The so-called common Silvers wear the suited uniform too, delineated from Reds and newbloods only by the cold undertone of their skin. To my pleasant surprise, they walk closely with their red-blooded counterparts. As merchants, tradesmen, soldiers, and craftsmen, the common Silvers are not as separate from Reds as the nobles are.
Of course, the nobles from the Nortan States are hardly so modern in their clothing, though they also wear the pin. I know their faces as well as their colors—green for Welle, yellow for Laris. Knowledge of their houses was drilled into me long ago, and I wonder what I’ve forgotten in order to remember such idiocy.
Their house colors are symbol enough. The nobles will not go quietly, or easily. They’ll hold on to their power—and pride—as much as they can.
Anabel Lerolan most of all. She must have cracked open her jewel box for this occasion. Her throat, wrists, and fingers gleam with flame-colored gems, each brighter than the last, easily overshadowing her States pin. I half expect to see a crown on her gray head. But her boldness only goes so far. Instead she clutches the closest thing to a crown she has left.
She walks with Cal on her arm, her elbow hooked in his.
Like Julian, his new appearance suits him. No cape, no crown, no riot of medals or insignia. Just the black uniform, the circle pin, and a red square on his collar to mark him as an officer. His black hair is close-cropped again, in the military style he likes best, and he must have shaved this morning. I can see a fresh cut on his neck, peeking out just over his collar. It’s barely scabbed over, still spotted with silver blood.
There are dark circles around his eyes. He’s exhausted, overworked, and, like Julian, somehow looks happy. I feel the jealous, impulsive urge to ask why.
He isn’t looking at me. And he didn’t say a word.
Under the table, Farley squeezes my wrist in a show of comfort.
I jump at the contact, almost sparking her in the process.
“Easy,” she says without moving her lips.
I mumble an apology, my words lost in the hubbub as the final delegation settles in.
Like me, Cal takes a seat at the table, in the center next to Ada. He always liked being on the front lines.
His grandmother and uncle are no different. The rest of the delegation is evenly split, a mix of Reds and Silvers, nobles I recognize and commoners I don’t. The latter gape at the room. The nobles are less easily impressed, and doing their best to show it.
The premier doesn’t mind either response.
He simply claps his hands together, a signal to us all.
“Shall we begin?”
FOUR
Cal
Don’t look at her, don’t look at her, don’t look at her. Focus, focus, focus.
I’m so wound up I nearly set fire to my chair. Even my grandmother, more fireproof than most, leans away, lest I singe some of her precious silk. It’s not like she’ll be able to procure more, at least not the way she used to as a queen.
If the rest of my delegation notice my unease over Mare, they’re good enough not to say anything. Ada carries on without hesitation, laying her papers out in front of her. They’re covered in neat, meticulous notes ranging from troop numbers to distances between cities. Not that she needs any of it. The information is all in her head already. I get the feeling she just doesn’t want to unsettle anyone. After all, her ability is rare, even among newbloods, and largely unstudied.
There was some grumbling from the nobles, but she was the obvious choice to represent us at the first meeting. Ada Wallace has seen this war from many angles and perfectly understands the rest, not to mention the history of any revolution and reconstruction she could get her hands on. Most, she said, were flawed, if not outright failures. I shudder to think what might come to pass if we are the same.
“Welcome to the honored delegations of the Nortan States and the Scarlet Guard,” the premier says, bowing his head to both our tables. He folds his hands in front of him, his posture open and inviting. Everything about that man is a calculation. “The Montfort delegation and my government thank you for making the journey to be here with us.”
“The long journey,” one of the Nortan nobles mutters, only to be politely ignored by the chamber. I resist the very royal urge to send him from the room. But I don’t have the power to do that anymore. We’re all equals here, even the ones who don’t deserve it. Even the ones who deserve to be more than the rest.
I clench my jaw. It’s still an undertaking not to look at her. I manage a glance toward her hands, hidden beneath the table. Farley is safer territory. She sits resolutely at Mare’s side, her attention and iron focus on the premier. She’s buttoned into that uniform she hates. Mare isn’t, having forgone the stiff, scarlet uniform for purple velvet. It’s the color she wore as Mareena Titanos. Her sister must have chosen her clothes for her, since Mare doesn’t have much taste or talent for fashion. If not for the circumstances, I would laugh at the thought of Gisa scolding Mare into dressing appropriately, and forcing her into the jacket.
I blush at the thought of getting her out of it.
Focus, my mind screams, and heat flares around me.
“Could you not?” Julian mutters through clenched teeth. The corner of his mouth twitches, betraying amusement.
“Sorry,” I mutter back.
One of the Scarlet Guard Command generals speaks up for her delegation, responding to Davidson. “Of course, Premier,” she says, her voice carrying. I recognize her as General Swan. The Scarlet Guard still insists on code names, even now. “And we’re grateful to your country for hosting us.”
Not that there was really another option, I think to myself. The Scarlet Guard has territory but no central government of their own, and the Nortan States are still rebuilding. And of course, holding meetings on democracy in a king’s former palace might send the wrong message. Trading one king for another, and all that.
“The delegation of the Nortan States concurs,” Ada says, raising her chin to the premier.
Uncle Julian leans in next to her, speaking to the room. “We’re happy to be here, and to see firsthand what a former Silver kingdom can look like.”
My grandmother has little taste for pleasantries. She purses her lips next to me but holds her tongue. I can’t say I disagree with her impatience. We should be getting down to business, not blowing smoke at one another.
Premier Davidson pushes on at a glacial pace. He gestures to the papers in front of him, with matching sets all over the room. “You should all have your agendas, as agreed upon in our prior communications.”
I nearly roll my eyes. Who could forget the prior communications, a largely useless back-and-forth of posturing within the alliance? There were arguments about everything from timing to seating arrangements. In fact, the only position they could all agree upon was a need to summarize progress across their delegations. And even in that, the Scarlet Guard was less than happy to oblige. They play things too close to the chest for my taste. Though I can’t blame them for their hesitation. I know what Silver betrayal looks like up close. But their obfuscating certainly makes everything all the more complicated.
“Would the delegation for the Scarlet Guard like to go first?” Davidson says, extending a hand toward their table. His lips curve into his inscrutable smile. “What can you say regarding your progress in the east?”