Red Queen

by Victoria Aveyard

  Like Julian, Cal has stacks of books piled all over, spilling out in little rivers of ink and paper. They aren’t as old as Julian’s though—most look newly bound, typed out and reprinted on plastic-lined sheets to preserve the words. And all are written in Common, the language of Norta, the Lakelands, and Piedmont. While Cal disappears into his closet, stripping off the rest of his armor as he goes, I sneak a glance at his books. These are strange, full of maps, diagrams, and charts—guides to the terrible art of warfare. Each one is more violent than the last, detailing military movements from recent years and even before. Great victories, bloody defeats, weapons, and maneuvers, it’s enough to make my head spin. Cal’s notes inside them are worse, outlining the tactics he favors, which ones are worth the cost of life. In the pictures, tiny squares to represent soldiers, but I see my brothers and Kilorn and everyone like them.

  Beyond the books, by the window, there’s a little table and two chairs. On the tabletop, a game board lies ready, pieces already in place. I don’t recognize it, but I know it was meant for Maven. They must meet nightly, to play and laugh as brothers do.

  “We won’t have very long to visit,” Cal calls out, making me jump. I glance at the closet, catching sight of his tall, muscled back as he pulls a shirt on. There are more bruises, and scars as well, even though I’m sure he has access to an army of healers if he wants them. For some reason, he’s chosen to keep the scars.

  “As long as I get to see my family,” I answer back, maneuvering myself away so I don’t keep staring at him.

  Cal emerges, this time fully dressed in plain clothes. After a moment, I realize it’s the same thing he wore the night I met him. I can’t believe I didn’t see him for what he was from the beginning: a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And now I’m the sheep pretending to be a wolf.

  No one comes to stop us when we leave the residence floors; I guess being the crown prince has its advantages.

  Cal turns a corner, directing us into a wide concrete room. “Just in here.”

  It looks like some kind of storage facility, filled with rows of strange shapes covered in canvas sheets. Some are big, some are small, but all are hidden.

  “It’s a dead end,” I protest. There’s no way out but the way we came in.

  “Yes, Mare, I brought you to a dead end,” he sighs, walking down a particular row. The sheets ripple as he passes and I glimpse shining metal underneath.

  “More armor?” I poke at one of the shapes. “I was going to say, you should probably get some more. Didn’t seem like you had enough upstairs. Actually, you might want to put some on. My brothers are pretty huge and like to beat on people.” Though, judging by Cal’s book collection and muscles, he can hold his own. Not to mention the whole controlling-fire thing.

  He just shakes his head. “I think I’ll be fine without it. Besides, I look like a Security officer in that stuff. We don’t want your family getting the wrong idea, do we?”

  “What idea do we want them to get? I don’t think I’m exactly allowed to introduce you properly.”

  “I work with you, we got a leave pass for the night. Simple,” he says, shrugging. Lying comes so easily to these people.

  “So why would you come with me? What’s the story there?”

  With a sly grin, Cal gestures to the canvas shape next to him. “I’m your ride.”

  He throws back the sheet, revealing a gleaming contraption of metal and black paint. Two treaded wheels, mirrored chrome, lights, a long leather seat—it’s a transport like I’ve never seen.

  “It’s a cycle,” Cal says, running a hand over the silver handlebars like a proud father. He knows and loves every inch of the metal beast. “Fast, agile, and it can go where transports can’t.”

  “It looks—like a death trap,” I finally say, unable to mask my trepidation.

  Laughing, he pulls a helmet from the back of the seat. I sure hope he doesn’t expect me to wear it, much less ride this thing. “That’s what father said, and Colonel Macanthos. They won’t mass-produce for the armies yet, but I’ll win them over. Haven’t crashed once since I perfected the wheels.”

  “You built it?” I say, incredulous, but he shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wow.”

  “Just wait until you ride it,” he says, holding out the helmet to me. As if on cue, the far wall jolts, its metal mechanisms groaning somewhere, and begins to slide away, revealing the dark night beyond.

  Laughing, I take a step back from the death machine. “That’s not happening.”

  But Cal just smirks and swings one leg over the cycle, sinking down into the seat. The engine rumbles to life beneath him, purring and growling with energy. I can sense the battery deep in the machine, powering it on. It begs to be let loose, to consume the long road between here and home. Home.

  “It’s perfectly safe, I promise,” he shouts over the engine. The headlight blazes on, illuminating the dark night beyond. Cal’s red-gold eyes meet mine and he stretches out a hand. “Mare?”

  Despite the horrible sinking in my stomach, I slide the helmet onto my head.

  I’ve never ridden in an airship, but I know this must feel like flying. Like freedom. Cal’s cycle eats up the familiar road in elegant, arcing curves. He’s a good driver, I’ll give him that. The old road is full of bumps and holes, but he dodges each one with ease, even as my heart rises in my throat. Only when we coast to a stop half a mile from town do I realize I’m holding on to him so tightly he has to pry me off. I feel suddenly cold without his warmth, but I push the thought away.

  “Fun, right?” he says, powering down the cycle. My legs and back are already sore from the strange, small seat, but he hops off with an extra spring in his step.

  With some difficulty, I slide off as well. My knees wobble a bit, more from the pounding heartbeat still thrumming in my ears, but I think I’m okay.

  “It won’t be my first choice in transportation.”

  “Remind me to take you up in an airjet sometime. You’ll stick to cycles after that,” he replies as he rolls the cycle off the road, into the cover of the woods. After throwing a few leafy branches over it, he stands back to admire his handiwork. If I didn’t know exactly where to look, I wouldn’t notice the cycle was there at all.

  “You do this a lot, I see.”

  Cal turns back to me, one hand in his pocket. “Palaces can get . . . stuffy.”

  “And crowded bars, Red bars, aren’t?” I ask, pushing the topic. But he starts walking toward the village, setting a fast pace like he can outrun the question.

  “I don’t go out to drink, Mare.”

  “So what, you just catch pickpockets and hand out jobs willy-nilly?”

  When he stops short and whirls around, I knock into his chest, feeling for a moment the solid weight behind his frame. Then I realize he’s laughing deeply.

  “Did you just say willy-nilly?” he says between chuckles.

  My face blushes red beneath my makeup and I give him a little shove. Very inappropriate, my mind chides. “Just answer the question.”

  His smile remains, though the laughter fades away. “I don’t do this for myself,” he says. “You have to understand, Mare. I don’t—I’m going to be king one day. I don’t have the luxury of being selfish.”

  “I’d think the king would be the only person with that luxury.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes forlorn as they run over me. “I wish that were true.”

  Cal’s fist clenches open and closed, and I can almost see the flames on his skin, hot and rising with his anger. But it passes, leaving only an ember of regret in his eyes. When he finally starts walking again, it’s at a more forgiving pace.

  “A king should know his people. That’s why I sneak out,” he murmurs. “I do it in the capital too, and at the war front. I like to see how things really are in the kingdom, instead of being told by advisers and diplomats. That’s what a good king would do.”

  He acts like he should be ashamed for wanting to be a good leader. Maybe, in the eyes of
his father and all those other fools, that’s the way it should be. Strength and power are the words Cal has been raised to know. Not goodness. Not kindness. Not empathy or bravery or equality or anything else that a ruler should strive for.

  “And what do you see, Cal?” I ask, gesturing toward the village coming into view between the trees. My heart jumps in my chest, knowing I’m so close.

  “I see a world on the edge of a blade. Without balance, it will fall,” he sighs, knowing it’s not the answer I want to hear. “You don’t know how precarious things are, how close this world is to falling back into ruin. My father does everything he can to keep us all safe, and so will I.”

  “My world is already in ruin,” I say, kicking at the dirt road beneath us. All around us, the trees seem to open, revealing the muddy place I call home. Compared to the Hall, it must look like a slum, like a hell. Why can’t he see that? “Your father keeps your people safe, not mine.”

  “Changing the world has costs, Mare,” he says. “Many would die, Reds most of all. And in the end, there wouldn’t be victory, not for you. You don’t know the bigger picture.”

  “So tell me.” I bristle, hating his words. “Show me the bigger picture.”

  “The Lakelands, they’re like us, a monarchy, nobles, a Silver elite to rule the rest. And the Piedmont princes, our own allies, would never back a nation where Reds are equal. Prairie and Tiraxes are the same. Even if Norta changed, the rest of the continent would not let it last. We would be invaded, divided, torn apart. More war, more death.”

  I remember Julian’s map, the breadth of the greater world beyond our country. All controlled by Silvers with nowhere for us to turn. “What if you’re wrong? What if Norta is the beginning? The change the others need? You don’t know where freedom leads.”

  Cal has no answer for that and we fall into bitter silence. “This is it,” I mutter, stopping under the familiar outline of my house.

  My feet are silent on the porch, a far cry from Cal’s heavy, stomping steps that make the wood beams creak. His familiar heat rolls off him, and for a split second I imagine him sending the house up in flames. He senses my unease and puts a warm hand on my shoulder, but that does nothing to settle me.

  “I can wait below if you want,” he whispers, taking me by surprise. “We don’t want to chance them recognizing me.”

  “They won’t. Even though my brothers served, they probably wouldn’t know you from a bedpost.” Shade would, I thought, but Shade is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “Besides, you said you want to know what’s not worth fighting for.”

  With that I pull open the door, stepping through to the home that is no longer my own. It feels like taking a step back in time.

  The house ripples with a chorus of snores, not just from my father, but the lumpy shape in the sitting area. Bree slumps in the overstuffed chair, a pile of muscle and thin blankets. His dark hair is still closely shaved in the army style and there are scars on his arms and face, testaments to his time fighting. He must’ve lost a bet with Tramy, who tosses and turns up in my cot. Shade is nowhere to be seen, but he’s never been one for sleep. Probably out prowling the village, looking up old girlfriends.

  “Rise and shine.” I laugh, ripping the blanket off Bree in a smooth motion.

  He crashes to the floor, probably hurting the floor more than himself, and rolls to a stop at my feet. For half a second, it looks like he might fall back asleep.

  Then he blinks at me, bleary-eyed and confused. In short, his usual self. “Mare?”

  “Shut your face, Bree, people are trying to sleep!” Tramy groans in the dark.

  “ALL OF YOU, QUIET!” Dad roars from his bedroom, making us all jump.

  I never realized how much I missed this. Bree blinks the sleep from his eyes and hugs me to him, laughing deep in his chest. A nearby thunk announces Tramy as he jumps from the upper loft, landing beside us on nimble feet.

  “It’s Mare!” he shouts, pulling me up from the floor and into his arms. He’s thinner than Bree, but not the weedy string bean I remember. There are hard knots of muscle under my hands; the last few years have not been easy for him.

  “Good to see you, Tramy,” I breathe against him, feeling like I might burst.

  The bedroom door bangs open, revealing Mom in a tattered bathrobe. She opens her mouth to scold the boys, but the sight of me kills her words. Instead, she smiles and claps her hands together. “Oh, you’ve finally come to visit!”

  Dad follows her, wheezing and wheeling his chair into the main room. Gisa is the last to wake up, but she only pokes her head out over the loft ledge, looking down.

  Tramy finally lets me go, putting me back down next to Cal, who’s doing a wonderful job looking awkward and out of place.

  “Heard you caved and got a job,” Tramy teases, poking me in the ribs.

  Bree chuckles, ruffling my hair. “The army wouldn’t want her anyway, she’d rob her legion blind.”

  I shove him with a smile. “Seems the army doesn’t want you either. Discharged, eh?”

  Dad answers for them, wheeling forward. “Some lottery, the letter said. Won an honorable discharge for the Barrow boys. Full pension too.” I can tell he doesn’t believe a word of it, but Dad doesn’t press the subject. Mom, on the other hand, eats it right up.

  “Brilliant, isn’t it? The government finally doing something for us,” she says, kissing Bree on the cheek. “And now you, with a job.” The pride radiates off her like I’ve never seen—usually she saves all of it for Gisa. She’s proud of a lie. “It’s about time this family came into some luck.”

  Up above us, Gisa scoffs. I don’t blame her. My luck broke her hand and her future. “Yes, we’re very lucky,” she huffs, finally moving to join us.

  Her going is slow, moving down the ladder with one hand. When she reaches the floor, I can see her splint is wrapped in colored cloth. With a pang of sadness, I realize it’s a piece of her beautiful embroidery that will never be finished.

  I reach out to hug her but she pulls away, her eyes on Cal. She seems to be the only one to notice him. “Who’s that?”

  Flushing, I realize I’ve almost forgotten him completely. “Oh, this is Cal. He’s another servant up at the Hall with me.”

  “Hi,” he manages, giving a stupid, little wave.

  Mom giggles like a schoolgirl and waves back, her gaze lingering on his muscled arms. But Dad and my brothers aren’t so charmed.

  “You’re not from these parts,” Dad growls, staring at Cal like he’s some kind of bug. “I can smell it on you.”

  “That’s just the Hall, Dad—” I protest, but Cal cuts me off.

  “I’m from Harbor Bay,” he says, making sure to drop his r’s in the usual Harbor accent. “I started serving at Ocean Hill, the royal residence out there, and now I travel with the pack when they move.” He glances at me sideways, a knowing look in his eye. “A lot of the servants do that.”

  Mom draws a rattled breath and reaches for my arm. “Will you? Do you have to go with those people when they leave?”

  I want to tell them that I didn’t choose this, that I’m not walking away willingly. But I have to lie, for their sake. “It was the only position they had. Besides, it’s good money.”

  “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going on,” Bree growls, face-to-face with Cal. To his credit, Cal barely bats an eye at him.

  “Nothing’s going on,” he says coolly, meeting Bree’s glare with equal fire in his eyes. “Mare chose to work for the palace. She signed a contract for a year of service, and that’s it.”

  With a grunt, Bree backs away. “I liked the Warren boy better,” he grumbles.

  “Stop being a child, Bree,” I snap. My mom flinches at my harsh voice, like she’s forgotten what I sound like after only three weeks. Strangely, her eyes swim with tears. She’s forgetting you. That’s why she wants you to stay. So she doesn’t forget.

  “Mom, don’t cry,” I say, stepping forward to hug her. She feels so
thin in my arms, thinner than I remember. Or maybe I just never noticed how frail she’s become.

  “It’s not just you, dear, it’s—” She looks away from me, to Dad. There’s a pain in her eyes, a pain I don’t understand. The others can’t bear to look at her. Even Dad stares at his useless feet. A grim weight settles on the house.

  And then I realize what’s going on, what they’re trying to protect me from.

  My voice shakes when I speak, asking a question I don’t want to know the answer to. “Where’s Shade?”

  Mom crumples in on herself, barely making it to a chair at the kitchen table before she devolves into sobs. Bree and Tramy can’t bear to watch, both turning away. Gisa doesn’t move, staring at the floor like she wants to drown in it. No one speaks, leaving only the sound of my mother’s tears and my father’s labored breathing to fill the hole my brother once occupied. My brother, my closest brother.

  I fall backward, almost missing a step in my anguish, but Cal steadies me. I wish he wouldn’t. I want to fall down, to feel something hard and real so the pain in my head won’t hurt so badly. My hand strays to my ear, grazing over the three stones I hold so dearly. The third, Shade’s stone, feels cold against my skin.

  “We didn’t want to tell you in a letter,” Gisa whispers, picking at her splint. “He died before the discharge came.”

  The urge to electrify something, to pour my rage and sorrow into a single bolt of biting power, has never felt so strong. Control it, I tell myself. I can’t believe I was worried about Cal burning the house down; lightning can destroy as easily as flame.