“You heard me, Maven,” he says, and his voice is different from before. Still his own, but stronger, faster, more forceful. A sharp edge on stone.
We look back at him, perplexed. At least, I am.
Maven looks torn between murderous fury and . . . hope?
The man grins.
“Have you missed me?” he says. “I think you have.”
I hear bone on bone. Grinding teeth. Maven clenches his jaw and forces out a single word.
“Mare.”
FOURTEEN
Mare
“He knows it’s you.”
We all seem to inhale at the same time, and my breath feels ragged. Suddenly, the small room tucked away in the Samos palace is much too tight. On instinct, my eyes snap to Farley. She stares back at me. Her throat works, swallowing hard, and I trace the action. She steels before my eyes, hardening with determination.
I bite my lip and wish I could do this alone. But she isn’t going anywhere, standing over Ibarem. Close enough to stop this if things get beyond my control. Ibarem’s eyes burn into mine, alight and intense as his mind bridges the divide between Ridge House and Piedmont. He already vomited out as much information as he could about the prison on the Piedmont base, the bunker half buried with east-facing windows. Which prisoners his brother can see, exactly who he’s captured with, who he saw die, who he saw escape. To my relief, Ella and Rafe were among the survivors who made it into the swamps. That intelligence alone was vital, but this—Maven, right in front of us. So close I feel like I could almost reach out and touch him.
I want to see what Ibarem sees. I want to tip forward, plunge through the russet depths of his eyes, and emerge in the matching pair staring out of a cell hundreds of miles away. Look Maven in the face again. Read him as I know I can. Every tick and pull of muscle under skin. The smallest flashes across ice-blue eyes, speaking of secrets and weaknesses he tries to bury.
Ibarem’s connection to his brother will have to do. Their bond is strong despite the distance, almost immediate. Ibarem describes everything he senses through Rash as it comes.
“Maven is approaching the bars—he’s leaning in, inches away. There’s sweat on his neck. It’s hot in Piedmont. It just rained.” Ibarem tightens before me, laying his palms flat on his thighs. He draws back, and I imagine Maven right here in the room with us, crowding into his face. Ibarem’s lip curls in distaste. “He’s searching us. Our eyes.”
I flinch and feel the cold phantom of familiar breath on my skin.
In spite of the sunlight streaming in through the single window, I feel darkness pool in this small, forgotten room hidden in Ridge House. I wish I’d never thought of this, had never summoned Ibarem to do this. He was supposed to be our link to Tahir and Davidson, an easy connection to Montfort. Not to his other brother, captured in Piedmont. Not to Maven.
I force myself to keep still, locking my muscles and my expression. But my heart gallops in my chest, rising to a dull, constant thud.
Farley tries not to pace, and her odd lack of activity makes me even more nervous than I already am. This place disagrees with both of us. Ridge House seems like little more than a trap waiting to be sprung. Every room has metal in some form, beamed or columned or even woven into the floor itself. The house is a weapon only a few can wield. And they surround us at all times.
Even the chair beneath me is cold steel. I shiver where it touches my bare skin.
The knock on the door makes us both jump, startled out of our skin. I whirl, teeth clenched, to see the knob turn, catching fast against a lock. Farley crosses to the door in two long strides, ready to turn away whatever servant or snooping noble waits on the other side.
To my dismay, she throws the door wide and steps back, allowing a broad, familiar silhouette to step into the room.
I all but snarl at her, my fists clenching on my knees.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, my voice low and firm.
Tiberias glances between Farley and me, as if weighing the two of us. Which female frightens him more. “I was invited,” he says thickly. “And we are going to be extremely late for a council meeting.”
“Then go!” I dismiss him with a wave, turning on Farley. “What are you doing?” I force through gritted teeth.
She cuts me off with the sharp slam of the door. “You know Maven, but so does he,” she says with cold efficiency. “Let him listen.”
In front of me, Ibarem blinks. “Miss Barrow,” he says, prodding for us to continue.
As if this weren’t stressful enough.
“Fine,” I mutter through gritted teeth, turning back to face the Montfort newblood. I do my best to ignore the other Calore, now leaning against the wall to put as much space between us as he can. His foot taps in the corner of my eye in a burst of nervous energy.
“Maven is saying something,” Ibarem murmurs, his natural voice soft and halting. It shifts quickly into the best impression he can make of Maven. “How are we speaking right now?” he says, the words suddenly cruel and sharp. He even forces a cold laugh. It’s a good likeness. “Or are you just trying to toy with a king, Red? Not a good decision, I’m afraid.”
Ibarem shifts again, his eyes darting, seeing across the miles. “He has guards. Sentinels. Six of them. Prince Bracken and his children just passed through as well, with four guards of their own.”
Tiberias says something behind his hand and Farley nods. Adding to the count of hostiles, probably. “Firm alliance with Bracken,” I hear Tiberias mutter. “They’ll strike again, and soon.”
“The queen is with him,” Ibarem continues. “The Lakelander princess. She isn’t speaking, just standing. Watching.” Ibarem narrows his eyes. “Her face is blank. She almost seems frozen.”
“Tell Iris . . .” I stumble, tapping my fingers together. They must be convinced. Irrevocably sure it’s me speaking through the brotherly bond. “Tell her all dogs bite.”
“All dogs bite, Iris,” Ibarem repeats. He tips his head as I tip mine. Imitating me now. A common girl with an uncommon life. The truth unsettles Maven as much as anything, and I must unsettle him if I’m to get anything out of this exchange.
“The queen is smirking. She nods her head,” Ibarem says. He shifts into an impression of Iris, his voice climbing an octave. “All dogs bite, but some dogs wait, Mare Barrow.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Farley grumbles into her hand.
But I know.
I’m just a well-dressed and tightly leashed lapdog, I told Iris once, during my imprisonment. She smirked then too. Even lapdogs bite, she replied. Will you?
I’m finally free to answer. And so is she.
Iris Cygnet is waiting for her own opportunity to strike. I wonder if she has the Lakelands behind her, or just her own rage.
I glance over my shoulder, looking to Farley. “It’s something she said to me in Archeon. Before I came back.”
“It’s definitely her, but how, I can’t say,” Ibarem continues, relaying Iris’s voice the best he can. “This must be some newblood ability we don’t know yet.”
“What you don’t know could fill an ocean,” I reply. “About Montfort, about the Scarlet Guard.” It feels shameful, dirty even, to jab like this, but I do it easily. “About your brother. He’s standing right next to me, you know.”
Ibarem sneers, mimicking Maven. “Is that supposed to mean something?” I think there may be a tremor of fear in the echoed words. “I have little regard for who you decide to stand next to. Though,” he adds, and his sneer curves into a wicked smile, “I understand you aren’t standing next to him much anymore.”
I force a smile, using it to mask my wince. “Good to know you have spies in our coalition,” I say boldly. “Although nowhere near as many as we have in yours.”
A laugh like nails on glass bursts from Ibarem. “You think I waste my spies on tracking your emotions, Mare? No, my darling, I just know you better than anyone else.” He laughs again, showing white eyeteeth. I focus on the sc
ar on Ibarem’s chin to keep a picture of Maven’s beautiful, haunted, hissing face out of my head. “I knew you wouldn’t stomach it when Cal showed who he truly was.”
At the edge of my vision, Tiberias doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. He keeps his eyes lowered, intent on glaring a hole in the floor.
“He is created as much as I am. Made by our father, molded and broken into that walking, talking brick wall you thought you loved so well.” Maven pushes on, speaking through Ibarem. “He hides behind that shield he calls duty, but the truth is less noble. Cal is made of want, same as the rest of us. But he wants the crown. He wants the throne. And no price is too high to pay. No blood too valuable to spill.”
A snap rips through the air as Cal cracks a single knuckle with his thumb.
“We always come back to the same conversation, Maven,” I grumble, leaning back with exaggerated nonchalance. Ibarem mirrors my motions. “I wonder, Iris, does he whine about Tiberias as much to you, or am I the only one who has to deal with this nonsense?”
Ibarem turns his head, as if looking to Iris. “Her lips twitched. Perhaps a smile,” he reports. “Maven is shifting, putting an arm to the bars. The temperature is rising.”
“Did I strike a nerve?” I ask. “Oh, I forgot, you don’t know which nerves are even yours. And which are hers.”
With a grimace, Ibarem smacks his open palms on his thighs. “Maven hit the bars. The temperature is still rising. The other prisoners are doing their best to watch.” The newblood blinks, flaring his nostrils, forcing heavy breaths. “He’s trying to calm himself.”
“It isn’t wise to antagonize someone with so many hostages at his disposal. I could let them all burn if I wanted,” Maven hisses through gritted teeth. I can smell his shaking anger from hundreds of miles away. “It would be easy to report that there were no survivors of Bracken’s glorious reclamation of his lands.”
It’s true. There is nothing to stop Maven from murdering every prisoner in sight. They live on his whims alone.
Leaving an intricate needle for me to thread.
“Or you could free them.”
Maven barks a surprised laugh. “I think you need to get more sleep, Mare.”
“In a trade, of course.” I glance up at Farley, weighing her expression. Her brows twitch, knitting together in thought.
I see Tiberias pale too. The last time we brokered a trade with Maven, I ended up imprisoned for months on end.
“Because that ended so well for us last time,” Maven chuckles through Ibarem’s bond. “But if you’d like to return, and pretend you’re doing it to save some nameless soldiers, then I’m happy to welcome you back.”
“I thought Elara killed your ability to dream,” I snap back. “No, Maven, I’m talking about what the Scarlet Guard left behind on Bracken’s base.”
Ibarem’s face falls, matching the boy king’s. “What?”
Farley grins, crouching next to me. Addressing Ibarem, and therefore Maven. “The Scarlet Guard has a difficult time trusting Silvers. Especially ones kept in check the way Bracken was. It was only a matter of time before something happened and he decided to stop taking orders from the people holding his children.”
“Who am I speaking to now?” Maven demands through Ibarem.
“Oh, I’m hurt you don’t remember me. But it’s General Farley now, so maybe I sound different.”
“Ah yes.” Ibarem clucks his tongue. “How foolish of me to forget the woman who let a wolf like me into her pack of particularly stupid sheep.”
Farley smiles like she’s just been served a particularly delicious meal. “These stupid sheep wired your base with explosives.”
For a second, the room goes deathly silent. Tiberias looks up, his face twisted in alarm. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”
“Plenty,” she snaps, not looking away from Ibarem. “Don’t repeat that.”
He barely nods.
“Well, Maven?” I ask, pasting on a sweet smile. “You can recall whoever you sent into the swamps after our people, and try to search the base before we obliterate it. Or you can release the prisoners, and we’ll tell you exactly how close you’re standing to a bomb.”
“Explosives don’t frighten me.”
“They would if you cared about the soldiers sworn to your crown,” Tiberias growls, prowling close to my shoulder. His forearm brushes against me, sending a flare of heat down my spine.
A shadow seems to pass over Ibarem as he relays the prince’s words and presence. “Good of you to step forward, brother,” Maven whispers. “I thought you’d never find the spine to speak to me.”
“Name the place and we’ll see exactly who has the stronger spine,” Tiberias fires back, his growl feral and unchecked.
In reply, Ibarem just wags a finger back and forth. “Let’s leave the posturing for your inevitable surrender, Cal. When you have to kneel before Norta, the Lakelands, and Piedmont.” He rattles off each country with a spreading grin. I feel the weight stacking against us, the wall getting higher and higher.
Farley puts a hand on my shoulder, holding me back to my chair. Bidding me to wait.
Finally, Ibarem moves, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. His body language is all Maven. Dedicated to a performance. Now he isn’t wearing the false mantle of the young man called to duty. He dons the mask of the heartless, impenetrable son of Elara Merandus. Someone who cares only for power and nothing else.
It is an act as much as Mareena was to me.
“How many bombs did you say, General?”
He uses her rank to throw her off, but Farley is more difficult to rattle. “I didn’t.”
“Hmm,” Maven murmurs. “Well, Bracken won’t take kindly to any further damage done to his installation. Though we bought enough goodwill returning his children, so he might not mind.”
I don’t know exactly where the explosives might be, only that the Guard planted them some time ago. Buried them below the roads, the runways, and most of the administrative buildings. Where they could do the most damage, not just to enemy soldiers, but to the base itself. They’re tuned to a specific frequency, triggered and ready to blow. A perfect and deadly piece of foresight.
“The decision is yours, Maven,” I answer. “The prisoners for your base.”
Ibarem mimics Maven’s grin. “And this newblood, of course,” he says. “Though I’d like to keep him, if you don’t mind. This is much easier than sending you letters.”
“Not part of the deal.”
Pouting, Ibarem huffs. “You make things so difficult sometimes.”
“It’s my specialty.”
At my side, Tiberias scoffs quietly. I’m sure he agrees.
We wait in blistering silence, hanging on every breath from Ibarem’s body. He turns in his seat, looking back and forth. Pantomiming Maven as he paces.
Farley looms above me, a storm cloud as much as I am.
“Where would you like them released?” he says finally.
Silently, Farley punches the air with a pair of brutal, triumphant jabs. I’m reminded of her young age. Only twenty-two, just a few years older than me.
“East gate,” Farley replies, and I try to keep my triumph in check. “The swamps. Dusk.”
I hear Maven’s confusion. “That’s it?”
Tiberias is just as puzzled. He glances sidelong at Farley. “That’s no rescue,” he murmurs, gesturing for Ibarem not to relay his words. “General, we need to get dropjets in place. A clear path. A cease-fire while we evacuate the prisoners and those who managed to escape.”
She slices a hand through the air. “No need, Calore. You keep forgetting the Scarlet Guard isn’t the kind of army you’re used to.” Proud, she plants her hands on her hips. “There’s already infrastructure in place, and we have boots on the ground in the swamps already. Moving Reds across enemy territory is sort of what we’re best at.”
“Good to hear,” Tiberias grinds out. “But I don’t like being left out of the loop. We wor
k better with everyone on even ground.”
“You call this even ground?” Farley says, gesturing between him and us. His blood, our blood. His rank, our rank. The canyon between a Silver born to be a king and Reds born to nothing at all.
His eyes flicker, dancing from her to down to me. He towers over me in my seat, his height exaggerated by the distance. So much space between us and yet none at all. Though it pains him, Tiberias bites his tongue, and a muscle feathers in his cheek as he wrenches his gaze from mine. I see the struggle in him and I expect him to push. Keep arguing. To my surprise, he settles back, gesturing for us to continue.
In front of me, Ibarem heaves a breath. He touches the scar on his chin, brown skin knobbled white between the curls of his black beard. Then he brushes the flesh below each of his eyes. Where the scars of his brothers lie. “The king lingers, thinking. Miss Barrow, tell him he won’t be able to use us this way again,” he says, now pleading. “Or this wretched young man will keep my brother as his prisoner. As a channel to you and His Majesty.”
“Of course,” I reply, bobbing my head. Eager to save Rash from becoming another newblood pet. “We’ll know if you keep the newblood, Maven. And if you do, the deal is broken.”
The responding voice is bitter, but unsurprised. “But I’ve missed our conversations. You keep me sane, Mare,” he tells me, trying for dark humor. It lands poorly.
“We both know that isn’t true. And you will never communicate with me through him again.”
He scowls. “Then we’ll have to find new ways to talk.”
Above me, Tiberias lifts a finger, signaling for Ibarem’s attention. “If you want to talk, no one will stop you, Maven,” he says, and the newblood relays. “Wars are fought with diplomacy as much as weaponry. Meet us on neutral ground, face-to-face.”
“So eager to negotiate surrender, Cal?” Maven taunts, waving away the offer. “Now, General, the explosives?”
Farley nods. “You’ll be given their locations after we can verify that our people are in the swamps and out of harm’s way.”
War Storm Page 22
