His grandmother slaps the arm of his throne, indignant. “We’re about to fight another war,” she sneers, as if anyone needs reminding of the Lakelander danger.
I turn back around to hide my smile. Next to me, Farley does the same. We exchange glances, pleasantly surprised by the acquiescence. It means little in the grand scheme; it could be an empty promise, and it probably won’t last. But it serves one purpose, at least.
Driving a wedge between the Silvers, putting cracks in an already precarious alliance. The only one Cal has left.
Behind me, Cal’s voice takes on a dangerous edge as he talks his grandmother down. “I am king. Those are my orders,” he says to her.
Her response is a whisper I cannot hear, muffled by the groaning noise of the doors as they swing open again and then shut. The receiving hall in front of us is as crowded as before, full of rubbernecking nobles and soldiers, eager to glimpse the new king and his patchwork council. We pass through in silence, our faces blank and unreadable. Farley and Davidson mutter to their officers, relaying our decision. It’s time for us to leave Harbor Bay and Norta behind. I unbutton my uniform collar, letting the jacket fall open so I can breathe more easily, unfettered by stiff fabric.
Kilorn is the only person waiting for me, and he is quick to reach my side. He doesn’t bother to ask how the meeting went. Our exit, along with our silence, is answer enough.
“Damn it,” he growls as we walk, our pace brisk and determined.
I don’t have anything to pack. All my clothes are borrowed or easily replaced, even the ones I came to Harbor Bay in. I have nothing in the way of personal belongings, except the piercings in my ear. And the earring back in Montfort, tucked away in a box. The red stone, the one I couldn’t bear to part with. Until now.
I wish I had it here. To leave it in his room, on the pillow I slept on.
That would be a fitting good-bye. And easier than the one I have to make now.
I break off from Farley and Davidson, who are heading for their own rooms at the bottom of the grand staircase. “I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes,” I tell them both. Neither questions my decision, or my purpose, letting me go with a wave and a nod.
Kilorn hesitates on the first step, waiting for an invitation to follow. He’ll never get one.
“You too,” I mutter. “This won’t take long.”
His green eyes narrow, hard as chips of emerald. “Don’t let him ruin you.”
“He’s already done what he can to me, Kilorn,” I say. “Maven can’t break anything else.”
The lie soothes him, enough for him to turn away, satisfied with my safety.
But there’s always something left to be broken.
His door guards step aside, letting me turn the knob of his room. I do it quickly, so I can’t lose my nerve or change my mind. His cell is not a cell, but a fine sitting room tucked away on an upper floor, facing the ocean. No bed, just a few chairs and a long couch. Either he’ll die this afternoon, and he has no use for sleeping arrangements, or a bed hasn’t been prepared yet.
He stands at the window, one hand on the curtains, as if to pull them shut.
“No use,” he mutters, his back to me as I shut the door again. “They don’t block the light.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” I reply. “To stay in the light?”
I echo words he said to me months ago, when I was his prisoner, chained to a room like this one, doomed to stare out windows and waste.
“We have an odd symmetry, don’t we?” he says, gesturing to the room with a lazy smile. I almost laugh at the circumstances. Instead I sink into one of the armchairs, careful to keep my hands free and my sparks close.
I watch him, still at the window. He doesn’t move.
“Or maybe Calore kings just have similar taste in jail cells.”
“Doubtful,” he replies. “But fine prisons, it seems, are how we show affection. Small mercies for prisoners we can’t help but love.”
His declarations mean nothing to me anymore. I barely feel a twinge, easy to ignore, deep in my heart.
“What Cal feels for you and what you feel for me are very different.”
Maven laughs darkly. “I would hope so,” he says, running the curtain through his hands again. He glances at my jacket, then at my collarbone, now covered by an undershirt. My brand is hidden away. “When will it be?” he adds, his voice going soft.
The execution. “I don’t know.”
Another tainted laugh. He starts to pace, hands folded behind his back. “You mean that grand council couldn’t make a decision? How predictable. But then, I suppose I’ll die of old age before your lot agrees on something. Especially with Samos close by.”
“Your grandmother too.”
“I have no grandmother,” he says sharply. “You heard her yourself: she’s no blood of mine.” The memory sours Maven. He quickens his step, crossing the floor in a few even strides before turning back again. Despite his calm exterior, he seems manic in these moments, dangling by a thinning thread. I try not to look at his eyes as they glint, alight with a fire close enough to burn. “What are you doing here? I have to say, I didn’t enjoy taunting you half as much when you were my prisoner.”
I shrug, watching him with ticking eyes. “You’re not my prisoner.”
“Cal’s, yours.” He waves a hand. “What difference does it make?”
A great deal of difference. I feel the frown tug at my face, the familiar sadness welling up inside me. He sees it behind my own mask of indifference.
“Oh,” he murmurs, stopping in the center of the room. He peers at me intensely, as if he can stare through my skull and into my brain. The way his mother did. But he doesn’t need to read my mind to know what I’m thinking, or know what his brother has done. “So a decision has been made.”
“Just one,” I whisper.
Maven takes a single step forward. I’m the danger here, not him, and he’s careful to stay out of my reach. “Let me guess, you Reds gave him a choice? The same choice you gave him months ago?”
“Something like that.”
His lips curl, showing teeth. But not in a smile. No matter what else, he doesn’t enjoy seeing me in pain, physical or otherwise. “He didn’t surprise you, did he?”
“No.”
“Good. I told you just as much. Cal follows orders. He’ll be following his father’s wishes until the day he dies.” Maven looks almost apologetic as he speaks—regretful, even. Sorry for what his brother became. I’m sure Cal shares the feeling. “He’ll never change. Not for you, not for anyone.”
Like Maven, I don’t need weapons to hurt. Just words.
“That isn’t true,” I tell him, looking him in the eye fully.
He tips his head, clucking his tongue like I’m a child to be scolded. “I thought you had learned by now, Mare. Anyone can betray anyone. And he’s betrayed you once again.” He takes one more daring step forward, a few feet away now. I can hear the breath hissing through his teeth, like he’s trying to taste the air in my lungs. “Can’t you admit what he is?” he murmurs. It sounds like begging. The last request of a dead man.
I raise my chin, holding his gaze. “Flawed, just like the rest of us.”
His snarl reverberates deep in my chest. “He’s a Silver king. A brute, a coward. A stone who will never move and can never change.”
That isn’t true, I repeat in my head. All these months have proven that, but nothing more so than a few minutes ago. When he chose, even with his grandmother hanging at his shoulder. Fair wages, no conscription. Steps that seem small but are also gigantic. Inches for miles.
“But he is changing,” I say, my voice steady, drawing this out. I’m taunting him. Maven pales as I speak, unable to move. “Slower than we need, but I see it. A glimmer of who he could be. He’s making himself into someone else.” Finally, I lower my eyes, as the cracks in Maven’s mask begin to show. “I don’t expect you to understand that.”
He grits his teeth, furious. And a bit co
nfused. “Why?”
“Because every change in you was not your own.” The razor-edged words tumble, cutting as they go. He flinches, blinking quickly.
“Thank you for the reminder,” he replies. “I so needed it.”
I draw my last blade, ready to drive it deep into his heart. And perhaps make him feel one piece of what he lost, if only a fleeting sensation. “You know Cal hunted for someone who could fix you?” I tell him.
Maven’s mouth flaps open and closed, searching for something cunning or at least clever to say. He only manages a stammering “Wh-what?”
“In Montfort,” I explain. “He had the premier search for a newblood, an Ardent, some kind of whisper powerful enough to undo whatever your mother did.” It almost hurts to see the flickers in him, tiny flashes of emotion beyond rage or hunger. They fight to the surface, but whatever Elara did holds fast. His face goes still, slack as he listens. “But no one like that exists. And even if they did, there’s no changing what you are. I realized that a long time ago, when I was your prisoner. But your brother—he didn’t believe you were truly gone until today. When he looked into your eyes.”
Slowly, the fallen king sits down in the chair opposite mine. His legs stretch out before him and he slumps, letting go of his steel spine. Numb, he runs a hand through his hair, fingering the curling black locks. So like Cal’s hair, like his father’s hair. He stares at the ceiling, wordless, unable to speak. I imagine Maven in quicksand, fighting to climb out. Fighting the impossible nature his mother gave him. It’s no use. His face turns to stone again, his eyes narrowed and icy, doing all they can to ignore what his heart wants to feel.
“There’s no way to complete a puzzle with missing pieces, or put together shattered glass,” I mumble, only to myself, repeating what Julian told me weeks ago.
Maven sits up, drawing his back straight. One hand circles his wrist, touching the skin where his bracelet used to be. Without it, he’s powerless, useless. He doesn’t even need Arven guards.
“Cenra and Iris are going to drown you all,” he hisses. “At least I’ll be dead before they get their hands on me.”
“What a consolation.”
“I would not have liked to watch you die.” The admission is small and matter-of-fact. There is no agenda to it, only the ugly, naked truth. “Will you enjoy watching me?”
At least I can respond with some truth of my own. “Part of me will.”
“And the rest?”
“No,” I whisper. “I won’t enjoy it.”
He smiles. “That’s enough for me. A better good-bye than I deserve.”
“And what do I deserve, Maven?”
“Better than we ever gave you.”
The door bangs open before I can ask what he means. I start to rise, expecting guards to usher me out now that I’m no longer part of the coalition. Instead I find Farley and Davidson standing over us. She glares at Maven with more fire than even Cal could muster, and I expect her to skin him alive in front of us.
“General Farley,” Maven drawls. He might be trying to goad her into doing the deed before his brother can. She only snarls in reply, like a beast.
Davidson is more polite, ushering someone else into the room. I notice that the hall behind him is empty, the door guards gone. “So sorry to interrupt,” the premier says. He gestures, and his companion, the Montfort newblood Arezzo, steps into the chamber. I blink at her, confused, but only for a second.
She’s a teleporter. Like Shade. And her hands are reaching.
“It’s time we all go,” Davidson sighs, looking between us.
I jolt as Arezzo grabs my wrist, but I’m not the only one she’s taking.
Before the room disappears, squeezing to nothing, I see Maven. His white face, paler by the second. His blue eyes, wide with rare shock. And Arezzo’s hand on his own.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Evangeline
The throne room feels empty without the Reds, colder somehow.
Anabel is stupid if she thinks we can coronate Cal tomorrow. Foolish, eager woman. No king of Norta can be crowned anywhere but the capital, and it will take a few days at least to stabilize Harbor Bay before anyone can leave for Archeon. There’s also the High Houses who were loyal to Maven. They’ll need to kneel, pledge themselves to Cal, and be present at any coronation, if the country is to pull itself back together. I say none of this, of course. Let them figure it out for themselves. An unstable King Tiberias will hardly have time for marriage.
Unfortunately, he has Julian Jacos, and the singer lord is more adept at politics than he has ever let on. He overrides Anabel and suggests they wait a week before the coronation. Cal is happy to take his advice in this and other matters too.
Even now, Cal slumps on his throne, looking drained by the battle and the aftermath. Mostly the aftermath. He keeps stealing glances at the door too, willing Mare to return. But it’s been almost an hour. She and her companions are probably long gone by now, fleeing to the distant mountains of Montfort. Her family is there, waiting. She’ll be happy to go back to them. I wish I could do the same, and escape back to the Rift.
Or to Montfort, a voice whispers. Figures flash in my head, the premier and his husband presiding over our dinner. Hands clasped, relaxed and self-assured. Allowed to be who they are. I touch a finger to my temple, trying to massage away the low, dull ache in my skull. Everything seems impossible right now.
Elane isn’t in the throne room, but she is close by. She suffered the journey with my parents, arriving this afternoon. I’m itching to be free of this council, if only to steal a few hours with her. I don’t know how many I have left.
“I’ll send out the word,” Julian says, hands folded as he stands at Cal’s side. Without the Reds, the raised dais of the throne room is hilariously lopsided. “The lords and ladies of the High Houses will be summoned to the capital in a week’s time, and you’ll be waiting, happy to receive them. Afterward, we can crown you as king.” He sounds less than thrilled.
Cal barely nods. He wants to be done with all this. He doesn’t notice Anabel and her bronze eyes, now fixed on Julian. Both hope to win the ear of a king, seeking to be highest in his favor, like children vying for a parent’s attention. I’d bet on Anabel. She has the stomach for court. And the spine to eliminate anyone who might threaten her grasp on her grandson.
I sigh to myself, already exhausted by the thought of a life chained to him. It excited me once, the lure of a queen’s power. I like to think Elane changed me, but I loved her long before, even when I told myself she was just a pawn like Sonya Iral, a Silver lady to do my bidding and back my machinations. I think the war has done something to me. Put a fear in me I never had before. Not for myself, but for Ptolemus and Elane. The ones I love most, and would kill to protect. Sacrifice everything to keep safe and close. I’ve tasted a crown now, and I know it doesn’t compare.
Father does not share the sentiment, nor will he let me abandon my duties.
I haven’t mentioned my suspicions about the last piece of Anabel and Julian’s deal, not to him. I could be wrong. Maybe Queen Cenra and Iris were satisfied with Salin Iral, eager to hand over a king for a single drop of vengeance.
You know that isn’t true.
Neither of them is a fool. They wouldn’t pay such a high price for such a small prize.
Because the true prize is your father.
I glance at him sidelong, noting the set of his shoulders, proud and straight beneath the curves of his chromium armor, polished so well I can see my reflection in it. I look afraid, my eyes wide and darting, ringed with dark makeup to hide the circles beneath my eyes. I fought well yesterday, enough to keep myself and my brother alive while so many of our kin died. Father hasn’t said a word about it. Nothing to indicate he’s happy that his children, his legacy, survived. Volo Samos is as hard as the steel we come from, all sharp edges. Even his beard is manicured and pruned to mathematic perfection. I have his coloring, his disposition, and his hunger. But now we yearn fo
r different things. He wants power, as much of it as he can consume. I want freedom. I want my own fate.
I want the impossible.
“Now, as for the royal wedding—” Anabel begins, but I can’t stand it any longer.
“Excuse me,” I snap, not bothering to look at any of them as I go. It feels like a surrender. But no one stops me, not even Father. No one says a word.
I’m barely up the grand staircase before my mother cuts across my path. She almost hisses in anger, imitating one of her snakes. How such a small woman can take up an entire hallway, I’ll never understand.
“Hello, Mother. Don’t worry, I’m all right. Not a scratch on me,” I mutter.
She waves off the greeting. Like Father, she doesn’t seem to care, or mind, that I faced death yesterday.
“Really, Evangeline,” she scolds, planting her jeweled hands on her hips. Today she favors pale green clothing. Her nose twitches slightly, and I can tell I don’t have her undivided attention. The rest is in a mouse still watching the council. “You can climb the walls of Fort Patriot, but a simple meeting is too much for you?”
I shudder, trying not to think about the battle. With some effort, I push the memory away. “I hardly enjoy wasting my time,” I tell her with a sneer.
She rolls her eyes as only a mother can. “Discussing your own wedding?”
“There’s no discussion to it,” I scoff. “I have no say, so why does it matter if I’m there? Besides, Tolly will tell me everything later. All of Father’s commands,” I add, spitting out the last word like a bad taste.
Mother seems to coil, taut and dangerous. “You act like this is some kind of punishment.”
I raise my chin. All over my body, the steel threads of my gown tighten with my anger. “Isn’t it?”
She reacts like I’ve slapped her and insulted her entire bloodline. “I don’t understand you!” she says, throwing up her hands. “This is what you want, what you’ve worked for your entire life.”
I have to laugh at her blindness. No matter how many eyes my mother sees through, she will never see through mine. My laughter unsettles her at least. I glance at her brow, tracing her braid blooming with gemstones. Let no one say Larentia Viper does not play the part of a queen well. All this for that. “A crown suits you, Mother,” I sigh.
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