فصل بیست و ششم

Twenty-Six: Mare

I refuse to fly in the same dropjet as Maven. So does Cal. Even bewitched as he is, we still can’t look at him. Julian, Davidson, and Anabel fall on that sword for us, escorting Maven in the second jet to give the rest of us some space.

Still, we can’t speak to each other. The flight back to Harbor Bay passes in stunned silence. Even Evangeline and Ptolemus are shocked and quiet. The trade has thrown everyone off balance. I still can’t believe it. Julian and Anabel, back-channeling with the Lakelanders? Under our noses? Without Cal’s blessing or Davidson’s involvement? It doesn’t make sense. Even Farley, with her vast network of spies, never saw this coming. But she’s the only one of us who seems pleased. She smiles in her seat, almost vibrating out of her skin with excitement.

It shouldn’t feel like this. The war is won. No more battle, no more death. Maven lost his crown back on Province. No one even bothered to pick it up, abandoning the circle of cold iron to the island. Iris took his bracelets. He couldn’t fight us if he wanted. It’s all over. The boy king is no more. He can’t hurt me for one second longer.

So why do I feel so terrible? Dread settles in the pit of my stomach, heavy as a stone and just as difficult to ignore. What happens now?

At first I try to blame it on Iris, her mother, and Bracken too. Despite Cal’s pledge to honor the alliance, I doubt they will. They lost too much, and none of them seem like the kind to go home empty-handed. All have personal reasons to seek vengeance, and Norta is still crippled, divided by civil war. Easy pickings for stronger beasts. Whatever peace we find today exists on borrowed time. I can almost hear the tick of the clock against us.

That isn’t why you’re afraid, Mare Barrow.

Last night, Cal and I agreed not to make any choices, or change decisions already made. Certain things could be ignored while the war hung in the balance. But I thought we would have more time. I didn’t think everything would be finished so quickly. I didn’t know our toes were already edging over the precipice.

With Maven cast down, Cal is truly the king of Norta. He’ll crown himself and take his birthright. He’ll marry Evangeline. Nothing before will matter.

And we’ll be enemies again.

Montfort and the Scarlet Guard will not stand for another king ruling Norta.

Neither can I, no matter how much he pledges to bring change. The pattern will simply repeat, in his children, or his grandchildren, down the line of kings and queens. Cal refuses to see what must be done. He doesn’t have the stomach for the sacrifice required to make a better world.

I steal a glance at him, looking up through my lashes. Cal doesn’t notice me staring, his focus elsewhere and inward. Thinking about his brother. The price Maven Calore must pay for the bloodshed he caused, and the wounds he tore across us all.

Before we raided Corros Prison, when Cal thought we might find Maven waiting, he said he would lose control. Go after Maven with everything he had. It frightened him, to have such a tenuous grip on himself. I told him I would kill Maven if he couldn’t. It felt easy to pledge then, but when given the opportunity, when Maven looked up at me from a bathtub, vulnerable as a newborn, I turned away.

I want him dead. For what he did to me. For all the pain, all the heartache. For Shade. For the Reds used as pawns in his twisted game. Still, I don’t know if I could kill him myself, just to remove the torment of him. And I’m not sure Cal can either.

But he will, and he must. It’s the only place this road leads.

The journey back to Harbor Bay seems shorter than before, and we touch down on the edge of the Aquarian Port, the jets crowding what was once a market square at the edge of the water. Soldiers of the coalition ring the pavement, and my stomach flips. So many eyes.

For once it isn’t me being put on parade. Though he did it to me so many times, I take little satisfaction in watching Maven forced down from a dropjet. He stumbles over himself, limbs heavy with Julian’s ability, looking more like a boy than ever before. Someone binds his hands in manacles. He says nothing, still unable to speak.

Farley looms, close at his shoulder, grinning proudly, one hand raised in triumph. She seizes him by the scruff of his collar.

“Rise, red as the dawn!” she shouts. With one foot, she kicks the back of Maven’s leg as Iris did. He falls to his knees, a king brought low. “Victory!” The stunned quiet of the square quickly dissipates as the crowd realizes what this means. And the jeers rise, howling in a storm, until shrieks of joy and venom echo so loudly I think the entire city must know.

Cal’s warmth radiates at my side as he watches the display, his face empty of expression. He doesn’t enjoy this.

“Get him to the palace,” he murmurs to Anabel when she approaches. “As quickly as we can.” She eyes him with an annoyed sigh. “The people must see, Cal. Let them enjoy your victory. Let them love you for it.” He flinches. “This isn’t love,” he replies, gesturing at the crowd with his chin. Reds and newbloods greatly outnumber his own Silvers, but all look on Maven with snarls and raised fists. Fury rules the square. “This is hatred. Get him to the palace, and out of the crowd.” It’s the right choice. And the easy one. I nod at him, touching his arm with a gentle squeeze. Offering whatever comfort I can, while I still can. Like the alliance, we are on borrowed time.

Anabel sharpens. “We could march him—”

“No,” Cal snaps, voice low and snarling. He glances between his grandmother and me. I tighten under his gaze. “I’m not making his mistakes.” “Fine,” she spits through gritted teeth. At the edge of the square, transports roll into position, waiting to take us back up to the palace. Cal beelines for the closest one, and I follow, careful to keep a respectful distance.

“We still have to send out reports and broadcasts,” Anabel continues as we walk. “Let the people of Norta know their true king has returned. Assemble the High Houses, collect oaths of allegiance. Punish those who won’t swear to your crown—” “I know,” he bites out.

Behind us, I hear scuffling and stumbling. Farley pushes Maven along, with Julian flanking them. A few soldiers throw red scarves at her feet, celebrating our triumph. They cheer and shriek in equal measure.

The sound is horrible, even from my own people. It brings me back to Archeon, when I was forced to walk the city in chains. A prisoner, a trophy. Maven made me kneel in front of the world. I wanted to vomit then and I want to vomit now. Shouldn’t we be better than they were?

Even so, I feel the same ugly hunger in me. The desire for revenge and justice. It begs to be fed. I push it away, trying to ignore the monster I carry with me, born of all my wrongs and all the wrongs done to me.

Anabel jabbers until we reach the transports, and Cal dismisses her with a glare. I don’t bother to look back before climbing into our own vehicle, unable to watch another person face one fraction of what I suffered in Archeon. Even Maven.

Cal closes the door behind him, slumping into the semidarkness. The divider is raised, separating us from our driver. Leaving us alone together, with no need to perform. It’s almost silent, the sound of jeering muffled to a low drone.

Cal bends forward, elbows braced on his knees, and buries his face in his hands. The emotions of this moment are simply too much to bear. Fear, regret, shame, and so much relief. All undercut by the churning sense of dread, knowing what is to come. I press back against the seat, putting my palms to my eyes.

“It’s over,” I hear myself say, tasting the lie. He breathes hard against his hands, as if he’s just returned from a Training session.

“It isn’t over,” he says. “Not by a long shot.”

My rooms in Ocean Hill are on the other side of the residence floors from Cal’s rooms, separate from his at my own request. They’re finely appointed, bright and airy, but the bathroom is far too small, and currently much too crowded. I shudder against the warm water, letting the soapy bubbles drift around my body. The temperature is soothing, working out the aches and tension in my muscles. Farley leans up against the tub, her back to me, while Davidson does the same at the door, looking shockingly informal for a national leader. His fine suit from the meeting is unbuttoned, open to show a white undershirt and a bobbing throat. He rubs his eyes and yawns, already exhausted though the morning is barely over.

I scrub a hand over my face again, wishing I could wipe away my frustration as easily as sweat and grime. Impossible to get even one second to myself.

“And when he refuses?” I grumble to them both. Our plan, one last chance to keep things together, has too many holes to count.

Davidson knits his fingers on a bent knee. “If he refuses—”

“He will,” Farley and I say in bleak unison.

“Then we do as we say,” the premier says plainly, his shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug. His angled eyes watch me with weary attention. “We’re finished if we don’t hold to our word. And I have promises to keep to my own country.” Farley nods in agreement. She turns to me over her shoulder, her face inches away from mine. Up close, I can count the freckles across her nose, spreading as the summer wears on. They contrast with her scarred mouth. “So do I,” she says. “The other Command generals have made themselves clear.” “I’d like to meet them,” Davidson mutters idly.

She offers a bitter smirk. “If this goes as we think it will, they’ll be waiting for us when we return.” “Good,” he replies.

I spread my fingers across the surface, dragging lines through the milky, perfumed water. “How long will we have?” I say, asking what we’re all dancing around. “Before the Lakelands come back?” Next to me, Farley turns back around to rest her chin on her bent knee. She clacks her teeth together, nervous. An odd emotion for her. “Intelligence in Piedmont and the Lakelands reports movement at their forts and citadels. Armies being assembled.” Her voice changes, growing heavy. “It won’t be long.” “They’ll target the capital,” I say flatly. It isn’t a question.

“Probably,” Davidson says. He taps his lip, thoughtful. “A symbolic victory at the very least. And at best, if the other cities and regions kneel, a quick conquest of the entire country.” Farley tightens at the suggestion. “If Cal dies in the attack . . .” She trails off, stopping herself. In spite of the warm bath, my body runs cold with the thought. I look away from her silhouette, to the window instead. Puffy white clouds move lazily across a friendly blue sky. Too bright and cheerful for such talk.

Whether he knows it or not, Davidson twists the knife that’s constantly stuck in my gut, picking up Farley’s train of thought. “With no Calore heirs. No king. Chaos will reign across the country.” He says it like that’s some kind of option. I shift quickly in the water and glare at him. I put one hand on the porcelain rim of the tub, running a threatening spark down one finger. He draws back, just a little. “It will result in more Red bloodshed, Mare,” he explains. It sounds like an apology. “I have no interest in such things. We must win Archeon before they can.” Nodding, Farley clenches a fist. Resolute. “And force Cal to step down. Make him see there is no other choice.” I don’t move, still staring at the premier. “What about the Rift?”

His eyes narrow to slits. “Volo Samos will never tolerate a world he cannot rule, but Evangeline . . .” He turns her name over in his mouth. “She might be persuaded. Or, at the very least, bribed.” “With what?” I scoff. I know Evangeline would do anything to stop her marriage to Cal, but betray her family, throw away her crown? I can’t imagine it. She’d rather suffer. “She’s richer than all of us. And too proud.” Davidson raises his chin, looking superior. Like he knows something we don’t. “With her own future,” he says. “With freedom.” I wrinkle my nose, unconvinced. “I’m not sure what you could ask from her. She’s not going to get rid of her own father.” The premier dips his head in agreement. “No, but she can destroy an alliance. Refuse to marry. Cut the Rift from Norta. Give Cal nowhere else to turn. Help force his hand. He can’t survive without allies.” He isn’t wrong, but the secondary plan is too precarious. Letting it depend on Evangeline’s shared motive is one thing, but her loyalty to her blood? Her family? It seems impossible. She said herself, she can’t refuse the betrothal, and she can’t go against her father’s wishes when all is done.

Steam rises in the silence, spiraling through the air.

On the other side of the door, an exasperated voice sounds. “What are the odds any of this actually goes to plan?” Kilorn calls from my bedroom.

I have to laugh. “Has it ever?”

He responds with a long, frustrated groan. The door shudders as his head clunks against it.

Kilorn and Davidson are good enough to leave me to dress in peace, but Farley stays put, sprawled across the sea-green covers of my bed. At first I want to chase her out so I can have a bit of time alone, but as the minutes wear on, I’m glad for her presence. If I’m alone, I might lose it entirely and never open the door again. With Farley here, I have no excuse but to get ready as quickly as I can. Hopefully the momentum carries me through the rest of what promises to be an interesting day.

She snickers slightly as I force myself into a formal Scarlet Guard uniform. Freshly cleaned and tailored, just for me. I’ve been oathed to the Guard for almost a year, but it’s never felt official. The uniform is supposed to be symbolic, to properly divide me from Cal and his Silver allies, but I really think Farley just wanted someone else to suffer with her. The bright, bloodred outfit is tight and stiff, buttoned too high up my throat. I fuss with it, trying to loosen the stranglehold a little.

“Not fun, is it?” Farley chuckles. Her own collar is open, folded over for now.

I glance at myself in the mirror, noting the way the special-made garment outlines my form. It’s boxy on top, with straight-legged pants tucked into boots, giving me a rather rectangular silhouette. This is no ball gown, that’s for sure.

While the buttons are polished and gleaming, I have no other decoration on my uniform. No badges, no insignia. I run a hand over my chest, the fabric bare.

“Do I finally get a rank?” I ask, glancing over to Farley. As in the People’s Gallery, she has her three general’s squares on her collar, but most of the false medals and ribbons have been abandoned. No use standing on ceremony in front of Cal, who will know better.

She lies back, looking at the ceiling. One leg crosses over the other, her foot dangling free. “Private has a nice ring to it.” I put a hand to my heart, pretending to be insulted. “I’ve been with you a year.” “Maybe I can pull some strings,” she says. “Put in a good word. Get you bumped up to corporal.” “How generous.”

“You report to Kilorn.”

In spite of the nervous fear tearing up my insides, I laugh out loud. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him that.” I can only imagine the hell he would give me. The teasing, the fake orders. I’d never live it down.

Farley laughs with me, her short blond hair splayed around her face in a halo of gold. She isn’t exactly sparse with her smiles or laughter, but this is different. Not tainted by a smirk or any sharpness. A small burst of real happiness. It’s a rarity these days, in all of us.

Slowly, she catches herself, the echoes of her laughter dying in her throat. I look away quickly, as if I’ve seen something I shouldn’t.

“You stayed with him last night.” Her voice is certain. She knows, as I’m sure everyone does. Cal and I weren’t exactly discreet.

I answer bluntly, without shame. “Yes.”

Her smile fades, and she sits up on the bed. In the mirror’s reflection, I watch her expression shift. The corners of her mouth turn downward and her eyes soften, taking on an air of sadness, if not pity. And perhaps a glint of suspicion as well.

“It doesn’t change things,” I force out, bristling as I turn around. “For either of us.” Farley is quick to respond, one hand raised. “I know that,” she says, as if calming an animal. Her throat bobs and she licks her lip, choosing her words very carefully. “I miss Shade. I’d do terrible things to bring him back. To get one more day with him. To let Clara meet her father.” My hands ball at my sides and I look at my feet, feeling my cheeks flush. With shame, because she doesn’t trust me. And with anger, deep sorrow, regret, for my brother lost to all of us. “I won’t—” She pushes up to her feet and closes the distance between us in firm strides. Her hands grip my shoulders, forcing me to look up into her scarred face. “I’m saying you’re stronger than I am, Mare,” she breathes, eyes shining. It takes a long moment for the words to sink in. “When it comes to him. Not anything else,” she adds quickly, breaking the tension.

“Nothing else,” I say, agreeing with a small, forced chuckle. “Except electrocuting people.” Farley just shrugs her broad shoulders. “Well, who knows? I haven’t tried that yet.” The throne room of Ocean Hill looks out over the city, across blue rooftops and white walls, all the way down to the harbor. Grand windows arch over the king’s seat, flooding the chamber with the golden light of late afternoon. It gives everything an almost dreamlike quality, as if this moment isn’t real. Part of me thinks I might wake up to the darkness of this morning, before we set out for Province. Before the war was so easily won, and a life so easily traded.

Cal didn’t say anything about Salin Iral afterward, but he didn’t have to. I know him well enough to understand how much the memory weighs on him. A disgraced lord, but a lord all the same, drowned and murdered in payment for Cal’s brother. It hasn’t gone easy for Cal. But looking at King Tiberias the Seventh, no one would be able to tell.

He sits on his father’s throne, tall against the diamondglass chair, looking like flame itself in his crimson and black. The windows make his silhouette glow, and I wonder if one of his guards is a Haven shadow, manipulating the light to create an image of power and strength. It’s certainly working. He seems a king, like his father. Like Maven never was.

I despise the sight. The shimmering throne, the simple crown on his head. Rose gold, like his grandmother’s. Finer than iron. More elegant. Less violent. A crown for peace, not war.

Farley and I sit side by side, to the left of the throne with Davidson and his Montfort attendants. On the right, at Cal’s hand, is Anabel, her seat closer to the throne than any other. House Samos sits near her, clustered around another king.

I wonder how long Volo Samos spent constructing his own throne of steel and pearly metal. The materials weave in intricate braids of silver and white, studded with the occasional flash of black jet. My lips twitch at the thought of the Samos king wasting hours of his day to make a chair. As always, the pageantry of Silvers never ceases to amaze.

Evangeline seems oddly nervous next to her father. Usually she delights in these things, content to watch and be watched. Instead she can’t sit still, her fingers twitching and one foot tapping slightly beneath the folds of her gown. I wonder what she knows, or suspects. It can’t be Davidson’s offer. He hasn’t extended it yet, not until he’s sure we’ll need her. Still, her dark gray eyes flash back and forth, searching the hall. And always returning to the tall doors thrown wide at the far end of the chamber, open to the receiving halls of the palace. A crowd idles outside them, Silver and Red, hoping to catch a glimpse inside. I feel myself coil with fear. Evangeline is not one to scare easily.

But I quickly forget all that when Julian enters the hall, his hand on a familiar arm as he guides the royal prisoner toward the throne. Bold murmurs follow, silenced only when the chamber doors swing shut with an echoing thud, separating us from the rest of the palace. Cal isn’t the kind to require an audience, and he’s smart enough to know we shouldn’t have one while he decides his brother’s fate.

Maven doesn’t stumble this time. He holds his head high, even with his wrists bound. I’m remind of a bird of prey, a falcon or an eagle, surveying us all with sharp eyes and sharper talons. But he isn’t a threat. Not without his bracelets. Not without anyone here to follow his command. The guards flanking him are Lerolan, loyal to Cal and Anabel. Not Maven.

I see no way out of this, even for him.

They stop a few yards from Cal’s feet, and Anabel stands, her body casting a long shadow. She draws her eyes over Maven slowly, as if they are knives skinning him alive. “Kneel to your king, Maven,” she says, her voice echoing around the deathly silent chamber.

He tips his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Suddenly I’m back in another palace, staring at a different Calore king. On my knees next to Maven, my hands shackled behind my back as he stands. When he betrayed us all and revealed who his heart truly belonged to.

Maven, help me up.

No, I don’t think so.

Maven Calore chooses his words carefully, and he does so now. Even when they have no meaning, when he has no power left, he can still cause us pain.

On the throne, Cal darkens, one hand curling into a fist. I feel the monster rise up inside me, begging to tear Maven into pieces. Obliterate him. I can’t deny the desire, but I have to. For my sanity. For my humanity.

“Stand if you wish,” Cal finally says, some tension in him releasing again. He waves a hand like he doesn’t care at all. “It doesn’t change where you’re standing. And where I currently sit.” “Currently, yes,” Maven replies, careful to emphasize his meaning. His eyes glint, cold as ice, hot as blue flame. “I doubt you’ll sit there long.” “That’s not your concern,” Cal says. “You have committed treason and murder, Maven Calore. Crimes too numerous to name, so I won’t even try.” Maven just scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Low effort.”

His older brother knows better than to take the easy bait, and he lets the insult slide off. Instead he angles his body, turning toward Davidson as if consulting an adviser, or even a friend.

“Premier, what would his punishment be in your country?” he asks, his face open and inviting. It’s a brilliant show of solidarity, all part of the image Cal is trying to build for himself. A king who unites, rather than destroys. A Silver who looks to Reds for counsel, disdaining the divisions of blood.

It already has consequences.

On his throne, Volo curls his lip, rustling in his robe like an annoyed bird puffing up his feathers. Maven is quick to notice.

“You’re going to allow that, Volo?” he croons. “Standing second to a Red?” His laughter echoes, a sharp sound to cut glass. “How far the House of Samos has fallen.” Like Cal, Volo has little desire to sink to Maven’s taunting. He stills, crossing his chrome-covered arms over his chest. “I still have a crown, Maven. Do you?” Maven only sneers in response, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“Execution,” Premier Davidson says firmly, leaning forward. He plants his elbows on the arms of his chair as he shifts for a better view of the fallen, false king. “We punish treason with execution.” Cal’s eyelids barely flicker. He turns again, leaning to Volo. “Your Majesty, how would you deal with him in the Rift?” Volo is quick to respond, teeth clicking. Like Evangeline’s, his eyeteeth are capped in pointed silver. “Execution.” Cal nods. “General Farley?”

“Execution,” she replies, raising her chin.

On the floor below, Maven doesn’t seem bothered by the sentence. Or even surprised. He spares little attention for the premier, or Farley, or Volo. Or even me. Whatever snake coils in his brain has eyes for one person. He stares up at his brother, unblinking, his chest rising and falling in tiny puffs of breath. I forgot how similar they are, even as half brothers. Not just in coloring, but in their fire. Determined, driven. Constructions of their parents. Cal is built from his father’s dreams, and Maven from his mother’s nightmares.

“And what will you do, Cal?” he asks, his voice so low and quiet I almost can’t hear him.

Cal doesn’t hesitate. “Exactly what you tried to do to me.”

Maven almost laughs again. Instead he chuffs out a short breath. “So I’ll die in the arena?” “No,” the king replies, shaking his head. “I don’t intend to watch you spend your last moments embarrassing yourself.” It isn’t a joke. Maven isn’t a fighter. He would barely last a minute in the arena. But he doesn’t deserve what Cal is offering, a little piece of mercy in otherwise iron judgment. “It will be quick. I can give you that.” “How noble of you, Tiberias.” Maven scowls. Then he thinks better of it, his face clearing. He widens his eyes, and I’m reminded of a dog begging for scraps. A puppy who knows exactly what he’s doing. “Can I make a request?” At that Cal nearly rolls his eyes. He fixes Maven with a look of pure derision. “You can try.” “Bury me with my mother.”

The request drives a hole through me.

I think I hear someone on the other side of the council gasp, perhaps Anabel. When I glance at her, she has a hand over her mouth, but her eyes are stoically dry. Cal has gone bone white, both hands clawed to the arms of his throne. His gaze wavers, falling for a moment, before he forces himself to look back at his brother.

I don’t know where Elara’s body ended up. Last I knew, it was with the Guard on Tuck Island, the island we abandoned.

An island of corpses. My brother’s, and hers.

“That can be arranged,” Cal finally murmurs.

But Maven isn’t finished. He takes a step, not forward but to the side. In my direction. The full force of his gaze almost knocks me out of my seat. “And I want to die the way my mother did,” he says plainly, as if asking for an extra blanket.

Again I feel too stunned to think. All I can do is keep my jaw locked in place so my mouth won’t gape open in shock.

“Ripped apart by your fury,” he pushes on, his eyes horrible, unforgettable, searing into me. The brand on my collarbone seems to burn. “And your hatred.” Inside me, the monster roars. I’ll do it right now. I helped start this. It’s only fair I get to end it. Like Cal’s, my fingers curl on my chair, nails digging into wood. I try to anchor myself, pull inward, keep the lightning at bay, but I feel as if I could spark a storm in a single heartbeat. I won’t give him the satisfaction of his last seduction. That’s what this is. One more drop of poison, a last curl of rot, his final corruption of who I was before he got his claws into me. He knows some piece of me, a large piece, wants this. And he knows it will ruin whatever I managed to salvage from his prison and the torture of his love.

Kill him, Mare Barrow. Be done with him for good.

He stares up at me, waiting for my decision. So do the others. Even Cal, a king, won’t say a word. As before, he’s letting me choose which path I want to take.

For some reason, I think of Jon. The seer who told my fate. To rise, and rise alone. I wonder if that fate has already changed, or if this is how I change it.

Slowly, I shake my head.

“I won’t be your ending, Maven. And you won’t be mine.”

On the floor, Maven seems to tighten. His eyes flicker back and forth, searching my face from eyes to lips. He stays quiet for a long minute, as if waiting for me to change my mind. I stand firm, teeth clenched to stop myself from wavering. Lightning has no mercy, I said once. But lightning is only one part of me. It doesn’t rule me.

I rule it.

“Fine,” Maven forces out, angry to be denied. I feel a tiny bloom of triumph, a counterbalance to the monster in me. He turns away, spinning on his heels to face Cal again. “Then a bullet. A sword. Cut my head off if you want. I have little interest in what you choose.” Cal is steadily losing his grip, the mask of a king sliding as the ordeal wears on him. I half expect him to get up and walk out of the room. But that isn’t like him. No surrender, no show of weakness. That has been drilled into his bones since childhood. “It will be quick” is all he says again, hesitant.

“You already said that,” Maven snaps like a petulant child. Silver flushes high on his cheeks, twin spots of darkening color.

Anabel clasps her hands. She looks at the brothers, weighing them against each other. The tension between them jumps and crackles like a live wire, and I wonder if Maven is simply trying to goad Cal into killing him outright. Since he couldn’t do it to me.

“Guards, we’re finished with the traitor,” she says, looking imperious.

Taking the decision out of Cal’s hands entirely.

In spite of myself, I glance at Maven, and he’s already looking at me.

Cal can’t make choices.

He told me that so many times, and I learned the truth of it in many painful ways. Even with Maven removed, Cal is still reluctant, unable to make up his mind. Maven told me Cal would make a poor king because of it. Or at the very least another king on a leash, reliant on someone else to help him along. I have to agree. The younger Calore might be a beast, but he isn’t a fool.

The Lerolan guards turn him forcibly, seizing his shoulders to push him out of the chamber. I expect Julian to go with him, but he stays, instead taking a place behind the throne. He folds his hands, thoughtful and silent. Footsteps are the only sound in the room, echoing with such finality as Maven is led away. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. If I’ll have the stomach to watch him die.

When the massive doors swing shut behind his form, I slump a little in my seat, exhaling a long breath. I want nothing more than to go upstairs and take a nap.

I think Cal feels the same. He shifts on his throne, making to stand. “I believe that concludes any business we might have,” he says, his voice strained with fatigue. The king makes a show of looking back and forth among us, as if consulting a loyal council instead of a room of precarious allies. Maybe he thinks he can make it so, if he just acts the part.

Good luck.

Queen Anabel is quick but gentle, laying a hand on his arm to stop his movement. He stills under her touch, perturbed. “We have to decide on your coronation,” she reminds him with a placid smile. Cal seems annoyed by the prospect, or just by his grandmother nannying him. “It must be as soon as possible—tomorrow, even. No need for a fuss, just something official.” Not to be outdone, Volo braces his bearded chin on one hand. The slightest motion, and a clear signal for attention. “And there’s the issue of New Town to be settled, not to mention your wedding.” He looks between Cal and Evangeline. If not for their well-trained restraint, I think both might squirm or even gag. “It will take some weeks to prepare—” I latch on to something else instead. “Would you mind explaining the issue of New Town?” I ask, adjusting myself to look at Volo fully. He stares back at me, his gray eyes almost black with disgust. At my side, Farley’s lips twitch, but she quickly schools her expression into neutral blankness.

Anabel answers before Volo can say anything, or bluster at my rudeness. “We don’t need to discuss that now,” she says, hand still on Cal’s arm.

Cal looks at me, wary of what I might do and what it could trigger in the Samos king. He purses his lips and furrows his brow, as if to warn me off the subject.

No chance, Calore.

“I think we should,” I tell them all. My voice is strong, clear, a cold echo of Mareena Titanos, the weapon the Silvers gave me. “Among other things.” Cal raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”

The premier clears his throat, taking up his piece of our hastily planned and barely rehearsed conversation. But Davidson is a skilled politician and diplomat. Nothing about his words sounds premeditated. He acts well, and speaks with great skill.

“It’s clear the Lakelands and Prince Bracken, not to mention his allies in Piedmont, have little intention of leaving Norta alone,” he says, directing his speech at all the Silver royals. Especially Cal, who must be won over. “She is united again, but your country has been weakened by a bitter war. Two of your largest forts are either destroyed or neutralized. You’re still waiting for the rest of your noble families to pledge allegiance, betting on their support. Queen Cenra doesn’t seem like the kind to let such an opportunity pass by.” Cal relaxes a little, shoulders dropping their infinite tension. The Lakelands are an easier subject than Red oppression. He glances at me, almost winking, as if this is just a playful game, a way to flirt. Instead of three hunters pushing a wolf into a corner.

“Yes, I agree,” he says with a grateful nod. “And with our own alliances strong, we can defend Norta from any invaders, north or south.” Davidson doesn’t drop his serene expression. He only tips a finger. “About that.” I brace myself, toes curling in my shoes. Heat rises in my chest. I tell myself to expect nothing. I know Cal well enough to predict what he will say. Still, there’s the slim chance that he’s changed, that I’ve changed him. Or that he is simply too tired of fighting, sick of the bloodshed, fed up with the evils his kind have made.

Cal doesn’t follow where the premier hopes to lead, but Anabel sees right through him. Her eyes narrow to slits, snakelike. Behind her, Volo looks like he might run us all through with a few well-placed spikes.

On the side closest to me, hidden from the rest, Davidson lowers a hand. It glows vaguely blue, ready to shield us from any attack. His face remains unchanged, his voice still even and firm. “Now that your brother is deposed, and you stand to rule as king, I’d like to propose another option.” “Premier?” Cal asks, still unable, or unwilling, to understand.

The naked fury in Volo and Anabel gives me pause. Like Davidson, I lower a hand, and call sparks to my skin.

Davidson pushes on, despite the Silver king and queen scowling openly at him. “Years ago, the Free Republic of Montfort was not as it stands today. We were a collection of kingdoms and lordships, Silver-ruled, as you are now. Civil war roamed the mountains.” Even though I’ve heard what he’s about to say before, I still get a chill. “Peace was unheard of. Reds died for Silver wars, Silver pride, Silver power.” “Sounds familiar,” I murmur, my eyes on Cal. I try to weigh his reaction, noting the slight ticks of motion in his face. Lips pressing together, dark brows curving. A tightening of the jaw, the release of breath. It’s like trying to read a picture, or smell a song. Frustrating and impossible.

The premier gains momentum. He enjoys this, and excels in the effort. “It was only through an uprising,” he says, “an alliance of Reds, bolstered by the growing ranks of Ardents, as well as Silvers sympathetic to our plight, that we were able to re-form ourselves into the democratic nation we are today. It took sacrifice. It took many lives. But more than a decade later, we are better for it. And growing better by the day.” Satisfied, he leans back, still ignoring the positively murderous looks from Anabel and Volo. “I hope you would endeavor to do the same, Cal.” Cal.

The use of the name here, while he sits a throne with a crown on his head, has clear meaning. Even Cal seems to get it. He blinks once, twice, gathering himself.

Before he can say anything, Farley squares herself to Cal, eager to play her part in this.

Her general’s squares glint, gleaming sharply, reflecting points of light onto Cal’s face. “We have an opportunity right now that will not come again. Norta is in shambles, begging to be rebuilt,” she says. Farley isn’t as good a speaker as Davidson, but she isn’t an amateur. The Scarlet Guard picked her to be their voice all those months ago, and they picked her for a reason. She has enough fire and enough belief to stir even the coldest hearts. “Let us rebuild her together, into something new.” Anabel speaks before her grandson can say anything. Almost hissing, she says, “Into something like your country, Premier? And, let me guess, you’ll offer your services in helping make this glorious new nation?” she adds, tossing the barb with deadly accuracy. Planting the seed of suspicion she needs. I see it land, shadowing Cal’s eyes. Will it take root? “Perhaps you might even offer to help rule her?” A bit of Davidson’s restraint flickers. He almost smirks. “I have a country of my own to serve, Your Majesty, while I am allowed to serve.” Volo barks an empty laugh. It’s almost worse than Maven’s. “You want us to give up our thrones, everything we worked for. Throw away our lineage and betray our houses, our fathers and grandfathers?” Anabel scowls. “And grandmothers,” I think she growls under her breath.

Even though I want to jump up, I keep my seat. It isn’t wise to escalate this into a more physical display.

“And what have we worked for, Volo?” I say. Volo barely deigns to look at me. It only feeds the anger in me, making it useful. “What have we bled for? The right to be ruled again? To be shuttered into slum towns, bound into conscription, returned to the lives we escaped? How is this right? How is that fair?” My grip on myself begins to loosen, and I try to hold back, ignoring the telltale tightening in my throat as I speak. Saying all of this out loud, to people who have made this world cruel, or kept it that way, has a strange effect. I feel as if I could cry or explode, and I don’t know which way I might tip. I want to take Anabel by the shoulders or grab Volo by the neck, force them to listen and see what they’ve done and what they want to continue doing. But if they keep their eyes shut? Or if they look and see nothing wrong? What more can I do?

The Samos king scoffs at me, disgusted. “This world is neither right nor fair, girl. I would think anyone born Red would know that,” he sniffs. Next to him, Evangeline keeps still, her eyes on the floor, her mouth pursed shut. “You’re not our equals, no matter how much you try to be. That is nature.” Cal finally breaks his silence, his eyes flaring. “Volo, quiet,” he says sharply. No title, no niceties. But no denial either. Whatever line he walks is growing thinner by the minute. “What exactly are you asking, Premier?” he adds. He’s going to make us spell it out.

“It’s not just my request,” Davidson replies, looking to me.

Cal looks at me, too, his bronze stare fully trained on my face. In spite of myself, my gaze runs over him, from his hands to the crown on his forehead. Everything he is.

I don’t hesitate. I’ve survived too much and too long. After all we’ve been through, Cal shouldn’t be surprised.

“Step down,” I tell him. “Or we step back.”

His voice flattens, hollow of emotion. No shock.

He saw this coming.

“You’ll end the alliance.”

Davidson nods once. “The Free Republic of Montfort has no interest in creating a kingdom like the one we escaped.” Proud, Farley speaks up too. “The Scarlet Guard won’t stand for it either.”

I feel a low tremor of heat, a small ripple from Cal’s direction. A bad sign. With a sigh, I let go of any hope that he might finally see reason. It draws his attention, if only for a second. I see hurt in him, enough to evoke the same in me. Just a tiny pinprick, dull compared to all the wounds I have from the Calore brothers.

Cal looks back to Davidson, directing his rising anger to someone else. “So you’ll leave us to the Lakelanders and Piedmont. Kingdoms and princes worse than I will ever be?” he says, exasperated, almost stumbling over the words. It’s clear he’s trying to salvage this, and doing all he can to keep us here. “Like you said, we’re weak right now. Easy prey. Without your armies—” “Red armies,” the premier reminds him coolly. “Newblood armies.”

“It can’t be done,” Cal replies, his voice blunt. He puts his hands out, palms up, empty. With nothing to offer. “It just can’t be done. Not now. In time, maybe, but the High Houses won’t kneel if there isn’t a king. We’ll splinter. Norta won’t exist anymore. We don’t have time to change our entire form of government while preparing for an inevitable invasion—” Farley cuts him off. “Make the time.”

Despite his height, his broad form, the crown, the uniform, all the trappings of a warrior and a king, Cal has never seemed more like a child. He looks between us, glancing from me to his grandmother to Volo. The latter offer no respite, their faces carved into matching scowls. If he bends to us, they will refuse. And the other side of his alliance will be broken.

Behind Cal, unseen, Julian lowers his head. He says nothing to anyone, and keeps his mouth shut.

Volo runs one deadly hand through his silver beard. His eyes flash. “The Silver lords of Norta will not give up their birthrights.” Fast as lightning, Farley jumps out of her seat. She spits impressively at Volo’s feet. “That’s what I think of your birthright.” The Samos king is, to my infinite surprise, stunned into silence. He gawks at her, mouth agape. I’ve never known a Samos to be at a loss for words.

“Rats don’t change,” Anabel snarls. She taps one hand against the arm of her chair, the threat clear as day. Not that it affects Farley much.

Cal only repeats himself, his voice barely more than a mumble. The hunters have pushed him into a corner. “It can’t be done,” he says.

Slowly, with finality, Davidson stands from his seat, and I follow suit. “Then we’re sorry to leave you like this,” he says. “Truly. I consider you a friend.” Cal glances between us, eyes running back and forth. I see sadness in him, the same I feel in myself. We share an acceptance too. This was always the path we chose to walk.

“I know that,” Cal replies. His voice shifts, deepening. “And you should know I don’t respond well to ultimatums, friendly or otherwise.” A warning.

And not just to us.

We step down together, Reds aligned in our beliefs and our goals. Red uniforms and green, our skin kissed by the same undertones of rose and scarlet. We leave behind the Silvers, as cold and unmoving as if they were carved from stones, statues with living eyes and dead hearts.

“Good luck,” I manage to say over my shoulder, stealing one last glance.

Cal responds in kind, watching me go. “Good luck.”

In Corvium, when he chose the crown, I thought the world had been snatched away, leaving me to fall through an abyss. This isn’t the same. My heart has already been broken, and one night did not sew it back together. This wound isn’t new; this ache isn’t unfamiliar. Cal is the person he told me he was. Nothing and no one will ever change him. I can love him, and perhaps always will, but I can’t make him move when he decides to stay still. The same could be said of me.

Farley nudges my hand, a sharp reminder as we walk. Our last request is yet to be made.

I turn again, angling my face to him. I try to look as I must. Determined, deadly, an inevitable downfall for the Silver king. But still Mare, still the girl he loves. The Red who tried to turn his heart. “Will you let Reds leave the slums, at the very least?” Next to me, Farley barks out the rest. “And end conscription?”

We expect nothing in return. Perhaps a pantomime of sadness, or another tragic explanation of how impossible such things would be. Maybe even Anabel chasing us from the room.

Instead Cal speaks without looking at the Silvers on his right. Deciding without their input. I didn’t know he had it in him. “I can promise fair wages.” I almost scoff out loud, but he keeps speaking.

“Fair wages,” he continues. Volo blanches, looking disgusted. “No restrictions on movement. They’re free to live and work where they please. Same for the armies. Fair wages, fair enlistment terms. No conscription.” It’s my turn to be caught off guard. I have to blink and bow my head. He returns the gesture. “Thank you for that,” I force out.

His grandmother slaps the arm of his throne, indignant. “We’re about to fight another war,” she sneers, as if anyone needs reminding of the Lakelander danger.

I turn back around to hide my smile. Next to me, Farley does the same. We exchange glances, pleasantly surprised by the acquiescence. It means little in the grand scheme; it could be an empty promise, and it probably won’t last. But it serves one purpose, at least.

Driving a wedge between the Silvers, putting cracks in an already precarious alliance. The only one Cal has left.

Behind me, Cal’s voice takes on a dangerous edge as he talks his grandmother down. “I am king. Those are my orders,” he says to her.

Her response is a whisper I cannot hear, muffled by the groaning noise of the doors as they swing open again and then shut. The receiving hall in front of us is as crowded as before, full of rubbernecking nobles and soldiers, eager to glimpse the new king and his patchwork council. We pass through in silence, our faces blank and unreadable. Farley and Davidson mutter to their officers, relaying our decision. It’s time for us to leave Harbor Bay and Norta behind. I unbutton my uniform collar, letting the jacket fall open so I can breathe more easily, unfettered by stiff fabric.

Kilorn is the only person waiting for me, and he is quick to reach my side. He doesn’t bother to ask how the meeting went. Our exit, along with our silence, is answer enough.

“Damn it,” he growls as we walk, our pace brisk and determined.

I don’t have anything to pack. All my clothes are borrowed or easily replaced, even the ones I came to Harbor Bay in. I have nothing in the way of personal belongings, except the piercings in my ear. And the earring back in Montfort, tucked away in a box. The red stone, the one I couldn’t bear to part with. Until now.

I wish I had it here. To leave it in his room, on the pillow I slept on.

That would be a fitting good-bye. And easier than the one I have to make now.

I break off from Farley and Davidson, who are heading for their own rooms at the bottom of the grand staircase. “I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes,” I tell them both. Neither questions my decision, or my purpose, letting me go with a wave and a nod.

Kilorn hesitates on the first step, waiting for an invitation to follow. He’ll never get one.

“You too,” I mutter. “This won’t take long.”

His green eyes narrow, hard as chips of emerald. “Don’t let him ruin you.”

“He’s already done what he can to me, Kilorn,” I say. “Maven can’t break anything else.” The lie soothes him, enough for him to turn away, satisfied with my safety.

But there’s always something left to be broken.

His door guards step aside, letting me turn the knob of his room. I do it quickly, so I can’t lose my nerve or change my mind. His cell is not a cell, but a fine sitting room tucked away on an upper floor, facing the ocean. No bed, just a few chairs and a long couch. Either he’ll die this afternoon, and he has no use for sleeping arrangements, or a bed hasn’t been prepared yet.

He stands at the window, one hand on the curtains, as if to pull them shut.

“No use,” he mutters, his back to me as I shut the door again. “They don’t block the light.” “I thought that’s what you wanted,” I reply. “To stay in the light?”

I echo words he said to me months ago, when I was his prisoner, chained to a room like this one, doomed to stare out windows and waste.

“We have an odd symmetry, don’t we?” he says, gesturing to the room with a lazy smile. I almost laugh at the circumstances. Instead I sink into one of the armchairs, careful to keep my hands free and my sparks close.

I watch him, still at the window. He doesn’t move.

“Or maybe Calore kings just have similar taste in jail cells.”

“Doubtful,” he replies. “But fine prisons, it seems, are how we show affection. Small mercies for prisoners we can’t help but love.” His declarations mean nothing to me anymore. I barely feel a twinge, easy to ignore, deep in my heart.

“What Cal feels for you and what you feel for me are very different.”

Maven laughs darkly. “I would hope so,” he says, running the curtain through his hands again. He glances at my jacket, then at my collarbone, now covered by an undershirt. My brand is hidden away. “When will it be?” he adds, his voice going soft.

The execution. “I don’t know.”

Another tainted laugh. He starts to pace, hands folded behind his back. “You mean that grand council couldn’t make a decision? How predictable. But then, I suppose I’ll die of old age before your lot agrees on something. Especially with Samos close by.” “Your grandmother too.”

“I have no grandmother,” he says sharply. “You heard her yourself: she’s no blood of mine.” The memory sours Maven. He quickens his step, crossing the floor in a few even strides before turning back again. Despite his calm exterior, he seems manic in these moments, dangling by a thinning thread. I try not to look at his eyes as they glint, alight with a fire close enough to burn. “What are you doing here? I have to say, I didn’t enjoy taunting you half as much when you were my prisoner.” I shrug, watching him with ticking eyes. “You’re not my prisoner.”

“Cal’s, yours.” He waves a hand. “What difference does it make?”

A great deal of difference. I feel the frown tug at my face, the familiar sadness welling up inside me. He sees it behind my own mask of indifference.

“Oh,” he murmurs, stopping in the center of the room. He peers at me intensely, as if he can stare through my skull and into my brain. The way his mother did. But he doesn’t need to read my mind to know what I’m thinking, or know what his brother has done. “So a decision has been made.” “Just one,” I whisper.

Maven takes a single step forward. I’m the danger here, not him, and he’s careful to stay out of my reach. “Let me guess, you Reds gave him a choice? The same choice you gave him months ago?” “Something like that.”

His lips curl, showing teeth. But not in a smile. No matter what else, he doesn’t enjoy seeing me in pain, physical or otherwise. “He didn’t surprise you, did he?” “No.”

“Good. I told you just as much. Cal follows orders. He’ll be following his father’s wishes until the day he dies.” Maven looks almost apologetic as he speaks—regretful, even. Sorry for what his brother became. I’m sure Cal shares the feeling. “He’ll never change. Not for you, not for anyone.” Like Maven, I don’t need weapons to hurt. Just words.

“That isn’t true,” I tell him, looking him in the eye fully.

He tips his head, clucking his tongue like I’m a child to be scolded. “I thought you had learned by now, Mare. Anyone can betray anyone. And he’s betrayed you once again.” He takes one more daring step forward, a few feet away now. I can hear the breath hissing through his teeth, like he’s trying to taste the air in my lungs. “Can’t you admit what he is?” he murmurs. It sounds like begging. The last request of a dead man.

I raise my chin, holding his gaze. “Flawed, just like the rest of us.”

His snarl reverberates deep in my chest. “He’s a Silver king. A brute, a coward. A stone who will never move and can never change.” That isn’t true, I repeat in my head. All these months have proven that, but nothing more so than a few minutes ago. When he chose, even with his grandmother hanging at his shoulder. Fair wages, no conscription. Steps that seem small but are also gigantic. Inches for miles.

“But he is changing,” I say, my voice steady, drawing this out. I’m taunting him. Maven pales as I speak, unable to move. “Slower than we need, but I see it. A glimmer of who he could be. He’s making himself into someone else.” Finally, I lower my eyes, as the cracks in Maven’s mask begin to show. “I don’t expect you to understand that.” He grits his teeth, furious. And a bit confused. “Why?”

“Because every change in you was not your own.” The razor-edged words tumble, cutting as they go. He flinches, blinking quickly.

“Thank you for the reminder,” he replies. “I so needed it.”

I draw my last blade, ready to drive it deep into his heart. And perhaps make him feel one piece of what he lost, if only a fleeting sensation. “You know Cal hunted for someone who could fix you?” I tell him.

Maven’s mouth flaps open and closed, searching for something cunning or at least clever to say. He only manages a stammering “Wh-what?” “In Montfort,” I explain. “He had the premier search for a newblood, an Ardent, some kind of whisper powerful enough to undo whatever your mother did.” It almost hurts to see the flickers in him, tiny flashes of emotion beyond rage or hunger. They fight to the surface, but whatever Elara did holds fast. His face goes still, slack as he listens. “But no one like that exists. And even if they did, there’s no changing what you are. I realized that a long time ago, when I was your prisoner. But your brother—he didn’t believe you were truly gone until today. When he looked into your eyes.” Slowly, the fallen king sits down in the chair opposite mine. His legs stretch out before him and he slumps, letting go of his steel spine. Numb, he runs a hand through his hair, fingering the curling black locks. So like Cal’s hair, like his father’s hair. He stares at the ceiling, wordless, unable to speak. I imagine Maven in quicksand, fighting to climb out. Fighting the impossible nature his mother gave him. It’s no use. His face turns to stone again, his eyes narrowed and icy, doing all they can to ignore what his heart wants to feel.

“There’s no way to complete a puzzle with missing pieces, or put together shattered glass,” I mumble, only to myself, repeating what Julian told me weeks ago.

Maven sits up, drawing his back straight. One hand circles his wrist, touching the skin where his bracelet used to be. Without it, he’s powerless, useless. He doesn’t even need Arven guards.

“Cenra and Iris are going to drown you all,” he hisses. “At least I’ll be dead before they get their hands on me.” “What a consolation.”

“I would not have liked to watch you die.” The admission is small and matter-of-fact. There is no agenda to it, only the ugly, naked truth. “Will you enjoy watching me?” At least I can respond with some truth of my own. “Part of me will.”

“And the rest?”

“No,” I whisper. “I won’t enjoy it.”

He smiles. “That’s enough for me. A better good-bye than I deserve.”

“And what do I deserve, Maven?”

“Better than we ever gave you.”

The door bangs open before I can ask what he means. I start to rise, expecting guards to usher me out now that I’m no longer part of the coalition. Instead I find Farley and Davidson standing over us. She glares at Maven with more fire than even Cal could muster, and I expect her to skin him alive in front of us.

“General Farley,” Maven drawls. He might be trying to goad her into doing the deed before his brother can. She only snarls in reply, like a beast.

Davidson is more polite, ushering someone else into the room. I notice that the hall behind him is empty, the door guards gone. “So sorry to interrupt,” the premier says. He gestures, and his companion, the Montfort newblood Arezzo, steps into the chamber. I blink at her, confused, but only for a second.

She’s a teleporter. Like Shade. And her hands are reaching.

“It’s time we all go,” Davidson sighs, looking between us.

I jolt as Arezzo grabs my wrist, but I’m not the only one she’s taking.

Before the room disappears, squeezing to nothing, I see Maven. His white face, paler by the second. His blue eyes, wide with rare shock. And Arezzo’s hand on his own.