Iris is always going on and on about her gods, and sometimes I believe they must be real. How else is my brother still living, still smiling, still a constant threat to me? He must be blessed, by someone or something. My only consolation is knowing I’m right about him, and always will be. Right about Mare too. I poisoned her enough, tainted her enough. She’ll never tolerate another king, not for any amount of love. And Cal has discovered that firsthand, another gift of mine across the miles between us.
I only wish I’d figured out a way to keep that strange newblood, the one who bridged a connection between Mare and me. But the risk was too great, the reward too small. An obliterated base for the chance to speak with her again? It was a foolish trade, and even for her, I wouldn’t make it.
But I wish I could.
She’s out there across the waves, somewhere in the city along the distant, crimson coast. Alive, obviously. Or else we would know it. Even though it’s only been a few hours, the death of the lightning girl would not be a secret for long. The same goes for my brother. They survived. The thought makes my head pound.
Harbor Bay was a logical choice for Cal, but the Red tech slum was obviously Mare’s own brainchild. She is so married to her cause, and all her red-blooded pride. I should have predicted she would go after New Town. It’s sad, really, to know that her cause relies on people like Cal, his sneering grandmother, and the Samos traitors. None of them will give her what she wants. It will only end in bloodshed. And probably her own death, when all is done.
If only I had kept her closer. A better guard, a tighter leash. Where would we be now? And where would I be if Mother could have removed her from me, as she removed Father and Cal? I can’t say. I don’t know. It hurts my head to wonder.
I look down the deck, at the soldiers manning the ship. She might have been beside me, if not for a few missteps. The wind in her hair, her eyes shadowed and sunken, wasted by the manacles keeping her tethered to me. An ugly sight, but still beautiful.
At the very least, she is still alive. Her heart still beats.
Not like Thomas.
I wince as his name crosses my thoughts. Mother couldn’t remove him either. Not the agony of his loss, nor the memory of his love.
That future is gone, killed, chased out of existence.
A dead future,that horrible newblood seer used to call it. I think Jon was my tormentor more than I was his jailer. Clearly he could have left whenever he wanted, and whatever he accomplished in my palace is still budding fruit. Again I look out to the water, to the east this time, over a vast and endless ocean. The emptiness should calm me, but two early stars hang above the waves. The bright, cheerful lights offend me too.
Queen Cenra’s ship is easy to spot as we sail closer. The waves beside it are calm, almost still, a flat quelling of water. Her ship hardly rocks, even this far from land.
The Lakelander ships aren’t as sleek as ours. Our manufacturing capabilities are better than those in the Lakelands, thanks in very large part to the tech slums that Mare is intent on destroying.
Even with her ships and my own, our guns are few, and anything we might use against the city will certainly meet resistance from magnetrons and newbloods, if not my foul brother himself. Only the Harbor Bay battleship, Iris’s for now, has any kind of artillery that could be of use this far out.
I glare at it, the steel craft anchored alongside Cenra’s ship. It casts a long, jagged shadow, planted firmly between the Lakelander queen and the coast. My scheming queen is using it as a shield. A very expensive shield.
I growl to myself as I board her ship, careful to keep my feet when I step from one deck to the next. My own Sentinels flank me as we walk, too close for comfort. I keep my hands at my sides, ungloved, fingers bare in threat.
“This way, Your Majesty,” a single Lakelander says, beckoning from an open door bolted with rivets and a wheel lock. “The queens are waiting.”
“Tell them the king waits on deck,” I reply, turning aside to walk the edge of the ship.
This isn’t a pleasure cruise, and there aren’t many places to stand, let alone congregate. But I’d rather stay on deck than go below, to be trapped behind steel with a pair of nymphs. My Sentinels walk ahead of me, careful to keep in formation, as we climb a set of stairs to a landing overlooking the prow.
It doesn’t take the queens long to appear, moving in tandem.
Cenra wears a flowing uniform, dark blue with silver and gold chasing. A black sash divides her body from shoulder to hip, clasped in precious sapphire. In mourning still. I don’t think Mother wore her mourning clothes for more than a few days. Perhaps the Lakelander queen cared for her husband. How strange. She watches me, storm-eyed, her skin a cold bronze washed gold by the setting sun.
I feel as if I can read the battle on Iris. Her blue sleeves are charred to the elbow, the threads stained in two kinds of blood. And her long black hair is undone, still wet, brushed over one shoulder. A healer trails her, tentatively working on Iris’s arms as she walks, smoothing away burns and cuts.
Keeping her at an arm’s length has been a wise decision. I want little to do with my wife, who would probably prefer to kill me. But like Reds, she can be controlled by fear. And need. She has both in equal measure.
So does Cenra. It’s why she dared to leave her borders. She knows I hold her daughter in the palm of my hand. I don’t doubt she wants to extricate Iris from our marriage. But she needs this alliance as much as I do. Without me, she faces Cal and his band of traitors and criminals. A united front against her. I’m her shield, as she is mine.
“My queens,” I say, bowing slightly to them both as they approach.
Her daughter looks more like a soldier than a queen made and princess born.
The queen of the Lakelands dips into a shallow curtsy. Her sleeves brush the deck. “Your Majesty,” she replies.
I turn my face to the horizon. “Harbor Bay has fallen.”
“For now,” Cenra says, her voice offensively calm.
“Oh?” I sneer, raising an eyebrow “You think we can win it back? Tonight, perhaps.”
Again, she dips her head. “In time.”
I finish for her. “When the rest of your armada arrives.”
Queen Cenra grits her teeth. “Yes, of course,” she reluctantly grinds out. “But—”
“But?” I ask. The sea air feels cold on my bared teeth.
“We do have our own shores to guard,” she says. At her side, Iris looks smug, glad to let her mother fight this battle. “The Lakes must remain defended, especially from Montfort. They can cross Prairie and strike our western border easily. As can the Kingdom of the Rift on our east.”
I have to laugh. Sneering, I wave a hand at the horizon. Full of Samos traitors and Montfort usurpers, all beneath my brother’s idiot command. “Strike your border with what army? The one currently occupying my city?”
Cenra flares her nostrils and a flush heats her face, dusting over her cliff-like cheekbones. “Samos has the Nortan Air Fleet, one of the biggest on the continent. Not to mention Montfort’s own capabilities, whatever they are. Your brother has the advantage from the air, and he has the speed. Anywhere could be at risk of attack.” She speaks slowly, as if I am a child who needs his hand held through war. It tingles my fingers. “That cannot be ignored, Your Majesty.”
As if on wretched cue, a battalion of airjets races over the coast in formation. The distant scream of them reaches us slowly, a dull and stretching roar. I fold my arms over my chest, tucking away my hands lest they ignite.
“Bracken’s Air Fleet should be enough to hold them off,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the jets as they move. Circling the city. Protective maneuvers.
Iris finally finds her voice. “The bulk of his fleet was cannibalized by the Montfort occupation. They can’t match what we’re up against.” She clearly delights in correcting me. I let her take this small comfort instead of losing my temper.
To look powerful is to be powerful.Mother said that too many times to count. Look calm, still, strong. Assured of yourself and your victory.
“Which is why we have to return to a place of strength,” Cenra says. “We’re no good out here on the waves, waiting to be picked off from the sky. Even the nymphs of Cygnet Line are not invincible.”
Of course they aren’t, you proud nit.
Instead I blink at her, trying to burn through her with my eyes. “You suggest a retreat?”
“We’ve already retreated,” Iris snaps. The healer at her side steps back a little, cowed by her anger. “Harbor Bay is one city—”
I clench a fist and a burst of heat ripples on the air. “Harbor Bay is not the only piece of my country lost to my brother,” I say quietly, slowly. Low enough that they must strain to hear. “The south is his, the Rift and Delphie. He took Corvium from me. And now he has Fort Patriot too.”
My sneering queen doesn’t quail against my checked fury. “Fort Patriot will be of little use to them for a long time,” she says, looking like a satisfied cat after a particularly big dinner.
“Oh?” I reply. “And why is that?”
She glances sidelong at her mother, sharing a look I cannot decipher. “When it became clear the city was lost, and that Tiberias would win the day, I flooded the fort as much as I could,” Iris explains, proud and still. “The seawall came down. Half of it is underwater, and the rest is cut off from land. I would have sunk the battleships if I could, but the escape took too much out of me. Still, the repairs will slow them down, and I’ve taken valuable resources from their effort.”
And from me. Even if we win back the city now, the fort is destroyed. What a waste. Jets, the War Port docks, arms and ammunition, simple infrastructure.
I hold her gaze, letting a bit of my mask slip. Letting her know that I realize what she’s doing. Iris and her mother will incapacitate me little by little, cutting me off from my own resources.
The nymph queens are cunning. They don’t have to put me in the water to drown me.
It’s simply a question of how long that will take, and how to balance their actions against my own. They’re letting Cal and me waste ourselves on each other, hoping to face the wounded victor in later days.
Iris stares back at me, her eyes tipping like a scale. She is cold and calculating, still water hiding a riptide.
“So we return to Archeon,” she replies. “Gather the full mass of our strength, everyone that can be spared. Bring the full fury of this war to bear on their heads.”
I lean back against the rail of the ship, exuding an appearance of calm detachment. Sighing, I glance at the waves as they stain red with sunset. “We’ll move tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Cenra balks. “We should go now.”
Slowly, I grin, careful to show my canines. The kind of smile that sets people off balance. “I have a feeling my brother will be sending us a message soon.”
“What are you talking about?” Cenra murmurs.
I offer no explanation and look out to the east instead. On the darkening horizon, smudges stand out against the stark line of the sea. “The islands will be neutral ground,” I muse.
“Neutral ground,” Cenra repeats, turning the words over in her mouth.
Iris says nothing, but her eyes narrow to slits.
I drum my fingers against my chest, huffing out a low breath. “What a joyous reunion this will be.”
I can only imagine it. A rainbow of scowling backstabbers and betrayers seated across from us, ready to preach and preen. Evangeline, with her claws and her put-upon arrogance. That Red general, Farley, who will bleed for all she’s done to my kingdom. Moping, methodic Julian, trailing my brother like a forgotten ghost. Our own grandmother, Anabel, another person who was supposed to love me and never did. The Montfort leader, still a mystery and a danger.
Of course, Mare will be there, a storm in her skin.
And my brother too.
It’s been a long time since I’ve looked into Cal’s eyes. I wonder if they’ve changed.
For I certainly have.
Will we make terms? I very much doubt it. But I want to see them again, both of them. At least once more before this war is done, ended in whatever fate. Their deaths or mine.
Neither future frightens me.
My only fear now is losing the throne, the crown, the reason for all this misery and torment. I won’t destroy myself in vain. I won’t let this all be for nothing.
TWENTY-TWO
Iris
When Maven returns tohis own ship, I fear he might force me to go with him and deny me a few more hours with my mother. To my surprise, his petty rage and his political cunning do not extend so far. We are left alone on Mother’s flagship once more, given over to our own devices. With room to talk at length, and time to plan. Either he doesn’t see us as a threat, or he doesn’t care to fear us. I would venture the latter. He has more immediate enemies right now, and can spare little thought for his own wife.
The Swan is a warship, built for battle and speed. What pass for staterooms are spare and rigid, barely suited to Red servants. Still, Mother looks at home in them, equally at ease upon a bolted-down, narrow bed as on a jeweled throne. She isn’t a vain woman and carries none of the flawed, materialistic pride most Silvers have. That was Father’s domain. He preferred his finery, even on the battlefield. The thought sends a sharp stab of pain through me as I remember the last time I saw him alive. He was dashing in his armor, blue steel studded with sapphires, gray hair pulled back from his face. I suppose Salin Iral found some flaw, and exploited it well.
I pace to settle myself, moving back and forth before my mother, stopping occasionally to glare out the small porthole window. The sea outside has turned bloodred. A bad omen. I feel a familiar itch and make a mental note to pray later on, in the Swan’s small shrine. It might bring me a bit of peace.
“Be still. Conserve your strength,” Mother says, her Lakelander melodic and fluid. She sits with her legs drawn up under herself, and her long-sleeved coat is tossed aside, making her seem smaller than usual. It has little effect on her bearing, and I feel the weight of her eyes as I walk.
I am a queen too, and hesitate to follow her commands, if only to be contrarian. But she’s right. I eventually concede and take a seat on the bench on the opposite wall, an uncomfortable thing with thin padding and rivets fixed to the metal floor. My fingers curl around the edge of it, gripping tight. It vibrates with the reverberations of the ship engines, low and humming. I fixate on the sensation, reclaiming a bit of my calm.
“In your communications, you said there was something you couldn’t tell me,” Mother says. “Not until we were face-to-face.”
Steeling myself, I look up at her. “Yes.”
“Well.” She spreads her hands wide. “Here we are.”
My expression doesn’t change, but I feel my heartbeat quicken with nerves. I have to get up again and cross to the window, look out on the crimson waters. Even though my mother’s room is the safest place for me, it still feels dangerous to repeat what I know. Anyone could be listening, waiting to report back to Maven.
I put my back to her and force out the words. “We’re operating on the assumption that Maven will win.”
She scoffs behind me. “Win this war, you mean. But not the next.”
Our war for this country.
“Yes,” I reply. “But I think we’re on the losing side now. His brother’s coalition, that Montfort army . . .”
Her voice is level, devoid of judgment. “They frighten you.”
I spin around, scowling. “Of course they frighten me. And the Scarlet Guard too.”
“Reds?” Mother scoffs. She even rolls her eyes. I grit my teeth against a sigh of frustration. “They’re of little importance.”
“That kind of thinking will be our ruin, Mother,” I tell her as sternly as I can. One queen to another. Listen to me.
But she dismisses me with a dancing wave. As if I’m still a child pulling at her skirts. “I doubt that,” she says. “Silvers war, not Reds. They can’t possible hope to win against us.”
“And yet they keep doing it,” I answer flatly. I fought in Harbor Bay, against the Samos heirs and their battalion. Populated by Silvers and newbloods, mostly, but Reds too. Skilled snipers, trained fighters. Not to mention Norta’s own Red soldiers who turned. One of Maven’s great strengths lies in the loyalty of his people, but if it wanes? His Silvers will run and leave him empty.
Mother just clucks her tongue. My teeth clench with the sound. “The Reds keep winning because of a Silver alliance,” she says. “It will quickly crumble when one or both of the Calore brothers die.”
Wincing, I try another tactic. Instead of standing tall, I drop to my knees in front of my mother, taking her hands in mine. The pleading image of a child is sure to stir her. “I know Mare Barrow, Mother,” I tell her, hoping she hears me. “Reds are made of stronger stuff than we realize. Yes, we make them think themselves inferior, insignificant, to keep them controlled. But we risk falling into our own trap if we forget to fear them too.”
My words fall on deaf ears. She pulls one hand away, using it to smooth my hair away from my face. “Mare Barrow isn’t Red, Iris.”
Her blood certainly is,I think, keeping the retort to myself.
Mother continues to run her fingers through my hair, combing out the strands. “All will be well. All will be taken care of,” she croons, as if to soothe a baby. “We’ll drown our enemies and return to our peace, safe at home. The glory of the Lakelands will wash forth to this very coast. Across Prairie, into those infernal mountains. To the borders of Ciron and Tiraxes, and Piedmont too. Your sister will rule an empire, with you at her side.”
I try to imagine what she dreams of. A map awash in blue, our dynasty secure in power. I think of Tiora, tall against a new dawn, an empress’s crown upon her head. Resplendent in sapphire and diamond, the most powerful person from shore to shore, the world kneeling at her feet. I want that future for her. I want that sanctuary so much my heart aches.
But will it ever come to pass?
“Anabel Lerolan and Julian Jacos have given me a message,” I whisper, moving my head close to Mother’s. If someone is listening at the door, they won’t hear much.