In the seats of the Gallery, one of the politicians stands. A Silver man, with wispy blond hair, bone-white skin, and robes of deep emerald green. His nails are oddly long and polished to a high shine. “You speak of overthrowing a regime, Premier,” he says. “But I see beside you a young man with Silver blood and a crown upon his head. I see no other crowns in this room. And you know, as well as I do, the crowns we had to destroy to forge our country. How much we had to burn to rise from the ashes.”
The politician touches his own brow. His meaning is clear. One of the crowns given up was his own. I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to look at Tiberias. I want to yell at him, See? It can be done.
Davidson offers a deep bow of his head. “Very true, Representative Radis. The Free Republic is a nation made from war, from sacrifice, and above all things from opportunity. Before we rose up, the mountains were a patchwork of petty kingdoms and worse, fighting for dominance. There was no unity. It was easy to worm ourselves into the cracks and break apart what was already breaking.” He pauses, eyes alight. “I see a similar opportunity now, in the Silver kingdoms of the east. Room to change things in Norta. To remake things for the better.”
Another politician stands from the Gallery ranks, a Red woman with smooth copper skin, close-cropped black hair, and a white gown crossed with an olive sash. “Does Your Majesty agree?” she asks, fixing her eyes on Tiberias.
He hesitates, surprised at her directness. Tiberias isn’t as quick with his words as his cursed brother. “Norta is in a state of civil war,” he replies, his voice wavering. “More than a third of the nation has seceded, some pledging fealty to the Kingdom of the Rift. Where my betrothed’s father is king.” Clenching his jaw, he gestures to Evangeline next to him. She doesn’t react. “The rest are pledged to me. To putting me back on my own father’s throne, and casting out my brother.” A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Who murdered his way to it.”
Tiberias lowers his eyes slowly. I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the folds of his red cape. The thought of Maven still wounds us both, Tiberias even more than me. I was there when Maven and Elara forced him to murder his own father, the old king. I see that terrible moment written on his grim face, clear as letters in a book.
The representative is not satisfied. She tips her head, bringing long fingers together. “Reports say that King Maven is beloved among the people. The ones still loyal to him, I mean,” she adds. “Curious, that the Red populace of Norta is counted in that regard.”
A low current of heat ripples across my exposed skin. Not a lot, but enough to communicate Tiberias’s discomfort. I curl my fingers into a fist, speaking before he is forced to.
“King Maven is greatly skilled in manipulation,” I tell the woman. “He easily uses his own image, the boy king forced to the throne, and tricks anyone who doesn’t truly know him.”
And even sometimes those who do.Tiberias, most of all. He told me once he was looking for newblood whispers, stronger than Queen Elara, perhaps able to fix what she broke in his brother. An impossible wish, a terrible dream. I’ve seen Maven without her machinations. She is dead, and he is still the monster she forced him to be.
The politician turns her eyes on me, and I continue. “He brokered the Lakeland alliance, ending a war my people were sent to fight. He lifted the restrictions his father made on their lives. It isn’t hard to understand why he has support. It’s easy to win the favor of the people you feed.” As I speak, I think about myself, my family. The Stilts. Cameron and the slum towns full of Reds trapped to their lives. Where would we be, if someone had not broken through the wall around us? Shown us how the world really should be? “Especially when you control what they are given, both on the table and on the video screen.”
She grins at me, showing gapped teeth. “You’ve been a thorn in his side, Mare Barrow. And a boon to him as well. We’ve seen videos from your capture. Your words swayed people to him too.”
The heat I feel next isn’t from Tiberias, but from my own embarrassment. It claws over my face, warming my cheeks. “Yes. And I am ashamed of it,” I tell her bluntly.
On my left, Farley clenches a fist on the seat of her chair. She leans forward. “You can’t blame her for things said to the business end of a gun.”
The Red woman tightens. “I do not, of course. But your face and your voice have been used so many times, Miss Barrow. You will be little use in trying to sway your own people back in Norta. And, I apologize, but it makes it difficult to trust what you say now, and who you speak for.”
“Then speak to me,” Farley snaps, her voice echoing throughout the Gallery. My flush recedes, chased away by cool relief. I glance sidelong, more grateful for Farley than ever before. She keeps her temper in check, using it as fuel. “I am a general of the Scarlet Guard, a high officer of Command. My organization has been working in the shadows for years, from the frozen shores of the Hud to the Piedmont lowlands, and everywhere in between. We’ve done very much with very little. Imagine what we can do with more.”
On the opposite side of the chamber, another one of the Montfort representatives puts up a hand winking with golden rings. He’s Red, his smile sharp and slick. “Much, you say? Forgive me, General. But before you began working with us, your Scarlet Guard was little more than a network of allied criminals. Smugglers. Thieves. Murderers, even.”
Farley just sniffs. “We did what we had to. The premier speaks of working through cracks—we made them. And we transported thousands out of danger. Reds who needed our help. Newbloods too. Your own premier is Nortan-born, isn’t he?” She points her chin at Davidson, who holds her gaze. “Nearly executed for the crime of what he was born as. We saved people like him every day.”
The sly man shrugs his shoulders. “Our point is that you cannot do this alone, General,” he says. “And while your cause is just, accordances must be made. You are a group with no nation, no citizens to answer to. Your methods are beyond the usual bounds of war. We have our own to think of.”
“We answer to everyone, sir,” Farley replies coolly. She turns her head just so, letting the scarred side of her mouth catch the light from the dome overhead. “Especially those who think no one is listening. We are listening, and we are doing, and we will keep fighting. To the last rattle of our last breath, the Scarlet Guard will do what it can to fix what is broken. With or without your aid.”
Still pacing, Davidson passes by her. He shoots her a glance I cannot decipher, lips pressed into a neutral line, eyes locked on her face. I can’t tell if he’s pleased or infuriated.
The Silver representative named Radis stands again. He doesn’t look a day over thirty-five, and he’s old enough to remember what this country was before Montfort. He eyes us all. “So you propose we support another Silver monarch and help him to a throne.”
On my right, Evangeline grins, and I can see she capped her eyeteeth with pointed silver. Gruesome, I think to myself. And a message like the rest of her image. She will bite out the heart of anyone in her way. Including all of us.
“Two, actually,” she says, projecting her voice across the amphitheater. “My father, the king of the Rift, must also be recognized as a legitimate ruler.”
A corner of Tiberias’s mouth twitches, and Anabel purses her lips. As before in Corvium, Evangeline does her best to sidetrack any progress her betrothed might make.
Radis sneers back at her, gray eyes flashing. “But as you told us, Premier,” he says, “the Free Republic was built from such kingdoms. We know what they are, what they become.” His gaze ticks from Evangeline to Tiberias. “No matter how noble, how true, how honorable the king or queen.”
Premier Davidson’s blank mask threatens to slip, betraying a frown. He bows his head slightly, acknowledging Radis’s point. Others murmur around the room, ruminating on the same flaw in this alliance. Of course, Davidson and the Guard have a longer game, with no intention of propping up more kings and queens, but we can’t exactly argue that in front of the Silvers.
The lie comes easily for me, because it isn’t entirely false.
“You said something else before, Premier,” I say quickly, pushing out of my chair. “Before the second battle of Corvium, when we were still in Piedmont.”
Davidson whirls to me, an eyebrow raised.
“Inches for miles,”I explain, sharpening each letter on my tongue.
The full strength of the Gallery’s attention makes me shiver with desperation. They must agree. We need their support if we’re going to end Maven’s reign and stop Tiberias from picking up the crown he leaves behind. “Change can be quick, or it can be slow. But the movement should always be forward. I know some of you look at King Tiberias, at Queen Anabel and Princess Evangeline, and wonder, how are they different? How is spilling your own blood to give them a throne better than staying alive and letting Maven keep his?”
Radis looks down his long nose at me. “Because you claim Maven Calore is a monster. A wayward boy with no leash.”
I toss my head, flicking my braid over my shoulder. Like Farley, I let my scars tell their own story. The M on my collarbone cooks beneath a hundred pairs of eyes. “Because Maven Calore is, without question, without argument, the worse option,” I say, directing my words to all of them. “Not only will he never move his country forward, but he will also drag Norta backward. He has no regard for Red life, or even Silver. No thoughts of equality. Not even an inkling of anything beyond his broken circle of vengeance and the desire to be loved. And unlike Tiberias, unlike King Volo in the Rift, unlike perhaps any Silver monarch breathing today, he is willing to do anything to keep his crown.”
Slowly, Radis sits. He gestures with a white hand, asking me to continue. Not that I need his permission. Still, pride surges in me.
“Yes,” I tell them. “Under most circumstances, you would be better off staying here, protected by your mountains, insulated against the world. If you can find it in your stomachs to ignore the atrocities of Norta and her allies.” Some of them squirm in their chairs. “But not now. Not with the Lakelands on his side. You can take your time deciding whether to give us more aid, but that bell has already rung. You voted to help us before. Your soldiers were there when I was rescued from Whitefire Palace. Your army helped us hold the walls of Corvium. And Maven Calore will never forget what you did. He will never forget how you stole me from him.”
You’re like Thomas was,Maven told me once. I hear him still muttering in my head. You are the only person I care about, the only person who reminds me I am alive. Not empty. And not alone.
He was a monster then, keeping me trapped in his palace, trapped inside my own skin. I wonder what kind of beast he is now, with nothing and no one but the splintered pieces in his head.
I grit my teeth, trying to picture his next moves. Not in the coming days, but months from now. Years. “One day, his armies will be at your door. The Nortans, the Lakelanders.” They swim before my eyes, the High Houses in their colors, the Lakelanders in their royal blue. “All of them with all their fury, marching behind a shield of Red soldiers you’ll be forced to kill. You might win, but many of your own will die with them. How many, I can’t say. I can only assure you, it will be more.”
The Red woman with black hair tips her hand, calling for attention. She looks past me, to Farley still in her seat. “Do you agree, General?” she asks, and then points to Tiberias. “Will this Silver king be better than the one already on the throne?”
Farley scoffs, all but rolling her eyes. “Ma’am, I care very little for Tiberias Calore,” she replies. I can’t help but wince, hissing out a breath. Farley.
But she isn’t finished. “So you can believe me when I say he will be.”
The representative bobs her head, satisfied with such an answer. She isn’t the only one. Many of the politicians around the room, both Red and Silver, exchange whispers. “Well, Your Majesty?” the woman adds, turning her attention on Tiberias.
He shifts in his chair. On his right, Anabel touches his arm with fleeting fingers. I have enough experience with Silver mothers to know that Queen Anabel would be considered overly maternal, too gentle, too loving with her kin.
I sit as he gets up, stepping onto the floor. Davidson acquiesces, finally taking his own chair to let Tiberias stand alone. He cuts a magnificent sight against the white marble and granite, and the swirling green dome over our heads. The red of his cape seems a livid flame, a swath of fresh blood.
Tiberias raises his chin. “I’ve spent almost a year in exile, betrayed by my brother. But I was betrayed by my . . .” He pauses, chewing the words. “My father as well. He raised me to be a king like every king before. Unyielding, unchanging. Bound to the past. Locked into endless war, married to tradition.” For the first time, Evangeline flinches, her clawed nails curling on the arms of her seat.
The true king pushes on. “The truth is Norta was split in two long before my father was murdered. Silver overlords, with Reds below. I knew it to be wrong, as we all know, in the deepest places of ourselves. But there are limits to the power of kings. I thought changing the bedrock of a country, rearranging the ills of our society, was one of them. I thought the current balance, however unfair, was better than the risk of tipping the kingdom into chaos.” His voice hums with determination. “And I was wrong. So many people taught me that.
“You were one of them, Premier,” he says, glancing back at Davidson. “And so are all of you. Your country, strange as it seems to us, is proof that new lines can be drawn. A different kind of balance can be maintained. As king of Norta, I intend to see what I couldn’t before. And to do everything I can to bridge the canyons between Red and Silver. Heal the wounds. Change what must be changed.”
I’ve heard him speak eloquently before. He did it in Corvium, saying much the same thing. He swore to change the world with us. To erase the divide between Red and Silver. It stirred pride in me then, but not now. I know what his words mean and exactly how far his promises extend. Especially with the crown in the balance.
Even so, I gasp to myself when he sinks, dropping to a knee at the center of the floor. His cape pools around him, vibrant and bloody against the marble.
Murmurs rise as he bows his head.
“I don’t ask for anyone to fight for me, but alongside me,” he says slowly.
The black-haired woman is first to speak, her head tipped to one side. “We already know you’re not the kind to send another in your stead, Your Majesty,” she replies. “That was made clear last night. My daughter, Captain Viya, fought with you on the Hawkway.”
Still kneeling, Tiberias says nothing. He only nods, a muscle jumping his cheek.
On the opposite side of the chamber, Radis gestures to Davidson, flicking out one hand. As he does so, a sudden breeze rustles through the Gallery. He is a windweaver, I realize. “Put it to a vote, Premier,” the Silver says.
In his seat, Davidson dips his chin. He stares out, searching the many assembled politicians. I wonder what he reads in their faces. After a long moment, he exhales. “Very well, Representative Radis.”
“I vote yes,” Radis says quickly, firmly, and sits.
On the floor, Tiberias blinks quickly, trying to mask his surprise. I feel the same.
It only grows with every resounding yes, spoken from dozens of lips. I count under my breath. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty.
There are nos scattered among the politicians, enough at first to temper any hope I might feel. But they are quickly eclipsed, drowned out in favor of the answer we so desperately need.
Finally, Davidson grins and stands back up out of his chair. He crosses the floor and touches Tiberias lightly on the shoulder, gesturing for him to rise.
“You have your army.”
TWELVE
Evangeline
Even though Montfort isbeautiful, I’m keenly glad to be leaving so soon after our arrival. What’s more, I’m going home. To Ridge House, to Ptolemus, to Elane. I’m so happy I barely notice that I have to pack up my things myself.
It’s the smart move. Even the Reds know it. The Rift is closer to Montfort than the Piedmont base, not to mention it isn’t surrounded by Bracken’s territory. And the kingdom is a place of strength, well defended. Maven won’t order an assault on our lands, and we’ll have time to gather our resources and our armies.
Still, my skin prickles with discomfort all afternoon. I can hardly stomach Cal’s grin as we step out into the courtyard of Davidson’s palace. Sometimes I wish he had just an ounce of Maven’s cunning, or even sense. Then he might understand what happened this morning in the People’s Gallery. But no, he’s too trusting, too good, and much too pleased with his little speech to realize how well Davidson maneuvers.
The vote was already decided. It must have been. The politicians of Montfort already knew what Davidson would request, and they already knew how they would answer. The army was decided before we even arrived. Everything else, the entire visit to the city, was a performance, and a seduction.
It’s what I would do.
Just as Davidson’s own words to me were a seduction of their own. Another small thing we allow here, he said to me when I first arrived. He knows about Elane, and he knows exactly what to say to make me falter. Make me wonder. Make me think, even for an instant, about throwing my life away for a place here.
The premier is a good salesman, to say the least.
Cal crosses the courtyard to bid good-bye to Davidson and his husband, Carmadon. Looking at the couple, I feel the familiar surge of jealousy and then nausea. I turn away, if only to look somewhere else.
My eyes land on another despicable public display of emotion. Another nauseating round of farewells before this troop of dancing monkeys heads to the Rift.
I don’t understand why Mare couldn’t have said her good-byes inside, where the rest of us didn’t have to see such a performance. As if she is original in her grief. As if Mare Barrow is the only one here who has ever had to leave someone behind.
She hugs her family one by one, each embrace longer than the last. Her mother cries; her father cries; her brothers and her sister cry. She does her best not to, and fails. Their half-hidden sniffles echo across the mountain jetway, and the rest of us are forced to act as if we aren’t waiting for the weeping family.
It’s all very Red, I suppose. They don’t have to worry about what showing weakness might do, because, for the most part, they’re already weak. Someone should talk to Barrow about that. She should know by now how important maintaining an image is.
The tall Red boy, Barrow’s tan, blond pet, follows alongside, hugging her family as if they were his own. I suppose he’s still tagging along.
Cal finishes with Davidson, pulling back from their whispered conversation. The premier isn’t coming back with us, not yet. Now that his government has agreed to fully aid us, he has much to organize, and he pledges to follow us back to the Rift in a week or so. But I don’t think that’s what they’re talking about. Cal is too fervent, too on edge, his grip on Davidson tight and unyielding. His eyes are soft, though. He’s asking for something, something small and unimportant to anyone but him.
When the prince walks away, he passes by Mare with long, quick strides. Her brothers watch him go, eyes trailing in the prince’s wake. If they were Calore burners, I think they might set him on fire. The sister is less hostile, but more disappointed. She frowns at his retreating form, lip between her teeth. She looks more like Mare when she does that, especially when her frown deepens into a sneer.
Cal stops at my right, settling into a wide-legged stance, crossing his arms over a plain black uniform.
“You need a better mask, Calore,” I mutter to him. He only scowls. “And she needs to keep to our schedule.”
“She’s leaving her family behind, Evangeline,” he growls in reply. “We can spare the minutes.”
I heave a sigh and examine my nails. No claws today. No need for them on the journey back home. “So many allowances where Barrow is concerned. I wonder where that line is, and what happens when she inevitably crosses it.”