?”

Varenov allowed herself a thin smile. “Arctus attacked the gangs in the lower levels because they aided the Brovettans—were actively hiding those that escaped—and in retaliation, the gangs interrupted the execution. I escaped in the confusion, but by then the entire city had erupted into chaos. There was fighting on every level and everyone not fighting was either hunkering down to ride it out or attempting to flee. I joined up with a group attempting to flee…and now I’m here.”

“Your departure wasn’t as simple as that. Iandolo closed its gates. You destroyed them!”

“I didn’t destroy them. My daughter did. To set us free. To set everyone in the plaza who was attempting to flee free.”

“And then what? Your daughter created a Warding to keep the Iandolan Army from following you?”

“No, the Warding was released by someone else. But yes, it allowed those that escaped to run without being hounded by soldiers. And yet, I don’t think you’ve realized exactly what that Warding means for you.”

Burdock stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Varenov stood. “No one in Iandolo knows how to bring down a Warding. Those that brought the one holding the Lyceum before are here now, with me. And yes, I’m certain that someone at the college—Proctor Favian, perhaps—will eventually figure out how to take it down, but in the meantime, no one can leave Iandolo by the Brovettan gateway. Not Arctus. Not Havvelan. And certainly not the Iandolan Army. You’re cut off, Prefect. Whatever forces you have here are all that you’ve got. There won’t be any reinforcements from Iridesque. Not within the next few weeks. Probably not within the next few months. You’re alone.”

Burdock bristled. “Hardly alone. I have a full contingent of Iandolan soldiers here. What do you have? A smattering of insurgents? Refugees?”

“I have my daughter.”

Burdock faltered, but rallied. “We have our own mages stationed here.”

“Can they stand against her? She defeated the mage who set up the first Warding around the college, after taking that Warding down. She destroyed the lucent gates in Iandolo to get here. Can your mages deal with that?”

Burdock didn’t answer, so Varenov leaned forward.

“Your men are processing the refugees right now, Prefect. My daughter is down there, among them. And all she needs is a reason.”

* * *

“We can’t let them do this,” Lane said. She paced back and forth behind a shield of men and women her father had slowly assembled as the Iandolan soldiers continued their interviews. “It’s like the quarantine zones all over again.”

“You need to calm down.” Senn motioned toward the front of the building, where the two tiers of tables stood. “Some of those they’ve interviewed are getting food and medical attention.”

“And some of them are being led off to one side, under guard. Most of them are your men, or Maupin’s or Arch’s.”

“I see that. But not all of them. They’re singling out anyone who looks like they can fight, or had weapons on them when they were searched. A few made it through their questioning. No one has given us up yet.”

“And how long is that going to last? We can’t let what happened in Iandolo happen again here. We need to do something!”

“Like what?”

One of the Brovettans being questioned suddenly shouted, “You can’t! I’m a citizen of the Crystal Cities! Just a merchant for shard’s sake! Look at me!” He leaped up from where he’d been kneeling in front of the table, head snapping around in desperation. For a moment, his gaze locked onto Lane’s.

Then two soldiers closed in on him from opposite sides. With a cry, he lurched toward where those that hadn’t been questioned yet were huddled in groups, but one of the soldiers tripped him. He landed hard, face smashing into the stone floor, and before he could recover they were on him. Each grabbed an arm and hauled him upright, blood dripping from a broken nose. He moaned as they began to drag him toward the others that had obviously been singled out as insurgents.

“Lane—” Senn began.

But she’d had enough. She pushed past her father and through the small group that surrounded them, out into the open area that had formed between those who’d escaped Iandolo and the soldiers. One of the guards shouted a warning and within a breath every soldier in the room had tensed or drawn a weapon, a few of them dashing toward her.

Drawing to a halt, she sketched out the base sigil and said, “That’s enough.”

The guards that had headed toward her staggered to a stop, shifting uneasily. Behind her, she heard movement and caught some of her father’s men fanning out to either side of her, blades bared if they had them. The soldiers surrounding those already singled out closed ranks to keep them there, while everyone else remained where they were.

“I see we’ve finally flushed some of you out.”

Lane’s gaze centered on the captain as he moved forward, his men shifting position behind him. She waited until he was ten feet away, then raised her hand slightly. “No closer, unless you want to burn.”

The captain paused. A few of his men continued changing position but he stilled them all with a gesture. “You do realize we have our own mages here, don’t you?”

Behind him, near the door, a man edged into the light. He was dressed like one of the soldiers, not in the gray robes mages usually wore in the army, but his hand was crooked exactly like Lane’s, the base sigil already set.

Lane smiled. “Hello, Cole. How’d you get stuck with this assignment?”

“Recent graduate, as you know. Luck of the draw.”

The sound of shouting and running feet came from outside, then the doors to the barracks were flung wide open, a contingent of Iandolan soldiers flooding in, including another mage, older than Cole by at least ten years, one Lane didn’t recognize.

The captain took another step forward. “I presume you are Lane Illea, Varenov’s daughter. We’ve been looking for you.”

“Here I am. Who are you?”

“Captain Silleac.”

“You need to stand down, Captain Silleac. Let us go. Before this escalates.”

Silleac chuckled. “Why would I do that? We have your mother.”

“We didn’t fight our way out of Iandolo, out of the internment camps, the towers, only to be imprisoned again here. My mother would agree with me.”

“My mages can deal with you. My soldiers can handle the rest.”

“Are you certain about that?”

Her father’s voice startled her, almost made her lose the form she held.

Senn stepped up beside her, motioned toward the two mages. “I’m certain they’ve heard of what Lane has done, perhaps even seen it themselves on the grounds of the Lyceum. Since then, she’s fought against mages at the internment camps, in the lower levels, even broke open the gates of the outer wall. Can your mages match that?”

Cole’s eyes widened and he fidgeted, but the other mage held steady.

Silleac shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

Lane swore and began her secondary sigil—a shield, to protect those around her from whatever Cole and the other mage threw at her—as Senn shouted out orders and all of the men and women with weapons surged forward. Screams erupted and the refugees near the tables dropped to the ground, some still clutching bread in their hands. The men already separated out and under guard leapt onto their captors.

Lane focused her attention on the older mage. As she finished the form, the shield rising from the stone floor in an arch of scintillant light, the other mage completed a fire sigil, flames roaring toward her. A few of the soldiers flattened themselves to the ground moments before it would have struck them, while others rushed into a protective formation around the mage, one Lane recognized from the Lyceum. The fire hit her shield and exploded outwards in a fan before sputtering out. Senn’s men were engaging the Iandolan soldiers on either side of the edge of her shield, holding them back.

Lane had completed the base form and started a fire sigil of her own when someone bellowed, “Hold!”

Lane paused, most of those fighting closer to the entrance to the barracks doing the same, including the mage, but kept her hand crooked. Three figures stood silhouetted by the open doors—a guardsman, the prefect—

And her mother.

When the fighting to either side of her shield continued unabated, the prefect took a few steps forward and roared, “I said HOLD!”

Slowly, the clash of swords, grunts, and cries of pain died down, the soldiers pulling back from the shield. Men panted, cursed, or winced at wounds. One or two were kneeling or prostrate, either unconscious or moaning. A few were bleeding.

Silleac strode up to Prefect Burdock and protested, too softly for Lane to hear the words, but his demeanor was clear. Burdock raised a hand to quiet him, his gaze raking across the shambles of the barracks.

Lane’s shield chose that moment to die. As its light drifted upwards and faded, she found herself exposed. Burdock noticed her immediately.

“Stand down, Lane. Your mother and I have come to an agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“A truce, of sorts. We’ll let you and all of your refugees into the city, unmolested. No questioning, no interviews. We’ll even provide medical treatment and food.”

Everyone around the room shifted, the refugees with murmurs of hope, the soldiers with rumblings of disapproval.

Lane kept her eyes on Burdock. “In exchange for what?”

“We maintain control of the governmental buildings and the gates. And you hand over your mother and the leader of the insurrectionists, John Senn.”

Lane’s gaze shot to her mother, who straightened and gave her a slight nod, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Protests rose from around the room, on both sides.

“You can’t do this,” Silleac spat. “We have them. We can take them all down now!”

“Are you certain of that, captain?” Burdock’s voice was sharp but calm.

Silleac bit off what he was going to say next and turned away.

Lane felt her father’s presence at her side, caught Arrend’s profile on the other, but she ignored them both.

“What do you intend to do to them?” she asked Burdock.

“Hold them until someone from Iandolo arrives. Or until I hear word from the Council.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I can’t give you a reason to trust me. Not one you’d believe.”

“Then why shouldn’t I simply take control myself right now.” She motioned with her crooked hand and a significant number of those assembled flinched.

“Lane,” Arrend muttered, her name loaded with warning.

Burdock nodded. “Based on what your mother has told me, I have no doubt you could. But how many of us are you willing to kill in order to seize control? How many of my men? And how many of your fellow refugees—or Brovettan citizens—would die during the attempt? Don’t forget, I have half of your group still under guard in my armory.”

Lane hesitated, teeth clenched, her gaze flicking back and forth between Burdock and her mother. She desperately wanted to talk to her.

“You have to accept the offer,” her father said.

Lane nearly choked in disbelief. “You’d allow yourself to be taken? What if he’s lying? What if he hurts you? Kills you?”

“I agree you can’t trust him, but if you and Devon and the others are free, then you can figure out another way to take control.”

“He’ll have control of the gates,” she countered. “We might have the run of the city, but we’re essentially prisoners regardless.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

She shook her head. “He’s going to try to get the upper hand the entire time.”

“And you’ll be doing the same. It’s a stalemate.”

He backed off slightly, some of his men close. They edged forward in concern and he began speaking to them heatedly.

Lane ground her teeth together, then asked Arrend, “What do you think?”

The proctor hesitated. “I think your mother has agreed to this in order to save you and the rest of the refugees. And that she’s confident you can fix it.”

Her father returned. “I’ve ordered my men to follow your lead, whatever you do.”

She sucked in a steadying breath, then muttered, “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Stepping forward, all of Burdock’s soldiers tensing at the movement, she said, “Pull all of your men out into the plaza. We’ll follow. And tell them to release everyone from the armory as well.”

“Captain Silleac, have everyone fall back.” When Silleac didn’t move, he said more forcefully, “Fall back.”

With a grunt of disgust, Silleac motioned to his men, all of them edging away from the refugees. Lane’s mother gave her a terse nod, then retreated with Burdock. Everyone waited until they’d left, then looked toward Lane.

“Grab whatever you can of what was left behind,” Lane said, finally lowering her arm. “Then head outside. Maupin’s and Arch’s groups, guard everyone else as best you can.”