The Sentinel flinches, reacting to Cal’s use of his house name. I focus on him, if only to keep myself from spiraling out. It’s no use. My heart rams a thundering beat and air catches in my throat. A Silent Circle. I want to tear my skin off. My fingers twitch on Julian’s arm as I tighten my grip past the point of comfort. The whites of my knuckles stand out sharply.
He covers my hand with his own, trying to stem some of my fear.
In front of us, Cal doesn’t turn around, but he does angle his chin, eyes flashing. As if he wants to look at me. With pity? With frustration? Or with understanding?
“That’s correct,” the Sentinel replies, his voice muffled. “King Maven has provided Silent Stone to ensure the meeting is without any harsher disagreements.”
A muscle twitches in Cal’s cheek as he tightens his jaw. “That isn’t protocol,” he grinds out. The growl in him seems to ripple on the air, like the warning of a beast. Part of me wants him to snap and burn these two, burn the island, burn Maven and Iris and her mother. Remove every obstacle in our way with a destructive, devouring fire.
The Sentinel straightens and fists both hands in his robes. He’s taller than Cal, but nowhere near as imposing. His partner does the same, standing shoulder to shoulder to block our path. “That is the king’s wish. It is not a request. Sir,” he adds, sounding awkward and stilted. They used to protect Cal, as they protected his father and protect Maven now. I suppose confronting their former charge is one of the few things they aren’t trained for.
Cal looks back and forth, searching both Farley and Davidson. My teeth grit together, bone on bone, as I suck in tiny gasps of air through my nose. I can almost feel the Silent Stone again, threatening to drown me. Not if we refuse. If we turn around. Or if Maven bows, allowing us to pass without suffering.
Of course he won’t. Because that’s why he brought the Stone in the first place. Not to protect himself. The rules of war are protection enough, especially with his horribly noble brother leading one side. He did this to hurt us. To hurt me. He knows what kind of prison he trapped me in for six months of my life. How I spent every day wasting, dying so slowly, cut off from half of myself. Trapped behind glass that would never break, no matter how hard I fought.
My stomach sinks when Farley nods begrudgingly. At least she won’t feel it. Silent Stone has no effect on her or any other Reds without abilities.
Davidson is decidedly less keen, his spine straight and shoulders tight when he looks at Cal. But he nods with a jarring motion, agreeing to the terms.
“Very well.” I barely hear Cal say it, as a roaring rises in my ears.
The ground beneath me spins in a dizzying circle. Only my grip on Julian’s arm keeps me steady. At the front of the line, Farley and her officers loudly discard their weapons, making a show of their guns and knives. I flinch as each one drops, useless, disappearing into the dune grass.
“Come on,” Julian whispers so only I can hear, as we move.
He forces me to take a step. My limbs tremble, threatening to give out. And I lean on him as surreptitiously as I can, letting him guide me forward.
Get through it.
I raise my eyes as best I can, trying not to shake or fall or run away.
Iris stands out brightly, her armored gown a glowing, radiant blue like cornflower. It spreads around her, artfully draped over her seat. She is the perfect balance between warrior and queen, even in comparison to Evangeline. Her gray eyes track us as we approach, narrowed to predatory slits. She was never unkind to me, by Silver standards. Still, I feel hatred for her, and for what she’s done. With the Stone looming close, I have to fill myself with rage. It’s the only thing to block out the fear.
I step into the circle of Silent Stone, the unnatural sensation falling over me like a curtain. I bite my lip closed to keep from screaming. My gut turns again when the old, aching weight lands hard on my shoulders. I falter in my step, my eyelids flickering, the only outward show of my intense pain. Inside, my body screams, every nerve alight. Instinct tells me to run, to leave this circle of torture. Sweat trickles down my spine as I force one footstep after another, trying to keep pace with everyone else. If not for the Stone, I would explode in a burst of electric fury to set all my storms to shame. Lightning has no mercy. Neither do I.
I glare, eyes narrowed against the need to weep.
I look at anyone but Maven. Iris’s mother, Queen Cenra, is more subdued, a smaller woman than her daughter, with the same coloring but a plain face. Like Iris’s, her armored dress is deep blue, banded with gold to match the crown on her own brow. They lean together, tucked close, in each other’s confidence as only mother and daughter can be. I want to rip them apart.
The fourth royal isn’t someone I’ve seen before, but I can guess his identity easily enough. Prince Bracken towers in his chair, his skin the polished, flawless blue-black of a precious gemstone. His robes are amethyst-edged purple, artfully draped across a breastplate of solid gold. His dark eyes rest not on Cal or me, but on Davidson. The prince looks as if he might turn the premier inside out, clearly craving revenge for his children.
Along with Iris, he flanks Maven.
I try not to look at him at first, but he is impossible to ignore. Even though the sight of him sends hot knives along my skin, so sharp I expect to start bleeding.
Get through it. Hold on to the anger.
My heart stops when I glance to him and find him already staring, a familiar, cursed smirk twisting on his pale lips.
Maven bobs his head as we take our seats, his eyes sweeping between me and Cal, as if no one else exists. Premier Davidson sits between us, a firm divide. Maven seems to enjoy that immensely, grinning at the buffer between his brother and me. The sea breeze ruffles his hair, still longer than Cal’s and curling softly beneath the weight of his wretched black-iron crown.
I want to kill him.
His uniform is familiar, raven black, hung with the usual ill-gotten medals of state. He smirks at Cal’s jacket, noting the reversed colors with glee. Probably happy to have chased his brother out of their symbols. He regards us with cool and open delight, eager to make this as painful as possible. The mask of the cruel king is firmly set in place.
I must loosen it.
Leaning toward Davidson, I put my elbow on the arm of my chair and jut my collarbone forward. The brand is clear for all to see, burned into my skin. M for Maven. M for monster. His gaze snags on the ruined flesh, faltering for a moment. Those ice eyes go blank and faraway. It’s like pushing him off a path, or sending him down a long, dark, hallway.
He recovers, blinking at the rest of our coalition, but it’s a good start.
Our seating was arranged, so everyone falls in without incident. To my surprise and discomfort, Farley has Cal on one side and none other than Ptolemus on the other. I grimace. If she doesn’t fly across the platform to strangle Maven, she might just kill one of her own allies instead.
Farley’s glare burns as much as any Calore as she stares down the boy king. They’ve met before, long ago in the summer palace, when Maven fooled us all with an easy lie, the one we all wanted to believe. He tricked her as much as he tricked me.
“It’s truly fascinating to see how high you can rise, General Farley,” Maven says, addressing her first. I know what he’s trying to do. Put cracks in us before we’ve barely even sat down. “I wonder where you thought you would be now, if I were to ask you a year ago. What a journey.” His eyes tick between Farley and Ptolemus, the implication clear.
When I was his prisoner, he cracked my head open, looking through my memories with the help of a Merandus cousin. He saw Shade die at Ptolemus’s hands, and he knows what he meant to Farley. How much my brother left behind. It isn’t difficult for him to poke and prod at that open wound.
Farley bares her teeth, a predator even without her claws, but Cal answers before she can toss back acid. “I think all of us find ourselves in strange places,” he says, his voice stern and even. Diplomatic to the bone. I can’t imagine the effort it must require. “It isn’t often a Nortan king sits next to Lakelander queens.”
Maven only sneers. He’s far better at this than Cal will ever be. “It isn’t often firstborn sons sit anywhere but the throne. Eh, Brother?” he shoots back, and Cal shuts his mouth with an audible click. “What do you think of all this, Grandmother?” Maven adds, glaring daggers at Anabel. “Your own flesh and blood, warring with each other.”
She responds with equal venom. “You’re no blood of mine, boy. You lost the right when you helped kill my son.”
Maven just clucks, as if pitying her. “Cal raised that sword, not me,” he says, tipping his chin at the similar sword at Cal’s hip. “Such an imagination. Old women are so prone to their fancies.”
At his side, Queen Cenra arches a single, smooth eyebrow. She says nothing, letting Maven spin his web—or knot his own noose.
“Well,” he says, clapping his hands together. “I did not request this meeting. I believe that means you present whatever terms you came to offer. Surrender, perhaps?”
Cal shakes his head. “Yes. Yours.”
Laughter from Maven is an odd sound. Forced. The air pushed out, the sound calculated and formed, an imitation of what he thinks a laugh should sound like. It rankles his brother, and Cal shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.
Bracken doesn’t smile either. His lips tug into a scowl. He rests his chin on one balled fist. I don’t know his ability, but I assume it is a powerful one, restrained only by the Stone slowly choking all of us. “I did not come all this way, at such haste, to entertain nonsense, Tiberias Calore,” the prince says.
“It isn’t nonsense, Your Highness,” Cal replies, with a shallow dip of his head. Showing deference and respect.
In his seat, Maven scoffs low and deep. “You see my allies here.” He spreads his white hands wide. “Both Silver royals, with the might of their entire nations sworn to our cause. I hold the capital, the wealthiest lands of Norta—”
“You don’t hold the Rift,” Evangeline snaps, cutting him off. Despite the Stone, her metals are all in place. They’re truly made, locked into form, not held together by her ability alone. She prepared for this. As I should have. “You don’t hold Delphie. You lost Harbor Bay yesterday. You lose more, until all you have left are the people sitting next to you, with no way to repay what they give.” Her smile spreads, showing teeth capped with pointed silver. I think she would feast on his heart if she could. “You’ll be a king without a crown or a throne before long, Maven. Best give up while you still have something to bargain.”
Maven raises his nose. It makes him look like a petulant child. “I will bargain for nothing.”
“Not even your own life?” I mutter, my voice small but firm enough to carry. I keep still as he turns his eyes on me, letting the ice pour over my flesh. No flinching, no blinking. Get through it.
He just laughs again. “Your bluff is entertaining, to say the least,” he chuckles. “I see what you have, who you’ve swayed to your side. State your terms, Cal. Or go back to Harbor Bay and force us to kill you all.”
“Very well,” Cal replies. His fist clenches. If not for the Stone, he would probably burst into flame. “Step down, Maven. Step down, and I’ll let you live.”
“This is ridiculous,” Maven sighs, rolling his eyes at Iris. She doesn’t return the gesture.
Cal forges on, undeterred. “The alliance with the Lakelands and Piedmont will stand. We’ll have peace on our coast, from the frozen shores to the islands of the south. Time to rebuild, regrow what this war has destroyed. Heal wounds and right wrongs that have plagued us for centuries.”
“You speak of Red equality?” Iris says. Her voice is as I remember it. Calm, measured. She is a creature of self-control.
“I do,” Cal says steadily.
Bracken laughs deep and long, one hand pressed against the sculpted gold on his stomach. If not for the circumstance, I would think the sound comforting and warm. Cenra and Iris remain quiet, unwilling to betray their intentions or thoughts so easily.
“You’re ambitious, I’ll give you that,” Bracken says, pointing a finger at Cal. “And young. And distracted.” His dark eyes dart to mine, making his point clear. I squirm under his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking us to do.”
Farley isn’t so easily cowed. She claws her hands on the arms of her chair, almost rising out of her seat. A flush tinges her cheeks. “Are you so threatened by the people you spit on that you can’t allow them simple freedom?” she sneers, looking from Bracken to Cenra and Iris. “Is that how tenuous your grip on power truly is?”
The queen of the Lakelands widens her eyes, the whites a livid contrast to the bronze of her skin and the dark brown of her irises. She looks truly surprised. I doubt a Red has ever addressed her in such a way, and it shows. “How dare you speak to us—” she blurts out.
Dear Julian is the quickest, evenly speaking over her before she can bait Farley into something more drastic. “History favors the underfoot and the oppressed, Your Majesty,” he says. He sounds enchanting and methodic, wise, even beneath the weight of Silent Stone. The queen is reluctant, but shuts her mouth slowly to listen. “The years are long, but eventually, always, fortunes shift. The people rise. Such is the way of things. Either let change come willingly, help it along, or face the wrath of such force. It might not be you, or even your children. But the day will come when Reds storm the gates of your castles, break your crowns, and slit the throats of your descendants as they beg for the mercy you will not show now.”
His words echo long after he is done speaking, as if dancing on the wind. They have a sobering effect on the Lakelander queens and Bracken, who exchange uneasy glances.
Maven is not subdued in the slightest. He leers at the Jacos lord, eyes alight. He has always despised Julian. “Did you rehearse that, Julian? I always wondered why you spent so much time alone in your library.”
It’s too easy to throw the barb back in his face. “I doubt anyone spends more time alone than you do,” I say, again moving forward to display my brand.
The combination makes him go pale, his mouth slightly open. Breath whistles between his exposed teeth. He looks like he wants to kiss me or rip my throat out. I doubt he knows which.
“Careful, Maven,” I push on, pressing him closer to the edge of his tolerance. “That mask of yours might slip.”
Cold fear flashes in his eyes. Then his face melts, brows creasing and lips pulling down, curling back to show more of his teeth. With the shadows under his eyes and beneath his cheekbones, he looks like a skull, white as moonlight. “I could kill you, Red,” he snarls, brazen in the empty threat.
“Funny, you had the chance for six long months.” I pat my hands over my arms and chest, letting my fingers brush the brand. “But here I am.”
I look away before he can say more, addressing the allies at his side. “Maven Calore is unstable at best.” As I speak, I’m intensely aware of their attention, the weight of three crowns staring me down. As well as the weight of Silent Stone, a constant, squeezing pressure. I wish I could feel my lightning and draw a little strength from my ability. Instead I have only my wasted self. And that must be enough.
“You all know it. Whatever the benefits of his rule, you know they don’t outweigh the risks. He will be overthrown, either by us directly or by the crumbling of his country. Look around. How many High Houses sit with him? Where are they?” I gesture to the Sentinels, their own guards, but no one else of Norta. Not House Welle or House Osanos or any other. I don’t know where they are, but their absence speaks volumes.
“You are his shields. He’s using you and your countries. He’ll turn on you one day, when he has the strength to cast you both off. He has no loyalties, and no love in his heart. The boy who calls himself king is a shell, empty, a danger to everyone and everything.” In his seat, Maven examines his hands, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. Anything to seem unaffected and unperturbed. It’s a terrible act, especially for someone as talented as he is.
I hold my head high. “Why entertain this madness any longer? For what?”
To my left, Farley shifts, her chair creaking. She stares with all the fire the Calores can’t muster. “Because they’d rather bleed themselves than be equal to any blood that isn’t the right color,” she hisses.
“Farley,” Cal mutters.
To my surprise, Evangeline takes on that mess, drawing attention to herself instead. She purses her lips and smooths her dress conspicuously.
“It’s infinitely clear what’s happening here. You say Maven’s using them as shields?” she says, almost cackling. “Where are your armies, Queen Cenra? And yours, Prince Bracken? Who really bleeds in this war? If anyone is a shield here, it’s Maven. They’re using the little boy against his big brother, to play them off each other until they’re confident they can destroy what’s left. Isn’t that it?”
They don’t deny it, or don’t want to give oxygen to such a claim. Iris tries another tactic, leaning forward toward the Samos princess with an easy, tight-lipped smile. “I must assume the same of you, Evangeline. Or is Tiberias Calore not a weapon of the Rift?”
Maven waves her back. He looks from Cal to Farley. She is the weak spot here, or at least he thinks she is. Good luck. “No, not Cal,” he says, purring. “The Reds. The Montfort mongrels. I know Volo and the other Silvers in open rebellion. They won’t tolerate any kind of Red acceptance beyond what they need. Will you, Anabel?” he adds, tossing a grin at his grandmother.
She merely turns away, refusing to so much as look at him. Despite all his posturing, Maven’s smile falls a little.
Farley doesn’t rise to the bait this time. She keeps still, and Davidson slowly claps his hands, inclining his head toward the false king. “I have to applaud you, Maven,” he says. The blank calm of the premier is a welcome respite from so much bile. “I admit, I didn’t expect such deft manipulations from someone so young. But I assume that’s how your mother built you, didn’t she?” he adds, looking to me.
That incenses Maven more than anything. He knows that it means I’ve told them all I could about him, about what his mother did.
“Yes, he is what she made him,” I murmur. It feels like twisting a knife in his gut. “No matter who he was meant to be. That person is completely gone.”
Cal’s voice is soft in response, landing the final blow. “And he is never coming back.”