The Complete Madion War Trilogy

by S. Usher Evans

  It was a good lie. Some days I even believed it.

  "Why do I get to live and they don't?"

  I'd no good answer for her then, and I had no answer for her voice in my head now. Some part of me was glad the war raged on. That way Theo would never have to see what a coward I was.

  "Helmuth!" Hebendon barked from the other side of the hall.

  "Coming," I said, tearing my eyes away from the ocean and pulling my thoughts back into the brightly-lit halls of the hospital.

  Theo

  The lights blinded me, but I kept my gaze straight ahead, remembering to look interested, be interested. That was what Emilie, my public relations liaison, had told me. Recent polling said I came across as bored and unapproachable.

  Well, no shit.

  I forced a smile onto my face, one I could maintain for however long it would take the media to finish recording this speech. Bayard had said these same words fifteen thousand times already, and he would probably say them another fifteen thousand times more.

  "Our Kylaen foes won't take no for an answer, but Rave is better!" Bayard boomed into the microphone. "We will not lie down to those dogs. They cannot come onto our shores and attack, and they will not keep us prisoner!"

  My cue was coming up. I forced myself to look extra-interested.

  "Our symbol of hope, 'neechai!" he said, gesturing to me. I stood and waved to the cameras, hoping my face didn't convey the awkwardness of waving to a room of disinterested aides and bored camera operators. We always pre-taped Bayard's speeches so the media wizards could edit in the raucous audience. I'd always thought Rave was barely surviving as a nation, but we certainly had a lot of money for Bayard's media campaigns.

  I sat down and Bayard continued his speech. He spoke of the great sacrifice of our countrymen, many of them only children. He went on for a good five minutes about how much the Raven military cared for those in its charge. I'd heard whispers of lowering the conscription age even lower than twelve, but even amongst Bayard's staunchest supporters, this idea wasn't very popular. Bayard ended his speech with a call to the 'kaachais to continue their contributions—code for, "Please make me more children to send to my war."

  The lights faded, and Bayard stood, unclipping the microphone from his lapel and ignoring me completely. We hadn't spoken two words to each other since his grand entrance into my hospital room. Not for lack of trying on my part. Before I could open my mouth, another voice cut me off.

  "You still look stiff, 'neechai."

  Emilie Mondra looked like a Raven—dark skin, eyes, and hair—but her speech was laced with the smallest hint of an accent that wasn't ours. Her family was rich (by Raven standards, anyway) and had sent her to a boarding school in Herin, instead of an air force base. She'd joined the ranks of the other wealthy, educated Ravens in the capital city, Veres. Like Emilie, most of the aides and assistants who told me where to be and how to smile had somehow missed the conscription that had sucked me into the Raven war machine at such a young age. They were blessedly undamaged, never knowing what it was to go to sleep hungry, or wonder if every meal was the last.

  In fact, there seemed to be a whole world I'd been unaware of from my grungy forward operating base. Some days I scarcely believed I was in the same country.

  Bayard walked out of the makeup room, his brown skin shining from the makeup removal. He didn't even glance in my direction, discussing his next meeting with a parade of assistants and higher-ranking officials eager to get an audience with him.

  "Emilie is right, you are stiff."

  I turned my head slightly to acknowledge the new presence by my side, but didn't respond.

  Mark Cannon was the last media darling before me, having survived a particularly nasty battle on the western front where he'd lost nearly three quarters of his squad. And his was the only spot on the president's advisory council that wasn't military- or politically-appointed. If I wanted Bayard's ear, a chance to sway the course of the war, I had to go through Cannon first. And he knew it.

  For all of his handsomeness, he might as well have charmed his way into Bayard's inner circle instead of through pure aerial talent. Black hair cropped neatly in the military style, the lines of his face sharp and pronounced, without any trace of a beard. He was the perfect picture of Raven sexiness. Bayard was more than willing to allow him to grace the covers of our very few magazines shirtless and glistening, if only to draw more attention to our own sex symbols than those of our enemies.

  For me, Cannon might've been a shade more handsome than a certain prince of Kylae, but I knew where my heart lay.

  "Those pants, you should tell Emilie to have them hemmed a bit," he said.

  "I'll be sure to let the Raven uniform services know of your tailoring suggestion," I said. "Or have you forgotten what it's like to wear the same thing everyone else is wearing?" I glanced at his designer shirt straight from the front pages of Jervanian magazines. "Or that you should be supporting this country's fashion?"

  "I simply give our people something to aspire to."

  "While you champion their death sentences," I muttered under my breath.

  Unfortunately, Cannon heard. "Be careful, Theophilia." I grimaced at his use of my full name. Emilie said it sounded better than just 'Theo.' "There are those who might think you've allied yourself with those idiot rebels in the slums. Or worse."

  I hadn't heard much about the rebels, other than that they existed. I had no idea what end they strove to, but I was fairly sure the Kylaens would pounce if they saw a crack in Rave's government. I lifted my gaze to meet Cannon's and replied, "I'm simply implying that your perceived lack of concern for our brothers and sisters in harm's way is...off-putting."

  "Oh, Theo, I'm concerned, trust me," Cannon said, placing his hand over his heart. His brown eyes grew wide and his eyebrows slacked off. "The plight of our brothers and sisters protecting our borders is the most important concern for myself and President Bayard."

  I glared at him. "Very funny."

  "You see, kallistrate," he tacked on a Raven pronunciation, using the Raven word for orphan, "it's easy to pretend you care. I do it all the time with my lovers. They tell me their problems, I pretend to care, and I get what I want." He paused and surveyed me. "Haven't you ever had a lover before?"

  I kept my mouth shut, and he took the win and walked away, cackling to himself in victory.

  I'd had a lover. Four months before, I'd found myself stranded on an island with the third son of our sworn enemy. And, foolishly, I'd fallen head over heels for him. I'd called him my amichai, the Raven word for soulmate. He'd been the best and worst mistake of my life. He'd taken me back to his country, foolishly thinking I'd be safe there, and I'd been arrested and sent to the Kylaen death camp, Mael. It was only thanks to him that I was still alive, a notion that haunted me every time someone mentioned my "two months in Mael."

  After I'd returned, I'd told the two intelligence agents debriefing me that my plane had gone down in pursuit of the princeling. I'd told them the Kylaens had taken me from the water and sent me to Mael. I'd escaped while one of the guards was trying to rape me, stolen a prison transport, and made it to an airfield, omitting the part played by my amichai and his guard. If it had seemed far-fetched to have completed such a feat without help, they hadn't said anything about it. It had been enough for them, because I hadn't been contacted again, and Bayard just stuck to how resilient I was to have lasted two months in their death camp.

  I somehow doubted he would've been so eager to parade me around if he knew the truth.

  As it was, I only saw my amichai in photos from Raven intelligence. His movements were barely reported in the Kylaen media, possibly due to his resignation from the military. He'd moved to an apartment building fortified with extra security, including the guard who'd assisted in my escape from Mael. He worked twelve hour shifts at the hospital, varying between night and day shifts, and, I supposed, he was happy.

  I was happy he was out of the castle, doing what he
loved, but I still wondered if he meant what he'd said on that airfield. He'd promised me he'd find a way for us to be together. I wanted to believe that more than anything in the world, but his actions thus far had been...underwhelming.

  Then again, I hadn't made much headway either. Being a symbol of Raven toughness had saved exactly zero Raven lives. We were still conscripting the poorest children; we were still at a political stalemate with Kylae. Nothing had changed in my country, as it hadn't for over half a century of war.

  Some days, I wondered if it was time for me to move on from Galian. It would only be a matter of time before someone started hinting that I should start doing my part to keep Rave populated. There was no shortage of handsome Raven men (Cannon not withstanding), but I couldn't even force a smile for them.

  As Emilie pointed out, I couldn't even smile for the cameras.

  Galian

  A camera flashed in my face, and I grimaced, grasping Martin's arm as he yanked me inside our apartment building. Once we were safely out of view, I took a moment to blink in the dark lobby.

  "Did they get you?" Martin asked, walking over to the mailboxes and retrieving our mail. He opened each one, tossing out three pink envelopes I assumed were fanmail or offers of engagement then joined me while I waited for the elevator.

  "You'd think they'd get tired of it after a while," I said, rubbing my eyes and still seeing spots. "Maybe I'll wear the same thing every day, throw them off. Then they won't know what day it was they photographed me."

  "I still say you should wear your scrubs home. Get some blood and smear it all over yourself. Nobody'd take a photo of you then." He cracked a grin. Martin was nineteen, Theo's age, but seemed so much younger than she was. He'd been dishonorably discharged simply because he'd been my guard and it was assumed he'd been involved in Theo's escape. When I decided I no longer wished to live in the castle, he "offered" to let me move in with him and drive me to and from work.

  I was no idiot. Martin was young, but he'd been trained in personal security and hand-to-hand combat and he'd never asked me to pay a dime in rent. Not only that, but the day after I'd moved in, I saw a few new residents carrying boxes—some of whom looked like my mother's personal security contingent.

  The elevator dinged, and we climbed inside. Martin opened the magazine he'd received, and I was already thinking about how disgusting I'd have to be not to shower before I passed out in my bed. But all my great scheming came to an end when the elevator doors opened.

  Kader, the only bodyguard still officially assigned to me, stood in the doorway to his apartment, glaring at the two of us as if we'd personally offended him with our presence. He and his wife, Rosie, lived next door to Martin and me. I felt slightly safer having the tall, bald, imposing man next door in case of an errant assassin or lovesick fangirl. But it also meant that he was my mother's personal fetcher, and I could read the glare on his face as plain as day.

  Kader said nothing to me, and I didn't bother to ask how long he'd been waiting for me. Ours was generally an unspoken hatred of each other. He'd also been assumed complicit in Theo's escape, but since he had a good fifteen years of military service, he'd just been permanently reassigned as my personal bodyguard.

  I would feel worse about it if he wasn't such an insufferable asshole.

  "You're late," he growled, following Martin and me into our apartment.

  "Good morning to you too," I muttered.

  "It's not morning, it's seven o'clock at night," he said. "And you had to be at a state dinner ten minutes ago."

  I yawned and walked to the kitchen, scouring the mostly empty fridge for something to eat. Martin might've been skilled in personal defense, but my personal kitchen-minder he was not. Still, he usually bought enough food that I could throw something together. After all, I'd been able to prepare a rabbit on the island; sautéing some vegetables wasn't that difficult.

  "Galian." Kader sounded like he was about to beat me to a bloody pulp, but I didn't care.

  I was sleep-deprived, and had spent most of the day alternating between the aftermath of a spate of stomach viruses and Hebendon's lovely impaction-removals. The very last thing I wanted to do was spend five hours schmoozing my father's richest friends and having to smile for the cameras.

  "I haven't been back there in four months. I'd like to keep the streak alive."

  "Your mother asked you to be there."

  I rubbed my face and felt the stubble under my hands. It reminded me of the beard I'd sprouted while marooned on an island with Theo. "He'll be there."

  "Yes, as the king, he will be there," Kader said. "And as your father—"

  "Who left me to die, if you'll recall. And therefore, I owe him nothing."

  Kader approached right behind me, so close I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. "If you don't get into that room and change into the uniform I brought you, so help me God, I will knock your stubborn ass out, dress you, and drag you there myself."

  I considered my options and the closeness of Kader. I didn't much like my chances of testing him. So I closed the fridge and plodded back to my room.

  I stared longingly at my bed and bypassed it completely. My closet was mostly on the floor, but Kader had hung an officer's dress uniform on the door. The official story was that I hadn't resigned the military, but was simply on reserve duty. Whatever they chose to believe, I didn't care.

  "Princeling," I muttered to myself, remembering how Theo used to tease me. I wondered how hard she'd laugh at me wearing this stupid get-up—red coat, black pants, and a set of medals I wasn't sure when or how I'd earned.

  I walked over to my bed and picked up the picture frame lying next to it. I'd found a magazine with an official photo of Theo when she'd been announced as the new "thing" in Rave. It was grainy and surrounded by an article about what a terrible monster she actually was (I didn't dare read it as I cut out the photo).

  But she was my girl. That's what I'd come to call Theo in my mind, since I still couldn't pronounce that ay-mi-kai thing she called me. Lover, soulmate, she'd described it. I certainly felt like a part of my soul was missing. Then again, I sighed heavily, I hadn't done much to deserve getting it back.

  I stared into the grainy eyes and tried to draw strength. I'd need it to put up with all this bullshit tonight.

  TWO

  Theo

  My hands ached as they gripped the grainy wood of the shovel. I wasn't sure how long I'd been working that day, scooping the black barethium from one pile into another. The smell that would one day kill me had taken my mental clarity. I swayed on my feet and wished my body would stop the movements, granting me rest.

  There was a presence behind me. Hands wrapped around my arms and pulled me backward, away from the pile. I was too weak to fight him, so I let my body go limp. I was taken to an office, but when I glanced up, it was no office. It was a surgery, but the bed had thick, leather straps. But that made no sense. Galian had blown up the laboratory.

  I looked up. Dr. Maitland had guided me to the bed and was strapping me in.

  "Dr. Maitland, please, don't do this!" I cried. "Please, this isn't—"

  "You're my patient, Theo," he said, placing a hand on my bare calf. It was swollen and bruised, much as it had been on the island. Maitland shuffled out of the room as I thrashed against my bonds.

  I saw him, my amichai, just outside the room. He wore his bright red uniform, his hair cropped short. And he looked right through me.

  "Amichai! Help me!"

  The room began to fill with black smoke, and I screamed.

  "Amichai!"

  My voice echoed around me when my eyes snapped opened, and my hands were tangled in the sheets around me. The stench of Mael remained in my nose, and my stomach came to my throat. I tumbled out of bed, rushing to the bathroom and vomiting into my toilet. I shakily held the sides of the metal bowl, thankful that this time, at least, I'd made it.

  I slid to the cold floor and forced myself to remember kinder hands. H
is gentle caresses up and down my back, the soft whispers telling me he loved me and that everything would be all right. If I focused long enough, I could convince myself that he was there with me, and I could catch my breath.

  I pushed myself off the floor and flipped on the light. I rinsed my mouth out and splashed water on my face, patting it dry with a nearby towel. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I poked at the dark circles under my eyes the makeup artists worked so hard to cover up. Perhaps Bayard wasn't the only one putting on appearances.

  I tossed down the towel and left the bathroom and bedroom to the joint living room and kitchen. The Raven government had put me in one of the nicest apartment in Veres, which meant it had running water, a working furnace, and a pantry that was stocked from the government supply store. I felt like I should've been sleeping on a lumpy mattress in a room with two hundred other people. I'd always presumed that only Kylaens lived a life of luxury, but now I wasn't so sure.

  My pantry was full of mostly nonperishable rations from the stores, the same sort of shit they'd fed me at my forward operating base, but they did stock one new item. I dug the half-empty bottle of brown liquor—whiskey, maybe—out of the cabinet, gulped a long swig, then carried it with me to the living room. I switched on the fancy radio in the living room and settled onto the couch.

  "...The Vinolas Forward Operating Base suffered heavy casualties yesterday after a Kylaen air strike on the armory."

  I drank more, wiping the remnants off my lip. Vinolas had been my home for much of my training. After I'd been commissioned as a captain, they'd sent me back there to command a fleet of twenty planes. Taking heavy casualties was nothing new, but it still left me feeling ill for my lack of progress.

  I pulled over the decorative map of Rave that had been left in the apartment and traced my hand along the border. Vinolas was on the northern edge of the island, where the Kylaens attacked most frequently. Had I been assigned to any of the bases on the eastern side of the country, those closest to Jervan, I might never have seen battle.