Behind me, his vines slither back over the grass, curling over one another. I turn with my old skill, loosing the necklace from my throat. It slices the thickest vine in two with a satisfying hiss before wrapping around my neck again.
“Are you going to make me?” I ask, doing all I can to keep my voice in check. I’ve already made my decision. Will no one honor that? “Will the premier?”
“No, Evangeline,” he says quickly. “But you know I’m right. Your brother is abdicating his crown, and you should be with him when he does.”
My lip curls. “He can speak without me holding his hand.”
“I know that. But I mean, when he abdicates, the Kingdom of the Rift passes to you.”
Even a Silver child knows that. It’s painfully obvious. Everyone knows the laws of succession in my old country, or at least what they were. Men first, and when none are left, the crown passes to a daughter. A person born to be a pawn becomes the ruler of the board.
I would be a liar if I said I had not thought about it. In the dark, in the quiet moments, in the space between lying awake and falling asleep. No one could stop a ruling queen from living how she wished, with whoever she liked.
A queen of a Silver kingdom, and all that entails. The thought pricks at me, drawing a blossom of shame. Once, the sensation was unfamiliar. Now I feel it most days. It’s difficult not to, in a country like this, compared to the country I came from, the country I would have maintained.
“That’s what the letter is for,” I mutter. Just a few sentences, enough to cut me out of the life I was meant to live.
“That’s hardly the same. It won’t carry the weight your voice will.” This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this argument. From Carmadon or from Premier Davidson. Even Ptolemus hinted that my presence would be helpful. And Elane did as well. She has a mind for these kinds of things. “It must be difficult, to give up—”
I cut him off, tired of this conversation. “I don’t want that place,” I almost shout, my voice too forceful, too loud. “I don’t want any of it anymore.”
Not weighed against what I have now. It’s not worth the trade. But still—I was raised to that place. To Ridge House, to the scarring valleys of the Rift. Shadow and tree and river. Quarries of iron, coal mines. A beautiful home I will never forget. And no matter how much I love Elane, how much I value being who I am, it’s a difficult life to forget.
“I’m not going back.”
“Fine,” he replies, teeth clenched. “Then you can tell Ptolemus that in person. You can stand and watch him leave. Have some spine, Evangeline,” he adds, looking me up and down with a withering glance. In spite of myself and my pride, I feel exposed beneath his judgment. Carmadon is like me, and deep down, I value his opinion. “You can live your own life here, so live it proudly.”
Rage quickly replaces any embarrassment in me. It licks up like flame, feeding my dogged resolve. I almost sit back down again, petulant as a child.
But he’s right.
“Thank you for your advice, my lord Carmadon,” I hiss, dropping into a curtsy even lower than his bow. When I rise, my fingers dance, sending a ring sailing through the trees. It returns in a blink, bringing a small, red apple directly to my palm.
Carmadon doesn’t move. “That isn’t ripe,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement.
I take the largest bite I can as I walk away, ignoring the bitter taste.
TWO
Elane
Was it wrong to send Carmadon after her?
I can’t say. Evangeline wanted this time to herself, to wait out the clock on Ptolemus and Wren, but she’ll regret it later. If she can’t find the stomach to go with them, she’ll wish she was there to see him off at least. There are few people she values more than her brother, and I know firsthand what an effect we have on her emotions. Evangeline thinks I don’t notice how easily swayed she is by the rest of us. The smallest word, a wrong-sided glance. It unsettles her, any risk to our bonds and relationships. Even the slightest possibility of unraveling our circle. After all, we’re the only thing she has left.
And she is the same to me.
I do what I can in the time I have. Packing up her clothes without magnetron help can be an arduous affair, but I do my best. In Norta and the Rift, we both favored our house colors, which made for a very monotone color palette in our closets. Black, silver. Some white. Montfort is different. House colors have no meaning, and I sort through a rainbow of shades to choose outfits suitable for an abdication. Most of Evangeline’s gowns are too heavy for me to move without aid, so I stick to silk when I can. The chrome chain mail is less cumbersome, but still a chore to drag off its hook.
After an hour I’m sweating slightly, but I have two cases stuffed with any specific items we might need. Dresses, shirts, pants, jackets. Not to mention my own clothing. Just in case Evangeline changes her mind.
I leave the cases in the closet, shutting the door behind me to hide them from sight.
Our suite of rooms here is less grand than at Ridge House, naturally, but it is still splendid enough as our status demands. For the time being.
Though we slept in the same place back in the Rift, I always had my own chambers somewhere else, to keep up appearances. It’s both strange and exhilarating to know the space is ours to share, and no one else’s. Davidson’s estate has a very specific flair, and my own tastes don’t match with exposed wood or forest green. I haven’t bothered decorating, though. We will not be here much longer.
The windows face west, at Evangeline’s request. She prefers waking with the dawn, but she knows I don’t. It was a kind gesture, though it does require some finesse in the afternoon, when the sun seems to be directly at eye level. As usual, I spin my hand as if turning a doorknob, and the light beaming in dims to a golden glow. Much better.
I have little true cause to use the full extent of my shadow ability here. Montfort has no royal court to speak of. There is no queen to eavesdrop on, no young prince to follow unseen. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t do my fair share of listening where I can. Mostly on the street, exploring the city of Ascendant without worry. After all, I’m a Nortan noble, a Silver born to rule, and once I was the future queen of the Rift. Though I am safe here, I am not often welcome outside the estate. Reds and newbloods who recognize me look on me with scorn, Silvers with pity or jealousy. Sometimes I go out with Evangeline, shielding us both behind a veil of my ability, though it makes navigating the crowds more difficult. Not that Evangeline has ever minded stepping on toes.
Premier Davidson’s meetings are too well guarded, even for me. He retains his council behind locked doors with newblood guards on his heels. One can detect abilities; the other has elevated senses that allow her to smell or hear even an invisible intrusion. The latter reminds me of Evangeline’s mother, a woman never caught off guard. She always had too many eyes to see through, too many noses, too many beasts at her command.
If everything carries on as it should, I might be spending a lot more time with the newblood guards, and Davidson especially.
It’s been at least two hours since Evangeline disappeared. She ate breakfast in unusual silence, devouring whatever the servant put in front of her. I didn’t push. It’s a difficult day for all of us, most of all her. When she told me she wanted to be alone for a while, I was ready to give her the space she so desperately wanted.