فصل پانزدهم

Fifteen: Evangeline

Anabel stalls with such talent, as we wait for her chronologically impaired grandson. I’m torn between asking for a lesson and skewering her to the wall with the steel of my throne.

There are maybe a dozen people in the throne room, only those necessary for a war council. Red and Silver, Scarlet Guard and agents of Montfort alongside noble houses of the Rift and rebel Norta. No matter how many times I see it, I can hardly get used to the sight.

Neither can my parents. Today, Mother coils on her throne of emeralds like one of her snakes. She sinks back into black silk and rough gems, looking incomplete without some threatening predator pet at her knee. The panther must be indisposed today. She sneers while Anabel spins her wheels.

Father, on the other hand, sits in rapt attention, his acute focus locked entirely on Anabel even as she steps back. Trying to make her squirm. The head of House Lerolan does not, to her credit. I’m a magnetron. I know steel when I see it. And she has steel in her bones.

“Tiberias the Seventh needs a capital. A place to plant his flag.” She pauses, pacing for effect as she surveys the throne room. I want to scream, Get on with it, old woman!

What she should really do is go find Cal, wherever he might be, and drag him back here by the ears. The Piedmont base is lost, and this is a meeting of his own war council, not to mention my father’s court. Making us wait isn’t just rude; it’s politically stupid. And a waste of my own precious time.

He’s probably off arguing with Mare again, pretending not to look at her lips while he does it. The prince is terribly predictable, and I hope the pair of them will boil over into some not-so-secret secret relationship once more. Will I be expected to guard the door? I sneer to myself.

In a flash, I envision the life he wants for us all. The life he would subject all of us to. The crown on my head, his heart in her hand. My children threatened every second by any child she might have. My days spent bending to his will, no matter how gentle it might be. No matter how many days he might let me spend with my Elane, as long as he can spend his with Mare.

If only he wanted her more. If only I could make him want her more. But, as I told Mare back in Corvium, Cal isn’t the abdicating kind. You weren’t either, I remind myself. Until you had a taste of the other side.

At the thought, my insides flip. With excitement, with hope—and with exhaustion. I’m already annoyed by the prospect of tangling myself up with Cal and Mare more than I already am. Even if it’s for my own happiness.

Stop complaining, Samos.

When General Farley and Mare finally enter the room, with Cal on their heels, I sigh to myself. Mare Barrow is not unfortunate-looking, but she’s no lady. Cal must like that sort of thing. A rougher edge. Warmth, dirt under fingernails, a rotten temper. I don’t see the appeal. But he must.

“Ah,” Anabel says, turning gracefully on her heel. “Your Majesty.” Her face relaxes in relief as she beckons Cal to join her before the Samos thrones. The rest of the chamber looks on.

“So kind of you to join us, King Tiberias,” my father says. He runs a hand through his silver beard, pulling at the strands. “I’m sure you’ve been made aware of our dire situation.” Cal sweeps into a low bow, surprising us. Kings and queens of the blood do not bow, not even to each other. Still he does it. “My apologies. I was detained,” he says, offering nothing else. And giving us no opportunity to ask further as he waves Farley forward. “I believe General Farley has some good news, at least.” “Weighed against the loss of our foothold in Piedmont?” Father scoffs. “As well as any leverage we had over Prince Bracken? It must be very good news.” “I consider over a hundred of our people saved from Piedmont to be good news, sir,” she says, also stooping into a quick, pitiful bow. “The Scarlet Guard and our Montfortan allies left only a skeleton garrison behind in Piedmont. There were a few hundred soldiers left behind at the base when Bracken struck. Right now, according to our intelligence, at least a third have made it into the swamps. The Scarlet Guard has contingents all over the region; we are more than able to retrieve and transport those who escaped to safety.” “How many dead, do you estimate?” Anabel says, now standing to the side with her hands clasped.

“A hundred, we think,” she forces out, as if she can run right past the thought. But it seems to catch up to her as she repeats, more slowly, “A hundred dead.” “We lost more in Corvium,” I say, tapping my fingers in time. “A hard trade, to be sure,” I add, feigning sympathy before I send the Red woman into a rage spiral.

“It will be difficult, going forward, without the base,” Ptolemus offers, making the painfully obvious point. Sometimes I think he just wants to hear himself talk, even in situations like this.

“Yes, that’s true,” Cal offers. “We still have the Rift, and all that entails, but we’ve lost two of our conquests in so many weeks. First Corvium—” “We chose to destroy Corvium; we didn’t lose it,” Mare puts in, eyeing him with venom. I’d wager she’s glad to be rid of that city.

Cal nods in begrudging agreement. “And now Piedmont,” he continues. “It doesn’t exactly present the image of strength, especially to any houses aligned to Maven who might still be swayed.” Mother angles on her throne, her knuckles glinting with a ransom of green gems. “What of Montfort?” She raises an eyebrow, searching the room. “I’m told you were successful in procuring their army?” “I don’t count my soldiers before they form up,” Cal shoots back, harsher than he should be. “I trust Premier Davidson will deliver what his government promises, but I won’t make decisions based on resources we can’t see yet.” “What you need is a capital,” Anabel says, circling the conversation back to her original song and dance. She paces, her red-and-orange regalia matching the light outside as it shifts toward sunset. “The city of Delphie will provide. The seat of House Lerolan will support the rightful king.” Cal avoids her gaze. “That’s true. But—”

“But?” She snaps to him, stopping in her tracks.

He throws his shoulders wide, self-assured. “It’s too easy.”

Like a true grandmother, Anabel pats him on the arm with the manner of someone teaching a toddler a syrupy life lesson. “Nothing in life is truly easy, but you take the breaks you manage to find, Tiberias.” “I mean it says nothing,” he answers, extricating himself from her grasp. “Not to the people of Norta, not to our allies, and certainly not to our enemies. It’s an empty move. An expected move. Delphie is already mine in all but name, correct? I simply have to raise my flag and proclaim it.” “Yes,” she says with a blink. “Why throw away such a gift?”

He sighs, a little exasperated, and I share the feeling. “I’m not. The gift is already given. You’re right: We do need another stronghold, preferably in Norta. Another victory to prove our strength. Put fear in the Lakelands and Piedmont, as there is already fear in Maven.” “Where do you suggest?” I ask, leaning forward. If only to move along his proposal and end this miserable show.

He nods at me. “Harbor Bay.”

“That was your mother’s favorite palace,” Anabel mutters at his side, forgetting herself. Cal doesn’t respond, as if he doesn’t hear her. “And governed by families loyal to Maven.” “It’s strategic,” he offers.

General Farley narrows her eyes. “It’s another siege and another battle that could get hundreds of us killed.” “It has Fort Patriot,” Cal fires back. “It services the army, the Air Fleet, and the navy armada.” He ticks each one off on his fingers. His fervor is palpable, almost contagious. I can understand why he was made a general at such a young age. Maybe if I were a simple soldier, if I didn’t know any better, I would willingly follow such a man into the jaws of death. “We can choke off a large piece of Maven’s military, and perhaps win some of it in the process. At the very least, we’ll be able to replace what we lost in Piedmont. Weapons, transports, jets. It’s all there for the taking. And the city itself is a Scarlet Guard hot spot.” Father arches one sharp eyebrow. He is almost grinning, a ferocious sight. “A wise decision,” he says. King Volo’s agreement seems to take Cal by surprise, but it shouldn’t. I know my father and see the hunger in him, the lust for power that he always keeps close. I bet he already dreams of Harbor Bay laid bare, a Samos flag raised over the conquered city. “Maven has taken a fort from us. We’ll take a city from him.” Cal dips his head. “Yes, exactly.”

“If you can take it,” Mare replies, looking over her shoulder at him. Her brown-and-gray hair spins with her momentum, gleaming with a reddish hue in the sunset.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“Attack Harbor Bay. Attempt to overthrow the city. It’s a good risk and we should try,” she says. “But even if we fail, we can still strike a real blow to Maven’s forces.” In spite of myself, I find this intriguing. I smooth my skirts, rippled sheets of speckled silver and white silk, as I lean toward her. “How, Barrow?” She seems almost grateful, and shows me her teeth in what could be a reluctant smile. “Split open New Town, the techie slum outside Harbor Bay. Loose the Reds. It’s a manufacturing hub, and it fuels Norta as much as any Silver fort. If we hit New Town, Gray Town, Merry Town—” Again, Father is taken off guard. “You want to get rid of the tech centers?” he sputters, blinking at her like she told him to cut out his own beating heart.

Mare Barrow stands firm beneath his confounded gaze. “Yes.”

Anabel eyes Mare in disbelief, almost laughing. “And what about after this war is done, Miss Barrow? Will you pay to rebuild them?” Mare almost bites off a chunk of her own tongue to keep back a sudden, unchecked retort. She takes a breath, willing herself to something within the realm of calm.

“If destroying them means victory?” she says slowly, ignoring Anabel’s questions. “Winning the country?” Cal’s eyes shift and he steadily nods his head. Agreeing because she’s right—or because he’s still a lovesick puppy. “Breaking up even one tech center will greatly disrupt Maven’s ability to fight back, and it will spread unrest through his supporters. If the Reds see us as liberators, that can only help us,” he says. “Add that to taking over Fort Patriot—he could lose control of everything north of the Bay, all the way to the Lakelander border.” Thoughtful, he looks to his grandmother, opening his stance to her. “Cut off the entire region. And sandwich Maven between our already loyal Delphie, the Rift, and our new conquest.” I imagine Norta in my head, or Norta as she was a year ago. Lines carve across her lands, like a cook slicing up pieces of pie. One chunk to us, two more to Cal. And the rest? My eyes linger on the Red general and Mare Barrow. And I think of that insufferable premier a thousand miles away. Which piece will they take?

I know what they want, at least.

The whole damn pie.

Ptolemus makes a show of mulling over my proposition. He runs a finger around the rim of his water glass, listening to the crystal sing. The sound is haunting, an ethereal echo weaving through our dinner. The sky behind him is blood red against his silhouette. My brother is strong-jawed, broad, with my father’s long nose and mother’s tiny rosebud mouth. He looks more like her in this light, with the growing shadows gathering beneath his eyes, in the hollows of his cheeks and throat. His clothes are fresh and casual for him: clean, white linen, light enough for the summer season.

Elane watches him play the glass with distaste, one side of her mouth curled into the beginnings of a sneer. The waning light gleams in her hair, giving her a ruby halo finer than any crown. She drains her own wine, staining her lips with berry, grape, and plum.

I refrain for the moment, leaving my wineglass full and undisturbed. Usually a quiet dinner away from my parents and the prying eyes of an assembled court is an excuse to drink as much as I like, but we have business to attend to.

“It’s a foolish plan, Evangeline. We don’t have time to play matchmaker,” Ptolemus mutters, his fingers gliding to a halt on the crystal rim. “Harbor Bay could be the end of us all.” I cluck my tongue. “Don’t be a coward—you know Father wouldn’t risk you or me in an ill-fated siege.” We are well-cared-for investments, Tolly. His legacy depends on our survival. “Whether Cal wins Harbor Bay or not is of no interest me.” “We do have time, at least,” Elane offers. She regards me with dark eyes that glimmer like star fall across a cornflower sky. “There can be no movement without the Montfort armies. And we still have to outfit our own soldiers, to build up for the siege.” I slip my hand under the table, feeling the smooth softness of silk on her knee. “This is true. And I’m not suggesting we ignore the war, Tolly. Just divide our attention. Look elsewhere when we can. Nudge pieces on the chessboard.” “Nudge pieces into bed, you mean,” Ptolemus says with a dry grin. He moves his hand from his water to the stout glass of biting clear liquor and ice he’s drinking. “You think I can influence Mare Barrow without getting my throat slit?” he asks, tossing back a fiery gulp. He winces, hissing air through his teeth. “I think it’s best I stay away from her.” “I agree with that,” I answer. Barrow promised to let my brother live. It’s a promise I trust less and less every day. “But you can keep an eye on Cal. I thought he was immovable, completely dedicated to winning Norta, but . . . we may have an opportunity to stop that.” My brother throws back another blistering swig. “We aren’t exactly friends.”

I shrug. “But close enough to it. At least you were a year ago.”

“And what a year it has been,” he mutters, inspecting his reflection in the flat of his dinner knife. His face has not changed, his beauty is undiminished by war, but so many other things are different now. A new king, a new country, new crowns for us both. And a mountain of problems to go with each.

The tumultuous year has been worth the cost, at least to me. A year ago, I was Training harder than I ever had, preparing for the inevitable Queenstrial. I could barely sleep for fear of losing, even when victory was all but guaranteed. My life then was decided, and I reveled in knowing what was to come. In hindsight, I feel stupid and manipulated, seeing myself as the doll I was. Pushed toward a boy I could never love. And here I am again, trapped in the same place I’ve always been. But now I know better. I can fight it. And maybe I can make Cal see reason the way I did. See what our worlds are, the strings we all dance upon.

Ptolemus picks around his specially made meal of lean, barely seasoned chicken, wilted vegetables, and pale fish meat. It lies mostly untouched. Usually he wolfs down his bland, healthy foods, as if eating them quickly can disguise the lack of taste.

Elane is quite the opposite. Her plate is clean, showing no evidence of the rack of wine-soaked lamb we shared. “Indeed,” she says. Her voice is quiet and measured. I try to read her thoughts on her face, her carefully worn expression of thoughtfulness. Is she remembering our lives a year ago? When we thought we would be happy beneath the Nortan throne together, living in a future built on our secrets? As if we were ever truly a secret to anyone with eyes.

“What about me?” Elane prods, putting her hand over my own. Her skin is the perfect balance of warmth against mine. “What part will I play in this?” “You don’t have to do much of anything,” I answer, almost too quickly.

She puts her hand over mine. “Don’t be stupid, Eve.”

“Very well,” I grit out. “Do as you have before, I suppose.” Shadows are perfect spies, well suited to the intrigues of a royal court. To listen, to watch, safe behind a shield of invisibility. I don’t like the prospect of using her in any capacity that might be dangerous, but like she said, we have time. We’re at Ridge House. She wouldn’t be any safer if I locked her up in my rooms.

Not exactly a bad idea . . .

Elane smirks a little and pushes away her plate, half in jest. Her nose wrinkles. “Should I go now?” I tighten my grip on her hand, smirking. “You can finish off the wine, at least. I’m not completely heartless.” With a smile that stops my breath and leaves my pulse racing, she leans into me, her eyes drifting lazily to my lips. “I know exactly how much heart you have.” Across the table, Ptolemus finishes his drink, rattling the ice. “I’m right here,” he grumbles, averting his eyes.

We have a week at least, if not two, before Davidson and his army return. Enough time to do what I can, with the added advantage of my own territory. Cal and Mare want each other, no matter how many obstacles might stand in the way. He requires only a very little push. If anything, a single word from Mare would send him scurrying to her bedroom. Mare, on the other hand, will be infinitely more difficult, married as she is to her pride, her cause, and that constant, unflagging rage she keeps burning in her chest. Of course, shoving the pair of them back together is only the first half of the endeavor. It’s getting Cal to realize, as I have, the weight of a heart. And how much heavier it is than a crown.

A small part of me wonders if this is impossible. Cal might never wake up the way I did. His choices could be set in stone. But that can’t be true. I see the way he looks at her, and I won’t give up so easily. I only wish I could solve all this with my own two fists and a knife. That might even be enjoyable.

Quite honestly, anything would be more enjoyable than what I’m doing now, prowling through Ridge House at dusk, searching for Mare Barrow. This is a chore and a bore.

Elane is gone, somewhere on the other side of the estate. Keeping an eye on General Farley while Ptolemus works through his evening routine in the training arena. A routine that nicely aligns with Cal’s own schedule. The would-be king is oh-so-married to his workouts, especially now that he can’t burn off his energy with a certain lightning girl.

I pass through the gallery halls, dragging my fingers across statues of reflective steel and polished chrome as I go. Each one responds to my touch, rippling like water disturbed on a still pond. Outside, the sky purples, and stars prick to life across the western horizon. The city of Pitarus glows in the distance, several miles away. A reminder of the world still marching on. Reds and common Silvers now living under the spreading shadow of war. I wonder what that must be like, to read about battles and hear of cities torn apart, and know you have no part in the conflict. No influence. No power should war come to knock on your own door.

And it certainly will.

This war has many sides, and there’s no way to stop what has already begun. Norta will be a rotting carcass one day, with the Rift, the Lakelands, Montfort, Piedmont, and whoever else is left all howling over her corpse.

I step onto the upper terraces, facing into the eastern darkness. A chill hovers on the air, and I think we might face a summer cold front before the week is out.

Barrow isn’t alone when I find her, to my chagrin. She looks up at the stars while her Red boy stretches out at her side, long limbs splayed without thought for appearance. He seems a tangle of blond hair and bronzed, sun-damaged skin.

Kilorn glances at me first, pointing his rounded chin in my direction. “We have an audience.” “Hello, Evangeline,” Mare replies. Her knees are drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t move, her face tipped to the sky and the growing starlight. “To what do we owe this honor, Your Highness?” she drawls.

I chuckle and pause to lean against the railing edging the terrace tile. Biting to the last. “I find myself in need of distraction.” Mare shakes her head, amused. “I thought that’s what Elane is for.”

“She has a life of her own,” I muse airily, forcing a shrug. “I can’t expect her to live at my beck and call.” “You spent all your time pretending not to pine for her, and now here you are, in the same place again. But you’re bothering me instead.” Shrewd, she turns her gaze on me for a second, her brown eyes black against the deepening night sky. Then she looks back at the stars. “What do you want to know?” “Nothing at all. I don’t care where you and Cal scampered off to today, or why you both were so incredibly late to a meeting about the survival of your own people.” At her side, the Red boy tenses, his brows knitting together.

Mare tries not to rise to the bait or the implication. She waves a hand, dismissive. “It wasn’t important.” “Well, if you ever need assistance with your unimportant doings, there are a few passages I can show you. Ways to get around the Ridge unseen.” I tip my head, surveying her as she pretends not to listen to me. “Cal sleeps in the east wing, near my rooms, in case you’re interested.” Her head snaps up. “I am not.”

“Of course,” I reply.

The Red boy glowers, his eyes a dark green, the color of my mother’s stormiest emeralds. “Is this what you call distraction? Taunting Mare?” “Not at all. I was wondering if Mare felt like sparring a bit.”

She balks. “I beg your pardon?”

“For old time’s sake.”

She huffs, as if annoyed. But I see the familiar twitch in her. The need. A coil in the pit of her stomach, begging to be unwound. Barrow looks at her feet, blinking slowly. She runs one hand over the other, smoothing her fingers against her palm. Imagining the lightning, no doubt.

There is a particular pleasure in using our abilities for sport rather than survival.

“I’ve almost beaten you twice, Evangeline,” Mare says.

I grin. “Third time’s the charm.”

She glares up at me, annoyed at the hunger inside herself. “Fine,” she forces through gritted teeth. “One match.” Cal is also in the training arena, not that Mare or Kilorn knows it, though. The Red boy follows us wordlessly, fuming, but he does nothing to stop Barrow when I lead her into the specially made chamber.

The walls are glass, much like the rest of the Ridge. In the morning, it enjoys a full view of the sunrise. Perfect for early sessions. Now it looks out on the darkness, a vague, bruising blue, fading to black. Ptolemus and Cal occupy different ends of the training floor, ignoring each other as men do. My brother steadily works through a rotation of push-ups, his back straight and lean. Wren perches nearby, seated in the raised viewing area. She must be the healer on duty, to attend to anyone on the floor. But her attention is firmly fixed on Ptolemus and his flexing muscles. I could probably spear Cal through the middle and she wouldn’t blink an eye.

The would-be king faces away from us at first, running a towel over his hair and his sweaty, flushed face. I watch Mare go stock-still next to me, as if frozen solid. Her eyes widen, running over his figure. I can only grimace, noting the damp material clinging to Cal’s back and shoulders. Maybe if I felt some attraction to him—or to any man, for that matter—I might understand exactly why Mare looks like she’s going to pass out.

At least this part of the plan is working. Barrow clearly has no objections to Cal’s body.

“This way,” I say to her, taking her by the arm.

Cal spins at my voice, towel still in hand. He startles at the sight of us. Well, the sight of her. “We’re almost finished,” he manages to sputter.

“Take your time. It doesn’t make a difference to me,” Mare replies, her voice and expression decidedly neutral. She lets me lead her away without protest, but her hand shifts, her arm moving quickly. Her fingers dig into my flesh, nails biting in warning.

“Kilorn,” I hear Cal say behind us, greeting the Red boy with what sounds like a handshake.

Ptolemus looks up from his spot on the floor, not breaking his pace. I give him the slightest nod, pleased by our machinations. His eyes slide past me, though, to rest on Mare instead.

She looks back at him, murderous. It chills my blood.

I try not to shudder. Try not to think of my brother bleeding like hers did, dying as he falls, dying for nothing at all.

Pull yourself together, Samos.