فصل بیست و پنجم

Twenty-Five: Evangeline

The Silent Stone grates against me, and my skin itches with the constant pressure. It isn’t easy to ignore, even with my extensive years of Training. I fight back the searing urge to rip my nails down my arms, if only to feel a different kind of pain instead of this foul, decaying weight. I wonder where the Stones are buried. Beneath the meeting platform? Under our seats? They feel so close I could choke on them.

Everyone else looks undisturbed by the unnatural sensation of our deepest parts repressed. Even Mare, despite her history. She keeps her head high, her body still. No sign of discomfort or pain. Meaning I have to hide it as well as she does. Ugh.

Bracken’s lip curls in distaste, hating the feel of the Silent Stone as much as the rest of us. Perhaps it will make him more amenable to our cause. Yes, he despises Montfort, and he has reason to. But I think he hates losing more. And if Cal’s blustering works, he certainly won’t have faith in Maven much longer.

Maven glares at Cal, as if he can somehow measure up to his warrior brother. Whatever compassion he counted on exploiting seems to disappear as Cal holds firm, unmoved in his seat.

“Those are my terms, Maven,” he says, sounding more kingly than his father ever did. “Surrender, and live.” Maven deserves little more than a bullet to the brain or a knife to the gut. He’s a danger none of us can afford to leave breathing.

His reply is guttural, coming from the deepest parts of him. “Get off my island.” No one is surprised. Ptolemus lets loose a low breath. His fingers twitch, itching for the knives strapped across his chest. At least the Sentinels didn’t think, or didn’t care, to disarm us. They must think magnetrons defenseless without ability. They are wrong. My brother could put that knife into Maven’s gut if the circumstances allowed.

My betrothed leans forward in his seat, rising slowly. “Very well,” he says, pained. “Remember this day, Maven, when you are abandoned and alone, with no one to blame but yourself.” Maven has no response but a smirk and a chuff of laughter. He acts well, relying on the carefully crafted image of beleaguered boy called to greatness. The second son never meant to rule. It has no use here. All of us know who he is.

Still in her seat, Queen Cenra angles her face to him, leaning past her daughter. “Our terms, Your Majesty?” He doesn’t reply, too distracted by Cal and Mare to know she’s even speaking. Iris nudges him.

“None but surrender,” he says quickly. “No pardons, no quarter,” he adds, eyes flying to Mare’s face. She recoils under his attention. “For any of you.” On Cal’s far side, Anabel stands. She wipes her hands, as if ridding herself of this situation and her poisoned grandson. “That’s settles it, I suppose,” she sighs. “We’re all in agreement.” Strangely, her eyes are on Iris. Not on Maven, or even Cenra or Bracken. On the young queen with little to say and even less power in this circle.

The young woman bows her head, gray eyes flashing with some meaning. “Yes, we are,” she says. Next to her, Queen Cenra does the same. A Lakelander tradition, probably. As silly and useless as their do-nothing gods.

The two queens rise first on Maven’s side of the platform, followed quickly by Bracken. He offers a low bow in my direction and I incline my head. But his eyes darken as they sweep past me, fixing on Davidson. No amount of my posturing can distract him fully from his hatred of that newblood.

It doesn’t bother the premier. He remains inscrutable, standing with smooth grace. “This was interesting, to say the least,” he mutters with an empty smile.

“Indeed,” I hear myself answer.

The rest of us rustle out of our chairs in a swirl of bright color and gleaming armor, until only Maven remains, firmly planted in his seat. Staring.

Mare artfully avoids his gaze, weaving around Farley to take Cal’s arm. The sight enrages the false king, who fumes. I almost expect smoke to rise off him. If not for the Silent Stone, it very well might.

“Until we meet again,” Cal says over his shoulder.

Something about the words sets Maven off, and he slams his hands down on the arms of his chair before storming away, turning on us all. His cloak, ink black, streams out behind him. I’m reminded of a toddler kicking up a tantrum. A very dangerous toddler.

The Lakelander queens and the Piedmont prince follow him almost reluctantly. Cal’s right. They’ll abandon Maven’s cause if the scales tip against him, if it becomes clear he can’t win the war. But will they shift to our side? I don’t think so. They’ll sit back and wait to strike. I find myself almost envying the Scarlet Guard and Montfort. Their alliance, at least, seems rooted in true loyalty and a common goal. Not like us Silvers. We might speak of peace, but peace isn’t what we’re built for. We fight always, in throne rooms or battlefields or even across the table of a family dinner. It’s what we are cursed to do.

I’m eager to get out of the circle of Silent Stone and breathe free air again. With a tug, I pull Ptolemus along with me, toward the winding path back to our dropjets. I’m careful to keep him close with General Farley so nearby, haunting his steps. A rat stalking a wolf, waiting for the sliver of opportunity.

As we get free of the Silent Stone, the cool relief of my ability comes rushing back. The pieces of metal in my jewelry, my hair, my teeth, tucked away all over my body, tingle against my perception. I reach for the medals on Maven, feeling them as they fade away. He’s truly leaving. Escaping the island as we are.

The war is far from won, and if my guesses are correct, both sides are evenly matched at present. Perfectly balanced. This could drag on for years. Leaving me unwed, a princess only, still free of a queen’s leash. I could go home for a few weeks, leave when Father gets here. Let him handle the chaos. Maybe steal away with Elane to some quiet place. The thought curls my toes.

It almost distracts me from the water seeping up beneath my feet, bleeding through the shallow soil.

At the edge of my perception, Maven’s medals stop moving.

“Tolly,” I whisper, reaching out to grab his arm.

His eyes widen as he looks over the flooding ground.

So does the rest of our party, lifting their feet, sloshing toward each other. Farley and her officers quickly reclaim their discarded guns, some of them now dripping wet. They react quickly, taking defensive positions, training their sights on the tree line and the platform in the distance.

Mare shifts, putting herself in front of Cal. He looks around, terrified, momentarily stunned by the water slowly rising around us. One of her hands sparks.

“Careful,” I bark, jumping backward, dragging Tolly along with me onto drier ground. “You’ll fry us all.” She regards me coldly. “Only if I want to.”

“The nymphs?” Farley growls, gun against her cheek, one eye pressed to the sight. “I see movement from their direction. Their blue dresses, the Sentinels . . .” She trails off.

I draw a knife from Tolly’s sash, letting it spin in my hand. “And?”

“And it’s nothing to trouble ourselves with,” Anabel says, her voice light and dismissive. “Come, let’s return to our jets?” I’m not the only one who stares at her, jaw gaping open.

Farley speaks first, still in position. “Either this entire island is sinking or we’re about to face an attack—” “Nonsense,” Anabel sniffs. “It’s nothing of the sort.”

“Then what is it?” Cal grits out. “What have you done?”

Somehow Anabel gives way to Julian Jacos. The older man offers a thin, empty smile. “We’ve ended it,” he says simply.

Mare finds her voice first. “Wha—”

Something that sounds like a crashing wave echoes beyond the trees, in the opposite direction from the beach. On her knees, Farley jumps, double-checking her sights, while her officers recoil.

I find myself climbing the sandy hill, desperate to get to higher ground and a better vantage point.

As I move, gunfire peppers the air, loud across the grassy field. Below me, Mare flinches. I clench a fist, counting the bullets as they dance on the edge of sensation. They rocket in opposite directions, one volley to answer another.

“They’re fighting . . . something,” I report.

On the ground, Cal sloshes forward, kicking up the water as his fists ignite. “Maven,” I think he snarls, low and under his breath. Mare stays in front of him, trying to hold him back without shocking him—or being burned. His grandmother doesn’t move at all.

As I climb, the water ebbs like a small tide, receding and flowing in as someone pulls it. From my spot, I can see color through the knobbled trees. Blue armor, red flame, the fiery robes of Sentinel guards. Someone screams, the sound echoing in a howl. The air turns to mist, as if someone is drawing a gray curtain across the world.

Quickly, my jewelry spreads, forming armor along my hands and wrists, skittering up to my shoulders. “Give me a gun, Farley,” I bark.

She doesn’t look at me, spitting on the ground instead.

“I have better aim and better range,” I snarl.

Her grip tightens on her long gun. “If you think I’m giving you anything—” “If you think I’m asking,” I snap back, flicking my fingers. Her weapon jumps out of her hands, soaring up to mine.

“Really, ladies, there’s no need for that,” Anabel says, still oddly unaffected. “See now, it’s over.” She steps between us and points with a wrinkled finger, indicating the tree line.

The water rushes across the field again, moving with the figures that are approaching in the distance, barely shadows in the mist.

The corpses come first, floating along in the ankle-deep water, their Sentinel robes splayed wide and wet. Their masks are gone or broken, showing the faces beneath. Some I know; some I don’t.

The shadowy figures solidify and one raises a hand, waving the mist away. It condenses and drops, passing over us like a sudden rainstorm, revealing Cenra and Iris, their own guards fanned out behind them. Bracken follows, his chest flashing gold while his purple cape drags in the water. They position themselves strangely, obstructing the blue-uniformed guards from view for as long as possible. Then they halt, ten yards away, the risen waters gathered around their feet.

We stare, perplexed, puzzled at the sight before us. Even the premier, his brow furrowed.

Only Anabel and Julian remain unaffected.

“Be a dear and prepare the trade,” Anabel murmurs, turning over her shoulder to address the Jacos uncle. He looks oddly pale, as if sick, but nods to her request and turns away, taking two Lerolan guards with him.

Trade, she said.

I glance at Mare. She feels my gaze and turns, eyes wide in fear as well as confusion.

Trade for what? I want to ask.

Or who?

Something struggles in the circle of Lakelander guards, restrained. I see him through the gap between Cenra and Iris, fighting a losing battle against men much stronger than he is.

Maven bleeds from the lip, his crown askew on his mop of mussed black hair. He kicks fruitlessly, forcing the Lakelander guards to drag him by the arms. Water coils the length of his body, ready to strike. Next to him, Iris whistles, spinning his bracelets between her hands. The flamemakers, key to his ability, I realize with a swoop of shock. He’s defenseless, at the mercy of those he would never show mercy to.

The Lakelander princess grins sharply, a chilling sight in an otherwise measured persona. He spits at her, missing wide.

“Nymph bitch,” he snarls, kicking again. “You’ve made a mistake today.” Cenra’s lip curls in a scowl, but she lets her daughter handle herself.

“Have I?” Iris replies, unperturbed. Slowly, she pulls the crown from his head and casts it into the water. “Or have you? Many, many mistakes, not the least of which was letting me into your kingdom.” I can’t believe my eyes. Maven, the betrayer betrayed. The trickster tricked.

The war.

Over.

I might be sick.

My breathing turns shallow and I wrench my eyes away from Maven to watch his brother. Cal has gone deathly pale. It’s clear he didn’t know anything about this, whatever Anabel and Julian did. Whatever trade they’re about to make in his name.

Who will they give over in return?

I need to run. Grab Tolly. Charge right into the sea.

Quickly, I clamber back down the hill to stand by my brother. The false king should be distraction enough. Don’t make it easy for the nymphs. Get to the jet. Get home.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Evangeline!” Maven crows, contorting himself so he can smooth back his hair. It keeps falling back into his eyes. “You’re not worth me, no matter how highly you think of yourself.” At his call, the others turn to look at me as I edge away, Ptolemus tight in my grip. I search for a single friendly face, and find that Mare Barrow comes closest. Her eyes dart between me and my hand on Tolly’s arm. Something like pity wells up in her, and I want to cut it out with a knife.

“Then who?” I lift my chin, relying on pride as armor. “You trading yourself again, Barrow?” She blinks, her pity melting into fury. I prefer it.

“No,” Julian says, returning with the guards. Like the Lakelanders, they’re dragging a prisoner from their jet.

The last time I saw Salin Iral, he was stripped of his titles, nearly choked to death at my father’s hand for his foolishness and pride. He killed the Lakelander king outside the walls of Corvium, against orders, for nothing more than a pat on the head. He was too shortsighted to see that that would only strengthen the Lakelander alliance with Maven, and the resolve of both their queens. Now he’ll pay for that mistake with his life.

Salin hangs loose, his eyes oddly empty. He stares at his feet, and despite the weak grip from either guard, he doesn’t try to run. With Julian Jacos standing close, I can see why. I doubt he’s been given permission to run.

“What is this—I didn’t authorize any—” Cal sputters, looming over his grandmother. Gently, she puts a hand to his chest, pushing her king backward.

“But you’ll do it. Won’t you, Cal?” she says sweetly. With only the tenderness a mother can give, she reaches up to cup his face. “We can end this war today, right now. This is the cost. One life, instead of thousands.” It isn’t a difficult choice to make.

“That’s right, Cal. You’re doing this to save lives, aren’t you?” Maven says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Words are the only weapon he has left. “Noble to the last.” Slowly, Cal raises his eyes to stare at his brother. Even Maven falls silent, letting the moment stretch and burn. Neither blinks. Neither falters. The younger Calore continues to sneer, daring his brother to react. Cal’s face never changes and he doesn’t say a word. But he speaks volumes as he tips his shoulder, stepping out of his grandmother’s path.

Julian puts a finger to Salin’s face, lifting his head so their eyes meet. “Walk to the queens,” he says, and I hear the melodious ability of a talented singer. The kind who could bewitch us all if he wanted, and sing his way to a throne. Luckily for all of us, Julian Jacos has no interest in power.

Despite his haze, Salin Iral is a silk, and his footsteps are graceful. He crosses the meager distance between our party and Maven. The Lakelander queens look like women starved, watching a meal approach. Iris grabs Salin by the neck, kicks the backs of his legs, and forces him to kneel in the water, hands submerged.

“Send him across,” Cenra says quietly, waving a hand toward Maven.

All of this seems wrong, as if filtered through smoked glass, too slow to be real. But it is. The Lakelander guards shove Maven ahead, making him stumble toward his brother. He still grins, spitting blood, but tears gleam in his eyes. He’s losing control, and the tight grip he keeps on himself is coming undone.

He knows this is the end. Maven Calore has lost.

The guards keep shoving, never letting him catch his balance. It’s a pitiful sight. He starts whispering to himself, harried words between peals of sharp laughter.

“I did as you said,” he mutters to no one. “I did as you said.”

Before he can fall at his brother’s feet, Anabel steps forward, planting herself firmly between the pair of them. Protective as a tiger.

“Not a step closer to the true king,” she growls. The woman is smart not to trust him, even now, with nothing left.

Maven sinks to a knee and runs a hand through his hair, mussing the dark, wet curls. He glares at his brother with all the fire he can no longer possess. “Afraid of a boy, Cal? I thought you were the warrior.” At Cal’s side, Mare tenses, putting a hand to his arm. To stop him or push him on, I don’t know. His throat bobs as he swallows, deciding what to do.

With aching slowness, the last king standing puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’d kill me if our places were exchanged.” Breath whistles between Maven’s teeth. He hesitates just long enough, leaving space for a lie. Or the hope of a lie. There is no predicting the mind of Maven Calore, or what face he allows anyone to see.

“Yes, I would,” he mutters. He spits blood once more. “Are you proud?” Cal doesn’t reply.

The ice-blue eyes shift, jumping to the girl at his brother’s side. Mare hardens under his gaze, firm as tempered steel. She has every reason to fear him, but hides it all.

“Are you happy?” Maven asks, almost a whisper. I’m not sure who the question is for.

Neither says a word.

A gurgling sound draws my attention, and I look up from Maven to see the queens circling their prey. They move in a kind of circle. Not a dance, not a ritual. There is no pattern to it. Only cold, collected rage. Even Bracken looks unsettled by them. He takes a few steps back, allowing them room to do what they must. Still on his knees, Salin sways between them, his mouth foaming with seawater.

They take turns pouring water over his face with torturous efficiency. Just enough to keep him breathing. Little by little, drop by drop, his face pales, then purples, then blackens. And he falls, twitching, drowning in half a foot of water, unable to sit up. Unable to save himself. They bend over his body, putting their hands to his shoulders. Making sure they are the last thing he sees as he dies.

I’ve seen torture before, from people who delight in it. It always unsettles. But this brutality is too measured for me to understand. It terrifies me.

Iris catches me watching, and I look away, unable to stand it.

She was certainly right. Maven made a mistake letting her into his kingdom and his palace.

“Are you happy?” Maven asks again, more desperate and ferocious, his teeth like white fangs.

“Be silent, Maven,” Julian sings, forcing the boy to look at him. For the first time in his twisted life, Maven Calore shuts his weasel mouth.

I look over my shoulder, only to find Ptolemus as white-faced as I feel. The world has shifted beneath our feet. Alliances broken and remade, leaving borders to be redrawn, betrothals to be carried out.

And, I realize with a sinking sensation, one more piece of the bargain. There must be.

I lean into my brother, whispering so only he can hear.

“This can’t just be for Salin.”

Iral is a disgraced lord without title or land or any kind of power, in either the Rift or Norta. He isn’t worth anything beyond what he did. And even the Lakelander queens wouldn’t trade Maven to feed their vengeance. They’re strange, not stupid. Anabel said this was the price, but that can’t be true. There must be more. Someone else.

I keep my face blank as the realization churns through me. No one can see behind my mask of stillness.

I wasn’t far off the mark, when I feared we were the trade.

But Maven’s right. A prince and princess for a king? Idiotic. We aren’t worth him.

Our father certainly is.

Volo Samos, king of the Rift. Salin stuck a knife in the Lakelander king to please my father and win his favor. It’s his fault as much as anyone. It was done in his name.

And he is a rival to the Lakelands as much as he is a rival to Cal.

It would be easy for Anabel to bargain him. A logical move to trade my father’s life.

I keep my fingers tightly knit to hide their shaking. I weigh the options as best I can, my expression empty and devoid of any emotion.

If Father dies, the Rift dissolves. It won’t stand without him, not with the way things are. I won’t be a princess anymore. I won’t be his subject, his hand-raised pet, his toy to trade, his sword to use as he pleases.

I won’t have to marry anyone I don’t love, or live my days as a lie.

But even against all things, I love my father. I can’t help it. I can’t bear it.

I don’t know what to do.