“You said yourself, the Lakelands will overthrow us if given the chance. I’m not going to let that happen. Especially with Piedmont focused elsewhere, on their own multitude of troubles. I have to handle these matters myself.” Despite the warmth of the transport, due in large part to the fire king sitting in front of me, I feel a finger of ice trail down my spine.
I used to dream of the Choke. The place where my father lost his leg, where my brothers almost lost their lives. Where so many Reds die. A waste of ash and blood.
“You’re not a warrior, Maven. You’re not a general or a soldier. How can you possibly hope to defeat them when—”
“When others couldn’t? When Father couldn’t? When Cal couldn’t?” he snaps. Each word sounds like the crack of bone. “You’re right, I’m not like them. War is not what I was made for.”
Made.He says it with such ease. Maven Calore is not his own self. He told me as much. He is a construct, a creation of his mother’s additions and subtractions. A mechanical, a machine, soulless and lost. What a horror, to know that someone like this holds our fates in the palm of his quivering hand.
“It will be no loss, not truly,” he drones on to distract us both. “Our military economy will simply turn its attention to the Scarlet Guard. And then whoever we decide to fear next. Whatever avenue is best for population control—”
If not for the manacles, my rage would certainly turn the transport into a heap of electrified scrap. Instead, I jump forward, lunging, hands stretched out to grab him by the collar. My fingers worm beneath the lapels of his jacket and I seize fabric in both fists. Without thinking, I shove, pushing, smashing him back into his seat. He flinches, a hand’s breadth from my face, breathing hard. He’s just as surprised as I am. No easy thing. I immediately go numb with shock, unable to move, paralyzed by fear.
He stares up at me, eye to eye, lashes dark and long. I’m so close to him I can see his pupils dilate. I wish I could disappear. I wish I were on the other side of the world. Slowly, steadily, his hands find mine. They tighten on my wrists, feeling manacle and bone. Then he pries my fists from his chest. I let him move me, too terrified for anything else. My skin crawls at his touch, even beneath gloves. I attacked him. Maven. The king. One word, one tap on the window, and a Sentinel will rip out my spine. Or he could kill me himself. Burn me alive.
“Sit back down,” he whispers, every word sharp. Giving me one single chance.
Like a scrambling cat, I do as he says, retreating to my corner.
He recovers faster than I do and shakes his head with the ghost of a smile. Quickly he smooths his jacket and brushes back a lock of rumpled hair.
“You’re a smart girl, Mare. Don’t tell me you never connected those particular dots.”
My breath comes hard, as if there’s a stone sitting on my chest. I feel heat rise in my cheeks, both out of anger and shame. “They want our coast. Our electricity. We want their farmlands, resources . . .” I stumble over the words I was taught in a ramshackle schoolhouse. The look on Maven’s face only becomes more amused. “In Julian’s books . . . the kings disagreed. Two men arguing over a chessboard like spoiled children. They’re the reason for all this. For a hundred years of war.”
“I thought Julian taught you to read between the lines. To see the words left unsaid.” He shakes his head, despairing of me. “I suppose even he could not undo your years of poor education. Another well-used tactic, I might add.”
That I knew. That I’ve always known, and lamented. Reds are kept stupid, kept ignorant. It makes us weaker than we already are. My own parents can’t even read.
I blink away hot tears of frustration. You knew all this, I tell myself, trying to calm down. The war is a ruse, a cover to keep Reds under control. One conflict may end, but another will always begin.
It twists my insides to realize how rigged the game has been, for everyone, for so very long.
“Stupid people are easier to control. Why do you think my mother kept my father around for so long? He was a drunk, a heartbroken imbecile, blind to so much, content to keep things as they were. Easy to control, easy to use. A person to manipulate—and blame.”
Furious, I swipe at my face, trying to hide any evidence of my emotions. Maven watches anyway, his expression softening a little. As if that helps anything. “So what are two Silver kingdoms going to do once they stop throwing Reds at each other?” I hiss. “Start marching us off cliffs at random? Pull names out of a lottery?”
He rests a hand on his chin. “I can’t believe Cal never told you any of this. Although he wasn’t really jumping at the opportunity to change things, not even for you. Probably didn’t think you could handle it—or, well, perhaps he didn’t think you would understand it—”
My fist slams against the bulletproof glass of the window. It smarts instantly, and I bury myself in the pain, using it to keep any thoughts of Cal at bay. I can’t let myself fall into that drowning spiral, even if it’s true. Even though Cal was once willing to uphold these horrors. “Don’t,” I snap at him. “Don’t.”
“I’m not a fool, little lightning girl.” His snarl matches my own. “If you’re going to play in my head, I’m going to play in yours. It’s what we’re good at.”
I was cold before, but now the heat of his anger threatens to consume me. Feeling sick, I press my cheek against the cool glass of the window and shut my eyes. “Don’t compare me to you. We’re not the same.”
“People like us,” he scoffs. “We lie to everyone. Especially ourselves.”
I want to punch the window again. Instead, I tuck my fists tight under my arms, trying to make myself smaller. Maybe I’ll just shrink away and disappear. With every breath, I regret getting into his transport more and more.
“You’ll never get the Lakelands to agree,” I say.
I hear him laugh deep in his throat. “Funny. They already have.”
My eyes fly open in shock.
He nods, looking pleased with himself. “Governor Welle facilitated a meeting with one of their top ministers. He has contacts in the north and is easily . . . persuaded.”
“Probably because you hold his daughter hostage.”
“Probably,” he agrees.
So that’s what this tour is. A solidifying of power, the creation of a new alliance. A twisting of arms and bending of wills by whatever means necessary. I knew it was for something other than spectacle, but this—this I could not fathom. I think of Farley, the Colonel, their Lakelander soldiers pledged to the Scarlet Guard. What will a truce do to them?
“Don’t look so glum. I’m ending a war millions died for, and bringing peace to a country that no longer knows the meaning of the word. You should be proud of me. You should be thanking me. Don’t—” He puts his hands up in defense as I spit at him.
“You really need to figure out another way to express your anger,” he grumbles, wiping at his uniform.
“Take off my manacles and I’ll show you one.”
He barks out a laugh. “Yes, of course, Miss Barrow.”
Outside, the sky darkens and the world fades to gray. I put a palm to the glass, willing myself to fall through. Nothing happens. I’m still here.
“I must say, I am surprised,” he adds. “We have far more in common with the Lakelands than you think.”
My jaw tightens and I speak through gritted teeth. “You both use Reds as slaves and cannon fodder.”
He sits up so quickly I flinch. “We both want to end the Scarlet Guard.”
It’s almost comical. Every step I take explodes in my face. I tried to save Kilorn from conscription and maimed my sister instead. I became a maid to help my family and within hours became a prisoner. I believed Maven’s words and Maven’s false heart. I trusted Cal to choose me. I raided a prison to free people and ended up clutching Shade’s corpse. I sacrificed myself to save the people I love. I gave Maven a weapon. And now, try as I might to thwart his reign from the inside, I think I’ve done something much worse. What will a united Lakelands and Norta look like?
Despite what Maven said, we head to Rocasta anyway, barreling on after more coronation stops throughout the Westlakes region. We won’t stay. Either there isn’t a stately home suitable enough for Maven’s court, or he simply doesn’t want to be there. I can see why. Rocasta is a military city. Not a fortress like Corvium, but built to support the army all the same. An ugly thing, formed for function. The city sits several miles off the banks of Lake Tarion, and the Iron Road runs through its heart. It bisects Rocasta like a blade, separating the wealthier Silver sector of the city from the Red. With no walls to speak of, the city creeps up on me. The shadows of houses and buildings appear out of the white blindness of a blizzard. Silver storms work to keep our road clear, battling the weather to keep the king on schedule. They stand on top of our transports, directing the snow and ice around us with even motions. Without them, the weather would be much worse, a hammer of brutal winter.
Still, snow blasts against the windows of my transport, obscuring the world outside. There are no more windweavers from the talented House Laris. They’re either dead or gone, having fled with the other rebelling houses, and the Silvers remaining can only do so much.
From what little I can see, Rocasta carries on despite the storm. Red workers move to and fro, clutching at lanterns, their lights bobbing through the haze like fish in murky water. They’re used to this kind of weather so close to the lakes.
I settle down into my long coat, glad for the warmth, even if the coat is a bloodred monstrosity. I glance at the Arvens, still clad in their usual white.
“Are you scared?” I chatter to the empty air. I don’t wait for their nonexistent response, all of them quietly focused on ignoring my voice. “We could lose you in a storm like this.” I sigh to myself, crossing my arms. “Wishful thinking.”
Maven’s transport rolls ahead of mine, spotted with Sentinel guards. Like my coat, they stand out sharply in the snowstorm, their flaming robes a beacon to the rest of us. I’m surprised they don’t take off their masks despite the low visibility. They must revel in looking inhuman and frightening—monsters to defend another monster.
Our convoy turns off the Iron Road somewhere near the center of the city, speeding down a wide avenue crisscrossed with twinkling lights. Opulent town houses and walled city manors rise up from the street, their windows warm and inviting. Up ahead, a clock tower fades in and out of visibility, occasionally obscured by drifting gusts of snow. It tolls three o’clock as we approach, gonging peals of sound that seem to reverberate inside my rib cage.
Dark shadows plunge along the street, deepening with every passing second as the storm gets stronger. We’re in the Silver sector, evidenced by the lack of trash and bedraggled Reds roaming the alleys. Enemy territory. As if I’m not already as deeply behind enemy lines as possible.
At court, there were rumors about Rocasta, and Cal in particular. A few soldiers had received a tip that he was in the city, or some old man had thought he’d seen him and wanted rations in exchange for the information. But the same could be said of so many places. He’d be stupid to come here, to a city still firmly under Maven’s control. Especially with Corvium so close by. If he’s smart, he is far away, well hidden, helping the Scarlet Guard as best he can. Strange to think that House Laris, House Iral, and House Haven rebelled in his honor, for an exiled prince who will never claim the throne. What a waste.
The administrative building beneath the clock tower is ornate compared to the rest of Rocasta, more akin to the columns and crystal of Whitefire Palace. Our convoy glides to a halt before it, spitting us out into the snow.
I hustle up the steps as quickly as I can, drawing up the infuriating red collar against the cold. Inside, I expect warmth and a waiting audience to hang on Maven’s every calculated word. Instead, we find chaos.
This was once a grand meeting hall: the walls are lined with plush benches and seating, now pushed aside. Most have been stacked on top of one another, cleared to make room on the main floor. I’m seized by the scent of blood. A strange thing for a hall full of Silvers.
But then I see: it is not so much a hall as a hospital.