Farley flicks her wrist like she’s batting away a pesky insect. “Because a few Silver lords and ladies lose their jewels? Please.”
“We share borders with Piedmont and the Lakelands, General,” I reply, doing my best not to sound condescending.
“Surrounded by Silver enemies, what a foreign concept,” Farley snaps back.
I sigh in exasperation. “I can hardly control geography of the world, Farley,” I reply, to a low hiss of amused whispers.
My uncle’s grip tightens on my arm. “Even now, defecting to the southern princes or the Lakelander queen is still an option for many noble families,” Julian says, his voice taking on an apologetic tone. “Some of them did in the war, some never returned, and others are waiting for the excuse to do so again. We can’t give them that.”
“There will be adjusted rates of taxation,” I add quickly. “We’ve agreed. Nobles will be paying their fair share.”
Farley’s response is acid. “Sounds like everything is their fair share.”
Again, I wish I could agree. I wish what Reds deserve from us were within the realm of possibility.
To my surprise, Radis comes to my defense. “The Nortan delegation isn’t wrong.” He adjusts the already immaculate collar of his green-and-white suit. While Davidson is all stillness, impossible to read, Radis likes the spotlight and basks in it. Both are performers, charmers, intent on winning hearts—and votes. No king ever had to be so deft or charismatic with so many. “Allowances must be made. We did the same here, all those years ago.”
“Inches for miles,” Davidson agrees, finally breaking his silence. He turns to face the Scarlet Guard, explaining for their benefit. “With the formation of the Free Republic, all Silvers who oathed themselves to the new government were pardoned for their crimes against the Red and newblood populace. Those who did not were exiled, their assets seized. I’d suggest the same, but the Nortan States are nearly at war again, and they need every soldier at their disposal. Both to protect their fledgling nation, and to ensure that the Scarlet Guard do not spill their own blood needlessly.”
The Scarlet Guard hardly likes the sound of that. The generals and officers both react as if being asked to drink poison. I expected as much. Even though this is only the first of many meetings, the entire week already feels like a failure.
Put it on the list, Calore.
“If you help us get back on our feet, give us the room we need to do so . . . ,” I say, almost pleading to the other delegations. I understand why they won’t budge, but they must be made to see. This is how we win, the only way we win. “It’s better for all of us in the grand scheme of things.”
Mare’s lips twist into a scowl. Her glare cuts with a lovely blade, and it feels like she and I are the only people left in the room. “Ends justifying means has been used to defend many, many atrocities, Cal.”
Cal. She refused to call me that for so long; it still shivers me when she does it. Even though we stand at odds, both of us seemingly at opposite ends of the earth again, I want to reach out and touch her so badly my knees almost buckle. The hairs on my arms rise, as if responding to some electric current.
“You have my word this won’t be one,” I say thickly, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.
Something softens in her eyes, or perhaps it’s just a trick of the strange mountain light. It’s still early, the windows full of gold. She looks lovely in it.
Evangeline is very noisy about standing up, letting her chair scrape and her rings clink together. She all but rolls her eyes between us.
“I have some progress to report,” she drawls.
FIVE
Mare
“Officer Samos?”
One of Davidson’s many aides turns in his seat, craning to look at Evangeline.
Officer.
The title was strange on Cal, who I’ve only ever known as a prince and a king, but for Evangeline, it seems against nature. It’s impossible to picture her as subordinate to anyone, let alone acting as a soldier. I wonder what poor Montfortan captain has to deal with giving her orders. Or if she even bothers to turn up on time to whatever she’s doing. If I weren’t sitting in the front of my delegation, I wouldn’t think twice about checking the information packet just to find out. There’s a list of delegates, with photos and summaries of each person here. I certainly pity whoever has to deal with her.
Evangeline is regal as ever, with or without a crown. She even pauses long enough to ensure the undisputed attention of the room. She flicks her single braid over her shoulder, the silver hair glinting beneath the light of the library windows.
After a moment, she speaks, ringed hands clasped in front of her.
“My correspondence with Princess Iris of the Lakelands has been most informative,” she says simply, a smirk tugging at her lips as the room explodes into noisy chaos. She lets it wash over her, enjoying every second.
The Scarlet Guard buzzes around me, not bothering to disguise their whispers. I only catch fragments, most of them some form of the word betrayal.
Farley leans in close to me, her voice rough and movements jerky. “Did you know—” she begins before my glare stops her short.
“How could I?” I growl back. “We’re not exactly pen pals.” I can’t even begin to comprehend what Evangeline is getting at, or what she might accomplish communicating with Iris. I want to assume the best of her—she did it for the cause—but my intuition tells me to prepare for the worst.
At the Nortan table, Cal’s delegation is just as confused as we are. Heads bend together and whispers fly. Julian and Cal turn to each other, and my old mentor’s lips move furiously, saying something no one but Cal can hear. Ada shifts, adding her own assumptions to Julian’s. They listen intently, eyes alight. Anabel jumps to her feet again. Apparently losing her crown has turned her into a rabbit.
“Evangeline, what is the meaning of this?” she snaps, almost scolding. “Premier?”
The premier doesn’t react, stoic as ever. I have to assume he already knew—nothing happens in the Republic without his knowledge. Nor is Evangeline foolish enough to jeopardize her place here, or the safety of the people she loves.
The Montfort delegation is more reactive, whispering like the rest of us. An aide whispers to Ptolemus, who waves him off.
Dread pools in my stomach. I grit my teeth.
Evangeline raises her chin, weathering the low buzz of speculation with ease. “We’ve been exchanging letters for some weeks now. She’s been very responsive.”
Ugh, she’s enjoying this too much.
“To what?” I blurt out.
She smirks at me, one silver eyebrow raised. “You of all people must know what wonderful advice I give,” she says coyly, before turning back to the room. I feel the very familiar urge to spit at her. Forgetting myself, I glance at Cal, only to find him already looking at me. He seems just as exasperated as I am. Despite our traded barbs a moment ago, we share a sigh of frustration.
“I spoke to her as one princess to another,” Evangeline tells the chamber. “I’ve seen my kingdom rise and fall, born of war and ended by war. My father refused to adapt our country, and would have never taken the pains Officer Calore is taking now with his former kingdom.”
“A kingdom he already lost before he ever agreed to our terms,” Farley all but snarls.
At his seat, Cal tightens his jaw, his eyes on the papers in front of him.
Under the table, I put a hand on her wrist. “Easy,” I mutter under my breath. Cal’s got enough on his plate. There’s no use in smacking him around more than we already have.
But Evangeline acquiesces to Farley, extending a hand. “Exactly. He wasn’t able to adapt either, and lost his crown for it. I told Iris that she can avoid the same fate.”
General Swan, cool as ever, surveys the former princess with narrowed eyes. “You have no right, no power to promise her anything. Premier, get your people in order.”
I expect Evangeline to cut the general fo
r speaking so sharply. To my surprise, Evangeline shrugs her off. The mountains have been good for her. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“You told her to bend instead of break,” Cal muses.
Her daggered smile takes on a cold, bitter edge. “Yes, I did.”
The thoughts come as fast as I can speak them, puzzling out Evangeline’s plan. “Make Reds equal to Silvers, all the same subjects to the Lakelander crown,” I murmur, seeing the logic alongside the danger—and the defeat.
“With some representation in government thrown in for good measure,” she says, nodding at me. “I can’t speak for her mother, but Iris seems receptive. She’s seen what’s happening in the Nortan States. If the Lakelands must change, she’d rather do it in a slow slide rather than a plummet.”
Cal shakes his head, his dark brow deeply furrowed. “Why would she even entertain the idea? The Lakelands are strong, far stronger than the States.”
“Yes, but they aren’t stronger than this alliance, or at least they know it will be a hell of a fight.” She looks around the room, as if to marvel at our number. Our strength and power. “They certainly aren’t stronger than their own Reds, millions of them. If that fuse is ever truly lit, they’ll lose their country too.” Her eyes land on the Scarlet Guard. The generals stare back, and I try to picture what Evangeline sees. Terrorists to one, freedom fighters to another. Rebels and revolutionaries with a real chance at victory. Desperate people willing to do whatever the cause requires. “It’s a risk to keep fighting us, a real risk. Iris is clear-sighted enough to see that.”
“Or she’s simply stringing you along.” Farley keeps herself in check this time, her voice measured and even. Beneath the table, her fingers curl. “Lulling us into a false sense of security before another attack. Our soldiers have been fighting tooth and nail along the river borders and in the north. If their princess has any hesitation, they certainly don’t show it.”
“I don’t expect you to trust Silvers, General,” Evangeline says slowly, and for once, her familiar bite is gone. “I assume you never will. But you can at least trust our talent for survival. It’s something most of us do very well.”
And just like that, the bite returns, whether she knows it or not. I feel it deeply, as if jaws have closed around my throat. Most of us. Many Silvers have died since all this began. Her father, Cal’s father—and Maven too.
One glance at Cal tells me I’m not alone.
He’s trying to forget just as I am.
And failing just as I am.
Is that why he never said a word?
I am many things, many people. And I am also the killer of Maven Calore. Is that what rises to the surface when he looks at me? Does he see his brother, dying with his eyes open? Does he see me with silver blood all over my hands?
There’s only one way to know.
No matter how much it frightens me, no matter the pain it may cause, I have to speak to him. And soon.
Thanks to Cal veering us so quickly off course, the delegations abandon the agenda entirely and spend the next two hours bickering back and forth over every point that comes our way. I should have expected he would want to dive in as soon as possible, and rile everyone up in the meantime. We find ourselves drifting from subject to subject, each one branching into another. If the Nortan military needs to be fed, who will be rationed? How are the farmers paid? What can be traded through the rivermen? What can be bought? Why are the transport fees so high? Most of the people I know in the room are warriors only, with little talent for economics or supply. Julian and Ada do most of the talking for the Nortan States, while Davidson, Radis, and a few of his government ministers serve for Montfort. General Drummer, who coordinates with the Whistle network for the Guard, has almost too much to say about shipping routes and old smuggler trails still in use. Farley hunches into an uncomfortable position for the duration, if only to keep herself from falling asleep. She interjects when she can, as does Anabel. The latter, I think, is doing her best to placate the Nortan Silvers. They look jumpy at best, liable to run from the room and the alliance at the first sign of instability. I keep silent, for the most part. My expertise is far from here.
The clock ticks, signaling two hours gone, and I exhale a long breath. This was just the overview. It was supposed to be the easy part. I can only imagine what the more specific and smaller meetings might turn into.
Everyone else seems to mirror my exhaustion, eager to get out of the room and on to the rest of their schedules. I barely have the energy to think about the trade meeting I’m supposed to attend next, where I will be of no use to anyone. Chairs scrape all over the library, and the delegations mix together. Some gather for comfort and safety—the Nortan Silvers are quick to keep to their own. Others approach each other to talk even more. Julian reaches Davidson with some effort, and the two shake hands for a long moment. I can’t imagine wanting to speak at all after this, but they both carry on without thought.
Cal remains sitting through it all, quietly arranging his papers into a neat pile. Anabel hovers over him, a nanny and a shield. She puts a hand on his arm and whispers something to coax him out of his seat.
I’m still in mine, unable to move. Rooted to the spot despite the swirl of people around me. He doesn’t look my way. Doesn’t take a single step in my direction. But his body angles, shoulders open to me for a long second. Until he turns his back and lets his grandmother lead him from the room, the rest of his delegation moving in his wake.
It’s impossible, but I think he might be more handsome than I remember.
Farley moves in a blur of blond hair and red uniform, catching Ada by the elbow as she goes. The newblood offers a weak smile until Farley pulls her into a warm embrace. The two share a grin of familiarity, a kinship we all gained those weeks at the Notch. Even if Ada is working directly with the States now, and not us, that doesn’t matter.
Still, I can’t move. It feels better to watch. Easier, somehow. My brain might be overloaded after two long hours of not-so-polite argument.
And there’s only one way I know to clear my head.
Well, two, a voice whispers, but he seems busy.
I jolt out of my seat before that voice can betray me and send me scouring the halls in search of a fallen fire king.
Tyton hasn’t left the library yet, allowing some Scarlet Guard officer to talk at him while he stares at the ceiling. I manage to catch his eye as I walk, gesturing for the door. Thankfully, he catches my meaning and politely detangles himself from the chatty Guardsman.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, falling into step beside me. We do our best to navigate the surging crowd of delegates, and I’m careful to keep my face down.
“Think you can get Ella and Rafe down to the training yard?” I reply. Quickly, I decide the trade meeting can survive without me.
He cracks a grin. “We can’t train in the yard, Barrow.”
I smile in return, remembering our weeks at the Piedmont base. Electricons require a lot more room to spar and train, our abilities too destructive when let loose. We trained there at a place called Storm Hill, set away from the sparring circles, with enough open land for even Ella to push herself. I wonder what we must resort to here.
There’s some commotion in the hall—more delegates stopping to talk or whisper. Promises offered, deals proposed. Too much politics for me. The narrower space makes it all the more difficult to move, and I wish I could spark up, just a little, to get through quicker.
“Excuse me,” I grumble sharply, trying to elbow my way around a willow-thin and slow-moving Montfortan representative. She takes no notice of me, locked in conversation with a Red delegate from the Nortan States.
Tyton puts a hand on my back to guide me through. And probably to keep me from shocking anyone. It has a calming effect, his electricity barely brushing against mine.
I relax a little, only to tense up again when a wall of warmth washes over me. My body knows what that means, even if my head doesn’t.
I
almost knock right into his shoulder, my forehead inches from him. “Sorry—” I begin, my mouth moving faster than my brain.
He turns, face blank, looking down on me from a familiar height. Everything about him is familiar and inviting. The warmth, the smell, the shadow of stubble along his chin and cheeks, the flickering bronze of his eyes. Every piece of him threatens to draw me in. So I resist, doing my best to ignore how much he affects me. I square my shoulders, clench my jaw, and give him my most polite nod. It must combine into something frightening, because he pulls back, the beginnings of a smile dying on his lips.
“Good to see you, Cal,” I say, courteous as any noble he’s ever known. It seems to amuse him.
Cal nearly bows, but thinks better of it. “And you, Mare. Hello, Tyton,” he adds, reaching around me to shake hands with my companion. “No Kilorn today?”
This is far from the ideal place to speak, let alone have a conversation of any importance. I grit my teeth. Half of me wants to bolt and half of me wants to latch on to him with no intention of letting go.
“He’s prepping for the refugee meeting, as Radis’s aide,” I reply, eager for the easy topic. Anything to distract from the very large elephant in the very narrow hallway.
Cal’s eyebrows rise a little. Like the rest of us, Kilorn has certainly changed. “I suppose I’ll see him in my next meeting, then.”
I can only bob my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Good.”
“Good,” he echoes, almost too fast. His eyes never leave my face. “I’ll see you . . . around?”
“Yes, I’m around.”
How is it possible to sound so stupid in so few words?
Unable to stand there any longer, I give Cal one last nod and seize the opportunity to push through the crowded hallway, leaving him in my wake. He doesn’t protest or try to follow. Tyton says something behind me, probably a proper good-bye, but I keep walking. He can catch up.
When he finally does, I’ve escaped to one of the wider halls with fewer people and more room to breathe. Tyton all but snickers as he approaches, hands shoved in his pockets.
Broken Throne Page 33
