“My father has been covering up other attacks by the Guard,” he mutters, explaining her plan.
My mind flickers back to Colonel Macanthos and her outburst at luncheon. “The airfield, Delphie, Harbor Bay.”
Maven nods. “He called them accidents, training exercises, lies. But when you sparked up at Queenstrial, even my mother couldn’t talk you away. We need something like that, something no one can hide. To show the world the Scarlet Guard is very dangerous and very real.”
“But won’t that have consequences?” My thoughts flash back to the riot, to the innocent people tortured and killed by a mindless horde. “The Silvers will turn on us, things will get worse.”
Farley looks away, unable to hold my gaze. “And more will join us. More will realize the lives we live are wrong and that something can be done to change it. We’ve stood still for far too long; it’s time to make sacrifices and move forward.”
“Was my brother your sacrifice?” I snap, feeling anger flare within me. “Was his death worth it to you?”
To her credit, she doesn’t try to lie. “Shade knew what he was getting into.”
“And what about everyone else? What about the kids and the elders and anyone who hasn’t signed up for your ‘glorious revolution’? What happens when Sentinels start rounding them up for punishment when they can’t find you?”
Maven’s voice is warm and soft in my ear. “Think of your histories, Mare. What has Julian taught you?”
He taught me about death. The before. The wars. But beyond that, in a time when things could still change, there were revolutions. The people rose, the empires fell, and things changed. Liberty moved in arcs, rising and falling with the tide of time.
“Revolution needs a spark,” I murmur, repeating what Julian would say in our lessons.
Farley smiles. “You should know that better than anyone.”
But I’m still not convinced. The pain of losing Shade, of knowing my parents have lost a child, will only multiply if we do this. How many more Shades will die?
Strangely it’s Maven, not Farley, who tries to sway me.
“Cal believes that change is not worth the cost,” he says. His voice shakes, quivering with nerves and conviction. “And he’s going to rule one day—do you want to let him be the future?”
For once, my answer is easy. “No.”
Farley nods, pleased. “Walsh and Holland.” She jerks her head toward them. “Tell me there’s going to be a little party here.”
“The ball,” Maven offers.
“It’s an impossible target,” I snap. “Everyone will have guards, the queen will know if something goes wrong—”
“She will not,” Maven breaks in, almost scoffing at the idea. “My mother is not all-powerful, as she would want you to believe. Even she has limits.”
Limits? The queen? Just the thought makes my mind run wild. “How can you say that? You know what she can do—”
“I know that in the middle of a ball, with so many voices and thoughts swirling around her, she’ll be useless. And so long as we stay out of her path, give her no reason to prod, she won’t know a thing. The same goes for the Eagrie eyes. They won’t be looking ahead for trouble, and so they won’t see it.” He turns back to Farley, his spine straight as an arrow. “Silvers might be strong, but we are not invincible. It can be done.”
Farley nods smoothly, smiling with her teeth. “We’ll be in contact again, once things are set in motion.”
“Can I ask something in return?” I blurt, reaching out to grab her arm. “My friend, the one I came to you about before, wants to join the Guard. But you can’t let him. Just make sure he doesn’t get involved in any of this.”
Gently, she peels my fingers from her arm as regret clouds her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mean me.”
To my horror, one of her shadowy guards steps forward. The red rag around his face doesn’t hide the set of his broad shoulders or the ratty shirt I’ve seen a thousand times. But the steely look in his eyes, the determination of a man twice his age, is something I don’t recognize at all. Kilorn looks years away already. Scarlet Guard to the bone, willing to fight and die for the cause. He’s Red as the dawn.
“No,” I whisper, drawing back from Farley. Now I can only see Kilorn running full speed toward his doom. “You know what happened to Shade. You can’t do this.”
He pulls away the rag and reaches out to embrace me but I step away. His touch feels like a betrayal. “Mare, you don’t have to keep trying to save me.”
“I will as long as you won’t.” How can he expect to be anything but a human shield? How can he do this? Far away, something hums at me, growing louder by the second, but I barely notice. I’m more focused on keeping the tears from falling in front of Farley and the Guard and Maven.
“Kilorn, please.”
He darkens at my words, like they’re an insult rather than a young girl’s plea.
“You made your choice, and I’m making mine.”
“I made the choice for you, to keep you safe,” I snap. It’s amazing how easily we fall back into our old rhythm, bickering like always. But there’s much more on the line now. I can’t just shove him into the mud and walk away. “I bargained for you.”
“You’re doing what you think will protect me, Mare,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble. “So let me do what I can to save you.”
My eyes squeeze shut, letting my heartache take over. I’ve been protecting Kilorn every day since his mother left, since he almost starved to death in my doorway. And now he won’t let me, no matter how dangerous the future has become.
Slowly, I open my eyes again.
“Do what you want, Kilorn.” My voice is cold and mechanical, like the wires and circuits trying to switch back on. “The power’s coming back soon. We should be on the move.”
The others spring into action, disappearing into the conservatory, and Walsh takes me by the arm. Kilorn backs away, following the others into the shadows, but his eyes stay on me.
“Mare,” he calls after me. “At least say good-bye.”
But I’m already walking, Maven by my side, Walsh leading us both. I won’t look back, not now when he’s betrayed all I’ve ever done for him.
Time moves slowly when you’re waiting for something good, so naturally the days fly by as the dreaded ball approaches. A week passes without any contact, leaving Maven and me in the dark as the hours march on. More Training, more Protocol, more brainless lunches that almost leave me in tears. Every time I have to lie, to praise the Silvers and rip down my own. Only the Guard keeps me strong.
Lady Blonos scolds me for being distracted in Protocol. I don’t have the heart to tell her that, distracted or not, I’ll never be able to learn the dance steps she’s trying to teach for the Parting Ball. As suited as I might be to sneaking, I’m horrible with rhythmic motion. Meanwhile, the once dreaded Training is an outlet for all my anger and stress, allowing me to run or spark off everything I’m trying to keep inside.
But just when I’m finally beginning to get the hang of things, the mood of Training shifts drastically. Evangeline and her lackeys don’t snipe at me, instead focusing intently on their warm-ups. Even Maven goes through his stretches more carefully, like he’s preparing for something.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, nodding to the rest of the class. My eyes linger on Cal, currently doing push-ups in perfect form.
“You’ll see in a minute,” Maven replies, his voice oddly dull.
When Arven enters with Provos, even he has a strange spring in his step. He doesn’t bark out an order to run, and approaches the class instead.
“Tirana,” Instructor Arven murmurs.
A girl in a blue-striped suit, the nymph from House Osanos, jumps to attention. She makes her way toward the center of the floor, waiting for something. She looks equal parts excited and terrified.
Arven turns, searching through us. For a second, his eyes linger on me but thankfully shift to Maven.<
br />
“Prince Maven, if you please.” He gestures to where Tirana waits.
Maven nods and moves to stand beside her. Both of them tense, fingers twitching as they await whatever’s coming.
Suddenly, the training floor moves around them, pushing clear walls up to form something. Again, Provos raises his arms, using his abilities to transform the training hall. As the structure takes shape, my heart hammers, realizing exactly what it is.
An arena.
Cal takes Maven’s place at my side, his movements quick and silent. “They won’t hurt each other,” he explains. “Arven stops us before anyone can do real damage, and there are healers on hand.”
“Comforting,” I choke out.
In the center of the quickly forming arena, both Maven and Tirana prepare for their match. Maven’s bracelet sparks, and fire blazes in his hands, streaking up his arms, while droplets of moisture leech from the air to swirl around Tirana in a ghostly display. Both of them look ready for battle.
Something about my unease sets Cal on edge. “Is Maven the only thing you’re worried about?”
Not even close. “Protocol’s not exactly easy right now.” I’m not lying, but on my list of problems, learning to dance is at the very bottom. “It seems I’m even worse at dancing than memorizing court etiquette.”
To my surprise, Cal laughs loudly. “You must be horrible.”
“Well, it’s difficult to learn without a partner,” I snap, bristling at him.
“Indeed.”
The last two pieces lock together, completing the training arena and fencing in Maven and his opponent. Now they’re separated from the rest of us by thick glass, trapped together in a miniature version of a battle arena. The last time I watched Silvers fight, someone almost died.
“Who has the advantage?” Arven says, questioning the class. Every hand but mine shoots into the air. “Elane?”
The Haven girl juts her chin forward, speaking proudly. “Tirana has the advantage. She is older and more experienced.” Elane says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maven’s cheeks flush white, though he tries to hide it. “And water defeats fire.”
“Very good.” Arven shifts his eyes back to Maven, daring him to argue. But Maven holds his tongue, letting the growing fire speak for him. “Impress me.”
They collide like storm clouds, spitting fire and rain in a duel of the elements. Tirana uses her water like a shield and to Maven’s fiery attacks, it’s impenetrable. Every time he gets close to her, swinging with flaming fists, he comes back with nothing but steam. The battle looks even, but somehow Maven seems to have the edge. He’s on the offensive, backing her into a wall.
All around us, the class cheers, goading on the warriors. I used to be disgusted by displays like this, but now I’m having a hard time keeping quiet. Every time Maven attacks, closer to pinning down Tirana, it’s all I can do not to cheer with the others.
“It’s a trap, Mavey,” Cal whispers, more to himself than anyone.
“What is it? What’s she going to do?”
Cal shakes his head. “Just watch. She’s got him.”
But Tirana looks anything but victorious. She’s flat against the wall, dueling hard behind her watery shield as she blocks blow after blow.
I don’t miss the lightning-quick moment as Tirana literally turns the tide on Maven. She grabs his arm and pulls, spinning around so they trade places in a heartbeat. Now it’s Maven behind her shield, pinned between the water and the wall. But he can’t control the water and it presses against him, holding him back even as he tries to burn it away. The water only boils, bubbling over his blazing skin.
Tirana stands back, watching him struggle with a smile on her face. “Yield?”
A stream of bubbles escapes Maven’s lips. Yield.
The water drops from him, vaporizing back into the air to the sound of applause. Provos waves a hand again and one of the arena walls slides back. Tirana gives a tiny bow while Maven trudges out of the circle, a soggy, pouting mess.
“I challenge Elane Haven,” Sonya Iral says sharply, trying to get the words out before our instructor can pair her with someone else. Arven nods, allowing the challenge, before turning his gaze on Elane. To my surprise, she smiles and saunters toward the arena, her long red hair swaying with the movement.
“I accept your challenge,” Elane replies, taking a spot in the center of the arena. “I hope you’ve learned some new tricks.”
Sonya follows, eyes dancing. She even laughs. “You think I’d tell you if I did?”
Somehow they manage to giggle and smile right up until Elane Haven disappears entirely and grabs Sonya around the throat. She chokes, gasping for air, before twisting in the invisible girl’s arms and slipping away. Their match devolves quickly into a deadly, violent game of cat and invisible mouse.
Maven doesn’t bother to watch, angry with himself over his performance. “Yes?” he says to Cal, and his brother launches headfirst into a hushed lecture. I get the feeling this is normal.
“Don’t corner someone better than you, it makes them more dangerous,” he says, putting an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You can’t beat her with ability so beat her with your head.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maven mutters, begrudging the advice but taking it all the same.
“You’re getting better, though,” Cal murmurs, patting Maven on the shoulder. He means well, but comes off as patronizing. I’m surprised Maven doesn’t snap at him—but he’s used to this, like I was used to Gisa.
“Thanks, Cal. I think he gets it,” I say, speaking for Maven.
His older brother isn’t stupid and takes the hint with a frown. With nothing but a backward glance at me, Cal leaves us to stand with Evangeline. I wish he wouldn’t, just so I don’t have to watch her smirk and gloat. Not to mention I get this strange twist in my stomach every time he looks at her.
Once he’s out of earshot, I nudge Maven with my shoulder. “He’s right, you know. You have to outsmart people like that.”
In front of us, Sonya grabs onto what seems like air and slams it against the wall. Silver liquid spatters and Elane flutters back into visibility, a trail of blood streaming from her nose.
“He’s always right when it comes to the arena,” he rumbles, strangely upset. “Just wait and see.”
Across the arena, Evangeline smiles at the murderous display between us. How she can watch her friends bleeding on the floor, I don’t know. Silvers are different, I remind myself. Their scars don’t last. They don’t remember pain. With skin healers waiting in the wings, violence has taken on a new meaning for them. A broken spine, a split stomach, it doesn’t matter. Someone will always come to fix you. They don’t know the meaning of danger or fear or pain. It’s only their pride that can be truly hurt.
You are Silver. You are Mareena Titanos. You enjoy this.
Cal’s eyes dart between the girls, studying them like a book or a painting rather than a moving mass of blood and bone. Beneath the black cut of his training suit, his muscles tense, ready for his turn.
And when it comes, I understand what Maven means.
Instructor Arven pits Cal against two others, the windweaver Oliver and Cyrine Macanthos, a girl who turns her skin to stone. It’s a match in name only. Despite being outnumbered, Cal toys with the other two. He incapacitates them one at a time, trapping Oliver in a swirl of fire while trading blows with Cyrine. She looks like a living statue, made of solid rock rather than flesh, but Cal’s stronger. His blows splinter her rocky skin, sending spider cracks through her body with every punch. This is just practice to him; he almost looks bored. He ends the match when the arena explodes into a churning inferno that even Maven steps back from. By the time the smoke and fire clears, both Oliver and Cyrine have yielded. Their skin cracks in bits of burned flesh, but neither cries out.
Cal leaves them both behind, not bothering to watch as a skin healer appears to fix them up. He saved me, he brought me home, he broke the
rules for me. And he’s a merciless soldier, the heir to a bloody throne.
Cal’s blood might be silver, but his heart is black as burned skin.
When his eyes trail to mine, I force myself to look away. Instead of letting his warmth, his strange kindness confuse me, I commit the inferno to memory. Cal is more dangerous than all of them put together. I cannot forget that.
“Evangeline, Andros,” Arven clips, nodding at the pair of them. Andros deflates, almost annoyed at the prospect of fighting—and losing—to Evangeline, but dutifully trudges into the arena. To my surprise, Evangeline doesn’t budge.
“No,” she says boldly, planting her feet.
When Arven whirls to her, his voice rises above his usual whisper and it cuts like a razor. “I beg your pardon, Lady Samos?”
She turns her black eyes on me, and her gaze is sharp as any knife.
“I challenge Mareena Titanos.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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SEVENTEEN
“Absolutely not,” Maven rumbles. “She’s only been training for two weeks, you’ll cut her apart.”
In response, Evangeline just shrugs, letting a lazy smirk rise to her features. Her fingers dance against her leg and I can almost feel them like claws across my skin.
“So what if she does?” Sonya breaks in, and I think I see a gleam of her grandmother in her eye. “The healers are here. There’ll be no harm done. Besides, if she’s going to train with us, she might as well do it properly, right?”
No harm done, I scoff in my head. No harm but my blood exposed for all to see. My heartbeat thumps in my head, quickening with every passing second. Overhead, the lights shine brightly, illuminating the ring; my blood will be hard to hide and they’ll see me for what I am. The Red, the liar, the thief.
“I’d like some more time observing before I get in the ring, if you don’t mind,” I reply, trying my best to sound Silver. Instead, my voice quavers. Evangeline catches it.
“Too scared to fight?” she goads, lazily flicking a hand. One of her knives, a little thing like a tooth of silver, circles her wrist slowly in open threat. “Poor little lightning girl.”
Red Queen Page 18
