فصل بیستم

Twenty: Mare

The miles are few, but they feel endless. I keep my grip on the door handle, ready to spring out the second we roll onto the Port Road, wheels spinning beneath us. It’s just me, the electricons, and our driver. Even Ella is silent, staring out the window at the darkening sky. The smoke of New Town gives way to black, acrid clouds the closer we get to Harbor Bay. At first I’m grateful that I don’t have to speak to anyone. But as the minutes wear on, the silence grows thicker, heavier, pressing down on me. It makes it difficult to think of anything beyond the city ahead and the battle raging there. In the distance, the horizon seems to burn.

My mind spins out, filling in the blanks of what we might find. Each scenario is worse than the last. Surrender. Defeat. Farley dying. Tiberias pale and bleeding, his blood a silver halo.

The last time I was in Harbor Bay, I traveled through tunnels and alleyways. I didn’t tear through the streets in a military transport, escorted like some kind of dignitary or noble. I barely recognize the place.

I expect opposition as we roll into the city, but the battle lines are farther in than I thought. The streets are largely empty of everything but soldiers. All ours, marching to their posts or working their patrols. Once or twice, I spot a contingent of coalition soldiers flanking prisoners. Silvers handcuffed in iron, being led away to wherever we might be keeping them. Davidson’s orders, I assume. He knows how to leverage prisoners best.

The transport angles beneath me, beginning the gentle descent to the harbor.

“The coalition is forming up on the waterfront, fortifying our position before they try to push back into the fort,” our driver calls back to us. A radio in his console blares mostly static, but a few jumbled words get through. He relays what he can. “Sounds like the Air Fleet is holding the Nortan jets out at sea, and we’re doing what we can to win the warships in the harbor, but there’s Lakelander ships on the horizon.” Across from me, Rafe curses under his breath. “Well out of range,” he mutters.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Ella replies sternly, still at the window.

Tyton leans back in his seat, his lips pursed. “So we hold the city. For now.”

“Seems like it,” I reply, still wary as ever.

The transport rolls on, passing larger buildings and more important-looking places. My body is tight as a coiled wire, ready to react if this calm is just a trap. A feint to lure Tiberias and the others into a false sense of security. I keep my teeth gritted together and the feel of lightning close. My fellow electricons do the same, each of them stern and ready to fight.

The churning waters of the harbor flash at the end of the street, beyond a scurrying crowd of soldiers. It looks like a storm has just passed through. Every surface is wet, and dark gray clouds are breaking up overhead, blown off by a furious gale. Waves lap at the curved shoreline, still foaming white like the surface of a boiling pot. I can see now that out in the harbor, Fort Patriot is a ruin, one half flooded, the other half burning. I can smell it, even across the water. The bridge to the fort is just as obliterated, parts of it overtaken by the sea.

My forehead touches the glass of the window as I strain to see more. Our soldiers busy themselves clearing debris, building makeshift walls, or setting machine guns. I search their ranks, looking for familiar faces as we drive onto the paved plaza lining the waterfront. They all look the same, even in their differing uniforms. Dirty-faced, bleeding both colors, exhausted and ready to drop. But alive.

Their ranks part for the transport as we round the water, heading toward the center of the waterfront and the now-smashed gates of the fort bridge. Ella and I bunch up at the right-hand window, craning for a better view. Across from us, Rafe does the same. Only Tyton remains still, glaring at his dirty boots.

“The ships are firing on each other,” Ella breathes, pointing out the battleships still in the harbor. “Look, three to one.” I bite my lip, confused for only a moment. In the distance, the gray hulks bob in the water, rocking with the force of their own heavy guns. Indeed, three of them seem to be shooting at the fourth. I wonder which side has the upper hand. Our coalition—or Maven’s. Smaller boats venture into the choppy waters, carrying soldiers toward the battleships.

The transport barely halts before my boots hit the wet pavement, each step slick and precarious. I keep my balance, shoving through the crowd of soldiers. The other electricons follow. We make for the knot of officers near the waterline, watching over the boats moving across the harbor. In the distance, the fourth battleship rides the waves, tipping back and forth beneath the force of bombardment. I barely glance at it, hunting for familiar faces among the soldiers.

I see Farley first, her golden hair gleaming against the gray of battle. Binoculars dangle around her neck, forgotten for a moment. She barks orders in steady rhythm, gesturing between her officers. She doesn’t seem to notice the men stacking up crates, building a meager wall to protect their general. Some of the tension in my chest releases, and I breathe a bit easier.

Julian is here as well, to my relief. He and Queen Anabel hang close, both of them transfixed by the battleships in the harbor. Their stare is unwavering, and Anabel clutches Julian’s arm, her knuckles white against his sleeve.

The sight unsettles me, but I can’t say why.

“Where do you need us?” I clip, entering their circle as calmly as I can.

Farley rounds on me, sputtering, and I brace for the inevitable rebuke. “What are you doing here?” she snaps. “Is something wrong in New Town—” “New Town is won,” Ella offers, crossing her arms at my side.

Rafe nods. “Put us to work here, General.”

“It’s Iris Cygnet out there,” Farley snarls, gesturing to the ships. Then she hesitates, teeth on edge. It makes me uneasy.

I put a hand to her arm. Maven’s queen is formidable, but not unbeatable. “Iris doesn’t scare me. Farley, let us help—” Out in the harbor, a burst of red flame runs the length of the fourth ship, moving strangely. A massive, unnatural wave rises up to meet it, breaking across the deck. Another curl of fire erupts, spiraling in the air as more tongues of water twist and spray. They move together, an elemental dance that could only be the work of two very specific people.

My heart drops in my chest, frozen with fear. And fury.

The sky turns black above the harbor, clouds re-forming in an instant. Purple flashes deep within, matching the rhythm of my beating heart.

“What is he doing?” I snarl to no one, taking a step toward the water. Something snaps apart inside me. Any objective I might have had, all thoughts of the city, disappear in an instant.

“Easy, Mare,” I hear Ella say, trying to catch my arm, but I shove her off. I have to get to that ship. I have to stop him. “You don’t have the aim to help him from here!” she shouts, her voice fading. I’m faster in a crowd, more agile. They can’t keep up.

I work my way to the water’s edge. Desperation might swallow me whole. Cal is fighting a nymph, a powerful nymph. His greatest weakness. It terrifies me.

Boats shuttle back and forth across the harbor, the empty ones returning to load more soldiers. I watch with my teeth gritted so tightly they might shatter. Too slow.

“Teleporters!” I shout, desperate and in vain. The sound of the guns all but drowns me out. “Teleporters!” I scream again. No one comes running.

The boats might be slow-moving, but they’re my best chance. I have a foot in one when Farley catches up to me, seizing me by the shoulders. She all but drags me backward, my boots splashing through the shallow water of the docks.

I shrug her off, twisting with motions I learned a long time ago in the alleys of the Stilts. She stumbles but catches herself, hands outstretched. Her face flushes scarlet.

“Get me on that ship, Farley.” My voice shakes with anger. I feel like I might explode. “I’m not asking for your permission.” “Okay,” she concedes, her eyes wide with a fear of her own. “Okay—”

A flash out on the water stills us both, and Farley’s words die on her lips. We watch in stunned silence as a succession of explosive rounds pummel into Iris’s ship, rocking the craft. Waves rise up to stabilize it, even as the explosions spread, red and angry, each an inferno reaching skyward. Smoke billows, black and reeking, as another wave pulls over the ship. Soldiers fall from the deck, splashing into the harbor below. From this distance, I can’t distinguish their uniforms. Red, green, or blue, I can’t tell.

But his armor flashes brightly against the fire, impossible to miss.

Without thinking, I rip the binoculars off Farley’s neck and press them to my eyes.

I feel frozen by what I see, rooted, unable to move.

Iris dodges a fireball, dipping with liquid motion, faster than Tiberias ever was. She dances out of his reach, circling even as the ship beneath them moves, churning its way toward the mouth of the harbor and the open ocean. The valiant, stupid Calore pursues.

Another wave hits him head-on, crashing blue and white with the full force of Iris Cygnet’s power. My heart stops in my chest as I imagine him crushed against the metal ship, drowning before my eyes.

He falls, his armor broken, splintered by battle, his scarlet cape torn to pieces. For such a large man, Tiberias makes such a tiny splash.

My vision spots, hazy with every emotion as my own brain overloads. Everything narrows, edged with black, until I can’t hear the crowd around me. Even Farley’s voice fades, her barking orders disappearing. I want to scream but find my teeth welded together. If I move, if I speak, all my restraint will disappear too. The lightning will have no mercy. All I can do is stare, stand, and pray to whoever might be listening.

Warm hands hold my shoulders as the electricons surround me, close enough to react if I lose control. Blue, green, white. Ella, Rafe, Tyton.

Cal, Cal, Cal.

Survive.

Nothing matters but the water, blue-and-white waves foaming with battle. Most of the soldiers who fell from the ships are still alive, bobbing up and down. But they aren’t wearing armor. They aren’t terrified of water. They didn’t face Iris Cygnet and lose. The glare from the sun makes it impossible to see much, but I squint anyway, until I can’t stand it anymore. Until I can’t open my eyes. The binoculars drop from my hands and smash.

The chaos on the water’s edge grows, until every soldier stands in wait, breathless to see the fate of the Calore prince. When they gasp as one, I force my eyes open and turn. Tyton’s grip on me turns viselike, his fingers pressed against my neck. He’ll knock me out if he has to, to protect everyone else from my sorrow.

I don’t know who dragged Tiberias out of the water, or which teleporter brought him to the shore. I don’t watch the healer as she bends, terrified, trying to save his life. I don’t care about Iris, still out in the harbor, making her escape. I can only look at him, even though I never want to see him like this. Each passing second is a ruin. I’ve been shot; I’ve been stabbed; I’ve been hollowed out. This is a thousand times worse.

Silver skin is a colder color than our own, as if drained of warmth. But I’ve never seen a Silver look like he does. His lips are blue, his cheeks like glowing moonlight, every inch of him soaking or bleeding. His eyes are shut. He isn’t breathing. Tiberias looks like a corpse. He could be a corpse.

Time stretches. I live in this cursed second, trapped, doomed to watch little pieces of his life ebb away. Kilorn survived in New Town. Will I lose Tiberias in Harbor Bay?

The healer puts her palms to his chest, sweat beading on her brow.

I pray to any god who might exist. To anyone who might listen.

Then I beg.

Water sprays from his mouth as he coughs violently, his eyes flying open at the same time. I almost collapse, and only the electricons keep me standing against the sudden rush. Gasping, I put a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound, only to feel tears on both my cheeks.

The crowd of people around him surges, Anabel moving to kneel at his side. Julian is there too. They croon over their boy, smoothing his hair, bidding him to lie still as the healer continues her work.

He nods weakly, still getting his bearings.

I turn away before he sees me and realizes how much I want to stay.

Ocean Hill was a favorite of Coriane, the dead queen I never knew. It’s a favorite of her son as well.

The palace is polished white stone with blue domed roofs crowned in silver flames, still magnificent even through the trailing smoke and falling ash. We circle the plaza in front of the palace gates, usually a mess of traffic. The only activity seems to be at the neighboring Security Center, now overrun with coalition soldiers. As we pass, they rip down the red, black, and silver banners, as well as the hung images of Maven Calore. One by one, they set fire to the symbols. I watch his face burn, blue eyes locked on mine through a devouring tangle of red flame.

The streets themselves are empty, and the fountain I remember, beautiful beneath a dome of crystal, is dry. War walks the stones of Harbor Bay.

The palace gates are already open, yawning wide for Farley and me. We’ve been here before, as intruders. Fugitives. Not today.

When the transport slows, Farley is quick to clamber out, gesturing for me to follow. But I hesitate, still haunted by the events of the morning. It’s only been a few hours since I watched Tiberias almost die. I can’t get the sight out of my head.

“Mare,” she prods, her voice low. It’s enough to snap me into action.

The cerulean doors of the palace swing open on silent hinges, revealing two members of the Scarlet Guard keeping watch. Their ripped scarves are ruby bright, hopelessly out of place, and a sharp, unmistakable sign.

We have returned here as conquerors.

Ocean Hill still reeks of disuse and abandonment. I don’t think Maven ever set foot inside once he became king. Coriane’s faded golden colors hang from the walls and vaulted ceiling. It remains a tomb to a forgotten queen, empty but for her memory and perhaps even her ghost.

I see an odd reversal as I walk, noting the faces around me. A few Reds of the Scarlet Guard keep watch, their weapons openly displayed, but most seem without purpose. Recovering in the wake of battle, dozing against opulent columns or lazily exploring the many salons and chambers branching off the central gallery. It’s the Silvers who busy themselves with more menial work, probably on Anabel’s orders. They have to prepare Tiberias’s new seat, his palace, to mark him as a legitimate ruler and king. They open windows, pull the covers from furniture, even dust off sills and statues. I blink at the sight, overwhelmed. Silvers doing housework. What a concept. The Red servants must have fled, and the Reds still here certainly won’t do it for them.

I don’t recognize anyone in passing. No Julian. Not even Anabel supervising as her sworn soldiers prepare the palace. It worries me, because there’s only one other place they could be. And clearly they have to be there.

I’m almost sprinting when Evangeline catches me, springing out from around a corner. Her armor is gone, discarded for lighter underclothes. If the battle was difficult for her, she certainly doesn’t look it. While everyone else is dirty, if not still bloody, Evangeline Samos looks fresh from a cold bath.

“Get out of my way” is all I can manage, trying to step around her. Farley halts, looking on with a glare.

“Let her go, Samos,” she snarls.

Evangeline ignores her. Instead she seizes my shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eye. I resist the familiar urge to deck her and instead let her look. To my surprise, she searches me over, eyes lingering on my many cuts and bruises.

“You should see a healer first; we have plenty,” she says. “You look horrible.”

“Evangeline—”

She sharpens. “He’s fine. I promise you that.”

My eyes snap to hers. “I know that,” I hiss. “I saw him with my own eyes.” Even so, I clench my teeth at the memory, too fresh and still too painful.

He’s alive; he survived her, the nymph princess, I remind myself. His brother’s deadly queen. I could wring his neck for doing it, challenging a nymph in the middle of the Bay. I’ve seen Tiberias Calore balk at swimming across a stream. He hates water, fears it like nothing else. It’s the worst and easiest way for him to die.

Evangeline bites her lip, watching me. She likes something in what she sees. When she speaks again, her voice is changed, softened. A featherlight whisper. “I can’t forget it. How he sank like a stone, armor and all,” she says, moving close enough to speak in my ear. The words twist around me, prickling on my skin. “How long was it until the healers got him breathing again?” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to remember. I know what you’re doing, Evangeline. And it’s working. Tiberias, pale and dead, his body soaked through. Mouth parted, eyes open and empty. Unseeing. Shade’s body was the same, and it haunts me still. When I open my eyes again, Tiberias’s corpse is still there, hovering in my mind. I can’t shake the sight.

“That’s enough,” Farley says, stepping bodily between us. She all but hauls me away, with Evangeline smirking.

She falls into step behind us, prodding me in the right direction like I’m a cow being led to pasture. Or slaughter.

I don’t know Ocean Hill, but I know palaces well enough to know what I’m looking for. We climb a garish, winding stairwell to the residences, a floor dotted with royal chambers and apartments. Up here, away from the more public levels, the dust is worse than ever. It puffs up from the carpet in clouds. Coriane’s colors are all over. Gold and yellow, pale and worn. Forgotten everywhere but here. I wonder if they bring her son pain. Her son who almost joined her in death.

The king’s chambers are vast, opening off a guarded entry lined with Lerolan soldiers. They share Anabel’s colors and her coloring. Black hair and bronze eyes. Tiberias’s eyes. No one stops us as we pass, stepping into the sunken room now serving as a receiving chamber. A very crowded one.

I see Julian first, his back to the arched windows looking out on the now-sparkling Bay. It gleams blue in the afternoon sun. He angles his face to me, features pulling into an expression I can’t name. Sara Skonos stands at his side, her posture violently straight with her hands clasped in front of her. Though her hands are clean, the sleeves of her simple uniform are crusted to the elbows in both red and silver blood. I shudder at it. She doesn’t notice me at first, focused on the mountainous man in the center of the room. He sinks to his knees.

Farley quietly takes a seat, maneuvering herself in between a pair of Scarlet Guard lieutenants. She gestures for me to join her, but I stay put. I prefer the edges of this particular crowd.

I’ve never officially met the ruling lord of House Rhambos, but I recognize his bulk, even kneeling. His robes are unmistakable, resplendent in rich chocolate and crimson edged with precious stones. He is their leader, and the ruling governor of this city and region. His hair is dirty blond giving over to gray, braided back from his face in once-intricate rows. They’re coming undone, either from the battle or from the great lord pulling at his hair in desperation. I suppose both.

Silvers are not accustomed to surrendering.

I exhale, and will myself to look up from Rhambos’s shoulders to the true king standing above him. Sword in hand. The sight of him erases the corpse from my mind.

His fingers hold firm, unwavering, his grip tight on the adorned hilt of the ceremonial blade. Where it came from, I don’t know. It isn’t the sword Elara made him kill his father with, but it looks close enough. And I’m sure he remembers it now, as he stands above another man begging for his life. It must pain him, to do this to someone else. And of his own volition this time.

Tiberias looks paler than usual, cheeks drained of color. But in shame or fear, I can’t tell. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Or pain. In spite of it, he is every inch a king. His armor cleaned, his crown donned. The angled lines of his jaw and cheekbones look sharper somehow, honed by the sudden weight on his shoulders. It’s a mask, all of it. A brave face he must wear. His other hand is empty, fingers bare without flame. No fire but the one burning in his eyes.

“The city is yours,” Rhambos says, his head bowed and hands raised.

Queen Anabel steps close to her grandson’s shoulder, fingers curled like talons. She might be the only person on earth who can seem royal without her finery. “You will address him properly, Lord Rhambos.” He is quick to acquiesce, dipping further, almost kissing his lips to the carpeted floor. “Your Majesty, King Tiberias,” he offers without hesitation. He spreads his hands wide in open faith. “The city of Harbor Bay, and the entirety of the Beacon region, is rightfully yours. Returned to the true king of Norta.” Tiberias looks down his straight nose, turning the blade. The edge catches the light. The lord flinches, squinting against the sudden glare. “And what of House Rhambos?” he asks.

Next to me, Evangeline snorts into her hand. “What a performance.”

“We are yours as well, to do with as you wish,” the lord murmurs, his voice broken. For all he knows, Tiberias could execute his entire family. Pull them out at the root. Wipe their name and their blood from the face of the earth. Silver kings have done worse for less. “Our soldiers, our money, our resources are at your disposal,” he adds, listing off all his house can give. All his living house can give.

A beat of silence stretches, taut as a pulled wire. Threatening to snap apart. Tiberias surveys Lord Rhambos without blinking, without feeling, his face blank and unreadable. Then he bears a smile. It bleeds warmth and understanding. I can’t tell if it’s real.

“I thank you for it,” he says, inclining his head a fraction. Beneath him, Lord Rhambos all but shudders in relief. “Just as I will thank every member of your house when they follow your example and pledge an oath of loyalty to me. Forsaking the false king who sits on my father’s throne.” At his side, Anabel beams. If she coached him, she did it well.

“Yes—yes, of course,” Rhambos stammers. He all but falls over himself to agree. I notice Tiberias edging his toes away, lest the fallen lord try to kiss them. “That will be arranged as soon as possible. Our strength is yours.” Tiberias’s face tightens. “By tomorrow, my lord.” Leaving no room for argument.

“By tomorrow, Your Majesty,” Rhambos replies, bobbing his head. Still kneeling, he clenches both meaty fists. “All hail Tiberias the Seventh, King of Norta and true Flame of the North!” he shouts, his voice stronger by the second.

The crowd of advisers and soldiers, both Silver and Red, responds in kind, repeating the obnoxious titles. A bit of color returns to Tiberias’s cheeks as he flushes. His eyes dart back and forth, trying to note who cries his name and who doesn’t. His eyes land on me and my unmoving lips. I hold his gaze, feeling a thrill as I keep my mouth resolutely shut.

Farley does too, examining her nails instead of the unfolding pageantry.

Anabel basks in it, one hand on her grandson’s shoulder. Her left hand, laid just so to display an old wedding ring set with a black gemstone. The only jewelry on her, and the only one she ever needs.

“All hail,” she murmurs, her eyes shining as she looks up at Tiberias. At some flicker in his face, she springs into action, moving in front of him. She clasps her lethal hands together, ring still exposed. “The king thanks you for your loyalty, as do I. We have much to discuss in the coming hours.” It’s as good as a dismissal. Tiberias turns, putting his back to the room, and I realize what an admission it is. He’s tired. He’s wounded. Maybe not in body, but somewhere deep, where no one can see. The rigid set of his shoulders, his familiar posture, slumps beneath the ruby-red pauldrons of his armor. Releasing some weight. Or giving in to it.

Somehow, all thoughts of his corpse come rushing back. Dread pools in me, threatening to fill me up and drag me down.

I step forward, meaning to stay, but the crowd works against me. As does Evangeline. She takes me under my arm, her decorative claws still donned and digging into soft flesh. I grit my teeth, letting her lead me out of his chambers, not wanting to cause a fuss or a scene. Julian passes by us with a single raised eyebrow, surprised to see us in such close confidence. I try to communicate with my eyes. Try to ask for some help or guidance. But he turns away before he knows what I want. Or he simply doesn’t want to give it.

We pass the guards again, the Lerolans looking like Sentinels in their colors of red and orange. Perhaps that’s where the robes first came from. I look back, over the heads of Silver lords and Red officers. Farley’s blond hair glints somewhere, with Ptolemus Samos keeping a safe distance from her. I see Anabel, watching like a hawk. She plants herself in front of the door to Tiberias’s bedchamber. He slips behind it, out of sight without so much as a backward glance.

“Don’t argue,” Evangeline hisses in my ear.

On instinct, I open my mouth to do just that. But I cut myself off as she drags me sideways, out of the crowd and into the corridor.

Even though we’re as safe as possible for the circumstances, my heart beats a ragged rhythm in my chest. “You said yourself, locking us in a closet together wouldn’t work.” “I’m not locking anyone anywhere,” she whispers back. “I’m just showing you the door.” We turn and turn, taking the side stairs and servants’ passages far too slowly and too quickly for my liking. My inner compass spins, and I think we’re almost where we started when she halts within a dimly lit passage, almost too narrow for us to squeeze through.

With a ripple of unease, I think of my earring. The one I’m not wearing. A bloodred stone, tucked away in a box in Montfort, hidden from the world.

On my right, Evangeline lays her palm against an old door, rusted over from disuse. The hinges and lock have gone dark red, crusting like dried blood. With a flick of her fingers, the metal spins, shedding the rust like droplets of water.

“This will take you—”

“I know where it’s going to take me,” I reply, almost too fast. I suddenly feel like I’ve run a mile.

Her grin sets me on edge, and almost makes me turn around. Almost.

“Very well,” she says, taking a step back. Her hand brushes through the air, gesturing to the door like it’s a priceless gift. Instead of the naked manipulation it is. “Do what you want, lightning girl. Go where you please. No one will stop you.” I have no clever response for her. All I can do is watch her slink away, eager to be rid of me. Elane must be on her way to the city to help celebrate this victory. I find myself envying them. They’re on the same side, at least, allied despite the impossibilities stacked against them. Both Silver, both raised noble. They know each other in a way Tiberias and I could never. They are the same, equals. He and I are not.

I should turn around.

But I’m already through the door, pushing through the semidarkness of a forgotten passage, my fingertips brushing along cool stone. A light bleeds ahead, closer than I thought it would be. Outlining another door.

Turn around.

My hands flatten against the wood, a smooth cut, uniquely carved. I trace the panels for a moment, on edge. I know where this path leads, and who waits on the other side. Footsteps sound inside the room, making me jump as they pass. Then a chair creaks as a heavy weight sits. Two thumps announce his boots as he kicks them up on a desk or table. And then a long, lingering sigh. Not the satisfied kind. Full of frustration. Full of pain.

Turn around.

The knob moves in my hand, as if of its own volition, and I step out blinking into the soft light of afternoon. Tiberias’s bedchamber here is large and airy, with vaulted ceilings painted blue and white, almost like clouds. The windows look out on the Bay, and a sunnier day than it should be. The ocean breeze blows the last of the smoke away.

It looks like the king is doing his best to fill the place with his usual mess, despite only having been here a few hours. He sits at a desk haphazardly dragged to the center of the room, angled away from a bed I refuse to even glance at. Papers and books pile around him. One in particular lies open, the text inside handwritten in a tight, looping scrawl.

When I finally get the courage to look at him, Tiberias is already standing. He has a fist raised and flaming, his entire body coiled like a snake, ready to spring.

His eyes rove over me, hand still ablaze even though I’m not a threat. After a long moment, he brushes away the fire, letting it flicker and die.

“You got here in a hurry,” Tiberias blurts out, almost breathless.

It takes us both off guard, and he looks away, easing back into his desk chair. He puts his back to me and quickly shuts the book with one hand. It spits dust. The cover is worn, a faded gold, with no writing on it and a broken binding. He shoves it away, tucking it into a drawer with little regard.

Then he pretends to busy himself with some reports. He even bends over them with a very obvious squint. I smirk to myself and take a step toward him.

Turn around.

Another step into the room. The air seems to vibrate on my skin.

“After the . . . ” I stumble. There’s no easy way to say it. “After, I had to see for myself,” I reply, watching the side of his mouth lift. His eyes don’t move, burning a hole into the page in front of him.

“And?”

Shrugging, I rest my hands on my hips. “You’re fine. I shouldn’t have bothered.”

At the desk, he barks out a harsh but genuine laugh. Tiberias leans backward, putting an arm over his chair, twisting to look at me fully. In the daylight, his bronze eyes gleam like molten metal. They run over me, snagging on the exposed cuts and bruises. His gaze feels like fingers. “What about you?” he asks, his voice lower.

I hesitate a little. My own injuries seem small compared to what he suffered, and to the memory of Kilorn choking on his own blood. “Nothing that can’t be mended.” He purses his lips. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Nothing to compare, I mean,” I tell him, circling to the front of his desk. He moves with me, tracking like a hunter. It feels similar to a dance or a pursuit. “Not all of us can say we almost died today.” “Oh, that,” he mutters, and runs a hand through his hair. The short locks stand on end, mussing an otherwise kingly appearance. “Everything went to plan.” I scowl, showing my teeth. “Funny, I don’t remember fighting a killer nymph in the middle of the ocean being part of the plan.” He adjusts in his chair, uncomfortable. Slowly, he starts discarding his armor, revealing the thin, tight shirt and trimmer form beneath. It’s a dare, but I hold my ground. Each piece hits the floor with a resounding clatter. “We needed the ships. We needed the harbor.” I keep circling, and he keeps tossing pieces of armor away. He unfastens his gauntlets with his teeth, never taking his eyes off me.

“And we needed you to go toe-to-toe with her? Who had the advantage there, Tiberias?” The king smirks against red steel.

“I’m still alive.”

“That isn’t funny.” Something tightens in my chest. I run a finger down the adorned edge of his desk, swiping at the dusty surface. My skin comes away gray, leached of warmth. Like it was when I masqueraded as a Silver, suffering through painted-on makeup just to keep breathing. “We almost lost Kilorn today.” Tiberias’s smirk drops instantly, wiped away, and he forgets the armor for a moment. Darkness clouds his eyes, dulling their gleam. “I thought New Town fell easily. They didn’t expect—” He cuts himself off, clenching his teeth. I look away as his gaze lands on me. I don’t want to see his pity. “What happened?” My breath feels ragged in my throat. It feels too close to relive, the danger still near. “Silver guards,” I mumble. “A telky. Tossed him down a stairwell. Tore up his insides.” The words hitch as the memory reigns. My oldest friend, his skin going pale, dying faster by the second. Red blood on his chin, his chest, his clothes. All over my hands.

The king doesn’t say anything, holding his tongue. With a great burst of will, I look back at his face to find him staring, eyes wide, lips pressed into a grim, thin line. The concern is clearly written on him, in his furrowed brow and tight jaw.

I force myself to move again, my path taking me back around. Closer to his chair, into the circle of familiar heat.

“We got him to a healer in time,” I say as I walk. “He’ll be all right, same as you.” When I pass behind him, I bite back the urge to touch his shoulders. To put one hand on either side of his neck and lean forward, bracing myself against him. Letting him hold me up. Now more than ever, the need to let go and rest, to allow someone else to carry my burdens, is difficult to resist.

“But you’re here with me,” he whispers so low I almost don’t catch it.

Instead the words linger, smoke between us.

I have no answer for him. None I’m willing to give or admit. I’m no stranger to shame. I certainly feel it now, as I stand in his bedchamber, with Kilorn recovering miles away. Kilorn, who wouldn’t be here if not for me.

“It isn’t your fault,” Tiberias pushes on. He knows me well enough to guess my thoughts. “What happens to him isn’t on your shoulders. He makes his own choices. And without you, what you did for him . . .” His voice trails off. “You know where he would have ended up.” Conscripted. Doomed to a trench, or a barracks. Probably dead in the final gasps of the Lakelander War. Another name on a list, another Red lost to Silver greed. Another person forgotten. Because of people like you, I think, forcing a deep breath. The bedroom smells like salt air, fresh from the open windows.

I try to take some comfort in what he says. But I can’t. It doesn’t excuse anything I’ve done, or what Kilorn has become because of me.

Though I suppose we’ve all changed since last year. Since that day when his master died and he stood in the dark beneath my house, trying not to mourn his life as it was snatched away. I swallow hard, remembering what I said. Leave everything to me.

I wonder if we changed into who we were supposed to become, or if those people are gone forever. I guess only Jon would know, and the seer is long gone, far out of reach.

Clearing my throat, I change the subject with little tact. “I hear there’s a Lakelander fleet on the horizon.” I put my back to him, turning to face the exterior door, the one leading back into his receiving chamber. I could walk out right now if I wanted. He wouldn’t stop me.

I’m just stopping myself with every single breath.

“I hear that too,” Tiberias replies. Then his voice drops, deepening. It wavers in fear. “I remember darkness. Emptiness. Nothing.” Reluctantly, I look over my shoulder to watch him stand, shedding the last of his armor. Avoiding my gaze. He’s still tall, still broad, but lesser without the weight of the battle-worn steel. Younger-looking too, just twenty years old. Tipping on the edge of manhood, parts of him still clinging to youth. Holding on to something as it disappears, just like the rest of us.

“I went into the water and I couldn’t get back up.” He kicks the pile of steel on the floor. “Couldn’t swim, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.” I feel like I can’t breathe either.

Tiberias shudders as I watch, a tremor that starts in his fingers. His fear is terrifying. Then he forces himself to look back at me. With his feet planted and his hands firmly settled on his hips, he is rooted. The king won’t move unless I do. He’s going to make me surrender first. It’s what any good soldier would do. Or he is simply letting me choose. Letting me decide for both of us. He probably thinks it’s the honorable thing to do.

“I thought of you before the end,” he says. “I saw your face in the water.”

And I see his corpse again, suspended before me, dappled by the shifting light of a churning sea. Afloat, at the mercy of a foreign tide.

Neither of us moves.

“I can’t,” I bite out, looking anywhere but his face.

He responds quickly, with force. “Neither can I.”

“But I also can’t—”

Stay away. Keep doing this. Denying ourselves in the face of always-looming death.

Tiberias hisses out a breath.

“Neither can I.”

When we take the step forward together, from opposite directions, both of us laugh. It almost breaks the spell. But we keep walking, equal in motion and intention. Slow and methodic, measuring. He watches me, I watch him, as the space closes between us. I touch him first, putting my palm flat over his thudding heart. He inhales slowly, his chest rising beneath my fingers. A warm hand slips around my back, splaying wide over the base of my spine. I know he can feel my old scars through my shirt, the knobbled skin familiar to us both. I answer by curling my other hand at the nape of his neck, gently digging my nails into the lock of black hair.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I say against his collarbone, a firm line against my cheek.

I feel his answer in my rib cage. “No.”

“We aren’t making different decisions.”

His arms tighten around me. “No.”

“So what is this, Cal?”

The name has an effect on us both. He shivers, and I move closer, flattening against him. It feels like giving in, for both of us, though we have nothing left to surrender.

“We’re choosing not to choose.”

“That doesn’t sound real.”

“Maybe it isn’t.”

But he’s wrong. I can’t think of anything more real than the feel of him. The heat, the smell, the taste. It’s the only real thing in my world.

“This is the last time,” I whisper before I cover his mouth with mine.

Over the next few hours, I say that so many times I lose count.