نور آتش 6

SIX

Cal

By the time the gala catches us, I would rather sleep through the evening. And it really does feel like a predator, crouching at the end of the week, waiting to pounce. I’ve had more than my fair share of balls, parties, and overblown celebrations in my lifetime. I know how this goes, and I know how boring, exhausting, and otherwise nauseating this night will be. After our days filled with meetings and debates, small talk with the delegates will be salt in an open, oozing wound.

At least I’m not alone here. Mare hates this as much as I do, but when I suggested we both conveniently come down with sickness, she set my hair on end. We spend enough time together. People would believe it.

But she’s right. We owe it to the alliance, to our delegations, and to ourselves to make a show of this. In the end it’s just a party, and maybe we can hunt down a little fun in the midst of it all. Not to mention, Carmadon has had the kitchens working all week. At the least, I’ll leave tonight very well fed. Besides, I’d rather not risk Nanabel’s wrath or Julian’s gentle disappointment. Both have worked too hard this week, especially Nanabel. She settled after our first meeting, doing her best to bridge the gap between the Silvers of Norta and the rest of the alliance. Without her work, and Radis’s too, we might have another rebellion on our hands, with more nobles ready to join the Secession. Instead, we have allies.

Tonight she intends to bask in her small victories, bedecking herself in the old jewels she once wore as a queen. As we wait for Julian and Sara, she inspects herself in the mirrors of our salon, turning back and forth to let her fire-colored gemstones catch the light. Her long, flowing orange gown seems to dance as she whirls. Anabel is no fool, and she was careful to avoid wearing a crown, even if she does still dress like a queen.

“Julian tells me you’re going to be staying on a few days after his wedding,” she says to her reflection, though the words are meant for me.

I’ve been ready for half an hour and I’m almost asleep on the couch when she speaks. Her voice jolts me back, and I sit up, sharp as ever in my plain black suit. Only the badge on my collar, the joined circles in red, white, and silver, adorns my clothing.

“Yes,” I reply after gathering myself. Her eyes follow me in the mirror. “A few weeks, I think. Then I’ll head back to Archeon and return to work.” My body tightens, bracing for a scathing remark or scolding refusal. Instead Nanabel just fixes her hair, smoothing her gray locks back behind her ears. She draws out her response, making me wait.

“Good,” she finally says, and I nearly fall out of my seat. “You’ve earned a break.”

“I—I suppose so, yeah,” I sputter, surprised. She knows who I’m staying with, and why. Mare Barrow isn’t exactly her favorite person in the world. “Thanks.” “Of course,” she says. My grandmother grins as she turns around, amused by my shock. “You might not think it, but I’m proud of you, Cal. What you’ve done, what you continue to do. You’re a young man, and you’ve accomplished so much with your time.” Her footsteps are soft, muffled by the rich carpets of the salon. The couch sinks as she sits next to me, one lined hand taking mine. “You’re strong, my dear boy. Too strong. You deserve the happy moments when you find them. And all I want, beyond anything else, a crown or a country, is for you to live.” My throat threatens to close, and I have to look away from her, if only to hide the sharp sting of tears. She clenches her jaw, just as uncomfortable with emotion.

“Thank you,” I force out, focusing on a spot in the carpet. As much as I’ve wanted those words from her, they aren’t easy to hear or accept.

Her grip on my fingers tightens, forcing me to look at her. We have the same eyes, she and I. Burning bronze. “I’ve lived through the rule of four kings. I know greatness—and sacrifice—when I see it,” she says. “Your father would be proud of you. In the end.” When Julian and Sara finally emerge, they are good enough to ignore my red-rimmed eyes.

With the delegations out of their uniforms and in finery, it’s easy to pretend this is just a party. Not simply another meeting veiled by silk, liquor, and roving plates of stupidly tiny foods. At least Montfort isn’t as rigid as old Norta or its court. I don’t have to wait to be announced, and I descend into the grand ballroom with the rest of the delegates, all of us moving like a school of jewel-colored fish.

The chamber can’t compare to Whitefire, or even the Hall of the Sun. Royals have the edge when it comes to splendor, but I hardly mind. Instead of white molding and gilt frames, the long ballroom has polished timber arches and brilliant cut-glass windows looking out on the valley as night falls. The fire of sunset sparkles off mirrors that make the space seem grander and bigger. Overhead, cast-iron hoops are set with a thousand candles, flickering with golden flame. No less than six fireplaces, all of them rough stone, throw off pleasant heat to warm the expansive room. I feel each one at the edge of my perception, and I look across the floor, searching for familiar faces.

Mare’s brothers and Kilorn would be easiest to spot, tall as they are. They aren’t here yet, so likely she isn’t either. The premier is, of course, greeting delegates as they filter into the room. Carmadon stands proudly at his side, waving over servants as they pass. I watch as he nearly force-feeds one of the Nortan nobles a tiny portion of salmon.

Evangeline must have the night off from her bodyguard duties. She has Elane hanging on her arm, the two of them hovering near the string band that’s still warming up. When the violinist raises his instrument, the pair of them begin to dance in perfect rhythm. As always, Evangeline manages to sparkle in the most threatening way. Her gown is beaten bronze, sculpted to her form but somehow fluid. The color looks good on her, warming up her otherwise cold appearance. Elane, on the other hand, seems to be playing the part of a winter queen. Her red hair flames as always, made even more bright by her pale skin, a light blue suit, and silver lipstick. Ptolemus stands nearby, not so loudly dressed, with Wren Skonos on his arm. Both of them favor dark green, an emblem of their new allegiance to Montfort.

If anything is proof of the new world, the new possibility we could have, the Samos siblings are. First Evangeline, once meant to be my queen and my burden, then a princess of a hostile kingdom—now a soldier of an equal nation, with the woman she loves at her side. And her brother, heir to a throne as much as I was, nearly crushed by the expectations of a similar father—Ptolemus is here too, oathed to defend all he was raised to destroy. Both have so many sins behind them; both have no right to forgiveness or a second chance. But they found it, and the world is better for having them.

Like Mare, I can’t help but think of Shade when I see them. He was my friend and I miss him, but I can’t hate Ptolemus for what he did. After all, I’ve done the same. Taken siblings and loved ones, killed for what I was told to believe. How can I condemn him without condemning myself?

Behind me, Julian and Sara keep watch, already halfway through their first drinks. “Just doing our duty,” Sara quips, catching my eye.

“Thanks,” I reply, grinning.

The pair of them pledged to keep any delegates away from me as long as I wanted, to give me time to breathe. Today was the worst of all: I spent most of it policing a shouting match between a Scarlet Guard general and one of Montfort’s transport ministers.

Nanabel needs no such reprieve and is already working her way through the room, angling into the circle of diplomats around the premier. By party’s end, they’ll either never speak to each other again or be close friends. I’m not sure which is more frightening.

“Behind you, Cal,” Julian says and points his chin back up the stairs. From our spot on the floor, we have an excellent view of the crowd as it descends, and it doesn’t take me long to pick them out.

Gisa really outdid herself with the whole family, even Mare’s father. Daniel doesn’t look particularly comfortable in the dark green dress suit, but there’s a distinct pride to him as he walks unaided down the steps. Mare’s mother, Ruth, looks regal next to him, her graying hair swept up into a complicated braid set with green clips to match her dragonfly-patterned gown. Tramy’s suit jacket is particularly bright, embroidered with flowers and vines over yellow silk. Bree is his broader counterpart, though his jacket is pale orange. Kilorn completes the trio, grinning broadly over his blue and gold-vined coat. Even Farley received a Gisa Barrow original outfit: she’s clad head to toe in red-and-white silk offset with gold detailing and flower embroidery. She doesn’t have Clara with her, the party being too late for the infant. I wonder what the young general will abandon first—her gleaming jacket or the party.

Gisa follows at a distance, looking as smug as a cat with a caught mouse. She has a girl I don’t recognize at her side, their elbows joined, both their dresses pale pink with intricate lacing.

She chose purple for Mare again, sheer silk overlaid with gold branches and silver blossoms. The meaning isn’t difficult to figure out. All the Barrows and Farley too wear some sort of plant in bloom—roses, lilies, magnolias, fresh leaves. Though winter looms, they are spring. Reborn.

Mare smiles just for me as she walks, careful to keep the hem of her skirt in check on the stairs. The many candles dance above her, making her glow. I wait patiently, letting the rest of the crowd break around me in a river. If someone tries to speak to me, I don’t notice. My focus is on one person in the room.

A flush colors the tops of her cheeks, the perfect complement to the berry color of her lips. And the curl of freshly dyed hair, purple at the ends. I can’t help but smile like an idiot, especially when she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. The stones glimmer there, for her brothers, for Kilorn, and for me. The scarlet gem winks across the room, a star I would follow anywhere.

When she reaches the floor, I don’t move, letting her maneuver carefully around her mess of brothers. They spot me and offer curt nods, better than I deserve. Mare’s mother is more polite, offering a smile, while her father pointedly looks at the ceiling. I don’t mind. I have time with them. I have time with her.

“I have to say, I expect more from you,” Mare says, stepping up to me. She runs a hand down the lapel of my suit, letting her fingers trace the buttons before finding the badge on my collar. Her touch, even through the clothes, makes me shiver. “You look like you’re dressed for a quiet night in.” “I wish,” I mutter, closing my hand over hers.

She squeezes my fingers. “I wager we make it thirty minutes or so.”

As much as I enjoy the thought of stealing away with her, my stomach growls in disagreement. We could have food brought up to my room, but that just seems rude, and certainly Carmadon will see that we’re sent the worst of the kitchen scraps.

“And miss dinner?” I balk. “No thanks. If I’m going to suffer, I’m going to at least get something out of it.”

She pulls a face but nods in compliance. “Good point. But if he runs out of steak again, I’m leaving.”

I laugh quietly, wanting to pull her closer, regardless of propriety. But tongues are already wagging about us, and the last thing we need is a gossip circle about our status. Not that we can even agree on that. No promises, as Mare said. We’re simply taking things as they come, with our priorities and boundaries starkly drawn.

“Are you all ready for next week? Does Anabel mind?” Mare looks at me, her teeth gritted, prepared for the worst. She searches for any hesitation in my answer, knowing all my tells.

I smile wider. “Believe it or not, she gave me her blessing.”

“To go up to the cabin when the weather breaks?” She blanches, her eyes darting to pick out my grandmother in the crowd. “I’m impressed.” “I haven’t told her about Paradise, but I doubt she’ll care either way. It’s not exactly easy for me to get frostbite.” “Unless you piss me off and I lock you out in the cold.”

Before I can laugh her off, Bree and Tramy appear on either side of us, almost leering. “Don’t think she won’t,” Bree warns, his brow furrowed.

Tramy bobs his head in agreement. “I almost lost a toe.”

“And you would have deserved it,” Mare snaps, shooing both of them off with an exasperated grin. “So, are you going to make me dance?” Elsewhere, the string band is in full swing, serenading a floor teeming with dancing couples of various skill. I glance at them, remembering the last time I did this. Mare was there, on Maven’s arm, dancing steps I taught her.

She feels the memory as I do, both of us lost to watching the floor. Her smile fades, as does mine, and we weather the storm of loss and regret together. It’s the only way through it.

“No,” we say in unison, and turn away.

We don’t stay glued. That’s not her way, or mine. She goes where she wishes through the gala, as do I. As much as I hate it, I make the rounds I must, thanking members of the delegations for their time and expertise. Julian does it with me, at least, his smile unfailing. Once or twice, I wonder if he might have to use his singing ability to disentangle us from a particularly loathsome or chatty delegate, but he always manages to spin the conversation without it. Despite all my training for battle, the runs with Mare every morning, and my rigorous workouts, I flag long before she does.

“Unless you’re particularly invested in dessert, I think you can call it a night,” my uncle mutters, his grip gentle on my shoulder. “You look ready to drop.” “I certainly feel it,” I whisper back. As with training, the ache in me, the exhaustion, is the good kind. This pain accomplished something. “Where’s Mare?” “I believe she’s scolding one of her brothers for ripping his dress jacket. Unlike you, she has some stamina left.” She always does.

“Should I get her for you?” he adds, looking over me with concern. “I can let her know you went up early—”

I wave him off. “No, it’s fine, I can wait her out. Bree certainly deserves it, after all the work Gisa put in.”

Julian and I have the same smile, a crooked slash across our faces. He looks at me fully, eyes searching mine. Now I realize how much he looks like my mother, and for a moment, my heart breaks with the need to know her.

“It’s good to see you like this,” Julian says, putting both his hands on my shoulders, forcing me square to him. “I knew you’d find your way back to Mare, but I did have my fears for a while.” I glance down at my feet, sighing. “Me too,” I say, chewing my lip. “And what about you? Why did you wait so long with Sara?” Julian blinks. He is rarely caught off guard or unprepared for a question. “We planned to marry,” he says, searching for an answer. “Before my father—” “I know that. It was in the diary pages. I mean after.” My voice catches and Julian pales. “After what Elara did.” His lips thin into a grim line. When he speaks, his eyes lose focus, and he descends into memory. “I wanted to. I would have. But Sara wouldn’t let me tie my fate to hers so fully. She didn’t know what Elara would do, if she might decide to finish the job. Have her executed. She couldn’t bear the idea of me dying with her.” His eyes water, and I look away, giving him time to recover as best he can. When I look back, he forces an empty smile. “And now, well, we had a war on, didn’t we?” I try to give him a smile of my own but fail. “There’s time for everything, isn’t there?”

“Yes. But we always have the choice. To let things get in the way, or to pursue what we really want,” he says quickly, with fervor. “I’m glad you read the diary. I know it could not have been easy.” To that, I have nothing I can say. Reading the copy of my mother’s diary felt like ripping my flesh apart and sewing it back together. I almost couldn’t do it. But to have even a glimpse of her, no matter how painful—I owed her that much.

Julian’s grip on me lessens and he steps back, fading into the kindly uncle I know—and not the haunted man he is. “I have more to give you, of course. Not from your mother, but other writings, collections, what I can get together from the Royal Archives. Things to help you understand what you came from, both the good and the evil.” Part of me quails at the thought of the pile Julian might force on me, but I take it in stride. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” “Cal, it is a rare man who is willing to look at himself and see what truly stands. A rare man indeed.” I try and fail not to blush furiously, heat smoldering in my cheeks. Julian ignores my embarrassment, or he simply doesn’t care. “You would have made a good king, but never great. Not like you are now. A great man who needs no crown.” My insides twist. How can he know who I am? What I might be in the future? Who I could become?

It is a worry, I suppose, we all carry. Me, Mare, even my uncle. We are chosen to some kind of greatness, and cursed to it.

“Thank you, Julian,” I force out, overcome again.

He claps me on the shoulder, voice dropping. “This isn’t over, but you know that, don’t you? It won’t be for years. Decades, maybe.” “I know,” I reply, feeling the truth of it in my gut. The Lakelands, the Silver Secession. No matter how strong this alliance is, there will always be someone to challenge it—and the world we’re fighting to build.

“History will remember you, mark my words,” Julian says, now steering me toward the terrace. Outside, Mare has Bree by the scruff of his collar, forcing him to bend down so she can shout at him.

“Make sure it remembers you well.”