Chapter 37 · The Voice of the Old King

The first thing Kellan heard was his own breathing, ragged and wet inside the mask. The second was the city screaming.

Not through the speakers. Through the Crown.

A million small signals pressed against his skull—traffic locks snapping shut, defense towers rotating, evacuation routes collapsing into red corridors. Beneath them ran the pulse of six cities, six vast mechanical hearts dragged into the same rhythm. Every beat passed through the black lattice fused along his spine and struck behind his eyes.

He dropped to one knee.

Metal groaned beneath him. The command chamber had been built into the underside of the drowned Seventh Node, a cathedral of pressure glass and blue-black machinery. Outside, the ocean boiled against the hull. Far above, stormlight flickered through three miles of water, turning the chamber into a coffin lit by lightning.

Sable caught his shoulder before he pitched forward. Her fingers were slick with blood, though he could not tell whether it was hers or his.

Kellan shoved her away.

She stumbled into a console and caught herself against it. Her face tightened, but she did not raise her hands in defense.