“There’s no way to complete a puzzle with missing pieces, or put together shattered glass,” I mumble, only to myself, repeating what Julian told me weeks ago.
Maven sits up, drawing his back straight. One hand circles his wrist, touching the skin where his bracelet used to be. Without it, he’s powerless, useless. He doesn’t even need Arven guards.
“Cenra and Iris are going to drown you all,” he hisses. “At least I’ll be dead before they get their hands on me.”
“What a consolation.”
“I would not have liked to watch you die.” The admission is small and matter-of-fact. There is no agenda to it, only the ugly, naked truth. “Will you enjoy watching me?”
At least I can respond with some truth of my own. “Part of me will.”
“And the rest?”
“No,” I whisper. “I won’t enjoy it.”
He smiles. “That’s enough for me. A better good-bye than I deserve.”
“And what do I deserve, Maven?”
“Better than we ever gave you.”
The door bangs open before I can ask what he means. I start to rise, expecting guards to usher me out now that I’m no longer part of the coalition. Instead I find Farley and Davidson standing over us. She glares at Maven with more fire than even Cal could muster, and I expect her to skin him alive in front of us.
“General Farley,” Maven drawls. He might be trying to goad her into doing the deed before his brother can. She only snarls in reply, like a beast.
Davidson is more polite, ushering someone else into the room. I notice that the hall behind him is empty, the door guards gone. “So sorry to interrupt,” the premier says. He gestures, and his companion, the Montfort newblood Arezzo, steps into the chamber. I blink at her, confused, but only for a second.
She’s a teleporter. Like Shade. And her hands are reaching.
“It’s time we all go,” Davidson sighs, looking between us.
I jolt as Arezzo grabs my wrist, but I’m not the only one she’s taking.
Before the room disappears, squeezing to nothing, I see Maven. His white face, paler by the second. His blue eyes, wide with rare shock. And Arezzo’s hand on his own.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Evangeline
The throne room feels empty without the Reds, colder somehow.
Anabel is stupid if she thinks we can coronate Cal tomorrow. Foolish, eager woman. No king of Norta can be crowned anywhere but the capital, and it will take a few days at least to stabilize Harbor Bay before anyone can leave for Archeon. There’s also the High Houses who were loyal to Maven. They’ll need to kneel, pledge themselves to Cal, and be present at any coronation, if the country is to pull itself back together. I say none of this, of course. Let them figure it out for themselves. An unstable King Tiberias will hardly have time for marriage.
Unfortunately, he has Julian Jacos, and the singer lord is more adept at politics than he has ever let on. He overrides Anabel and suggests they wait a week before the coronation. Cal is happy to take his advice in this and other matters too.
Even now, Cal slumps on his throne, looking drained by the battle and the aftermath. Mostly the aftermath. He keeps stealing glances at the door too, willing Mare to return. But it’s been almost an hour. She and her companions are probably long gone by now, fleeing to the distant mountains of Montfort. Her family is there, waiting. She’ll be happy to go back to them. I wish I could do the same, and escape back to the Rift.
Or to Montfort, a voice whispers. Figures flash in my head, the premier and his husband presiding over our dinner. Hands clasped, relaxed and self-assured. Allowed to be who they are. I touch a finger to my temple, trying to massage away the low, dull ache in my skull. Everything seems impossible right now.
Elane isn’t in the throne room, but she is close by. She suffered the journey with my parents, arriving this afternoon. I’m itching to be free of this council, if only to steal a few hours with her. I don’t know how many I have left.
“I’ll send out the word,” Julian says, hands folded as he stands at Cal’s side. Without the Reds, the raised dais of the throne room is hilariously lopsided. “The lords and ladies of the High Houses will be summoned to the capital in a week’s time, and you’ll be waiting, happy to receive them. Afterward, we can crown you as king.” He sounds less than thrilled.
Cal barely nods. He wants to be done with all this. He doesn’t notice Anabel and her bronze eyes, now fixed on Julian. Both hope to win the ear of a king, seeking to be highest in his favor, like children vying for a parent’s attention. I’d bet on Anabel. She has the stomach for court. And the spine to eliminate anyone who might threaten her grasp on her grandson.
I sigh to myself, already exhausted by the thought of a life chained to him. It excited me once, the lure of a queen’s power. I like to think Elane changed me, but I loved her long before, even when I told myself she was just a pawn like Sonya Iral, a Silver lady to do my bidding and back my machinations. I think the war has done something to me. Put a fear in me I never had before. Not for myself, but for Ptolemus and Elane. The ones I love most, and would kill to protect. Sacrifice everything to keep safe and close. I’ve tasted a crown now, and I know it doesn’t compare.
Father does not share the sentiment, nor will he let me abandon my duties.
I haven’t mentioned my suspicions about the last piece of Anabel and Julian’s deal, not to him. I could be wrong. Maybe Queen Cenra and Iris were satisfied with Salin Iral, eager to hand over a king for a single drop of vengeance.
You know that isn’t true.
Neither of them is a fool. They wouldn’t pay such a high price for such a small prize.
Because the true prize is your father.
I glance at him sidelong, noting the set of his shoulders, proud and straight beneath the curves of his chromium armor, polished so well I can see my reflection in it. I look afraid, my eyes wide and darting, ringed with dark makeup to hide the circles beneath my eyes. I fought well yesterday, enough to keep myself and my brother alive while so many of our kin died. Father hasn’t said a word about it. Nothing to indicate he’s happy that his children, his legacy, survived. Volo Samos is as hard as the steel we come from, all sharp edges. Even his beard is manicured and pruned to mathematic perfection. I have his coloring, his disposition, and his hunger. But now we yearn for different things. He wants power, as much of it as he can consume. I want freedom. I want my own fate.
I want the impossible.
“Now, as for the royal wedding—” Anabel begins, but I can’t stand it any longer.
“Excuse me,” I snap, not bothering to look at any of them as I go. It feels like a surrender. But no one stops me, not even Father. No one says a word.
I’m barely up the grand staircase before my mother cuts across my path. She almost hisses in anger, imitating one of her snakes. How such a small woman can take up an entire hallway, I’ll never understand.
“Hello, Mother. Don’t worry, I’m all right. Not a scratch on me,” I mutter.
She waves off the greeting. Like Father, she doesn’t seem to care, or mind, that I faced death yesterday.
“Really, Evangeline,” she scolds, planting her jeweled hands on her hips. Today she favors pale green clothing. Her nose twitches slightly, and I can tell I don’t have her undivided attention. The rest is in a mouse still watching the council. “You can climb the walls of Fort Patriot, but a simple meeting is too much for you?”