“Should we go?” I breathe, gesturing for the door. Already I feel the familiar burst of nerves, my stomach fluttering at the prospect of this day.
Farley is good enough to lead. She doesn’t know how to do anything else. “We should.”
The first meeting is the largest, and can hardly be called a meeting at all. It’s more like a circus.
The assembly of delegates from every corner of the alliance takes place in the grand library of the premier’s estate, the only room large enough to hold us all comfortably. Besides the People’s Gallery, of course, but Premier Davidson didn’t like the optics of using his government’s representative hall for this sort of meeting. I think he also didn’t want to intimidate the Silvers of the Nortan States. They’re a skittish bunch, according to the few reports I read. We have to be careful with the nobles, lest we drive them away and into the waiting arms of the Lakelands and the Silver Secession.
Indeed, I assume that will be the most pressing topic for the next few days—the precarious position of the Nortan States and the always looming threat of the nymph leaders Iris and Cenra. I didn’t think of them much at the cabin. It was easy to put those two, and their kingdom, out of my head while isolated in the wilderness. But not here. I can almost feel those women hanging over me, waiting for the chance to strike.
The library unsettles me as I enter. It’s only half full. We might be late, but so is everyone else. One glance tells me the delegation from the States isn’t here yet. Good. I want to be settled and ready when Cal arrives, my face schooled to neutral perfection. Right now, dozens of eyes rove over my skin, and whispers seem to follow me. I don’t bother trying to tune them out. Most are harmless, words I’m used to. Mare Barrow, the lightning girl, she’s back. The gallery ringing the floor above us is empty, unlike last time, when it brimmed with Scarlet Guard officers. Three months ago, the premier and the Command of the Guard planned our attack and defense of Archeon here.
They interrogated Maven in this room. It was one of the last times I saw him alive. I shiver as I walk over the spot on the carpet where he stood, spitting venom even under interrogation. I can still hear him in my head. You think I can’t lie through pain, he said when Tyton got too close. You think I haven’t done it a thousand times?
He meant the torture his mother inflicted on him. I knew that then and it haunts me now. Whatever his mother did to him whenever she entered his mind—it was torture. It was pain. And it twisted him beyond repair.
I think. Still, I wonder. If more could have been done for him. If I—if Cal—if someone could have saved him from the monster she made. Like always, the thought burns and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I clench my jaw. I refuse to vomit in front of so many people. With a will, I empty my face of expression and raise my eyes.
Across the room, one of the Montfortan officers is silent in his chair, his back to the window. His white hair glows in the morning light.
Tyton never takes his eyes off me as I pass, and I dip my head in greeting. The other electricons aren’t as high ranking as he is and won’t be here. I doubt Ella could even sit still through ten minutes of pleasantries, let alone an hour of stilted debate. I make a note to ask after them later. We have catching up to do, both in conversation and in training. No matter how much I exercised up at the cabin, I’ve certainly gone soft during my time away.
The library is set with three long tables, each angled to face the others in something like a triangle. Premier Davidson is already seated at his own, flanked by Montfortan officers and government officials. More arrive by the minute, fluttering into the library in groups of two or three. I get the feeling some have no real use, but are just curious to see the proceedings. Their numbers certainly make for an impressive sight, all aligned in their green military uniforms or politician’s robes. Aides and assistants speed through their ranks, handing out papers and packets of information. Most of the pages pile up in front of the premier, who arranges them carefully with a thin-lipped smile.
Representative Radis is close on Davidson’s right, whispering to him behind one long-fingered hand. I catch the premier’s eye as I pass him, and we exchange nods. He seems more serene than the last time I saw him, despite the chaos bubbling around us. I get the feeling that all-out war is not his field of expertise, despite his newblood ability. He likes to fight with a pen rather than gunpowder.
I won’t be sitting with the Montfort delegation, at least not today. Even though my family lives here, and I’ll probably become a citizen eventually, I’m Scarlet Guard first. I said my oath to Farley before I even knew Montfort existed, and I’m proud to take a seat next to her at the Guard table. Behind us, various officers and diplomats fill in, from all corners of the eastern continent. Four Command generals, Farley included, hold the center of the table, alike in uniform and stern bearing. They make for an intimidating sight.
With a swoop of unease, I wish I had just worn the damn red uniform.
A cold shiver runs through me at the sight of Evangeline Samos, sitting quietly in the second row, peacefully resigned to her place. I didn’t notice her at first. Even with the silver hair, she somehow manages to blend in with the rest of the Montfort delegation. Her clothes don’t glint or shine like they used to. Instead her uniform is dark green and unremarkable, with no medals or insignia. Her brother is the same, close at her side with his head bowed.
She watches me, her lethal hands folded in her lap.
I almost smile at the sight of her fingers.
While her clothes are rather plain, her hands are laden with rings of all kinds, in every metal, sharp and ready to bend to her will. Knowing Evangeline, she has other metals hidden all over her body. Even here, in a meeting of diplomats, she’s prepared to cut throats if she has to.
I meet her charcoal eyes and she smirks, never bowing her head. Once, that look might have filled me with dread. Now I feel only assurance. Evangeline is a mighty ally, no matter what we started as. Though she will never return the gesture, I bend my neck toward her and nod. Ptolemus is good enough to keep his head bowed, eyes averted from me. I want nothing to do with my brother’s killer, even as he repents for that sin and so many others.
As I watch, Radis turns in his seat, looking over his shoulder to whisper something to Evangeline and Ptolemus. Their whispers hiss, the words inaudible. The three Silvers remain in close confidence, and it doesn’t bother the premier at all. Their alliance has been cemented—even I received word of the Samos abdication and Evangeline’s pledge to Montfort.
I’m still looking at them when the last delegation enters the library, all of them organized and moving as one. Ada Wallace leads, her eyes on the room. She glances back and forth, noting every face and committing it to her perfect memory. She looks the same as I remember. Skin like deep gold, dark brown hair, eyes too kind for all she has seen and all she remembers. As one of the States’ representatives, she wears a neat black uniform and a pin at her collar. The three interlocking rings are easy to decipher—red for Reds, white for newbloods, silver for Silvers. I can think of no one better to serve the Nortan States and their campaign. My hands close on the edge of the table, keeping me in place. If we were anywhere else, I would hug her.
Julian Jacos follows on her heels, his clothing spare but fine. The sight of him releases some tension in my chest. He looks odd without his colors, wearing black instead of his usual yellow. For once, he seems quite dashing, and younger somehow. Unburdened. Happy, even. It looks good on him.