WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 32

Evangeline

Mother will not writhe her way into my mind today.

Not even my strange and bothersome conversation with Barrow will cross my mind, I'm sure.

I haven't been here in years, but the Choke inflicts the same chaos I felt as a little girl. There are no men on the blackened field, but I smell it, that stench of death and more death to come. There aren't trees for miles, only corpses that have hidden under pounds of ash and dirt.

Our alliances have taken every precaution that they can think of. Scanned the infinite field for old and new lands mines, watched over Maven's base camp for days. There is nothing amiss, as far the eye can see. Unfortunately, there are many things human eyes cannot see.

From a bird's perspective of in this aircraft, the horror of this place is seen on a second velocity. Ravaged, black earth stretches for miles on end, deep holes in some areas and knolls in others, forming no regular pattern. Even though the Choke has been inactive for months, the tendrils of ash blow into my nose and eyes. The history books tell that this place used to be a natural wonder. People used to seek this place out for its charming waters and cliffs. There were massive falls of water, emptying out into crystal-clear lakes and rivers. But those tomes are lies, meant to comfort nostalgic idiots. There are no cliffs, not a drop of water, save for the blood that leaks through layers of bedrock.

In the distance, Corvium is spotted. That's where we were shipped to long before the dawn cracked open. Though Maven has spies and moles of his own, the Lakelander generals and our men agreed to be quiet and inconspicuous. And the sun hasn't risen. When the first sliver of the sun makes itself known, then everything is fair, there are no rules. Last army standing takes the day.

Anabel and Cal bicker in their seats of the craft, Anabel adorning that permanent scowl of hers.

"You will not fight, Tiberias. But you will not speak to that serpent of a brother either," I hear her reprimand him. Despite her age, the woman has chosen to fight. Decked out her Lerolan colors, orange and red, Anabel sits with perfect posture, a queen in war.

"Oh? But you will?" he asks, motioning to her clothing.

"My life is dispensable, you, an already king, are not. Maven doesn't love you, that much is palpable. He's using your threads of love for him against you."

"Maybe," Cal admits, bowing his head. "But precautions have been set. I won't touch anything he offers me, won't drink the wine that he'll bring. Davidson is to produce a long-standing forcefield for me."

Anabel shakes her head in defeat, glaring out of the plane's window. She's less affected by the scent and the scenery than the rest of us, not having once coughed or wiped teary eyes. She looks at the forsaken war territory as if it's just another task to be undertaken, as simple as selecting her next gown.

"What made you change your thoughts? For the longest time, you were set on keeping away from Maven. Why did you come before us this morning, at the last minute, to announce and order to see him?"

"It was Mare Barrow, was it not?" I say, twisting towards the couple from the row in front of them. "She asked me where your room was earlier. Twenty minutes later, you round up every official and told them the news."

Anabel's features contort in anger, anger at that little lightning girl. "State to me that it's not true, my boy!"

Cal's vision becomes unfocused, thinking of something distant. Perhaps of what I allowed to happen this morning when I obliged to donate the route to Cal's room.

"She's right. I need to talk to Maven prior to one of us being destroyed in our standings. While we're still equal, while one isn't looking down on the other." Cal stops, in search of a final, memorable statement. "I'm sorry for not being able to let go."