King's Cage

by Victoria Aveyard

  Farley paces back and forth, crossing her tiny room in only a few long steps. One hand massages her back as she moves, working out another of her aches. Her hair is longer every day, and she keeps it braided back from her face at odd lengths. I would offer her my seat, but she doesn’t like to sit much these days. She has to keep moving, for her own comfort and her own nervous energy.

  “Of course I don’t trust him,” she replies, kicking weakly at one of the paint-peeling walls. Her frustration runs as high as her emotions. “But I can trust things about him. I can trust him to act a certain way where certain people are concerned.”

  “You mean Mare.” Obviously.

  “Mare and his brother. His affection for one plays nicely off his hatred for the other. It might be our only way to keep him around.”

  “I say let him go, let him rile up a few more Silvers and be another thorn in Maven’s side. We don’t need him here.”

  She almost laughs, a bitter sound nowadays. “Yes, I’ll just tell Command that we kicked out our most well known and legitimate operative. That will go over very well.”

  “He’s not even really with us—”

  “Well, Mare’s not really with Maven, but people don’t seem to understand that either, do they?” Even though she’s right, I have to scowl. “As long as we have Cal, people take notice. No matter how badly we botched that first attempt at Archeon, we still ended up with a Silver prince on our side.”

  “A bleeding useless prince.”

  “Annoying, frustrating, a veritable pain in the ass—but not useless.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s he done for us lately besides get Nanny killed?”

  “Nanny wasn’t forced to go to Archeon, Cameron. She made a choice and she died. That’s how it works sometimes.”

  Nurturing as she sounds, Farley isn’t much older than me. Twenty-two, maybe, at most. I think her maternal instincts are kicking in early.

  “Besides the fact that he wins us points with less-hostile Silvers, Montfort has an interest in him.”

  Montfort. The mysterious Free Republic. The twins, Rash and Tahir, paint the place as a haven of liberty and equality, where Reds, Silvers, and Ardents—what they call newbloods—live in peace together. An impossible place to believe in. But even so, I have to believe in their money, their supplies, their support. Most of our resources come from them in some way.

  “What do they want?” I swirl the tea in my cup, letting the heat wash over my face. It’s not as cold here as in Irabelle, but winter still creeps through the Rocasta safe house. “A poster boy?”

  “Something like that. There’s been lots of chatter with Command. I don’t have clearance for most of it. They wanted Mare but—”

  “She’s a bit preoccupied.”

  Mention of Mare Barrow doesn’t affect Farley as much as the memory of Shade, but a flicker of pain washes over her face anyway. She tries to hide it, of course. Farley does her best to appear impenetrable, and usually she is.

  “So there’s really no chance of rescuing her,” I whisper. When she shakes her head, I feel a surprising pang of sadness in my own chest. Infuriating as Mare might be, I still want her back. We need her. And over the long months, I’ve realized I need her too. She knows what it is to be different and in search of someone like you, to fear and be feared in the same measure. Even if she was a condescending twit most of the time.

  Farley stops pacing to pour herself another cup of tea. It steams, filling the room with a hot, herbal scent. She takes it in hand but doesn’t drink, crossing instead to the foggy window set high in her wall. It bleeds daylight. “I don’t see how we can with what we have. Infiltration of Corvium is easy compared to Archeon. It would take a full-scale assault, the kind we can’t muster. Especially now, after Nanny and an assassination attempt. Security at Maven’s court will be at its highest—worse than a prison. Unless . . .”

  “Unless?”

  “Cal tells us to wait. To let the Silvers in Corvium turn on each other. To let Maven make his mistakes before we do anything else.”

  “And it will help Mare too.”

  Farley nods. “The weak, divided court of a paranoid king will be easier for her to escape.” She sighs, staring at her untouched tea. “She’s the only one who can save herself now.”

  The conversation is easy to twist. As much as I want Mare back, I want someone else more. “How many miles are we from the Choke?”

  “This again?”

  “This always.” I push back from the table to get up. I feel like I should be standing. I’m just as tall as Farley, but she always seems like she’s looking down at me. I’m young, untrained. I don’t know much about the world outside my slum. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and follow orders. “I’m not asking for your help or the Guard’s. I just need a map and maybe a gun. I’ll do the bleeding rest myself.”

  She doesn’t blink. “Cameron, your brother is embedded in a legion. It’s not like pulling out a tooth.”

  My fist clenches at my side. “You think I came all the way here to sit around and watch Cal spin his wheels?” It’s an old argument by now. She easily shuts me down.

  “Well, I certainly don’t think you came all the way here to get killed,” she replies calmly. Her broad shoulders rise just a little, in challenge. “Which is precisely what will happen, no matter how strong or deadly your ability is. And even if you take a dozen Silvers with you, I’m not going to let you die for nothing. Is that clear?”

  “My brother is not nothing,” I grumble. She’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. Instead, I avoid her eyes and turn to the wall. My fingers pick at the peeling paint, ripping away pieces in annoyance. A childish thing, but it makes me feel a bit better. “You’re not my captain. You don’t get to tell me what to do with my life.”

  “That’s true. I’m just a friend who feels inclined to point something out.” I hear her shift, her footsteps heavy on the creaking floor. But her touch is light, a brush of her hand on my shoulder. She’s robotic in the movement, not really knowing how to comfort another person. Bleakly, I wonder how she and warm, smiling Shade Barrow ever shared a conversation, let alone a bed. “I remember what you told Mare. When we first found you. On the jet, you said that her search for newbloods, to save them, was wrong. A continuation of the blood divide. Favoring one kind of Red over another. And you were right.”

  “This is not the same. I just want to save my brother.”

  “How do you think the rest of us got here?” she scoffs. “To save a friend, a sibling, a parent. To save ourselves. We all came here for selfish reasons, Cameron. But we can’t be distracted by them. We have to think of the cause. The greater good. And you can do so much more here, with us. We can’t lose you . . .”

  Too. We can’t lose you too. The last word hangs in the air, unspoken. I hear it anyway.

  “You’re wrong. I didn’t come here by choice. I was taken. Mare Barrow forced me to follow, and you all went along with it.”

  “Cameron, that’s a card you have played too many times. You chose to stay a long time ago. You chose to help.”

  “And what would you choose now, Farley?” I glare at her. She may be my friend, but that doesn’t mean I have to back down.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Would you choose the greater good? Or would you choose Shade?”

  When she doesn’t respond, her eyes sliding out of focus, I have my answer. I realize I don’t want to see her cry and turn my back, making for the door.

  “I have to train,” I say to no one. I doubt she’s still listening.

  Training is harder in the Rocasta safe house. We don’t have anywhere near enough space, not to mention most of the operatives I know were left in Irabelle. Kilorn, for example. Eager as he is, he’s nowhere near ready for all-out battle, and he doesn’t have an ability to lean on. He was left behind. But my trainer was not. After all, she’s Silver, and the Colonel wasn’t about to let her out of his sight.

  Sara Skonos waits
in the basement of our reinforced warehouse, in a room dedicated to newblood exercises. It’s dinnertime, so the other newbloods in this particular sanctuary are upstairs eating with the rest. We have the space to ourselves, not that we need much space at all.

  She sits cross-legged, palms flat on a concrete floor that matches the concrete walls. Her notepad is there too, ready to be used if need be. Her eyes track my entrance, the only greeting I’ll get. As of yet, we have not found another skin healer to join us, and she remains mute. Even though I’m used to it, the sight of her sunken cheeks and missing tongue makes me cringe. As usual, she pretends not to notice and gestures to the space in front of her.

  I sit as she instructs, and fight the familiar urge to run or attack.

  She’s Silver. She’s everything I’ve been raised to fear, hate, and obey. But I can’t find it in myself to despise Sara Skonos the way I do Julian or Cal. It’s not that I pity her. I think . . . I understand her. I understand the frustration of knowing what is right and being ignored or punished because of it. I can’t count how many times I received half rations for looking at a Silver overseer incorrectly. For talking out of turn. She did the same, except her words were against a reigning queen. And so her words were taken away forever.

  Even though she can’t speak, Sara has a way of communicating what she wants. She taps me on the knee, forcing me to meet her cloudy gray eyes. Then she dips her face and puts a hand over her heart.

  I follow the motions, knowing what she wants. I match her breathing: steady, deep breaths in even succession. A calming mechanism that helps drown out all the thoughts swirling around my head. It clears my mind, allowing me to feel what I usually ignore. My ability hums beneath my skin, constant as always, but now I let myself notice it. Not to use it, but to acknowledge its existence. My silence is still new to me, and I have to get to know it like any other skill.

  After long minutes of breathing, she taps me again, making me look up. This time she points at herself.

  “Sara, I’m really not in the right mood,” I start to tell her, but she draws one hand through the air in a chopping motion. Shut up, plain as day.

  “I mean it. I could hurt you.”

  She scoffs deep in her throat, one of the only true vocalizations she can make. It almost sounds like laughter. Then she taps her lips, smirking darkly. She’s been hurt far worse.

  “Fine, I warned you,” I sigh. I wiggle a little, settling deeper into my position. Then I furrow my brow, letting the ability swim around me, deepening, expanding. Until it touches her. And silence descends.

  Her eyes widen when it hits. A twinge at first. At least I hope it’s just a twinge. I’m only practicing, and I don’t intend to pummel her into submission. I think of Mare, able to call up storms, while Cal can make infernos, but both find it difficult to have a simple conversation without exploding. Control takes more practice than brute force.

  My ability deepens, and she holds up one finger to denote the level of discomfort. I try to keep the silence in place, constant but steady. It’s like holding back a tide. I don’t know what it feels like to be silenced. The Silent Stone didn’t work on me in Corros Prison, but it stifled, drained—and slowly killed—all the people around me. I can do the same. After about a minute, she puts up a second finger.

  “Sara . . . ?”

  With her other hand she gestures for me to continue.

  I remember our session yesterday. She was on the floor at five, though I knew I could push harder. But incapacitating our only skin healer is neither smart nor something I want to do.

  A flush paints her cheeks, but the door to the basement swings open before she can hold up another finger.

  My concentration and my silence break, drawing a relieved gasp from her. Both of us whirl to face our disrupter. While she breaks into a rare smile, I scowl.

  “Jacos,” I mutter in his direction. “We’re training, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  One side of his mouth twitches, begging to pull into a sneer of his own, but Julian refrains. Like the rest of us, he looks better here in Rocasta. Supplies are easier to come by. Our clothes are higher quality, quilted and lined against the cold. The food is heartier, the rooms warmer. Julian’s color has returned, and his gray-flecked hair looks glossier. He’s Silver. He was born to thrive.

  “Oh, how foolish of me. I thought you were down here sitting on cold concrete for the fun of it,” he replies. Clearly no love lost between us. Sara glares at him, a weak reproach, but it softens him anyway. “My apologies, Cameron,” he adds quickly. “I just wanted to tell Sara something.”

  Sara quirks an eyebrow, a question. When I get up to go, she stops me and, with a dip of her head, asks Julian to continue. He always obeys where she is concerned.

  “There’s been an exodus from court. Maven expelled dozens of nobles, mostly his father’s old advisers and those who might still harbor loyalties to Cal. It’s . . . I didn’t believe the intelligence report at first. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  Julian and Sara hold each other’s gaze, both pondering what this means. I don’t care at all about a few Silver lords and ladies, old friends of Julian and Sara’s. “And Mare?” I wonder aloud.

  “She’s still there, still a prisoner. And any further fractures we may have expected from the rebelling houses . . .” He sighs, shaking his head. “Maven is already at war, and now he prepares for a storm.”

  I shift on the floor, moving my weight into a more comfortable position. He’s right. Cold concrete isn’t pleasant. Good thing I’m used to it. “We already knew rescuing her was impossible. What else does this do for us?”

  “Well, it’s good and it’s bad. More enemies for Maven give us more opportunity to work beyond his reach. But he’s closing ranks, retreating further into his enclave of protection. We’ll never get to him personally.”

  Next to me, Sara hums low in her throat. She can’t say what we’re all thinking, so I do.

  “Or to Mare.”

  Julian nods with sobering eyes.

  “How is your training coming along?”

  He changes topics with whiplash speed, and I stutter out a reply.

  “As—as good as it can. We don’t have many teachers here.”

  “Because you refuse to train with my nephew.”

  “The others can,” I say, not bothering to keep the bite from my voice. “But I can’t promise I won’t kill him, so it’s better I don’t tempt myself.”

  Sara tsks, but Julian brushes her off with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine, really. You may think I don’t understand, that I can’t understand your point of view, and you’re right. But I’m certainly doing my best to try, Cameron.” He takes a daring step toward us, still cross-legged on the floor. I don’t like it one bit and scramble to my feet, letting my defensive instincts take over. If I’m going to be this close to Julian Jacos, I want to be ready. “There’s no need to be afraid of me, I promise you.”

  “Silver promises mean nothing.” I don’t have to snap. The words are harsh enough.

  To my surprise, Julian smiles. But the expression is hollow, empty. “Oh, don’t I know that,” he mutters, more to himself and Sara. “Hold on to your anger. Sara might not agree, but it will help you more than anything else, if you can learn to harness it.”

  As much as I don’t want advice from such a man, I can’t help but tuck it away. He trained Mare. I’d be stupid to deny he can help my ability grow. And anger is something I have in spades.

  “Any other news?” I ask. “Farley and the Colonel seem to be stalling, or your nephew is stalling them.”

  “Yes, it seems he is.”

  “Odd. Thought he was always up for a fight.”

  Julian offers that strange smile again. “Cal was raised to war the same way you were raised to machines. But you don’t want to go back to the factory, do you?”

  An answer, any answer, sticks in my throat. I was a slave; I was forced; it was all I knew.

  “Don
’t get smart with me, Julian” grinds out instead, searing between my clenched teeth.

  He only shrugs. “I’m trying to understand your perspective. Do a bit to understand his.”

  On another day, I might storm from the room, angry, defensive. Find solace in a broken fuse, a stripped wire. I sit back down instead, taking my place next to Sara. Julian Jacos will not send me scurrying away like a scolded child. I’ve dealt with overseers far worse than him.

  “I watched babies die without seeing the sun. Without breathing fresh air. Slaves to your kind. Have you? When you have, then you can lecture me on perspective, Lord Jacos.” I turn from him. “Let me know when the prince finally picks a side. And if he picks the right one.”

  Then I nod at Sara. “Ready to go again?”

  TWELVE

  Mare

  Months ago, when the Silvers fled the Hall of the Sun, frightened by a Scarlet Guard attack on their precious ball, it was a united act. We left together, as one, heading downriver in succession to regroup in the capital. This is not the same.

  Maven’s dismissals come in packs. I’m not privy to them, but I notice as the numbers dwindle. A few older advisers missing. The royal treasurer, some generals, members of various councils. Relieved of their posts, the rumors say. But I know better. They were close to Cal, close to his father. Maven is smart not to trust them, and ruthless in their removal. He doesn’t kill them or make them disappear. He’s not stupid enough to trigger another house war. But it’s a decisive move, to say the least. Sweeping away obstacles like pieces from a chess board. The results are feasts that look like mouths of missing teeth. Gaps appear, more with every passing day. Most of those asked to leave are older, men and women with ancient allegiances, who remember more and trust their new king less.

  Some start to call it the Court of Children.

  Many lords and ladies are gone, sent away by the king, but their sons and daughters are left behind. A request. A warning. A threat.

  Hostages.