I hold his gaze. “If it were her business, she’d have been queen months ago.” When he doesn’t reply, I push harder. “You don’t want to marry her.”
Instead of crumbling, his facade strengthens. He even chuckles, projecting an image of abject disinterest. “That’s not why Silvers get married, as well you know.”
I try a different tactic, playing on the pieces of him I used to know. The pieces I hope are still real. “Well, I don’t blame you for stalling—”
“It isn’t stalling to postpone a wedding in wartime.”
“She’s not who you would’ve chosen—”
“As if there’s choice in the matter.”
“Not to mention the fact that she was Cal’s before she was yours.”
The mention of his brother stills his lazy protesting. I can almost see the muscles tighten beneath his skin, and one hand flicks the bracelet at his wrist. Every gentle ting of the metal rings as loud as a warning bell. One spark from it and he will burn.
But fire doesn’t scare me anymore.
“Based on your progress, it should take another day or so for you to learn how to walk properly with those.” His words are measured, forced, calculated. He probably rehearsed them before he came in here. “And then you’ll finally be of some use to me.”
As I do every day, I glance around the room, looking for cameras. I still don’t see them, but they must be there. “Do you spend all day spying on me, or does a Security officer give you a summary? Some kind of written report?”
Maven lets the remark glance off. “Tomorrow you will stand up and say exactly what I tell you to.”
“Or what?” I force myself to my feet without any of the grace or agility I used to claim. He watches every inch. I let him. “I’m already your prisoner. You can kill me whenever you like. And quite frankly, I’d prefer that to luring newbloods into your net to die.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Mare.” Even though he’s still sitting, I feel like he towers over me. “And I don’t want to kill them either.”
I understand what the words mean, but not when they come from Maven’s mouth. It makes no sense. No sense at all. “Why?”
“You’ll never fight for us, I know that. But your kind . . . they’re strong, stronger than many Silvers could ever be. Imagine what we will do with an army of them, combined with an army of mine. When they hear your voice, they’ll come. How they are treated once they arrive depends on your behavior, of course. And your compliance.” Finally, he stands. He’s grown in the past few months. Taller and leaner, taking after his mother, as he does in most things. “So I have two choices, and you get to pick which one I follow. Either you bring me newbloods, and they join with us, or I continue finding them on my own, and killing them.”
My slap lands weakly, barely moving his jaw at all. My other hand smacks against his chest, just as inconsequential. He almost rolls his eyes at the effort. He might even enjoy it.
I feel my face turn bright red, flushing both in anger and helpless sorrow. “How can you be like this?” I curse, wishing I could tear him apart. If not for the manacles, my lightning would be everywhere. Instead, words pour out of me. Words I can barely think about before they rage from me. “How can you still be like this? She’s dead. I killed her. You are free from her. You—you shouldn’t be her son anymore.”
His hand grips my chin hard, shocking me into silence. The force of it makes me bend, lean backward, almost lose balance. I wish I would. I wish I could fall out of his hands, hit the floor, and splinter into a thousand pieces.
Back at the Notch, in the warmth of the cot I shared with Cal, deep in the night, I thought of moments like this. Being alone with Maven again. Getting the chance to see what he truly was beneath the mask I remembered and the person his mother forced him to be. In that strange place between sleep and waking, his eyes followed me. Always the same color, but somehow changing. His eyes, her eyes, eyes I knew and eyes I could never know. They look the same now, burning with a cold fire, threatening to consume me.
Knowing it’s what he wants to see, I let the tears of frustration overwhelm me and fall. He tracks their paths with hunger.
Then he shoves me away. I stagger to a knee.
“I am what she made me,” he whispers, leaving me behind.
Before the door shuts behind him, I notice guards on either side. Clover and Egg this time. So the Arvens are not far away, even if I somehow manage to free myself.
I sink slowly to the floor and sit back on my heels. I put one hand over my face, hiding the fact that my eyes are suddenly dry. As much as I wished Elara’s death would change him, I knew it would not. I’m not that stupid. I cannot trust anything where Maven is concerned.
The smallest of his ceremonial badges bites in my other hand, hidden by my curling fingers. Even Silent Stone cannot take away a thief’s instincts. The badge’s metal pin digs into skin. I’m tempted to let it break through, to bleed crimson and scarlet, to remind myself and anyone watching what I am, and what I am capable of.
Under the guise of straightening up, I slip the badge under my mattress. Along with the rest of my plunder: hairpins, broken fork tines, shards of shattered glass and porcelain plates. My arsenal, humble as it is, will have to do.
I glare at the dress in the corner, as if the dress is somehow at fault for this.
Tomorrow,he said.
I return to my sit-ups.
SIX
Mare
The cards are carefullytyped, outlining what I must say. I can’t even look at them, and leave them lying on my bedside table.
I very much doubt I’ll get the benefit of maids to make me up into whatever Maven imagines presenting to the court. It looks like an arduous task, buttoning and zipping myself into the scarlet gown. It has a high collar, trailing hem, and long sleeves to hide not just Maven’s brand on my collarbone but the manacles still attached to my wrists and ankles.
No matter how many times I escape this elegant pageantry, I seem doomed to play a role in it. The dress will be too big when I finally get it on, loose around the arms and waist. I’m thinner here, no matter how much I force myself to eat. Based on what I can glean from my reflection in the window, my hair and skin have also suffered under the weight of silence. My face is yellowed and sunken, sickly-looking, while red rims my eyes. And my dark brown hair, still tinged by the slow creep of gray at the ends, is rattier than ever, tangled to the root. I braid it back hastily, working the knotted strands.
No amount of silk can change what I look like beneath Maven’s costume. But it’s no matter. I’ll never wear it, if all goes to plan.
The next step in my preparation makes my heart pound. I do my best to look calm, for the cameras in my bedroom at least. They cannot know what I’m about to do, not if it’s going to work. And even if I manage to fool my guards, there’s another rather large obstacle.
This could kill me.
Maven did not put cameras in my bathroom. Not to protect my privacy, but to placate his own jealousy. I know enough of him to realize he won’t let another person see my body. The added weight of Silent Stone, the slabs set into walls, is confirmation. Maven made sure guards would never have a reason to escort me in here. My heart beats sluggishly in my chest, but I push through it. I have to.
The shower hisses and steams, scalding hot as soon as I turn it on to full blast. If not for the bathroom Stone, I would have spent many days enjoying the singular comfort of a hot wash. I must work quickly, or let myself be smothered.
Back at the Notch we were lucky to bathe in cold rivers, while on Tuck the showers were timed and lukewarm. I laugh at the thought of what passed for bathing at home. A tub filled from the kitchen faucet, warm in the summer, cold in the winter, with stolen soap to clean with. I still don’t envy my mother’s job of helping my father wash.
With any luck—lots of luck—I’ll see them again soon.
I push the showerhead, angling it away from the basin and onto the floor of the bathroom. The water pelts against white tile, drenching it. The spray hits my bare feet, and the heat shivers my skin, gentle and inviting as a warm blanket.
As water seeps out beneath the bathroom door, I work quickly. First I put the long shard of glass on the counter, well within arm’s length. Then I reach for the true weapon.
Whitefire Palace is a marvel in every inch, and my bathroom is no exception. It’s lit by a modest chandelier, if there is such a thing: worked in silver, with curling arms like tree branches giving bud to a dozen lightbulbs. I have to stand on the sink, precariously balanced, to get at it. A few forceful but focused tugs pull the dangling fixture forward, its wiring peeling through the ceiling. Once I have enough slack, I crouch, the still-lit chandelier in hand. I brace it on the sink to wait.
The pounding starts a few minutes later. Whoever is watching my room has noticed the water spilling out from underneath my bathroom door. Ten seconds later, two sets of feet troop into my bedroom. Which Arvens, I’m not sure, but it doesn’t really matter.
“Barrow!” a man’s voice calls, accompanied by a fist knocking on the bathroom door.
They waste no time when I don’t respond, and neither do I.
Egg pushes the door in, his white face almost blending into the tiled walls as he steps inside, sloshing through. Clover does not follow, but stands with one foot in the bathroom, the other in my bedchamber. It doesn’t matter. Both her feet are in the puddle of steaming water.
“Barrow . . . ?” Egg says, slack-jawed at the sight of me.
It doesn’t take much to let the chandelier drop, but the action feels heavy all the same.
It smashes against the wet tile. When the electricity hits the water, a surge pulses through the room, shorting out not just the other bathroom lights, but the lights in my bedroom. Probably this entire wing of the palace.
Both Arvens jump and twitch as the sparks dance through their flesh. They crumple quickly, muscles seizing.
I vault over the water and their bodies, almost gasping as the weight of the bathroom’s Silent Stone melts away. The manacles still weigh on my limbs, and I waste no time searching the Arvens, careful to keep out of the water. I turn out their pockets as quickly as I can, searching for the key that haunts my waking moments. Shaking, I feel a curl of metal beneath Egg’s collar, lying flush to his breastbone. With trembling hands, I yank it free and set to loosening my manacles one by one. As they drop away, the silence lifts, bit by bit. I gasp down air, trying to force lightning into myself. It’s coming back. It must.
But I still feel numb.
Egg’s body is at my mercy, warm and alive beneath my hands. I could cut his throat and Clover’s, slice their jugulars with any one of the jagged bits of glass I keep well hidden. I should do it, I tell myself. But I’ve already wasted too much time. I leave them living.
As expected, the Arvens are trained enough in their duties to have locked my bedroom door behind them. No matter. A hairpin is just as good as a key. I pop the lock in a second.
It’s been a few days since I stepped outside my prison, and then I was leashed to Evangeline, guarded on all sides. Now the hallway is empty. Dead lightbulbs march down the hall overhead, taunting in their emptiness. My electrical sense is weak, barely a spark across the darkness. It has to come back. This won’t work if it doesn’t come back. I fight a swell of panic—what if it’s gone for good? What if Maven took my lightning from me?
I sprint as fast as I can, holding on to what I know of Whitefire. Evangeline took me left, to the ballrooms and the great halls and the throne room. Those places will be crawling with guards and officers, not to mention the nobility of Norta, dangerous on their own. So I go right.
Cameras follow, of course. I spot them at every corner. I wonder if they shorted out too, or if I’m entertainment for a few officers. They might be making bets on how far I get. The doomed endeavor of a doomed girl.
A service stair takes me down a landing, and I almost knock over a servant in my haste.
My heart leaps at the sight of him. A boy, my age, maybe, his face already flushing as he holds on to his tea tray. Flushing red.
“It’s a trick!” I shout at him. “What they’re going to make me do, it’s a trick!”
At the top of the stairs, and the bottom, a pair of doors bang open in succession. Cornered again. A bad habit I’ve developed.
“Mare—” the boy says, my name trembling on his lips. I frighten him.
“Find a way; tell the Scarlet Guard. Tell whoever you can. It’s another lie!”
Someone seizes me around my middle, pulling me backward, up and away. I keep my focus on the serving boy. The uniformed officers ascending from below shove him away, pressing him up against the wall without thought. His tray clatters to the floor, spilling tea.
“It’s all a lie!” I manage to get out before a hand clamps over my mouth.
I try to spark, reaching for lightning that I still barely feel. Nothing happens, so I bite down hard enough to taste blood.
The Security officer drops his hand, swearing, while another comes up in front of me, deftly grabbing my kicking legs. I spit blood in her face.
When she backhands me, the action full of deadly grace, I recognize her.
“Good to see you, Sonya,” I hiss. I try to kick her in the stomach, but she dodges with boredom.
Please,I beg in my mind, as if the electricity can hear me. Nothing responds, and I choke back a sob. I’m too weak. It’s been too long.
Sonya is a silk, too swift and agile to be bothered with the resistance of a weak girl. I glance at her uniform. Black piped with silver, with the blue and red of House Iral on her shoulders. Judging by the badges on her chest and the pins on her collar, she’s a ranking officer of Security now. “Congratulations on the promotion,” I growl in frustration, lashing out because it’s all I can do. “Done with Training so soon?”