Another tainted laugh. He starts to pace, hands folded behind his back. “You mean that grand council couldn’t make a decision? How predictable. But then, I suppose I’ll die of old age before your lot agrees on something. Especially with Samos close by.”
“Your grandmother too.”
“I have no grandmother,” he says sharply. “You heard her yourself: she’s no blood of mine.” The memory sours Maven. He quickens his step, crossing the floor in a few even strides before turning back again. Despite his calm exterior, he seems manic in these moments, dangling by a thinning thread. I try not to look at his eyes as they glint, alight with a fire close enough to burn. “What are you doing here? I have to say, I didn’t enjoy taunting you half as much when you were my prisoner.”
I shrug, watching him with ticking eyes. “You’re not my prisoner.”
“Cal’s, yours.” He waves a hand. “What difference does it make?”
A great deal of difference.I feel the frown tug at my face, the familiar sadness welling up inside me. He sees it behind my own mask of indifference.
“Oh,” he murmurs, stopping in the center of the room. He peers at me intensely, as if he can stare through my skull and into my brain. The way his mother did. But he doesn’t need to read my mind to know what I’m thinking, or know what his brother has done. “So a decision has been made.”
“Just one,” I whisper.
Maven takes a single step forward. I’m the danger here, not him, and he’s careful to stay out of my reach. “Let me guess, you Reds gave him a choice? The same choice you gave him months ago?”
“Something like that.”
His lips curl, showing teeth. But not in a smile. No matter what else, he doesn’t enjoy seeing me in pain, physical or otherwise. “He didn’t surprise you, did he?”
“No.”
“Good. I told you just as much. Cal follows orders. He’ll be following his father’s wishes until the day he dies.” Maven looks almost apologetic as he speaks—regretful, even. Sorry for what his brother became. I’m sure Cal shares the feeling. “He’ll never change. Not for you, not for anyone.”
Like Maven, I don’t need weapons to hurt. Just words.
“That isn’t true,” I tell him, looking him in the eye fully.
He tips his head, clucking his tongue like I’m a child to be scolded. “I thought you had learned by now, Mare. Anyone can betray anyone. And he’s betrayed you once again.” He takes one more daring step forward, a few feet away now. I can hear the breath hissing through his teeth, like he’s trying to taste the air in my lungs. “Can’t you admit what he is?” he murmurs. It sounds like begging. The last request of a dead man.
I raise my chin, holding his gaze. “Flawed, just like the rest of us.”
His snarl reverberates deep in my chest. “He’s a Silver king. A brute, a coward. A stone who will never move and can never change.”
That isn’t true,I repeat in my head. All these months have proven that, but nothing more so than a few minutes ago. When he chose, even with his grandmother hanging at his shoulder. Fair wages, no conscription. Steps that seem small but are also gigantic. Inches for miles.
“But he is changing,” I say, my voice steady, drawing this out. I’m taunting him. Maven pales as I speak, unable to move. “Slower than we need, but I see it. A glimmer of who he could be. He’s making himself into someone else.” Finally, I lower my eyes, as the cracks in Maven’s mask begin to show. “I don’t expect you to understand that.”
He grits his teeth, furious. And a bit confused. “Why?”
“Because every change in you was not your own.” The razor-edged words tumble, cutting as they go. He flinches, blinking quickly.
“Thank you for the reminder,” he replies. “I so needed it.”
I draw my last blade, ready to drive it deep into his heart. And perhaps make him feel one piece of what he lost, if only a fleeting sensation. “You know Cal hunted for someone who could fix you?” I tell him.
Maven’s mouth flaps open and closed, searching for something cunning or at least clever to say. He only manages a stammering “Wh-what?”
“In Montfort,” I explain. “He had the premier search for a newblood, an Ardent, some kind of whisper powerful enough to undo whatever your mother did.” It almost hurts to see the flickers in him, tiny flashes of emotion beyond rage or hunger. They fight to the surface, but whatever Elara did holds fast. His face goes still, slack as he listens. “But no one like that exists. And even if they did, there’s no changing what you are. I realized that a long time ago, when I was your prisoner. But your brother—he didn’t believe you were truly gone until today. When he looked into your eyes.”
Slowly, the fallen king sits down in the chair opposite mine. His legs stretch out before him and he slumps, letting go of his steel spine. Numb, he runs a hand through his hair, fingering the curling black locks. So like Cal’s hair, like his father’s hair. He stares at the ceiling, wordless, unable to speak. I imagine Maven in quicksand, fighting to climb out. Fighting the impossible nature his mother gave him. It’s no use. His face turns to stone again, his eyes narrowed and icy, doing all they can to ignore what his heart wants to feel.
“There’s no way to complete a puzzle with missing pieces, or put together shattered glass,” I mumble, only to myself, repeating what Julian told me weeks ago.
Maven sits up, drawing his back straight. One hand circles his wrist, touching the skin where his bracelet used to be. Without it, he’s powerless, useless. He doesn’t even need Arven guards.
“Cenra and Iris are going to drown you all,” he hisses. “At least I’ll be dead before they get their hands on me.”
“What a consolation.”
“I would not have liked to watch you die.” The admission is small and matter-of-fact. There is no agenda to it, only the ugly, naked truth. “Will you enjoy watching me?”
At least I can respond with some truth of my own. “Part of me will.”
“And the rest?”
“No,” I whisper. “I won’t enjoy it.”
He smiles. “That’s enough for me. A better good-bye than I deserve.”
“And what do I deserve, Maven?”
“Better than we ever gave you.”
The door bangs open before I can ask what he means. I start to rise, expecting guards to usher me out now that I’m no longer part of the coalition. Instead I find Farley and Davidson standing over us. She glares at Maven with more fire than even Cal could muster, and I expect her to skin him alive in front of us.
“General Farley,” Maven drawls. He might be trying to goad her into doing the deed before his brother can. She only snarls in reply, like a beast.
Davidson is more polite, ushering someone else into the room. I notice that the hall behind him is empty, the door guards gone. “So sorry to interrupt,” the premier says. He gestures, and his companion, the Montfort newblood Arezzo, steps into the chamber. I blink at her, confused, but only for a second.
She’s a teleporter. Like Shade. And her hands are reaching.
“It’s time we all go,” Davidson sighs, looking between us.
I jolt as Arezzo grabs my wrist, but I’m not the only one she’s taking.
Before the room disappears, squeezing to nothing, I see Maven. His white face, paler by the second. His blue eyes, wide with rare shock. And Arezzo’s hand on his own.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Evangeline
The throne room feelsempty without the Reds, colder somehow.
Anabel is stupid if she thinks we can coronate Cal tomorrow. Foolish, eager woman. No king of Norta can be crowned anywhere but the capital, and it will take a few days at least to stabilize Harbor Bay before anyone can leave for Archeon. There’s also the High Houses who were loyal to Maven. They’ll need to kneel, pledge themselves to Cal, and be present at any coronation, if the country is to pull itself back together. I say none of this, of course. Let them figure it out for themselves. An unstable King Tiberias will hardly have time for marriage.
Unfortunately, he has Julian Jacos, and the singer lord is more adept at politics than he has ever let on. He overrides Anabel and suggests they wait a week before the coronation. Cal is happy to take his advice in this and other matters too.
Even now, Cal slumps on his throne, looking drained by the battle and the aftermath. Mostly the aftermath. He keeps stealing glances at the door too, willing Mare to return. But it’s been almost an hour. She and her companions are probably long gone by now, fleeing to the distant mountains of Montfort. Her family is there, waiting. She’ll be happy to go back to them. I wish I could do the same, and escape back to the Rift.
Or to Montfort,a voice whispers. Figures flash in my head, the premier and his husband presiding over our dinner. Hands clasped, relaxed and self-assured. Allowed to be who they are. I touch a finger to my temple, trying to massage away the low, dull ache in my skull. Everything seems impossible right now.
Elane isn’t in the throne room, but she is close by. She suffered the journey with my parents, arriving this afternoon. I’m itching to be free of this council, if only to steal a few hours with her. I don’t know how many I have left.
“I’ll send out the word,” Julian says, hands folded as he stands at Cal’s side. Without the Reds, the raised dais of the throne room is hilariously lopsided. “The lords and ladies of the High Houses will be summoned to the capital in a week’s time, and you’ll be waiting, happy to receive them. Afterward, we can crown you as king.” He sounds less than thrilled.
Cal barely nods. He wants to be done with all this. He doesn’t notice Anabel and her bronze eyes, now fixed on Julian. Both hope to win the ear of a king, seeking to be highest in his favor, like children vying for a parent’s attention. I’d bet on Anabel. She has the stomach for court. And the spine to eliminate anyone who might threaten her grasp on her grandson.
I sigh to myself, already exhausted by the thought of a life chained to him. It excited me once, the lure of a queen’s power. I like to think Elane changed me, but I loved her long before, even when I told myself she was just a pawn like Sonya Iral, a Silver lady to do my bidding and back my machinations. I think the war has done something to me. Put a fear in me I never had before. Not for myself, but for Ptolemus and Elane. The ones I love most, and would kill to protect. Sacrifice everything to keep safe and close. I’ve tasted a crown now, and I know it doesn’t compare.
Father does not share the sentiment, nor will he let me abandon my duties.
I haven’t mentioned my suspicions about the last piece of Anabel and Julian’s deal, not to him. I could be wrong. Maybe Queen Cenra and Iris were satisfied with Salin Iral, eager to hand over a king for a single drop of vengeance.
You know that isn’t true.
Neither of them is a fool. They wouldn’t pay such a high price for such a small prize.
Because the true prize is your father.
I glance at him sidelong, noting the set of his shoulders, proud and straight beneath the curves of his chromium armor, polished so well I can see my reflection in it. I look afraid, my eyes wide and darting, ringed with dark makeup to hide the circles beneath my eyes. I fought well yesterday, enough to keep myself and my brother alive while so many of our kin died. Father hasn’t said a word about it. Nothing to indicate he’s happy that his children, his legacy, survived. Volo Samos is as hard as the steel we come from, all sharp edges. Even his beard is manicured and pruned to mathematic perfection. I have his coloring, his disposition, and his hunger. But now we yearn for different things. He wants power, as much of it as he can consume. I want freedom. I want my own fate.
I want the impossible.
“Now, as for the royal wedding—” Anabel begins, but I can’t stand it any longer.
“Excuse me,” I snap, not bothering to look at any of them as I go. It feels like a surrender. But no one stops me, not even Father. No one says a word.
I’m barely up the grand staircase before my mother cuts across my path. She almost hisses in anger, imitating one of her snakes. How such a small woman can take up an entire hallway, I’ll never understand.
“Hello, Mother. Don’t worry, I’m all right. Not a scratch on me,” I mutter.
She waves off the greeting. Like Father, she doesn’t seem to care, or mind, that I faced death yesterday.
“Really, Evangeline,” she scolds, planting her jeweled hands on her hips. Today she favors pale green clothing. Her nose twitches slightly, and I can tell I don’t have her undivided attention. The rest is in a mouse still watching the council. “You can climb the walls of Fort Patriot, but a simple meeting is too much for you?”
I shudder, trying not to think about the battle. With some effort, I push the memory away. “I hardly enjoy wasting my time,” I tell her with a sneer.
She rolls her eyes as only a mother can. “Discussing your own wedding?”
“There’s no discussion to it,” I scoff. “I have no say, so why does it matter if I’m there? Besides, Tolly will tell me everything later. All of Father’s commands,” I add, spitting out the last word like a bad taste.
Mother seems to coil, taut and dangerous. “You act like this is some kind of punishment.”
I raise my chin. All over my body, the steel threads of my gown tighten with my anger. “Isn’t it?”
She reacts like I’ve slapped her and insulted her entire bloodline. “I don’t understand you!” she says, throwing up her hands. “This is what you want, what you’ve worked for your entire life.”
I have to laugh at her blindness. No matter how many eyes my mother sees through, she will never see through mine. My laughter unsettles her at least. I glance at her brow, tracing her braid blooming with gemstones. Let no one say Larentia Viper does not play the part of a queen well. All this for that. “A crown suits you, Mother,” I sigh.
“Don’t change the subject, Eve,” she says, exasperated, as she closes the distance between us. With all the warmth she can muster, she puts both hands to my arms as if to pull me into an embrace. I keep still, rooted. Slowly, her fingers run up and down my arms, rubbing my bare skin. The image is almost maternal, far more than I’m used to. “It’s almost over, darling.”
No, it is not.
Deliberate, I step out of her grasp. The air is warmer than her hands, so cold they could be reptilian. She looks pained by the sudden distance, but holds her own ground. “I’m going to have a bath,” I tell her. “Keep your ears and eyes away from me while I do.”
Mother purses her lips. She makes no promises. “Everything we do is for your own good.”
I turn to go, my dress swishing in my wake as I walk from her. “Keep telling yourself that.”
By the time I get back to my rooms, I feel like breaking something, smashing a vase or a window or a mirror. Glass, not metal. I want to shatter something I cannot put back together. I resist the urge, mostly because I don’t want to clean up the ensuing mess. There are Red servants left in Ocean Hill, but few. Only those who wish to continue their profession, at better compensation, will still serve in the palace here, or in any Silver employ.
I wonder how far the ripples of Cal’s decision will travel. How much will change? Red equality will have far-reaching consequences, and not just for the tidiness of my bedroom.
I step deeper into my chamber, throwing open the windows as I go. Late afternoon in the Bay is a beautiful time, filled with golden light and a fragrant sea breeze. I try to find some comfort in it, but it just makes me angrier. The high keening of the gulls seems to taunt me. I think about skewering one, just for target practice. Instead I throw back the soft blankets of the bed and start to crawl in. A nap is better than a bath. I just want this day to end.