The Complete Madion War Trilogy

by S. Usher Evans

  "Speaking of that," I said, keeping my voice low, "what—"

  "Your trip to Jervan was successful, I take it?" Again, she cut me off and I began to wonder if Filippa wasn't the only one listening to her conversations.

  "Very, and I want—"

  "And I want my son to return home to me," she replied. "But alas, we can't have what we want. Shall we retire to my study?"

  I said nothing until we were seated in the bright room overlooking the palace gardens. A thick blanket of snow had covered the castle, but the winter sun and the roaring fire in the hearth made the sunroom cozy. My mother thanked the servant who brought us tea, then closed the glass doors.

  "So why is Father bugging your garden?" I asked plainly. "And why hasn't he bugged this room?"

  "Oh, your father's bugged my greenhouse, but he knows better than to monitor my private quarters," she said, with a harsh daring that surprised me.

  "Why is he bugging you in the first place?"

  "He doesn't trust me, and hasn't for many years," she said, placing her hands on her knees.

  "I mean, I knew he didn't trust you, but this seems extreme." I glanced around the room.

  "Your father is an extreme man." She sat back and surveyed me. "So Theo is well?"

  Despite my questions, I grinned. "Very well. I mean, she wasn't, but—"

  "A surprise visit from her amichai? That would brighten any girl's day."

  I don't know what surprised me more: that my mother knew the Raven word for lover, or that she pronounced it as well as Theo.

  "I asked her to stay in Jervan, but...thanks to Father's orders..."

  "Do you honestly believe Theo would've gone back with you? After that speech? After all the media attention?" My mother smiled sadly. "From what you've told me about her, even if you hadn't been ordered to return home, I don't think she would've gone. Not when there's so much more work to be done."

  "I know." I looked at the brown liquid in my cup. "Which is why I want to end the war."

  My mother snorted and coughed, choking on her tea. She daintily wiped her mouth and nose with her napkin. "We all do, Galian."

  "So what do we do? How do we do it?"

  "We have patience," Mom replied. "We don't rush off and do whatever we feel like doing because we're love-drunk with a Raven girl. The right thing gone about the wrong way won't help anyone."

  "The right thing not done at all doesn't help anyone either," I snarled back. "Do you think you're helping people by sitting and smiling beside the king? How is that supposed to—"

  "Galian Neoptolemus Helmuth, you will not speak to your mother in that tone," she barked back. "And just because you don't see activity doesn't mean it's not there." She took a long breath and adjusted her skirt. "Your father has only a tenuous grip on his kingdom, and that makes him a dangerous man to disagree with. To effect change, we must be careful about doing so."

  "T-tenuous?" I asked. "I thought he rules this place with an iron fist."

  "The only way he keeps the Kylaen public from rising up in total rebellion is that he keeps the barethium flowing, and the consequences of it at a minimum," she replied. "And, of course, the war is simply a chance to remain patriotic while ignoring the total destruction of a foreign country."

  I swallowed; we'd come to the topic I was most interested in discussing. "What happens if the barethium stops flowing? Like if Mael were to close?"

  She placed her teacup on the saucer. "Galian, you are playing a very dangerous game, one I don't think you're ready for."

  "Aren't you the one who taught me that we need to use our status for the good of others?"

  "And what use are you if your father has you killed?"

  "Is that all you and Rhys care about?" I said. "Why in the world are you putting me above the needs of your own people? Why is my life worth more than anyone else's?"

  "First and foremost, you're my son," she replied, her voice cracking. "As much as I am queen, I am your mother first."

  "Mom, we don't have that luxury anymore. We are in a position of power, and we have the ability to change things. We can't let fear hold us back. And it's not fair to the people of Kylae or Rave for you not to let me help because you're afraid something might happen to me."

  "You don't know, Gally," she said, staring out at the snow-covered castle. "You have no idea what it was like those two months you were gone. Every single morning, I went to your room. I cried until there were no more tears to cry. I could barely find the strength to attend your f-funeral." She looked at her hands. "And to be honest, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to go through that again." When her eyes rose to meet mine, they were glistening with unshed tears. "Gally, I may be queen, but I am still human."

  I pulled her into an embrace and felt like a kid again. No matter how long it had been, nothing beat a hug from my mother.

  I sat in the front seat of the car, watching the photographers just outside the gate crawl over each other to get a shot of me and Martin in my car. I hadn't said anything to him since I sat down in the front seat, and he hadn't made any move to drive into the chaos outside. I think we were both contemplating our next move.

  My mother had begged me to reconsider, even though I hadn't explicitly told her the plan forming in my mind. I trusted her guidance, but at the same time...something had to be done. And I was feeling just brave enough to do it.

  In front of us, two photographers got into a shoving match with each other.

  "Pathetic, you know?" Martin said with a sniff. "Don't they have other things to worry about?"

  "Why don't we give them something to worry about?" I asked with a determined smile. "Let's take a detour, shall we?"

  "Cinzia?"

  "No," I said, steeling myself. "Somewhere a lot fouler."

  THIRTEEN

  Theo

  I cracked my neck on both sides, rubbing the sore muscles of my shoulders. I had just spent the past week on the road with Bayard, giving my speech (which, surprisingly, I could still deliver with as much passion as in Jervan) half a dozen times. The schedule had been aggressive, which meant a lot of speaking, then driving for hours to the next event. I was grateful I was giving my speech to the Raven Parliament tomorrow; at least I could sleep in my bed tonight.

  But before I returned to my apartment, I stopped in at the executive offices to meet with Emilie and get some adjustments to my speech and next week's travel schedule. But when I walked into the offices, no one was at their desks. A quick check of the meeting room found it empty as well.

  "Huh?" I said. It was a work day, so where was everyone?

  A low mumbling caught my attention, and I wandered toward the sound. As I grew closer, I realized it was the sound of the radio. My heart beat faster—was it a massive attack? Had Kylae done something horrible in retaliation for my words against them? It couldn't have been about Bayard either, he'd been in good health when I'd seen him less than an hour ago.

  I broke into a run, nearly passing by the break room where the entire public relations staff, plus another twenty people I didn't recognize, were huddled around the radio.

  "'Neechai, come here," Emilie said, waving me over. When I came near, she wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close.

  "What is it?" I whispered, too afraid to speak loudly.

  "Listen..."

  My heart stopped beating in my chest as my amichai's voice echoed through the radio.

  "Today, I call upon my father and the security council to shut down this prison. And I am prepared to stay here until they do so."

  "Oh my God, he's in Mael?" I said, covering my mouth with my hands. What the hell was he thinking?

  "He's been there four hours so far," Emilie said breathlessly. "The entire Kylaen media followed him, and, so far, none have left."

  "A very brave Raven spoke at length to the international community about the atrocities committed here. Her impassioned speech moved me to do something. To finally use all this useless media attention for good, instead of gossip
. Be sure to take photos of the children, their tumors and sick faces."

  I couldn't help the dry sob that echoed out of my mouth and it took everything in me to not break down into tears of relief, joy, worry, fear...Galian had gone to Mael. Galian was standing up to his father and demanding that things change. He was doing what he'd promised me.

  "Have we heard what Grieg is going to do?" asked a man to my left who I'd seen around the office.

  "So far, nothing," Emilie replied. "But if the Kylaen media is still reporting on this, that bodes well for those in the prison."

  "The Kylaen king won't budge. He hates the princeling," Cannon drawled. "Wishes he'd died on that island."

  I nodded and used my disgust of Cannon to keep myself from beaming. My amichai was standing in the death camp, using the cameras that followed him around all the time for some good.

  "I became a doctor to be useful to this country, and now, I am being useful."

  "Yes, you are, am...Gal...princeling," I said, fumbling over my words.

  "You did this, 'neechai," Emilie said, squeezing me. "You've inspired the world."

  I let the smile grow on my face, and for once, I wasn't keeping a secret from everyone in the room. I could show the joy and the relief. I closed my eyes and imagined him standing in front of that horrible place, surrounded by tabloid photographers. My heart swelled with pride as he vowed he wasn't leaving until every last prisoner was gone.

  "Empty words." Cannon's voice cut through my daydream, and I opened my eyes to look at him. His gaze was fixed on me, and I withered a little under his scrutiny.

  "Relax, Mark," Emilie said beside me. "This is a victory for us all. Even if the prison doesn't close—"

  "It'll close," I said with a knowing smile.

  "You and the princeling had a chat in Jervan?"

  I jumped and stared at him before realizing that he was being his usual self. "Cannon, even you can't be upset by this news."

  He snorted, and looked away. Perhaps tomorrow I would worry about him, but for today, I was content to sit in the room with twenty of my fellow citizens, listening to the love of my life finally make good on a promise he'd made to me and save hundreds of lives in the process.

  Galian

  "No more questions," I said, waving my hand in the air. The stench was starting to get to me again, and I needed to stop talking before I said something that didn't make sense.

  I hadn't been sure what would happen when Martin and I drove to Mael. The photographers tended to follow me everywhere, and though some peeled off the closer we got to the prison, to my surprise, a good ten or fifteen drove through the iron gates of Mael with us.

  The head of the prison had been on hand to meet us, deigning not to wear his gas mask in front of all the photographers. He'd welcomed us, talking about how pleased he was at the unplanned visit. The smokestacks were off, and the courtyard had been cleared of prisoners. It looked, to my eyes, the same as when I'd visited with my mother. But I knew what this place was really like.

  I demanded to see prisoners, and he'd paraded out a few older, healthy-looking prisoners with light skin, and who must've been there for a few days, tops. I told him to bring out all the prisoners, or else I'd go find them myself and take a photographer with me.

  That was, I think, when he realized I was serious because he became very sweaty and nervous. He spent a few minutes mumbling about how he wasn't authorized, so I called to the most eager photographer and went on a hunting mission.

  Up until that point, all I'd seen of Mael was the large room where they shoveled barethium and smelted it into a workable state. The workers had been chained together at the ankles, moving barethium from a pile in the center to a large fiery put where it would be melted. I'd thought that was the worst part of Mael.

  Then I saw the barracks.

  I found a large barn-like structure in the back and ordered the two guards to open the large doors. The missing prisoners were huddled together two or three to a bunkbed. I'd even seen that little boy who'd been caught stealing apples from the market a few weeks ago; he looked pale and sick like the rest of them, but he'd waved to me. As the photographer jumped past me to begin documenting every bit of this awful place, I ordered all the prisoners out of their barracks and into the main room, along with all the guards and the media, who now numbered in the twenties.

  Then, in front of the media and the prisoners, I publicly fired the prison head (though I didn't really have the authority to do that), and told the media I was staying in the prison until my father ordered it closed and the prisoners removed.

  It had been five hours since my great announcement, and the initial fervor was starting to wear off. Most of the original photographers had long since left, the stench and general awfulness of this place too much to bear. Martin, as well, had begun to look green, so I'd sent him back to Norose to get some medical supplies. I figured as long as I was there, I might as well examine the prisoners. At least ten already seemed to be developing the lung cancer that came with inhaling barethium.

  My other reason for sending Martin was to find out whether my message was getting somewhere or if my father had kept it quiet. It wouldn't do me a whole lot of good to remain there if no one in Kylae knew about it.

  It was getting dark now, and without the fire of the smelting process, a chill had started to descend. I ordered the guards to find blankets and shelter for everyone, but it was pretty clear that there wasn't enough. Martin still hadn't returned, either, which made me worry that he'd been intercepted by one of my father's people.

  "S-sire." The new head of the prison (also known as, "the closest guy to me at the time") approached me. Even with his thick overcoat on, his lips were bluish from cold.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "The guards are wondering if we can go home. It's the end of our shift, and—"

  "Oh, you want to go home?" I asked, raising my voice. Then I looked out at the rest of the prisoners. "So do they. I thought I told you to go hunt down some blankets."

  "We did, sire, but there aren't any more."

  I ran a hand over my face. I wondered if this was what Theo had felt with me on our island. "Tell your men to find firewood."

  "But—"

  "Go, or I'll throw you in jail with the rest of them," I snapped.

  I wasn't sure how much longer I could exude authority before someone questioned whether I had any at all. But for now, he did as I asked and conveyed my orders to his men. I made sure the fires were built correctly, stepping in when needed and instructing the way Theo had shown me. Before long, we had three large fires crackling safely.

  My stomach rumbled and I glanced out the window. It was now dark, and I'd been there for six hours. Still no sign of Martin or my father. The media, as well, had all but left. It was now me, fifty guards, and some two hundred prisoners.

  "You there," I said to the nearest guard. "Go give the order to prepare food."

  "T-the prisoners usually do that," he replied meekly.

  I stared at him. "Are you serious? After you make them slave all day over this poisonous shit, you force them into the kitchens to cook?"

  "T-they take shifts—"

  "Go into the kitchen and get food for these people," I said through clenched teeth.

  He nodded and with a little bow, grabbed two of his friends and disappeared. I watched the door, praying I hadn't just given him the go-ahead to run off, but they returned with bags of rolls, which they began to hand out to the prisoners. I was surprised they didn't all rush to get the food, but then again, they looked barely strong enough to stand.

  My heart lifted to the dark sky when I saw two headlights approach. I told the head guard to maintain calm as I rushed out into the cold and waited. Kader, not Martin, stepped out of my car, a grim look on his face.

  "Where's Martin?" I asked, hoping my teeth weren't chattering.

  "Back at your apartment, where I'm going to take you," Kader replied.

  "I'm not leaving. Di
d you bring the medical supplies I asked for? Blankets? Food? Anything?"

  He shook his head. "You need to come home."

  "Kader, I can't leave," I said quietly. "This place is even worse than I thought. If I leave, then this all gets turned back on, and these people, who knows what happens to them?"

  "And who knows what happens to you, Galian?" Kader replied. "Your father said that if you come home tonight, he will give a speech tomorrow calling for a review of practices at the prison."

  I blinked. "A r-review? Not closing it down?" I shook my head. "No way. A review is what they told my mother. And, hey, look at that, they did nothing."

  "I figured you might say that," he said with a heavy sigh. He reached into the car and, for a moment, I thought he might pull a gun and threaten me, but instead, he retrieved out my thickest winter coat and a brown paper bag. "Rosie wanted me to make sure you stayed warm tonight."

  I took the coat, but didn't put it on, and peeked into the bag—leftovers. "As much as I appreciate this, I have two hundred people inside who need food. I can't possibly eat until they do."

  Kader took the bag back and tossed it in the front seat.

  "W-what did Father say would happen if I didn't come back home?" I asked.

  "He didn't," Kader replied. "But the longer you stay here, the less control he has over the story, and the more this looks like a true revolt on your part." He glanced above my head, then back at me. "Are you willing to accept the consequences?"

  "Are they mine?" I asked. "Is he threatening anyone else?"

  "Not at the moment, but you never know with him."