She huffs, as if annoyed. But I see the familiar twitch in her. The need. A coil in the pit of her stomach, begging to be unwound. Barrow looks at her feet, blinking slowly. She runs one hand over the other, smoothing her fingers against her palm. Imagining the lightning, no doubt.
There is a particular pleasure in using our abilities for sport rather than survival.
“I’ve almost beaten you twice, Evangeline,” Mare says.
I grin. “Third time’s the charm.”
She glares up at me, annoyed at the hunger inside herself. “Fine,” she forces through gritted teeth. “One match.”
Cal is also in the training arena, not that Mare or Kilorn knows it, though. The Red boy follows us wordlessly, fuming, but he does nothing to stop Barrow when I lead her into the specially made chamber.
The walls are glass, much like the rest of the Ridge. In the morning, it enjoys a full view of the sunrise. Perfect for early sessions. Now it looks out on the darkness, a vague, bruising blue, fading to black. Ptolemus and Cal occupy different ends of the training floor, ignoring each other as men do. My brother steadily works through a rotation of push-ups, his back straight and lean. Wren perches nearby, seated in the raised viewing area. She must be the healer on duty, to attend to anyone on the floor. But her attention is firmly fixed on Ptolemus and his flexing muscles. I could probably spear Cal through the middle and she wouldn’t blink an eye.
The would-be king faces away from us at first, running a towel over his hair and his sweaty, flushed face. I watch Mare go stock-still next to me, as if frozen solid. Her eyes widen, running over his figure. I can only grimace, noting the damp material clinging to Cal’s back and shoulders. Maybe if I felt some attraction to him—or to any man, for that matter—I might understand exactly why Mare looks like she’s going to pass out.
At least this part of the plan is working. Barrow clearly has no objections to Cal’s body.
“This way,” I say to her, taking her by the arm.
Cal spins at my voice, towel still in hand. He startles at the sight of us. Well, the sight of her. “We’re almost finished,” he manages to sputter.
“Take your time. It doesn’t make a difference to me,” Mare replies, her voice and expression decidedly neutral. She lets me lead her away without protest, but her hand shifts, her arm moving quickly. Her fingers dig into my flesh, nails biting in warning.
“Kilorn,” I hear Cal say behind us, greeting the Red boy with what sounds like a handshake.
Ptolemus looks up from his spot on the floor, not breaking his pace. I give him the slightest nod, pleased by our machinations. His eyes slide past me, though, to rest on Mare instead.
She looks back at him, murderous. It chills my blood.
I try not to shudder. Try not to think of my brother bleeding like hers did, dying as he falls, dying for nothing at all.
Pull yourself together, Samos.
SIXTEEN
Mare
“I’m not an idiot,Evangeline,” I growl as the changing-room door slams behind us.
She just sighs, shoving a training suit into my chest. With practiced, even motions, she strips out of her simple gown and tosses it to the side, discarding the puddle of silk like a pile of trash. Naked but for her underclothes, she pours herself into a training suit of her own. Clearly custom-made for her, printed with a scaled design of black and silver.
Mine is less ornate. A simple navy blue. Furious with her scheming, I pull off my own clothes before forcing the suit on.
“You might as well just shove us into a closet and lock the door,” I snarl, watching her braid her silver hair away from her face. She does it quickly, without thought, forming a crown around her head.
Evangeline only twists her lips. “Trust me, I would if I thought that might work on you. Him, yes. A closet would be enough. But you?” She throws her hands wide, shrugging. “You can never make anything easy.”
“So, what, you’re going to try to beat the shit out of me and hope he feels some pang of sympathy? Maybe have him nurse me back to health?” I shake my head, disgusted.
“It seemed to be working in Montfort.” Her eyes paw over me. “Those Silences did a real number on you.”
My eyes narrow. “Well, I have my reasons,” I snap back, defensive. The memory is like a slap to the face, followed by a deep kick to the gut. I dig my nails into my palm, trying not to slide back into the sensation of being suffocated. In the mountain foothills, in a palace bedroom. From Silvers or from manacles. Without thinking, I circle my fingers around my wrist and squeeze. It almost makes me vomit onto the polished tile floor.
“I know,” she replies, softer than before. If she were anyone else, I might think that was concern shadowing her voice. But not Evangeline Samos. She doesn’t have the ability to feel sympathy toward Reds.
I cough, regaining some of my composure. “Even if you somehow did drive us back together, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. You said yourself, he’s not the abdicating kind. It’s a stupid plan, Evangeline,” I add, for both our sakes.
She looks at me sidelong, buckling a brace of daggers into place around her thigh. One side of her mouth lifts. I can’t decide if it’s a smirk or a smile. “We’ll see.”
All grace and agility, she crosses back to the door, gesturing for me to follow her out onto the waxed wood.
I do so reluctantly, pulling my hair back into a neat tail. Half of me hopes Tiberias is already gone. I focus my eyes on a spot between her shoulder blades.
“It’s a stupid plan, not just because Tiberias already made his choice,” I continue, sliding by her onto the training floor. Instinctively I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, almost bouncing as we walk. I grin back at her. “But also because you’re never going to lay a finger on me.”
She clutches a hand to her chest in false pain. The changing-room door slams shut behind her. “Mare, I’m supposed to be the overly confident one.”
I keep grinning, walking backward to keep my eyes on her. I don’t trust anyone to fight fair, especially her. “Maybe Elane can lick your wounds?”
Evangeline only raises her chin, looking down her nose at me. “She does, and frequently. Jealous?”
My face flares red. I feel the heat of it all down my neck. “No.”
Now it’s her turn to grin. She shoulders past me, knocking her arm into mine with marked force. I twist, but she keeps her body squared to me, never letting me pass out of her eye line. We start to resemble dance partners turning in a ballroom. Or wolves circling in the dark, predators testing each other. Searching for openings and weaknesses. Opportunities.
I have to admit, the prospect of blowing off some steam, and maybe getting a few good rounds in, has me excited. Adrenaline already surges through my veins in anticipation. A good fight, the kind without consequences or any real danger, sounds especially delicious. Even if it means admitting Evangeline was right about sparring.
Across the floor, I spy Kilorn looking on, with Tiberias standing beside him. Ptolemus keeps his distance. I don’t waste my attention on them, even though Evangeline wants me to. She’ll probably slice my face the second I drop my guard.
“You should train more,” she says, her voice a bit louder. It echoes through the open space. I wonder if Evangeline was simply born without shame. “Work that stress out of your system in other ways. Or with other people.”
I blink a rapid tempo, truly surprised. My entire body floods with warmth, and for once, it isn’t Cal’s fault. She grins at my discomfort, even tipping her head toward Cal and Kilorn a few yards away. Both of them are clearly listening to our conversation, while simultaneously trying to look like they aren’t. Evangeline raises an eyebrow toward Kilorn, surveying him with a keen eye.
The implication dawns on me. “Oh, he’s not—”
“Don’t make me laugh,” she sneers, taking another step backward. “I’m talking about that other newblood. The Montfort one. White hair, deep voice. Thin and tall.”
Suddenly the heat coursing through my body turns icy, and I feel the hair on my neck rise. Cal pushes off the far wall. His eyes slide past me as he turns, dropping into his final routine. Push-ups. He works at a steady but fast pace, rising and falling. In the silence, I can just hear his rhythmic puffs of breath over the embarrassing thud of my own heart.
Why are my palms so sweaty?
Evangeline leers, more than satisfied. She dips her chin a little, nodding. Goading me on. Do it, she mouths to me.
“His name is Tyton, and he isn’t here,” I growl, hating myself as the words come out. Across the room, Cal quickens his pace. “This an even stupider plan,” I add, leaning in to whisper as low as I can.
Evangeline tosses her head. “Is it?”
She breaks my nose with her skull before I can answer.
My vision spots: I see black, red, all colors in a dizzy spiral as I slump sideways, falling to my knees. Crimson blood spurts down my face, running into my mouth and over my chin. The familiar tang wakes something up. Instead of collapsing, I gather my legs under me and spring.
My head collides with her chest bone, and I hear a whoosh as the air goes out of her lungs. She stumbles, arms pinwheeling as she lands flat on her back. I swipe a hand across my face. It comes back sticky with blood, and I wince, trying to think through the yowling pain.
Across the floor, Cal is on his knee, eyes wide, jaw tight, about to get up. I shake my head at him and spit blood on the ground. Stay where you are, Calore.
He does.
The first dagger sings past my ear, a warning. I drop beneath the second, rolling across the smooth, almost slippery wood floor. Evangeline’s laughter rings in my ears. I silence it quickly, lunging forward to grab her by the neck. She twists before I can get a good grip and shock her into submission. Only a few sparks touch her as she slides away, using the polished floor beneath us to her advantage. Still, my sparks are not gentle. She twitches as she moves, as if trying to brush off a particularly tenacious insect.
“You’re better than I remember,” she pants, coming to a stop a few yards away.
I clench one fist, the other pressed to my nose in an attempt to stem the river of blood. Not a pretty picture by any standard. Red spatters the floor already. “I could drop you where you stand if I wanted,” I tell her, remembering what I learned with the electricons. Web lightning, storm lightning. But not Tyton’s impossible brain lightning, which I still have no control over.
Evangeline shakes her head, smiling. She’s enjoying this. “You’re welcome to try.”
I match her grin. Fine.
My lightning erupts, purple and white, blinding, burning, hissing through air already damp with sweat. She reacts with near-inhuman speed, her knives suddenly melded into a single, long band of steel. It pierces the floor as the lightning hits, making it ripple into the metal. It misses its mark with a flash that blinds even me.
Then her elbow cracks into my chin, throwing me backward. I see stars again.
“Nice trick,” I mumble, rolling the blood around my mouth. When I spit this time, I think I hear a tooth ping off the floor. I confirm my suspicious with my tongue, feeling the sudden, unfamiliar gap in my bottom teeth.
Evangeline rolls her shoulders, her breath coming in uneven gasps. “Had to even the playing field somehow.” With a small grunt, she yanks the spear out of the floor and twists it around her wrist. “Finished warming up?”
Slowly, I laugh.
“Oh yes.”
I wait my turn, watching as Wren works on Evangeline’s face. One of her eyes is swollen shut, colored a black and sickly gray-purple that deepens with the passing minutes. The other eyelid twitches every few seconds. Some busted nerve. She huffs at me, shoulders rising and falling, then winces, pressing a bloody hand to her side.
“Stay still,” Wren mutters for the third time. She traces the side of Evangeline’s face, and the swelling recedes in her wake. “You broke a rib.”
Evangeline glares as best she can with one barely working eye. “Good fight, Barrow.”
“Good fight, Samos,” I answer with some difficulty. Between a split lip, the nose, and the bruised jaw, even talking stings. I have to lean, keeping my weight off my left ankle, which is steadily dripping blood from a neat gash above the knobbly exposed bone.
The three men stand back, giving us all the space we need to breathe.
Kilorn looks between Evangeline and me, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. And maybe fear. “Girls are weird,” he mutters to himself.
Tiberias and Ptolemus bob their heads, agreeing.
I think Evangeline is trying to wink. Or the twitch is worse than I thought. Maybe I’m exhausted from the fight, but I almost laugh. With her, not at her. The realization sobers me up, and the pulsing, electric feel of adrenaline starts to fade. I can’t forget who she is, and what her family has done to mine. Her brother, sitting just a few feet away, killed Shade. Robbed Clara of a father, Farley of a partner. Took a son from my mother and father. Stole a brother from me.
And I’ve tried to do the same.
Evangeline senses the shift in me, and her gaze drops, her face returning to carefully sculpted stone.
Wren Skonos is skilled: her skin-healer abilities restore Evangeline to fighting shape in a few minutes. The two young women contrast each other, Evangeline with her braided silver hair and pale skin, Wren with a long braid of gleaming jet hair cast over one bare blue-black shoulder. I don’t miss the way Ptolemus watches the skin healer as she finishes up with his sister. His eyes linger on her neck, her face, her collarbone. Not her fingers or her handiwork. It’s easy to forget he’s married to Elane. At least in name. Though I suppose his sister spends more time with his bride, while he spends his own with Wren. What a confusing family.
“Now you,” Wren says, gesturing for me to take Evangeline’s spot. The Samos princess stands, stretching out her newly healed abdomen with the grace of a cat.
I sit gingerly, wincing as I do.
“Big baby,” Kilorn chuckles.