Elane watches him play the glass with distaste, one side of her mouth curled into the beginnings of a sneer. The waning light gleams in her hair, giving her a ruby halo finer than any crown. She drains her own wine, staining her lips with berry, grape, and plum.
I refrain for the moment, leaving my wineglass full and undisturbed. Usually a quiet dinner away from my parents and the prying eyes of an assembled court is an excuse to drink as much as I like, but we have business to attend to.
“It’s a foolish plan, Evangeline. We don’t have time to play matchmaker,” Ptolemus mutters, his fingers gliding to a halt on the crystal rim. “Harbor Bay could be the end of us all.”
I cluck my tongue. “Don’t be a coward—you know Father wouldn’t risk you or me in an ill-fated siege.” We are well-cared-for investments, Tolly. His legacy depends on our survival. “Whether Cal wins Harbor Bay or not is of no interest me.”
“We do have time, at least,” Elane offers. She regards me with dark eyes that glimmer like star fall across a cornflower sky. “There can be no movement without the Montfort armies. And we still have to outfit our own soldiers, to build up for the siege.”
I slip my hand under the table, feeling the smooth softness of silk on her knee. “This is true. And I’m not suggesting we ignore the war, Tolly. Just divide our attention. Look elsewhere when we can. Nudge pieces on the chessboard.”
“Nudge pieces into bed, you mean,” Ptolemus says with a dry grin. He moves his hand from his water to the stout glass of biting clear liquor and ice he’s drinking. “You think I can influence Mare Barrow without getting my throat slit?” he asks, tossing back a fiery gulp. He winces, hissing air through his teeth. “I think it’s best I stay away from her.”
“I agree with that,” I answer. Barrow promised to let my brother live. It’s a promise I trust less and less every day. “But you can keep an eye on Cal. I thought he was immovable, completely dedicated to winning Norta, but . . . we may have an opportunity to stop that.”
My brother throws back another blistering swig. “We aren’t exactly friends.”
I shrug. “But close enough to it. At least you were a year ago.”
“And what a year it has been,” he mutters, inspecting his reflection in the flat of his dinner knife. His face has not changed, his beauty is undiminished by war, but so many other things are different now. A new king, a new country, new crowns for us both. And a mountain of problems to go with each.
The tumultuous year has been worth the cost, at least to me. A year ago, I was Training harder than I ever had, preparing for the inevitable Queenstrial. I could barely sleep for fear of losing, even when victory was all but guaranteed. My life then was decided, and I reveled in knowing what was to come. In hindsight, I feel stupid and manipulated, seeing myself as the doll I was. Pushed toward a boy I could never love. And here I am again, trapped in the same place I’ve always been. But now I know better. I can fight it. And maybe I can make Cal see reason the way I did. See what our worlds are, the strings we all dance upon.
Ptolemus picks around his specially made meal of lean, barely seasoned chicken, wilted vegetables, and pale fish meat. It lies mostly untouched. Usually he wolfs down his bland, healthy foods, as if eating them quickly can disguise the lack of taste.
Elane is quite the opposite. Her plate is clean, showing no evidence of the rack of wine-soaked lamb we shared. “Indeed,” she says. Her voice is quiet and measured. I try to read her thoughts on her face, her carefully worn expression of thoughtfulness. Is she remembering our lives a year ago? When we thought we would be happy beneath the Nortan throne together, living in a future built on our secrets? As if we were ever truly a secret to anyone with eyes.
“What about me?” Elane prods, putting her hand over my own. Her skin is the perfect balance of warmth against mine. “What part will I play in this?”
“You don’t have to do much of anything,” I answer, almost too quickly.
She puts her hand over mine. “Don’t be stupid, Eve.”
“Very well,” I grit out. “Do as you have before, I suppose.” Shadows are perfect spies, well suited to the intrigues of a royal court. To listen, to watch, safe behind a shield of invisibility. I don’t like the prospect of using her in any capacity that might be dangerous, but like she said, we have time. We’re at Ridge House. She wouldn’t be any safer if I locked her up in my rooms.
Not exactly a bad idea . . .
Elane smirks a little and pushes away her plate, half in jest. Her nose wrinkles. “Should I go now?”
I tighten my grip on her hand, smirking. “You can finish off the wine, at least. I’m not completely heartless.”
With a smile that stops my breath and leaves my pulse racing, she leans into me, her eyes drifting lazily to my lips. “I know exactly how much heart you have.”
Across the table, Ptolemus finishes his drink, rattling the ice. “I’m right here,” he grumbles, averting his eyes.
We have a week at least, if not two, before Davidson and his army return. Enough time to do what I can, with the added advantage of my own territory. Cal and Mare want each other, no matter how many obstacles might stand in the way. He requires only a very little push. If anything, a single word from Mare would send him scurrying to her bedroom. Mare, on the other hand, will be infinitely more difficult, married as she is to her pride, her cause, and that constant, unflagging rage she keeps burning in her chest. Of course, shoving the pair of them back together is only the first half of the endeavor. It’s getting Cal to realize, as I have, the weight of a heart. And how much heavier it is than a crown.
A small part of me wonders if this is impossible. Cal might never wake up the way I did. His choices could be set in stone. But that can’t be true. I see the way he looks at her, and I won’t give up so easily. I only wish I could solve all this with my own two fists and a knife. That might even be enjoyable.
Quite honestly, anything would be more enjoyable than what I’m doing now, prowling through Ridge House at dusk, searching for Mare Barrow. This is a chore and a bore.
Elane is gone, somewhere on the other side of the estate. Keeping an eye on General Farley while Ptolemus works through his evening routine in the training arena. A routine that nicely aligns with Cal’s own schedule. The would-be king is oh-so-married to his workouts, especially now that he can’t burn off his energy with a certain lightning girl.
I pass through the gallery halls, dragging my fingers across statues of reflective steel and polished chrome as I go. Each one responds to my touch, rippling like water disturbed on a still pond. Outside, the sky purples, and stars prick to life across the western horizon. The city of Pitarus glows in the distance, several miles away. A reminder of the world still marching on. Reds and common Silvers now living under the spreading shadow of war. I wonder what that must be like, to read about battles and hear of cities torn apart, and know you have no part in the conflict. No influence. No power should war come to knock on your own door.
And it certainly will.
This war has many sides, and there’s no way to stop what has already begun. Norta will be a rotting carcass one day, with the Rift, the Lakelands, Montfort, Piedmont, and whoever else is left all howling over her corpse.
I step onto the upper terraces, facing into the eastern darkness. A chill hovers on the air, and I think we might face a summer cold front before the week is out.
Barrow isn’t alone when I find her, to my chagrin. She looks up at the stars while her Red boy stretches out at her side, long limbs splayed without thought for appearance. He seems a tangle of blond hair and bronzed, sun-damaged skin.
Kilorn glances at me first, pointing his rounded chin in my direction. “We have an audience.”
“Hello, Evangeline,” Mare replies. Her knees are drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t move, her face tipped to the sky and the growing starlight. “To what do we owe this honor, Your Highness?” she drawls.
I chuckle and pause to lean against the ra
iling edging the terrace tile. Biting to the last. “I find myself in need of distraction.”
Mare shakes her head, amused. “I thought that’s what Elane is for.”
“She has a life of her own,” I muse airily, forcing a shrug. “I can’t expect her to live at my beck and call.”
“You spent all your time pretending not to pine for her, and now here you are, in the same place again. But you’re bothering me instead.” Shrewd, she turns her gaze on me for a second, her brown eyes black against the deepening night sky. Then she looks back at the stars. “What do you want to know?”
“Nothing at all. I don’t care where you and Cal scampered off to today, or why you both were so incredibly late to a meeting about the survival of your own people.”
At her side, the Red boy tenses, his brows knitting together.
Mare tries not to rise to the bait or the implication. She waves a hand, dismissive. “It wasn’t important.”
“Well, if you ever need assistance with your unimportant doings, there are a few passages I can show you. Ways to get around the Ridge unseen.” I tip my head, surveying her as she pretends not to listen to me. “Cal sleeps in the east wing, near my rooms, in case you’re interested.”
Her head snaps up. “I am not.”
“Of course,” I reply.
The Red boy glowers, his eyes a dark green, the color of my mother’s stormiest emeralds. “Is this what you call distraction? Taunting Mare?”
“Not at all. I was wondering if Mare felt like sparring a bit.”
She balks. “I beg your pardon?”
“For old time’s sake.”
She huffs, as if annoyed. But I see the familiar twitch in her. The need. A coil in the pit of her stomach, begging to be unwound. Barrow looks at her feet, blinking slowly. She runs one hand over the other, smoothing her fingers against her palm. Imagining the lightning, no doubt.
There is a particular pleasure in using our abilities for sport rather than survival.
“I’ve almost beaten you twice, Evangeline,” Mare says.
I grin. “Third time’s the charm.”
She glares up at me, annoyed at the hunger inside herself. “Fine,” she forces through gritted teeth. “One match.”
Cal is also in the training arena, not that Mare or Kilorn knows it, though. The Red boy follows us wordlessly, fuming, but he does nothing to stop Barrow when I lead her into the specially made chamber.
The walls are glass, much like the rest of the Ridge. In the morning, it enjoys a full view of the sunrise. Perfect for early sessions. Now it looks out on the darkness, a vague, bruising blue, fading to black. Ptolemus and Cal occupy different ends of the training floor, ignoring each other as men do. My brother steadily works through a rotation of push-ups, his back straight and lean. Wren perches nearby, seated in the raised viewing area. She must be the healer on duty, to attend to anyone on the floor. But her attention is firmly fixed on Ptolemus and his flexing muscles. I could probably spear Cal through the middle and she wouldn’t blink an eye.
The would-be king faces away from us at first, running a towel over his hair and his sweaty, flushed face. I watch Mare go stock-still next to me, as if frozen solid. Her eyes widen, running over his figure. I can only grimace, noting the damp material clinging to Cal’s back and shoulders. Maybe if I felt some attraction to him—or to any man, for that matter—I might understand exactly why Mare looks like she’s going to pass out.
At least this part of the plan is working. Barrow clearly has no objections to Cal’s body.
“This way,” I say to her, taking her by the arm.
Cal spins at my voice, towel still in hand. He startles at the sight of us. Well, the sight of her. “We’re almost finished,” he manages to sputter.
“Take your time. It doesn’t make a difference to me,” Mare replies, her voice and expression decidedly neutral. She lets me lead her away without protest, but her hand shifts, her arm moving quickly. Her fingers dig into my flesh, nails biting in warning.
“Kilorn,” I hear Cal say behind us, greeting the Red boy with what sounds like a handshake.
Ptolemus looks up from his spot on the floor, not breaking his pace. I give him the slightest nod, pleased by our machinations. His eyes slide past me, though, to rest on Mare instead.
She looks back at him, murderous. It chills my blood.
I try not to shudder. Try not to think of my brother bleeding like hers did, dying as he falls, dying for nothing at all.
Pull yourself together, Samos.
SIXTEEN
Mare
“I’m not an idiot, Evangeline,” I growl as the changing-room door slams behind us.
She just sighs, shoving a training suit into my chest. With practiced, even motions, she strips out of her simple gown and tosses it to the side, discarding the puddle of silk like a pile of trash. Naked but for her underclothes, she pours herself into a training suit of her own. Clearly custom-made for her, printed with a scaled design of black and silver.
Mine is less ornate. A simple navy blue. Furious with her scheming, I pull off my own clothes before forcing the suit on.
“You might as well just shove us into a closet and lock the door,” I snarl, watching her braid her silver hair away from her face. She does it quickly, without thought, forming a crown around her head.
Evangeline only twists her lips. “Trust me, I would if I thought that might work on you. Him, yes. A closet would be enough. But you?” She throws her hands wide, shrugging. “You can never make anything easy.”
“So, what, you’re going to try to beat the shit out of me and hope he feels some pang of sympathy? Maybe have him nurse me back to health?” I shake my head, disgusted.
“It seemed to be working in Montfort.” Her eyes paw over me. “Those Silences did a real number on you.”
My eyes narrow. “Well, I have my reasons,” I snap back, defensive. The memory is like a slap to the face, followed by a deep kick to the gut. I dig my nails into my palm, trying not to slide back into the sensation of being suffocated. In the mountain foothills, in a palace bedroom. From Silvers or from manacles. Without thinking, I circle my fingers around my wrist and squeeze. It almost makes me vomit onto the polished tile floor.
“I know,” she replies, softer than before. If she were anyone else, I might think that was concern shadowing her voice. But not Evangeline Samos. She doesn’t have the ability to feel sympathy toward Reds.
I cough, regaining some of my composure. “Even if you somehow did drive us back together, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. You said yourself, he’s not the abdicating kind. It’s a stupid plan, Evangeline,” I add, for both our sakes.
She looks at me sidelong, buckling a brace of daggers into place around her thigh. One side of her mouth lifts. I can’t decide if it’s a smirk or a smile. “We’ll see.”
All grace and agility, she crosses back to the door, gesturing for me to follow her out onto the waxed wood.
I do so reluctantly, pulling my hair back into a neat tail. Half of me hopes Tiberias is already gone. I focus my eyes on a spot between her shoulder blades.
“It’s a stupid plan, not just because Tiberias already made his choice,” I continue, sliding by her onto the training floor. Instinctively I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, almost bouncing as we walk. I grin back at her. “But also because you’re never going to lay a finger on me.”
She clutches a hand to her chest in false pain. The changing-room door slams shut behind her. “Mare, I’m supposed to be the overly confident one.”
I keep grinning, walking backward to keep my eyes on her. I don’t trust anyone to fight fair, especially her. “Maybe Elane can lick your wounds?”
Evangeline only raises her chin, looking down her nose at me. “She does, and frequently. Jealous?”
My face flares red. I feel the heat of it all down my neck. “No.”
Now it’s her turn to grin. She shoulders past me, knocking her arm into mine with mar
ked force. I twist, but she keeps her body squared to me, never letting me pass out of her eye line. We start to resemble dance partners turning in a ballroom. Or wolves circling in the dark, predators testing each other. Searching for openings and weaknesses. Opportunities.
I have to admit, the prospect of blowing off some steam, and maybe getting a few good rounds in, has me excited. Adrenaline already surges through my veins in anticipation. A good fight, the kind without consequences or any real danger, sounds especially delicious. Even if it means admitting Evangeline was right about sparring.
Across the floor, I spy Kilorn looking on, with Tiberias standing beside him. Ptolemus keeps his distance. I don’t waste my attention on them, even though Evangeline wants me to. She’ll probably slice my face the second I drop my guard.
“You should train more,” she says, her voice a bit louder. It echoes through the open space. I wonder if Evangeline was simply born without shame. “Work that stress out of your system in other ways. Or with other people.”
I blink a rapid tempo, truly surprised. My entire body floods with warmth, and for once, it isn’t Cal’s fault. She grins at my discomfort, even tipping her head toward Cal and Kilorn a few yards away. Both of them are clearly listening to our conversation, while simultaneously trying to look like they aren’t. Evangeline raises an eyebrow toward Kilorn, surveying him with a keen eye.
The implication dawns on me. “Oh, he’s not—”
“Don’t make me laugh,” she sneers, taking another step backward. “I’m talking about that other newblood. The Montfort one. White hair, deep voice. Thin and tall.”
Suddenly the heat coursing through my body turns icy, and I feel the hair on my neck rise. Cal pushes off the far wall. His eyes slide past me as he turns, dropping into his final routine. Push-ups. He works at a steady but fast pace, rising and falling. In the silence, I can just hear his rhythmic puffs of breath over the embarrassing thud of my own heart.
War Storm Page 24
