“Why, do you want to go back to the Stilts?”
Kilorn shakes his head, almost bouncing in his steps. “Nope. Anything I cared about isn’t there anymore.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I reply. He seems oddly eager to return to Montfort. “What about Cameron?” I add, careful to keep my voice low. Currently, Cameron and her parents are helping everyone else coordinate with the tech towns. Obviously, they know the former slums best, and how to repurpose them.
“What about her?” Kilorn smirks down at me, offering a shrug of his own. He’s trying to throw me off. A hint of a flush dusts his cheeks with color. “She’ll be coming out to Montfort in a month or so, with the Red Nortan contingent and some newbloods. Once things are a bit more settled.”
“To train?”
His blush spreads. “Sure.”
I can’t help but grin. Must remember to tease him later, I think, as Farley approaches with a few Command generals in tow. Swan nods in greeting, bowing her head.
I extend a hand to her, nodding. “Thank you, General Swan.”
“Call me Addison,” she replies. The older woman matches my smile. “I think we might be able to do away with code names for a while.”
Farley just glances between us, pretending to be annoyed.
“If only this jet were powered by hot air. We’d never have to charge up between the two of you,” she says sharply, her eyes betraying one of her rare good moods.
Smiling, I take her arm. She leans into the embrace. Hardly like her at all. “You act like I can’t actually charge a jet, Farley.”
She only rolls her eyes. Like Kilorn and me, she’s ready to go back to Montfort. I can only imagine how excited she must be to leave Norta behind, and return to her daughter. Clara is growing bigger in leaps and bounds, happy and safe. With no memory of what came before her.
Not even her father.
The thought of Shade always darkens even the brightest of days, and now is no different. But the pain is less somehow. Still an ache, still bone-deep, but not so sharp. It doesn’t take my breath away anymore.
“Come on,” Farley urges, forcing me to match her quicker pace. “The faster we board, the faster we’re airborne.”
“Is that how it works?” I can’t help but retort.
A cluster of people stands by the jet idling on the runway, waiting for us and the rest of the group departing for Montfort today. Davidson is already gone, having returned to his nation a few days ago. Some of his officials have been left behind to coordinate, and I spot Tahir among them. He’s probably relaying all this to his brothers right now, allowing the Montfort premier to track the rebuilding process in real time.
Julian stands out from the pack, wearing new clothes for what is possibly the first time in his life. They gleam, golden like his house colors once were, flashing brightly in the late afternoon sun. Sara waits at his side, as does Anabel. The old woman looks incomplete without her crown, and she regards me with naked disinterest.
“Make it quick, Barrow,” Farley says, gesturing for Kilorn to follow her onto the jet. The pair of them nod at the Silvers as they pass, giving me the space I need for my own farewells.
I don’t see Cal with his uncle or grandmother, but I don’t expect him to stand in line. He waits farther down the jetway, separated from the rest of them.
Julian extends his arms to me and I embrace him tightly, inhaling the warm scent of old paper that still seems to cling to him through everything.
After a long minute, he pushes me back gently. “Oh, come on, I’ll see you in a month or so.”
Like Cameron, Julian is scheduled to visit Montfort in a few weeks. Officially, he’s an envoy of the Nortan Silvers. But I expect he’ll spend more time combing through whatever archives Davidson puts at his disposal, utilizing the time to investigate the emergence of newbloods.
I grin up at my old teacher, patting him on the shoulder. “I doubt you’ll be able to tear yourself out of the Montfort vaults long enough to say hello.”
At his side, Sara raises her head. “I’ll make sure he does,” she says quietly, taking Julian’s arm.
Anabel is not so understanding. She glares at me one last time before scoffing aloud, disgusted by my presence, and walking off at a brisk pace. I don’t blame her. After all, in her eyes, I’m still the reason her grandson denied a dynasty, cast away a crown for something as stupid as the love of a Red girl.
She hates me for that. Even if it isn’t true.
“Anabel Lerolan may not see reason, but she does see logic. You’ve opened a door that can’t be closed,” Julian says quietly, watching the old queen clamber into a waiting transport. “She couldn’t put Cal back on the throne now, even if he wanted it.”
“What about the Rift? The Lakelands? Piedmont?”
Julian cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head. “I think you’ve earned the right to not worry about such things for a while.” He pats my hand kindly. “There’s rioting; there’s movement, Reds crossing our borders by the thousands. Know the stone is truly rolling, my dear.”
For a second, I feel overcome. Equal parts happy and afraid. This can’t last, I think again, knowing the words to be true. Sighing, I let go of them. This isn’t over, but it is for me. For now.
I have to hug Julian one more time. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Again he pushes me back, his eyes shiny. “Yes, well—enough of that. My ego’s already bigger than it should be,” he stammers out. “You’ve wasted enough time with me,” he adds, giving me another push. In the direction of his nephew. “Go on.”
I don’t need any more prodding than that, in spite of the nerves currently wreaking havoc on me. Gulping a little, I pass the rest of the dignitaries from our reforged alliance, smiling as I go. No one stops me, allowing me to approach the former king unimpeded.
Cal feels me coming. “Let’s walk,” he says, already moving. I follow him under one of the wings of our jet, stepping into shadow. Farther down the runway, an engine roars to life, close enough to shield us from anyone who might bother to eavesdrop.
“I’d come with you if I could,” he says suddenly, turning around to watch me with burning eyes of bronze.
“I’m not asking you to do that,” I reply. The words are familiar. We’ve had the same discussion about a dozen times by now. “You have to be here, to pick up the pieces. And there’s work to be done in the west. Ciron, Tiraxes—if we can do something . . .” I trail off, imagining those far-off countries, vast and strange. “It’s better this way, I think.”
“Better?” Cal snaps, and the air warms around him. Gently, I put a hand on his wrist. “You think walking away is better? Why? I’m not a king anymore. I’m not even royal. I’m—”
“Don’t say ‘nothing,’ Cal. You’re not nothing.”
I see accusation in his eyes, his skin hot beneath my fingers. It hurts to look at him, to see the pain I’m causing.
“I’m what you want me to be,” he forces out, his voice a little strangled.
I’m seized by the realization that I don’t know when I’ll see him again. But I can’t look back up. It will just make this more difficult.