“Yep.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
He waves for me to walk next to him. “Still look like a pain in the ass,” he says as I match his pace.
I can’t help the burst of warmth in my chest. “Excellent.”
The Stilts was not a good place to grow up, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t good pieces. And I’m lucky enough to say those are still with me. Walking side by side with Kilorn, picking our way toward the city and the premier’s estate, I’m reminded of days long ago, the little things that made them bearable.
Our path takes us above most of Ascendant, the city already shadowed by the shortening days. Lights pinprick the mountainside below, some moving back and forth, marking the major roads. The lake at the base of the city reflects it all like another sky, deep blue with yellow and red stars. We move slowly, letting my parents and siblings go ahead. I catch them staring at the surroundings as I am. We forgot how beautiful it was here, in an impossible city in an impossible country.
As much as I want to stop and take it all in, I have to focus more on my breathing than anything else. The electricity pulsing through the city is more than I’ve felt in months, even when we were caught beneath a passing thunderstorm. It taps at my senses, begging to be let in. Instead of shutting out the sensation, I let it flow through me, down to my toes. This is something the electricons taught me, months ago in another country, in what feels like another life. It’s easier to flow than fight.
Kilorn watches me the entire time, green eyes dancing. I don’t feel scrutinized, though. He isn’t watching to make sure I keep control. He knows I don’t need him to do that, or anyone else. I’m my own.
“So what am I walking into?” I mutter, noting the lights in the city. Some are transports, weaving among the streets. Others are windows, lamps, lanterns, flickering on as the afternoon gives way to purple dusk. How many belong to government officials or soldiers or diplomats? Visitors?
The premier’s estate is above, the same as I remember. Is he there already?
“Things are buzzing up at the premier’s,” Kilorn replies, following my gaze. “And in the People’s Assembly. I don’t live up that way anymore, got a little place down the hill in the city, but it’s hard not to notice the constant traffic going up the mountain. Representatives, mostly, their staff, some military filtering in. The Scarlet Guard mouthpieces arrived yesterday.”
What about him?
Instead a different name falls off my tongue. It tastes like relief.
“Farley.”
She’s the closest thing I have to an older sister. I immediately wonder if she’ll be up at the estate with us, or housed somewhere in the city. I hope the former, for my own sake as well as my mother’s. Mom has been dying to see baby Clara and will probably end up sleeping wherever her grandchild is.
“Yep. Farley’s already here, and already bossing everyone around. I’d take you to see her, but she’s in meetings right now.”
With the baby in her lap, no doubt, I think, remembering how Farley carted my niece into war councils. “And what’s going on over in the Lakelands? There’s still a war happening.” Here, there, everywhere. It’s impossible to ignore the threat still looming over all of us.
“On hold, more like.” Kilorn glances at me and notes my confusion. “Didn’t you read the reports Davidson sent you?”
I grit my teeth. I remember the packets, pages of typed information that arrived at the cabin every week. Dad spent more time with them than I did. Mostly I scanned for familiar names. “Some.”
He smirks at me, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed at all,” he says with some pride.
Yes I have, I want to reply. I cannot even begin to list all the ways I have changed, but I let it go. I’ve only just arrived. I can give Kilorn a little time before I inundate him with my problems.
He doesn’t allow me a chance to wallow.
“Basically, yes, we’re still at odds.” He holds out a hand, ticking off names on his fingers. “Lakelands and Piedmont against the Republic, the Guard, and the new Nortan States. But we’re in a standoff for the moment. The Lakelands are still regrouping after Archeon, Piedmont isn’t willing to strike alone, and the Nortan States aren’t in any position to pursue or go on the offensive for now. We’re all on the defensive, waiting for the other side to make a move.”
I picture a map of the continent as we walk, with pieces upon it set in motion. Lines of division clearly drawn, armies waiting to march. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Somehow, up at the cabin, I could pretend that the rest of the world was moving on too. Recovering from the violence as I was. If I ignored the reports, avoided news from the south and east—it might just all come together without me. A sliver of me thought the war would end beyond my reach. But the war was hiding too, catching its breath as I was. The bitch was waiting for me.
“Lovely,” I mutter, drawing out the word. The paved pathway is dotted with frost beneath the shadow of the pines, still clinging where the sun cannot reach. “So no progress made.”
Kilorn shakes his head, laughing. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug my shoulders with exaggerated motion. “I don’t expect you to know anything of importance.”
He gasps and puts a hand to his chest, the picture of wounded pride. His jaw drops open to hide a grin. “Excuse me, I am incredibly important to the cause. Who do you think helps Carmadon catch fish for his dinners?”
Who organizes charity drives for refugees in the Nortan States? Who petitions the Montfort government to aid war orphans scattered across the battlefields we made? Who all but sleeps in Representative Radis’s office, working with officials both Silver and Red? Kilorn, of course, though he isn’t the type to brag about such things, admirable as they may be. Strange, the most worthy people are often the least likely to say so.
“And at these dinners, do you ever find yourself in . . . female company?”
A scarlet flush swipes up his neck and onto his cheeks, but he doesn’t dodge. Kilorn doesn’t have to do that with me. “Cam isn’t keen on parties,” he mutters.
I don’t blame you, Cameron.
“So you’re . . . ?”
“We’re spending time together when we can, that’s all. She’s got much bigger and more important priorities than me. But we write letters. She’s better at it than I am.” His tone is matter-of-fact, without a hint of jealousy or even annoyance over her time spent elsewhere. He knows Cameron has her hands more than full with the Nortan reconstruction. “And neither of us is a soldier. There’s no pressure to rush into anything we aren’t ready for.”
He doesn’t mean it as a rebuke. Still, it’s impossible not to draw parallels to my own life. Every romance I’ve ever been involved in had a sword hanging over it. Sometimes quite literally. Cal kissed me when I was his brother’s betrothed, before he was sent off to war. When I was a deadly secret hiding in plain sight. Maven loved me as he could beneath terrible circumstances, where death threatened me, and where Maven himself was the greatest threat of all. In truth, I don’t know what it’s like to be in love without a storm cloud overhead, ready to erupt. The closest I can think of is my time at the Piedmont base, days spent training with Cal. Training for war, of course, but at least we weren’t afraid of dying in our sleep.
I snort at the thought. My definition of normal is incredibly screwed up.
The path curves downward, breaking into steps that wind through the high meadows above the city. The premier’s estate is just ahead, awash in golden sunlight. The pines seem to bend over the palatial compound, taller even than the highest tower.
The windows are shut fast against the chilly autumn air, each one polished to a high sheen. We’re too far away to see inside, but I squint anyway, searching the dozens of glass panes for a familiar face.
“Are you going to ask about him or keep dancing around the subject until I break?” Kilorn finally huffs.
I don’t miss a step. “It seems you
have broken.”
He huffs again.
“Cal’s supposed to be in tomorrow morning at the latest.” He gestures vaguely at the estate. Tomorrow morning. My heart thuds wildly in my chest. “With Julian and his granny in tow, as well as other members of the Nortan delegation. Reds, Silvers, newbloods. An even spread.”
Members of the former High Houses, lords and ladies who would rather skewer a Red than sit beside them. If not for Cal, if not for Montfort. I can’t imagine what the delegation looks like, or how rife with chaos and conflict it must be.
With Cal at the center of it all, no longer a king. Little more than a bystander, a soldier, another voice in a crowd of many. I can’t imagine him like that either.
“I guess you’ll want to talk to him.”
I feel slightly sick. Of course I do. Of course I’m dreading it. “Yes.”
The last time I saw Cal, we stood in the cold shadow of a jet, saying good-bye to each other. We were angry and exhausted and heartbroken, in mourning and in pain. Or at least I was. I needed to leave. I won’t ask you to wait for me, I told him. In the moment, it felt like the right thing to do. The fair thing. But the look on his face was so horrible when I said it. As if I’d killed his brother all over again. He kissed me, and I could feel how deeply the hurt ran in us both.
“Any idea what you’re going to say?” Kilorn glances at me sidelong and I still my face, trying to hide the torment beneath. My mind whirls, a hurricane of every thought I’ve had over the past months. Everything I’ve wanted to say to him.
I missed you. I’m glad I went away. It was a mistake to go. It was the right thing to do. I’m sorry I killed him. I’d do it again if I had to. I need you now. I want more time. I love you. I love you.
“Not sure,” I finally mutter, forcing the words out.
Kilorn makes a clucking sound, a scolding teacher. Annoyed. “Are you clamming up because you really don’t know or you just don’t want to tell me?”
“I can barely talk it through in my own head, let alone out loud,” I reply quickly, before I lose my nerve. “I don’t know what I’m going to say, because I still don’t know . . . what I want.”
“Oh.” He pauses, thoughtful. Always an odd look on Kilorn Warren. “Well, that’s a perfectly fine way to feel.”
Something so simple shouldn’t bring me such relief, but it does. I put my hand on his arm, just for a moment, and squeeze. He nudges me back.
“Thanks, I needed that,” I whisper.
“I know,” he whispers in return.
“The gala isn’t until the end of the week.” I count off the hours in my head. Tonight, all of tomorrow, the day after . . . “Do the Nortans really need that much time to get ready for a party?”
Or do they want more time here? Did someone want to be here early? And will he stay for very long after? Get a grip, Mare Barrow. Just one mention of Cal, a few hours separating me from him, and I’m already going crazy. And for what reason? It’s only been two months since I saw him last. That isn’t very long, at all.
Was it even enough? For us to heal, to forget, to mourn?
Or was it too much? Has he moved on? Did he wait? Have I?
Both possibilities fill me with icy dread.
“If you bothered to read your reports, you might have figured out that the gala is pretty much just cover,” Kilorn says, his voice bringing me back. “An excuse to get all the key players in the alliance in one spot without causing too much concern. There have been delegation meetings before, but we’ve never been able to get everyone together at the same time until now. The States, the Guard, the Republic. The whole gang.”
I narrow my eyes at Kilorn. “The Lakelands aren’t stupid. They’re watching our movements. They probably have spies in our ranks. Iris and Cenra will know we aren’t just drinking and dancing all week.”
“Like you said, I don’t know anything of importance,” he says brightly. I have to roll my eyes as he keeps talking. “Farley mentioned something about deniability. If we convene for war councils and make our intentions clear, the Lakelands and Piedmont have no choice but to move first. It’s escalation.”
The logic isn’t entirely sound, but when has that stopped any of us?
“So the gala buys time,” I mutter.
“And some drinking and dancing never hurt anyone.” Kilorn spins for effect, his boots sliding over the pavement.
In my experience, balls, parties, and gala events aren’t cause for celebration, but it isn’t in me to ruin his fun. I can tell Kilorn is excited, and I suppose my family might be too. Back home, the best we ever got were a few fiddles in the market square or a barn hall. They’ve never seen what the other half is capable of in their delights.
Sneering, I brush some nonexistent dirt from the shoulder of his jacket. It’s too small for him, though it used to fit a few months ago. “I hope you have a suit handy.”
He flicks my fingers away. “I figured Gisa could help.”
In the distance, I can hear Bree still needling our sister, probably begging for the exact same thing. I grin at the thought of her being in such high demand. She’ll certainly enjoy turning the boys away, or forcing them into increasingly more extravagant costumes.
I wonder what she has in store for me. Again, my heart thuds. I haven’t had much cause for beauty in the last few months. I suppose I should make an effort for such an important gathering, and look the part of the hero everyone thinks I am.
And if it makes Cal blush, all the better.
“Gisa will help, right?” Kilorn mutters apprehensively glancing in my sister’s direction.
“You should get in line.”
TWO
Cal
It’s just past sunset in the mountains; the snowy peaks are still painted blood red. A fitting color for this place. I watch through the jet window as we fly in, weaving toward the now-familiar valley outside Ascendant. As one of the representatives going between the Nortan States and the Republic, I feel like I’ve done this a thousand times. There’s always a great deal of movement within the alliance, and Montfort is always at its center. I’ve been back and forth so much by now, enough to know what to expect from approach. The craft rattles, hitting pockets of turbulence over the peaks. It hardly registers. The updrafts of mountain air make the landing bumpy, and I jostle against my buckles when we touch down onto the runway.
Even though we land safely, my heart rate climbs and my hands tremble as I unfasten myself. It takes more willpower than it should not to sprint from the jet.
Nanabel certainly takes her time getting off the craft. She plays up the charade of an old woman, leaning on the seat backs for support as she walks down the aisle. “Can’t imagine how you do this so much, Cal,” she grumbles to me. Her voice is louder than it needs to be, even over the drone of the airjet. “I’m stiff all over.”
I roll my eyes behind her back. It’s all an act—I know firsthand how spry she is. My grandmother is no wilting flower. She just wants to slow me down, keep me from looking overeager. Like a puppy hoping for a treat, she hissed to me when I volunteered to go to the Samos abdication. Not to see Evangeline or Ptolemus, not even really to show my support to royal Silvers making the same choice I did. She knew I thought Mare might be there. And just the chance was enough for me.
But she never showed, to my disappointment.
Don’t be unfair, I tell myself. She had no reason to go to the Rift. She’s had more than her fill of Silvers struggling to give up their crowns.
Uncle Julian is good enough to take Nanabel by the arm, helping her along at a quicker step. She offers a bloodless smile in thanks, clutching at him with strong, lethal hands. He pales under her grasp, knowing exactly how deadly the hands of an oblivion can be.
Thank you, I mouth to him, and he nods in reply.
Julian is excited to be here too, albeit for very different reasons. He enjoys the Republic as only a scholar can, and my uncle is eager to show the country to Sara. She walks in front of him, set
ting a good pace in quiet determination. Like me, Julian and Sara have ceased wearing house colors. I’m still not used to seeing my uncle in anything but faded gold, or Sara in colors that aren’t red and silver.
Nanabel, of course, keeps to the old tradition. I don’t think she owns anything that isn’t red, orange, or black. Her long silk coat trails as she walks down the jet, displaying explosive red brocade set with chips of black stone. No one would ever know we aren’t royal anymore if they looked in her closet.
And she isn’t the only one to still dress like the old days. Today, the Nortan States delegation has four other Silvers in it, two of them from the High Houses. One is from House Laris, a representative for us as well as the now-returned Rift. Her yellow clothing seems garish in wartime. The other, Cyrus Welle, is a former governor and an old man, run ragged and thin by war. His green robes are clean, but they seem faded. His medallion, a jeweled tree, barely reflects the lights inside the jet as he walks. He catches my glance and offers a smile weaker than his chin. At least he’s here, I remind myself.
The other two Silvers aren’t nobles at all, but selected from the many merchants, craftsmen, career soldiers, and other professionals who volunteered from the lower houses. Naturally, they’re less opposed to restructuring than any noble would be.
The rest of the Nortan States delegation files off the jet with us, some of them already stamping their feet against the chill. It isn’t quite this cold at home, and most of the delegation, the Reds especially, have never been to such high altitude.
Ada Wallace weaves among them, speaking in a low voice. Probably explaining exactly how high we are, why the air is so thin, and what that does to the human body. She keeps telling them to drink more water, with an encouraging smile. Though I’ve only known her a year, Ada feels like an old friend, and a relic of a different life. Like Mare, she’s a newblood, one of the many we recruited so many months ago. She’s more valuable than ever now, perhaps the most valuable member of the States’ reconstruction effort. And a real comfort. Someone who knows me as more than an abdicated king.
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