Red Queen

by Victoria Aveyard

  I have to smile at the impossible thought. “Go, before your nonsense rubs off on me.”

  Farley isn’t one for hugs, but she does pat me on the shoulder. “We’ll meet again, and soon.”

  “Not like this, I hope.”

  Her face splits into a rare, toothy smile. Despite the scar, I realize she’s very pretty.

  “Not like this,” she echoes, before slipping out into the night with Walsh.

  “I know I can’t ask you to come with me,” Kilorn mutters, moving to follow them. He stares at his hands, examining scars I know better than my own mind. Look at me, you idiot.

  Sighing, I force myself to shove him toward freedom. “The cause needs me here. You need me here too.”

  “What I need and what I want are two very different things.”

  I want to laugh, but I can’t find the strength.

  “This is not our end, Mare,” Kilorn murmurs, embracing me. He laughs to himself, the noise vibrating in his chest. “Red queen. Has a nice ring to it.”

  “Get on, you fool.” Never have I smiled so brightly and still felt so sad.

  He spares me one last glance and nods to Julian, before stepping out into the darkness. The metal knits back together behind him, blocking my friends from sight. Where they’re going, I don’t want to know.

  Julian has to pull me away, but he doesn’t scold me for my long good-bye. I think he’s more preoccupied with Lucas, who, in his dazed state, has begun to drool.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY-TWO

  That night I dream of my brother Shade coming to visit me in the darkness. He smells like gunpowder. But when I blink, he disappears and my mind screams what I already know. Shade is dead.

  When morning comes, a series of shuffles and slams makes me bolt awake, sitting up in my bed. I expect to see Sentinels, Cal, or a murderous Ptolemus ready to rip me apart for what I’ve done, but it’s just the maids bustling in my closet. They look more harried than usual and pull down my clothes with abandon.

  “What’s going on?”

  In the closet, the girls freeze. They bow, hands full of silk and linen. As I come closer, I realize they’re standing over a set of leather trunks. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “Orders, my lady,” one says, her eyes lowered. “We only know what we’re told.”

  “Of course. Well, I’m just going to get dressed then.” I reach for the nearest outfit, intending to do something for myself for once, but the maids beat me to it.

  Five minutes later, they have me painted and ready, dressed in odd leather pants and a flouncy shirt. I’d much prefer my training suit over everything else, but it’s apparently not “proper” to wear the thing outside of sessions.

  “Lucas?” I ask the empty hallway, half expecting him to pop out from an alcove.

  But Lucas is nowhere to be found, and I head off to Protocol, expecting him to cross my path. When he doesn’t, a trill of fear ripples through me. Julian made him forget last night, but maybe something slipped through the cracks. Maybe he’s being questioned, punished, for the night he can’t remember and what we forced him to do.

  But I’m not alone for long. Maven steps into my path, his lips quirked into an amused smile.

  “You’re up early.” Then he leans in, speaking in a low whisper. “Especially for having such a late night.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I try for an innocent tone.

  “The prisoners are gone. All three of them, disappeared into thin air.”

  I put a hand to my heart, letting myself look shocked for the cameras. “By my colors! A few Reds, escaped from us? That seems impossible.”

  “It does indeed.” Though the smile remains, his eyes darken slightly. “Of course, that brings everything into question. The power outages, the failing security system, not to mention a troop of Sentinels with blank spots across their memories.” He stares pointedly at me.

  I return his sharp glance, letting him see my unease. “Your mother . . . interrogated them.”

  “She did.”

  “And will she be talking to”—I choose my words very carefully—“anyone else regarding the escape? Officers, guards—?”

  Maven shakes his head. “Whoever did this did it well. I helped her with the questioning and directed her to anyone of suspicion.” Directed. Directed away from me. I breathe a small sigh of relief and squeeze his arm, thanking him for his protection. “Besides, we may never find who did it. People have been fleeing since last night. They think the Hall is no longer safe.”

  “After last night, they’re probably right.” I slip my arm into his, drawing him closer. “What did your mother learn of the bomb?”

  His voice drops to a whisper. “There was no bomb.” What? “It was an explosion, but it was also an accident. A bullet punctured a gas line in the floor, and when Cal’s fire hit it . . .” He trails off, letting his hands do the talking. “It was Mother’s idea to use that to our, ah, advantage.”

  We don’t kill without purpose. “She’s turning the Guard into monsters.”

  He nods gravely. “No one will want to stand with them. Not even Reds.”

  My blood seems to boil. More lies. She’s beating us without firing a shot or drawing a blade. Words are all she needs. And now I’m being sent deeper into her world, to Archeon.

  You won’t see your family again. Gisa will grow, until you don’t recognize her anymore. Bree and Tramy will marry, have children, and forget you. Dad will die slowly, suffocated by his wounds, and when he’s gone, Mom will slip away too.

  Maven lets me think, his eyes thoughtful as he watches the emotions rise in my face. He always lets me think. Sometimes his silence is better than anyone else’s words.

  “How long do we have left here?”

  “We go this afternoon. Most of the court is leaving before that, but we have to take the boat. Keep some tradition in all this madness.”

  When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my porch and watch the pretty boats pass, heading downriver to the capital. Shade would laugh at me for wanting to catch a glimpse of the king. I didn’t realize then it was just part of the pageant, another display just like the arena fights, to show exactly how low we were in the grand scheme of the world. Now I’m going to be part of it again, this time standing on the other side.

  “At least you’ll get to see your home again, if only for a little while,” he adds, trying to be gentle. Yes, Maven, that’s just what I want. To stand and watch my home and my old life pass by.

  But that’s the price I must pay. Freeing Kilorn and the others means losing my last few days in the valley, and it’s a trade I’m happy to make.

  We’re interrupted by a loud crash from a nearby passage, the one leading to Cal’s room. Maven reacts first, moving to the edge of the hall before I can, like he’s trying to protect me from something.

  “Bad dreams, brother?” he calls out, worried by what he sees.

  In response, Cal steps out into the hallway, his fists clenched, like he’s trying to keep his own hands in check. Gone is the bloodstained uniform, replaced by what looks like Ptolemus’s armor, though Cal’s has a reddish tint.

  I want to slap him, to claw at him and scream for what he did to Farley and Tristan and Kilorn and Walsh. The sparks dance inside me, begging to be loosed. But after all, what did I expect? I know what he is and what he believes in—Reds are not worth saving. So I speak as civilly as I can.

  “Will you be leaving with your legion?” I know he isn’t, judging by the livid anger in his eyes. Once I feared he would go, and now I wish he would. I can’t believe I cared about saving him. I can’t believe that was ever a thought in my head.

  Cal heaves a breath. “The Shadow Legion isn’t going anywhere. Father will not allow it. Not now. It’s too dangerous and I’m too valuable.”

  “You know he’s right
.” Maven puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to calm him. I remember watching Cal do the same thing to Maven, but now the crown is on a different head. “You are the heir. He can’t afford to lose you too.”

  “I’m a soldier,” Cal spits, shrugging away from his brother’s touch. “I can’t just sit by and let others fight for me. I won’t do it.”

  He sounds like a child whining for a toy—he must enjoy killing. It makes me sick. I don’t speak, letting the diplomatic Maven talk for me. He always knows what to say.

  “Find another cause. Build another cycle, double your training, drill your men, prepare yourself for when the danger passes. Cal, you can do a thousand other things, and none of them end with you being killed in some kind of ambush!” he says, glaring up at his brother. Then he smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “You never change, Cal. You just can’t sit still.”

  After a moment of harsh silence, Cal breaks into a weak smile. “Never.” His eyes flick to me, but I won’t get caught in his bronze stare, not again.

  I turn my head, pretending to examine a painting on the wall. “Nice armor,” I sneer. “It will go well with your collection.”

  He looks stung, even confused, but quickly recovers. His smile is gone now, replaced by narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He taps at his armor; it sounds like claws on stone. “This was a gift from Ptolemus. I seem to share a common cause with my betrothed’s brother.” My betrothed. Like that’s supposed to make me jealous or something.

  Maven eyes the armor warily. “What do you mean?”

  “Ptolemus commands the officers in the capital. Together with me and my legion, we might be able to do something of use, even within the city.”

  Cold fear steals into my heart again, brushing away whatever hope and happiness last night’s success brought me. “And what is that, exactly?” I hear myself breathe.

  “I’m a good hunter. He’s a good killer.” Cal takes a step backward, walking away from us.

  I can feel him slipping down not just the hall but a dark and twisted path. It makes me afraid for the boy who taught me how to dance. No, not for him. Of him. And that is worse than all my other terrors and nightmares.

  “Between the two of us, we’ll root out the Scarlet Guard. We’ll end this rebellion once and for all.”

  There’s no schedule for today, as everyone is too busy leaving to teach or train. Fleeing might be a better word, because that’s certainly what this looks like from my vantage point in the entrance hall. I used to think the Silvers were untouchable gods who were never threatened, never scared. Now I know the opposite is true. They’ve spent so long at the top, protected and isolated, that they’ve forgotten they can fall. Their strength has become their weakness.

  Once, I was afraid of these walls, frightened by such beauty. But I see the cracks now. It’s like the day of the bombing, when I realized Silvers were not invincible. Then it was an explosion—now a few bullets have shattered diamondglass, revealing fear and paranoia beneath. Silvers fleeing from Reds—lions running from mice. The king and queen oppose each other, the court has their own alliances, and Cal—the perfect prince, the good soldier—is a torturous, terrible enemy. Anyone can betray anyone.

  Cal and Maven bid everyone good-bye, doing their duty despite the organized chaos. The airships wait not far off, the whir of their engines audible even inside. I want to see the great machines up close, but moving would mean braving the crowd and I can’t stomach the stares of the grief-stricken. All together, twelve died last night, but I refuse to learn their names. I can’t have them weighing on me, not when I need my wits more than ever.

  When I can’t watch any longer, my feet take me where they will, wandering through now familiar passages. Chambers close as I pass, being shut up for the season, until the court returns. I won’t, I know. Servants pull white sheets over the furniture and paintings and statues, until the whole place looks haunted by ghosts.

  It’s not long before I find myself standing in the doorway of Julian’s old classroom and the sight shocks me. The stacks of books, the desk, even the maps are gone. The room looks larger, but feels smaller. It once held whole worlds, but now holds only dust and crumpled paper. My eyes linger on the wall where the huge map used to be. Once I couldn’t understand it; now I remember it like an old friend.

  Norta, the Lakelands, Piedmont, the Prairie, Tiraxes, Montfort, Ciron, and all the disputed lands in between. Other countries, other peoples, all torn along the lines of blood just like us. If we change, will they? Or will they try to destroy us too?

  “I hope you’ll remember your lessons.” Julian’s voice draws me out of my thoughts, back to the empty room. He stands behind me, following my gaze to the map wall. “I’m sorry I couldn’t teach you more.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time for Lessons in Archeon.”

  His smile is bittersweet and almost painful to look at. With a jolt I realize I can feel cameras watching us for the very first time. “Julian?”

  “The archivists in Delphie have offered me a position restoring some old texts.” The lie is as plain as the nose on his face. “Seems they’ve been digging through the Wash and came on some storage bunkers. Mountains to go through, apparently.”

  “You’ll like that very much.” My voice catches in my throat. You knew he would have to leave. You forced him into this last night, when you put his life in danger for Kilorn’s. “Will you visit, when you can?”

  “Yes, of course.” Another lie. Elara will figure out his role soon enough and then he’ll be on the run. It only makes sense to get a head start. “I’ve gotten you something.”

  I’d rather have Julian than any gift, but I try to look thankful anyways. “Is it good advice?”

  He shakes his head, smiling. “You’ll see when you get to the capital.” Then he stretches out his arms, beckoning to me. “I have to go, so send me off properly.”

  Hugging him is like hugging my father or the brothers I’ll never see again. I don’t want to let him go but the danger is too great for him to stay and we both know it.

  “Thank you, Mare,” he whispers in my ear. “You remind me so much of her.” I don’t need to ask to know he’s talking about Coriane, about the sister he lost so long ago. “I’ll miss you, little lightning girl.”

  Right now, the nickname doesn’t sound so bad.

  I don’t have the strength to marvel at the boat, driven through the water by electric engines. Black, silver, and red flags flap from every pole, marking this as the king’s ship. When I was a girl, I use to wonder why the king laid claim to our color. It was just so beneath him. Now I realize the flags are red like his flame, like the destruction—and the people—he controls.

  “The Sentinels from last night have been reassigned,” Maven mutters as we walk along a deck.

  Reassigned is just a fancy word for punished. Remembering Pig-Eyes and the way he looked at me, I’m not sorry at all. “Where did they go?”

  “The front, of course. They’ll be attached to some rabble group, to captain injured, incapable, or bad-tempered soldiers. Those are usually the first to be sent in a trench push.” By the shadows behind his eyes, I can tell Maven knows this firsthand.

  “The first to die.”

  He nods solemnly.

  “And Lucas? I haven’t seen him since yesterday—”

  “He’s all right. Traveling with House Samos, regrouping with family. The shooting has everyone on their heels, even the High Houses.”

  Relief washes over me, as well as sadness. I miss Lucas already, but it’s good to know he’s safe and far from Elara’s prying.

  Maven bites his lip, looking subdued. “But not for long. Answers are coming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They found blood down in the cells. Red blood.”

  My gunshot wound is gone, but the memory of the pain has not faded. “So?”

  “So whichever friend of yours had the misfortune to be wounded won’t be a secret much longer, if the bloo
dbase does its job.”

  “Bloodbase?”

  “The blood database. Any Red born within a hundred miles of civilization gets sampled at birth. Started out as a project to understand exactly what the difference is between us, but it ended up just another way to put a collar on your people. In the bigger cities, Reds don’t use ID cards, but blood tags. They’re sampled at every gate, coming and going. Tracked like animals.”

  Briefly, I think of the old documents the king threw at me that day in the throne room. My name, my photograph, and a smear of blood were in there.

  My blood. They have my blood.

  “And they—they can figure out whose blood it is, just like that?”

  “It takes some time, a week or so, but yes, that’s how it’s supposed to work.” His eyes fall to my shaking hands and he covers them with his own, letting warmth bleed into my suddenly cold skin. “Mare?”

  “He shot me,” I whisper. “The Sentinel shot me. It’s my blood they found.”

  And then his hands are just as cold as mine.

  For all his clever ideas, Maven has nothing to say to this. He just stares, his breath coming in tiny, scared puffs. I know the look on his face; I wear it every time I’m forced to say good-bye to someone.

  “It’s too bad we didn’t stay longer,” I murmur, looking out at the river. “I would have liked to die close to home.”

  Another breeze sends a curtain of my hair across my face but Maven brushes it away and pulls me close with startling ferocity.

  Oh.

  His kiss is not at all like his brother’s. Maven is more desperate, surprising himself as much as me. He knows I’m sinking fast, a stone dropping through the river. And he wants to drown with me.

  “I will fix this,” he murmurs against my lips. I have never seen his eyes so bright and sharp. “I won’t let them hurt you. You have my word.”

  Part of me wants to believe him. “Maven, you can’t fix everything.”

  “You’re right, I can’t,” he replies, an edge to his voice. “But I can convince someone with more power than me.”