I remember the sting of her voice, so sharp and so final. I expected her to march down to the premier’s office and accept the position on the spot. But she didn’t then, and she hasn’t yet. It’s been a long month since he offered her a place in Montfort, a permanent one. No matter how much she wants to fit in the mountains, she still waits.
For you.
I tip my head back, leaning against the wall of the jet. It isn’t fair, to hold her back. We will both need to pull our weight soon, and she’s right: she’s done this before. In more dangerous places, with worse consequences. Surely the premier will protect her?
Don’t be so naive, Evangeline.
Montfort isn’t Norta, but Montfort isn’t without its dangers either.
“You should rest,” Ptolemus whispers across the aisle, pulling me out of my thoughts. He doesn’t look up from the papers in front of him, scraps covered in his untidy scrawl. Our speeches won’t be long by any account, but he agonizes over his anyway. His tiny lamp illuminates the otherwise dark interior of the jet, punctuated only by the low lights along the ceiling and in the cockpit.
The Montfort delegates are all dozing, clustered at the back of the craft to give us space.
I shake my head, unwilling to speak and disturb Elane. Wren is out cold too, sprawled across the seats facing Ptolemus, curled beneath a fur-lined blanket, her face buried against the cool air.
My brother glances at me sideways, his eyes catching the weak light. He looks me over for too long, but I have nowhere to run. I can only let him look.
I wonder if the Ridge is still standing. With my father dead, I can only imagine what disarray our home has fallen into. Silver nobles fighting to fill the hole he left. Reds rising up to join the Guard, or the Nortan States, or carve out their own place. Part of me hopes the sprawling estate has been burned to the ground. The rest aches to see those rooms of steel and glass, looking out on marching hills and valleys.
My chest tightens as my mind dances around the inevitable question. I try to avoid it, edging the center of a whirlpool. It never fails to pull me under.
“Do you think she’ll be there?” I rasp, and Elane shifts, but doesn’t wake.
Ptolemus’s gaze sharpens, one eyebrow raised.
The words almost stick in my mouth. “Our mother?”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t know.
I expect shame. Regret. Relief. Fear. But when I set foot on the airfield tarmac and breathe my first gasp of Rift air, the only thing I can think of is teeth. Wolf’s teeth. Pressing into my neck, not breaking skin but holding me down, pinning me in place.
I only made it a few feet.
For a split second, I’m on the floor again, my cheek pressed against cold tile. My parents loom over me, their faces pulled in matching scowls of disgust. I betrayed them. I attacked my father. I tried to run. I didn’t get far. My mother’s wolves made sure of that. She could have made them tear me apart if she’d wanted. Larentia Viper is no woman to trifle with, though I certainly tried.
Ptolemus is the only reason she didn’t drag me home by my ankles, wolves snapping at me all the way. If not for his interference—if he hadn’t knocked my father out cold, and killed the wolf holding me in place—I don’t want to imagine where I’d be now.
Back here, I think, looking at the hills rising around the airfield.
Autumn has come to the Rift as well, dappling the green forests with orange and red. A breeze shudders the leaves, making the morning sunlight dance across the treetops. In the distance, I can just make out Ridge House sprawled across the crest of a hill. It looks small and unimportant, a dark smudge against brighter color.
Elane steps down from the jet after me, following my gaze. She heaves a heavy sigh and nudges me toward the waiting transports, her hand a gentle guide. Ptolemus and Wren are already there, clambering into the first vehicle. The rest of the Montfort delegates and guards head for the second transport, allowing us time alone. I expected at least one of them to follow, if only to observe. After all, we are the heirs to this kingdom, the surviving children of Volo Samos. For all they know, we could be planning to take up our birthright before the eyes of a continent.
It’s almost insulting, that no one sees us as threats anymore.
Wren is still yawning when I climb up and into the transport, sliding onto the seat across from her. Her Skonos colors look darker this morning, her gown a bloodred scarlet and iron gray. She’s ready to stand and watch, resolute in her support of Tolly’s choice to abdicate. Elane will do the same with me. She favored the lovely blue-and-gold dress yesterday, and now she wears a gown beaded with rose and blush pearls. Her own message is clear. The old house ways, the colors, the alliances and stratifications of nobility, are no more to her. House Haven is not her family or her future.
The same cannot be said of me, or Ptolemus. House Samos abdicates a throne in an hour, and we must look like House Samos to do so. Our armored clothing is polished mirror and chrome, matching our silver hair and storm-cloud eyes. I clatter every time I move, disturbing the many rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces dangling off my body. I was raised to such pageantry, and this might be my very last parade.
“Will you rehearse?” I ask my brother, raising my chin. He finished the speech on the flight but never read it aloud.
Ptolemus nearly rolls his eyes. With his hair slicked back, he still looks like a prince. Or a king. “Will you?”
Smirking, I settle back in my seat, hands folded neatly in my lap. My sharp rings click together as the transport roars over the tarmac. “I’m glad I get to go second. You’re an easy act to follow.”
“Is that a challenge?” he replies.
I shrug, enjoying our game. Anything to distract from the familiar land speeding by in the window. “Just an observation.”
Wren puts a hand to Tolly’s shoulder, letting her long fingers drape against his armor. She brushes away an invisible piece of dust.
“It won’t take very long,” she says. Her eyes tick over my brother, looking for any sign of imperfection or flaw. Her touch is soft and familiar when she turns his face, running both thumbs over the gray circles under his eyes. Her black skin is dark against his as she wipes away any physical sign of exhaustion. The circles disappear beneath her ability. Suddenly he looks as if he spent the night in a palace instead of a cramped jet. “Especially since the others won’t be speaking.”
“Others?” My jaw tightens, as does my chest. Next to me, Elane draws in a sharp breath, and her eyes dart to mine. She looks as confused as I feel. “Tolly, I don’t like surprises. Especially today.”
He doesn’t look away from Wren. “Don’t worry—it’s no one you haven’t fought before.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” I mutter. My brain spins through the possibilities.
Mare comes to mind first, but she is far away, still recuperating in a Montfort valley where no one can reach her. When she returns to civilization, the entire country will know it.
Before I can possibly begin to list the many, many people I’ve sparred with, fought, and maimed, the answer quite literally flies by. Two air transports buzz us as we begin the climb up the hills, drowning out all conversation for a moment. I press my forehead to the window, feeling the heavy drone in my teeth as well as with my ability. The aircraft aren’t carrying any heavy weaponry that I can sense.