فصل سی یکم

Thirty-One: Maven

I am not even afforded a window. At least I gave Mare one, when she was my prisoner. Of course, that was a torture as much as anything else. Letting her see the world pass, the seasons change, from behind the bars of her opulent cage. I don’t think this is quite as personal an affront. Clearly, they will take no chances with me. My flamemaker bracelets are long gone, probably destroyed. There’s Silent Stone set in the floor, dulling any ability I have left. I’m watched night and day by no less than twelve guards, each one alert and ready on the other side of cell bars.

I’m the only person being held here. No one speaks to me, not even the guards.

Only Mother whispers to me still, and those words are ever fleeting, growing dim. Leaving me with my thoughts. It’s the only benefit of Silent Stone. While it weakens the rest of me, it weakens her voice as well. I felt the same thing on my old throne. It was a shield as much as an anchor, making me ache, but also keeping me insulated from influence, both within and without. Any choice I made in that seat was mine alone.

It’s the same here.

I choose to sleep, mostly.

Even the Stone won’t allow me to dream. It can’t undo whatever she did. Mother took that ability away long ago, and it never came back.

Sometimes I stare at the walls. They’re cool to the touch, and I suspect we’re partially underground. I was blindfolded when I was led into the city and brought to speak before that strange council. I must spend hours tracing the lines of mortar and cement holding the slabs together, running my fingers over rough and smooth textures. Normally, I’d talk out my thoughts to myself, but the guards are always there, always listening. It would be more than stupid to give them any glimpse, however small, into my mind.

Cal is alone, cut off from his strongest allies. He did it to himself, the fool. Iris and her mother won’t waste much time, or give him the opportunity to try to stabilize the kingdom. He got that crown he wanted so much, but he won’t keep it long.

I smile to think of my perfect brother perfectly ruining things for himself. All he had to do was say no. Turn aside the throne. He’d have his armies; he’d have a chance; he’d have Mare. But even she wasn’t enough for him.

I guess I understand that.

She wasn’t enough for me either. Enough to make me change, to pull me back from what I’ve willingly become.

I wonder if Thomas would have been enough.

As usual, the splitting headache comes whenever I think his name, or remember his face, or feel his touch on my hands. I lie back against the cot in the corner, pressing my fists against my eyes. Trying to relieve the pressure of the memory and this place.

I know less than I should about Montfort, let alone its capital, Ascendant. Even trying to plan an escape from here would be a waste of my time and limited energy. Of course, I’ll take my chances in Archeon. Lose them in the tunnels after setting another army on my brother. The last revenge of Maven Calore, before I disappear. To where, I don’t know. It’s just another waste to try to plan beyond Archeon. I’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

Certainly Mare will suspect. She knows me well enough by now. I might have to kill her, at the end of this.

Her life or mine.

A difficult choice, but I’ll choose myself.

I do it every time.

“We need to know where to enter the tunnels.”

At first, I wonder if I’m actually dreaming. If that piece of my mother has finally been washed away.

But that’s impossible.

I open my eyes to see Mare standing on the other side of the bars, far enough to be out of reach. The guards are gone, or at least out of sight. Probably gathered at either end of the corridor, ready to be called upon if necessary.

It’s been two days since I was summoned to the premier’s council, and she doesn’t look like she’s slept since. The lightning girl is worn, with shadows beneath her eyes and cheekbones. Still, she looks better than she did when she was my prisoner, in spite of the gowns and jewels I kept her in. Her eyes spark here. She isn’t hollowed out, aching to the bone. I know that sensation intimately. I feel it here now, and I felt it when I was a king, shielded by a silent throne.

Slowly, I rise up on my elbows, peering at her over the toes of my shoes.

“Two days to agree to my terms,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “Must have been quite the argument.” “Careful, Maven.” She barks out the warning, all rough edges. “Any difficulty and I’ll be happy to call Tyton down here.” The other newblood who shares her ability is a stranger, with his white hair and inscrutable eyes. Stronger than me, she said back in the council. And I have seen such strength from Mare Barrow. Certainly his lightning will shred me, nerve from nerve. Not that it will help them. I can withstand torture. I know how to keep my mouth shut, even if it means dying.

Still, I don’t fancy being turned into a lightbulb this early in the day.

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” I answer her. “I do so enjoy our time alone.” Her eyes narrow, dancing over me. Even at a distance, I can hear her sharp intake of breath. I smirk a little, satisfied that I can still draw such a reaction from her. Even if her response is firmly rooted in fear. That’s something, at least. Better than apathy. Better than nothing at all.

“I suppose this is the end of that,” I continue, swinging my legs out and onto the floor. The metal is cool against my forehead as I lean, bracing myself against the bars. “No more whispers between Maven and Mare.” She sneers, and I brace myself for the inevitable spray of spit. It never comes.

“I’m done trying to understand you,” she hisses, still out reach. But she doesn’t flinch when I look her over. Doesn’t tremble when I raise a hand, stretching out my fingers to brush within an inch of her face.

Because it isn’t me she fears, not really.

Her eyes flicker, looking down at the floor of my cell. At the Stone set neatly in cement.

I laugh, deep in my throat. It echoes off the walls.

“I really did break something in you, didn’t I?”

Mare recoils like I’ve struck her. I can almost see the bruise forming on her heart. She grits her teeth, straightening her spine. “Nothing that I can’t fix,” she grinds out.

I can feel the smile on my face turn bitter, tainted, corrupted. Like the rest of me. “If only I could say the same.” My words echo, soften, and die.

She crosses her arms and looks at her feet. I watch her keenly, trying to commit every piece of her to memory. “The tunnels, Maven.” “You heard my terms,” I reply. “I go with you, I lead your armies . . .” Her head snaps up. If not for the Stone beneath my feet, I might feel the hum of static. “That isn’t good enough,” she says.

Time to call her bluff. “Then electrocute me. Call your torturer and risk your war on the words bought with my blood. Trust that they’re the truth. Are you willing to do that?” She throws up her hands, exasperated. Like I’m a child instead of a king. It rankles, sandpaper on my skin. “We need a compromise, at least. Where the tunnels start.” I raise an eyebrow coolly. “And where they end?”

“That’s your piece of the puzzle to keep. Until we need it.”

“Hmm,” I hum out, tapping a finger to my chin. I even start to pace, putting on a grand show for my rapturous audience. Her eyes track my movements, and I’m reminded of the panther Evangeline’s mother keeps so close. “I assume you’ll be coming along?” She barely scoffs. Her mouth curves into a delicious scowl. “It isn’t like you to ask empty, stupid questions.” I just shrug. “Whatever keeps you standing here.”

To that she has no retort. Whatever words she wants to say die on her lips. If only I could touch them. Feel the skin beneath my fingers, smooth and full and pulsing with hot, red blood. Part of me wonders why she is still so transfixing, even though I know she’s my sworn enemy. That I would kill her, and she would kill me. Another mystery of my mind that will never be unraveled.

She stands firm, letting me look. Never wavering beneath my gaze. Letting me see past the mask I helped her make. There is exhaustion, and hope, and sadness, of course. A sorrow for so many things.

My brother among them.

“He broke your heart, didn’t he?”

Mare only exhales, her chest falling.

“What a fool,” I whisper, speaking the familiar thought aloud.

It doesn’t bother her. She tosses her head, letting brown and gray hair flip over her shoulder. Revealing the bare skin beneath, and the brand still clear as day. M for Maven. M for mine. M for monster. M for Mare.

“So did you.”

A sour taste floods my mouth. I expected her to quail, but I’m the one who has to look away. “At least I had a good reason,” I mutter.

Her laugh is sharp and harsh, a single bark that snaps like a whipcrack.

“He did it for the crown,” I hiss.

Mare leers at me, but never moves her feet. Never gets close enough to touch. “And you didn’t, Maven?” “I did it for her, of course.” I try to sound detached, matter-of-fact. The cold, broken, doomed Maven. “And what she made me into.” “You keep blaming your mother. I suppose that’s easy.” My heart leaps in my chest when her feet slide. Moving sideways. Not closer, not farther. Now it’s her turn to prowl. “You think Cal’s father didn’t make him into something too? You think we all aren’t made or unmade by someone else?” Even though she’s only walking, it feels like a dance. I mirror her movements, stepping with her. She’s more graceful than I am, a lithe thief born of many years and many twists of fate. “But we all still have the ability to choose, in the end. And you chose to keep the blood on your hands.” My fist clenches, and I wish for a spark. For flame. For something to burn. She knows what I want, and grins to herself. On the other side of the bars, her fingers tap against the air, alight with purple and white. The electric energy is a tease at best. Beyond my reach, beyond the sphere of Silent Stone. I ache for my ability the way I ache for Mare, for Thomas, for who I was supposed to be.

“At least I can admit when I’m wrong,” she continues. “When I make a mistake. When the horrible things I’ve done and will do are my own fault.” The sparks reflect in her eyes. They shudder from brown to purple, giving her an unearthly look, like her gaze might run me through. Part of me wishes she would. “I suppose you taught me that.” Instead I grin again. “Then you should thank me properly.”

She responds in kind, spitting at my feet. At least some things in this world are still predictable.

“You never disappoint,” I hiss, scraping my shoe against the cement floor.

She doesn’t waver. “The tunnels.”

Heaving a breath, I pretend to be so desperately put-upon. I make her wait, letting the silence stretch for several long, blistering moments. I take the time to look at her. To see Mare Barrow for who she is right now. Not who I remember. And not who I wish she could be.

Mine.

But she doesn’t belong to anyone, not even my brother. I take comfort in such a small consolation. We’re alone together, she and I. Our paths may be horrible, but they’re the paths we made for ourselves.

The golden glow of her skin is warm, even down here, illuminated by the harsh light of fluorescence. She is so stubbornly alive, still burning like a candle fighting against rain.

“Fine.”

I give her what she wants.

I think it’s what I want too.

Their plan was always to kill me. After I ceased to be useful. I’m not surprised. It’s what I’d do. Still, when the cloth is pulled off my head, revealing the mountains bowled around us, I can’t help but feel afraid. If I’m allowed to see this place, see Montfort and its capital, then I am well and truly dead. It’s only a matter of time.

The air is cold, biting at my exposed face. My shivers of fear are more than warranted. I blink up at the purple sky, hazed before dawn, streaked with the light of a distant sunrise creeping over the mountain peaks. Snow clings to the heights, even in summer. Quickly, I try to get my bearings.

The city of Ascendant reaches into the valley below, sweeping over the slopes to an alpine lake. It doesn’t remind me of any city I’ve seen, not in Norta or even the Lakelands. This place is too new, but somehow old at the same time. Grown among the trees and the rocks, a part of this strange land as much as a human-built place. But the city doesn’t matter. I’ll never come back here. Not if I escape, nor if they execute me. There is simply no reality where I return to Montfort.

We’re standing near a runway, cut evenly between two mountains. The smell of jet fuel is sharp on the otherwise fresh air. Several airjets line up on the paved straightaway, ready to take flight. I squint over the heads of the guards around me, glimpsing a white palace in the distance, looking down at the capital. That must be where I was taken before, when I was dragged before that strange council of Reds, Silvers, and newbloods.

The faces hemming me in are unfamiliar, their uniforms equally split between Montfort green and the hellish red of the Scarlet Guard. They keep me locked in place, unable to do much more than stand on my toes for a craning look at the crowd.

For this is certainly a crowd. Dozens of soldiers and their commanders, organized into neat lines, wait patiently for the jets. But far fewer than I expected. Do they really think this is enough to assault Archeon? Even if they have newbloods of strange and terrible abilities, this is foolish. Suicide. How did I lose to such rampant idiots?

Someone chuckles nearby, and I’m seized by the familiar sense that they’re laughing at me. I turn sharply, only to see the premier of Montfort himself staring between the shoulders of my guards.

With a gesture of his hand, the two soldiers move, allowing him to approach. To my surprise, he’s dressed like a soldier, unremarkable in a dark green uniform. No medals or honors on his breast, nothing to mark him as the leader of an entire country. No wonder he and Cal got along so well. They’re both stupid enough to fight on the front lines.

“Something funny?” I sneer, looking up at him.

The premier merely shakes his head. As in the council, the man keeps his face still and almost empty, showing only enough emotion to allow an audience to project their own assumptions.

I would congratulate him on the talent if I felt so inclined.

Like me, Davidson is a skilled actor. But his performance is wasted. I see through him.

“What happens when this is over, and the time comes to divide the spoils?” I smile, the air freezing against my teeth. “Who picks up my brother’s crown, Davidson?” The man doesn’t flinch, seemingly unaffected. But I catch the minuscule twitch as his eyes narrow. “Look around, Calore. No one wears crowns in my country.” “So clever,” I muse. “Not all crowns are worn where people can see.” He smirks, refusing to rise to the bait. Either his temper is extraordinary, or somehow this man is truly without a lust for power. It’s the former, of course. No person on earth can ignore the lure of a throne.

“Uphold your end of the bargain, and it will be quick,” the older man says, backing away. “Board him,” he adds, his voice harder in command.

The guards move as one, well trained, and if I shut my eyes, I could pretend they were Sentinels. My own Silver protectors, oathed to keep me safe, instead of these rats and blood traitors bent on keeping me chained.

At least they don’t bother with manacles. My wrists remain unbound, albeit bare.

No bracelets, no flame.

No sparks that I can make.

Lucky, then, that we’re traveling with a lightning girl.

I manage to catch a glimpse of her as I’m marched forward, over the runway to the airjet idling ahead. She clusters with her friend, the Farley woman who was so easily misled a year ago, as well as her fellow electricon, the white-haired man. Odd hair must be a style in Montfort, because there’s a woman with blue locks and a man with closely cut green hair as well.

Mare smiles at them, a true grin. When she moves, I realize her hair is different too. The gray ends are gone, replaced by a beautiful, familiar purple. I love it.

I feel a tug deep in my chest. She’s on my jet. Probably to keep an eye on me. To let her torturer friend stand over me for the entire flight. That’s fine. I’ll suffer it.

A few hours of fear are worth the dwindling time we have left.

Our jet has dark green wings, a symbol of the Montfort fleet. I’m led up and into a military craft lined with seats, plus a lower compartment running the length of the fuselage. For more passengers or arms. Maybe both. My mouth turns sour as I realize this jet is Montfort-made, and certainly not the only one. The strange mountain country is better equipped than we realized, even after Corvium, after Harbor Bay. And they are mobilizing.

As I’m strapped into my seat, the buckles fastened just a hair too tight, I realize why Davidson was laughing.

The jets on the runway, the soldiers assembled outside—they’re just the beginning.

“How many thousands are you leading into Archeon?” I ask aloud, letting my voice carry over the bustle of the filling compartment.

I’m ignored, and that’s answer enough.

Across the jet, Mare takes her own seat, with Farley at her side. The pair of them glance at me, eyes hard as flint, and just as easy to spark. I fight the urge to wag my fingers at them.

Then a body crosses my vision, blocking the two women out.

I heave a sigh, and look up slowly.

So predictable.

“Try something,” the white-haired electricon says.

Instead I shut my eyes and lean back. “Shan’t,” I reply, doing my best to hide how difficult it is to breathe against these infernal belts.

He doesn’t move, even when the jet roars into the air.

So I keep my eyes shut, and I run through my precarious plan.

Again, and again, and again.