She knows what I’m doing and pushes on. “The entirety of the Choke ceded over.”
Again I have to laugh, tossing back my head. The moisture against my skin, an almost shield, prickles against me. “Useless land,” I scoff. “A minefield. You’re gifting us with a chore.”
The old queen pretends not to hear me. “And a betrothal to Tiberias’s heir, a child of Calore and Samos. Twice royal, an heir to two kingdoms.”
For appearance sake, I keep laughing. But my stomach churns with revulsion. She’s trying to barter with an unborn child. Either mine or Tiora’s. Our own flesh and blood. Consent be damned. At the very least, I agreed to my own arrangement. But doing the same to a baby? Disgusting.
“And what about your Red dogs?” I ask, leaning forward into her territory. It’s my turn to push back. “The Scarlet Guard? The blood freaks of Montfort? Mare Barrow and her kind?”
Julian answers before Anabel can. She doesn’t seem pleased—either by his manner or by his intent. “You mean the next step in our evolution?” he says. “It isn’t wise to fear the future, Your Majesty. That never ends well.”
“Futures can be prevented, Lord Jacos.” I think of the other newblood pet Maven lost, the one who could see too far into the future. I only heard rumors of him, but the rumors were enough. He could see every path as it changed. Even fates that would never come to fruition.
“Not this one.” Julian shakes his head. I can’t tell if he’s happy or regretful. The man is an odd, sad soul. Tormented by a woman, no doubt, as most men like him are. “Not now.”
I look between them and do not like what I see. Each could kill me if they wanted, and despite all my training, I would go down easily. But if they were here to murder me, they would have done it already.
“You’ve lost Piedmont, so you want the Lakelands,” I mutter. “You know you can’t win without one of us doing your dirty work.”
“We do enough dirty work of our own, Princess,” Anabel replies, her voice low and annoyed. She puts emphasis on my born title. She doesn’t recognize Maven as king, so she wouldn’t see me as a queen.
“You put so much stock in your Montfort shield,” I tell them both. “Are their newbloods really enough to outweigh the might of our three nations?”
Julian folds his hands in his lap, thoughtful. He is more difficult to unsettle. “I think we all know that the full might of the Lakelands will never come to the aid of Maven Calore.”
That smarts a little. I was stupid before, signaling what I did to Mare through that newblood in the Piedmont prison. For no reason other than to prove I could. Clearly she passed on the message. Or maybe we’re simply that transparent. I bristle, firing back, “Just as we all know your Red alliance will not last. That it is another powder keg close to open flame.”
This does make Julian uncomfortable. He shifts, thrown off balance, and a slight gray tinge colors his cheeks. Not so with Anabel. She thrives, grinning, as if I’ve just served her a delicious meal. Even though I don’t know how, I feel as if I’ve misstepped.
The woman puts out her hand and I jerk back, out of her grasp. She seems amused by my fear. “There is something else we can offer.”
Julian’s blush deepens and he frowns, dropping his gaze. Breaking eye contact with me. Essentially putting down his only weapon. I could move against him right now and get the upper hand. But Anabel is too close, too lethal.
And, I have to admit, I want to know what the last piece of her bargain is.
“Go on,” I breathe, almost inaudible.
Her smile is wide, pointed. And while Maven is his mother’s son, I see some of him in his grandmother. In the sharp grin, and the scheming mind. “Salin Iral put a knife in your father’s back,” she says. I flinch at the memory. “I assume you would like to have a conversation with him?”
I respond without thinking. A mistake. “I can think of some things I would like to say, yes,” I mutter quickly. The phantom taste of blood fills my mouth.
“I’m sure you know why it was done,” she says.
Pain pricks at my edges. My father’s death is still an open, oozing wound. “Because this is war. People die.”
Her dark eyes, like molten bronze, widen. “Because Salin Iral did as he was commanded to do.”
Any sorrow I feel for my loss steadily turns to rage. It licks up my spine, hot and begging.
“Volo,” I can’t help but hiss. The name of the Samos king sours in my mouth.
But Anabel knows how to push me. “Would you like to speak with him too?” she breathes, almost seductive in her offer. At her side, Julian returns his gaze to me, his lips pressed together. The lines of his face seem to deepen.
I drag a long breath through my teeth.
“Yes, I certainly would,” I breathe. “What is your price?”
Grinning, she tells me.
They melt into the city like ghosts. Simply stepping out of the transport at a crowded corner, disappearing into the ranks of Red servants and more common Silvers. My guards don’t seem to notice or mind, falling back into our prescheduled route. Julian Jacos did his work well, and when I return to the palace, nothing seems amiss. None of my guards seem to realize they’ve lost twenty minutes to the abyss of a singer’s charm.
I make a quick escape, intending to go to the shrine tucked away in my rooms, needing the familiar and blissfully empty space to collect my thoughts.
Mother must be informed of everything that just transpired, and as soon as possible. But I can’t trust that my message won’t be intercepted, even through the deepest back channels. Anabel’s offer could get me beheaded, burned, mutilated, and murdered. This message can only be passed face-to-face.
I manage to get up to my rooms safely. With a wave of dismissal, I leave my Sentinels at the door to my chambers, as usual. Only when I’m truly alone do I realize what I’ve done, and what has just happened.
I start to shake, my hands trembling as I step through my receiving salon. My pulse races. I think of Salin Iral and Volo beneath my hands, drowning, dying. Paying the ultimate price for what they did to my father.
“Traffic on the bridge?”
I freeze, eyes wide. His voice always puts a fear in me. Especially when it comes from my bedroom.
My instincts tell me to run. Damn myself. Escape the city somehow, find a way home. An impossible thought. I force myself forward instead, through the double doors leading into my sleeping chamber. Into what could be my coffin.
Maven lazes across the sprawl of my silk blanket, one hand tucked behind his head. The other resting on his chest. His fingers drum in time, bone-white against one of his thousands of black shirts. He seems bored and angry. A bad combination.
“Good afternoon, Wife,” he says.
I glance around the room, at the many fountains I keep close. Not for decoration, but my own protection. I feel each as it ripples and chases, more than enough to use should this turn ugly. If he knows what I’ve done. What I entertained. What I agreed to do.
“What are you doing here?” No use playing the part of doting wife, not while we’re alone. He’ll know something is wrong, if he doesn’t already.
Or, I realize with a cold chill, he could simply be here to fulfill our marital duties, neglected as they’ve been. I’m not sure what terrifies me more. Even though I agreed to this. Knew this was part of the bargain. Knew he was part of our alliance. Perhaps I’ve overestimated his obsession with Mare, or it has simply worn away.
He turns his head to look at me, one cheek pressed against the silk. A flop of black hair falls across his forehead. He seems younger today. Albeit more manic. His eyes are barely blue, overtaken by wide black pupils.
“I need you to send word to the Lakelands,” he says. “To your mother.”
Stay still. Don’t move. Don’t show any relief,I tell myself, even as my knees threaten to give out.
“To say what, exactly?” I reply, donning a mask of indifference.
He moves gracefully, standing with smooth motions. Though Tiberias is the warrior brother, Maven is not without his own physical skill. “Walk with me, Iris,” he says, smiling sharply.
I have no choice but to obey. However, I ignore his outstretched arm, keeping a safe distance of a few inches between us.
He doesn’t speak, forcing us to walk in silence as we leave my rooms together. I feel dangled on the end of a string, suspended over a pit. My heart hammers in my chest, and I do everything I can to maintain my mask through long minutes of walking. Only when we reach the throne room, empty at this time of day, does he turn to look at me.
I brace myself for the blow, preparing to fight back.
“Tell your mother to prepare her fleet and her armies,” he says, as if remarking on my dress.
Surprise replaces my fear.
He keeps walking, mounting the raised steps to pass behind the throne. I edge around the influence of Silent Stone. Even the brush of it makes me gulp.
“What—now?” I sputter, raising a hand to my throat. My mind races as I study Maven, looking for the lie. It’s barely been a week since Bracken took back Piedmont. Surely the brother’s coalition is still regrouping. “Are we under attack?”
“Not at the moment.” He shrugs, indifferent. And still moving. Still drawing me along after him. “But soon enough.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling unease deep in my gut.