No, not me.
This needle must be gently threaded. Like Maven, I fold my hands together, projecting an image of strength. Determination. Steel.
Bracken’s children have been missing for months, imprisoned and used as leverage. Every moment they are gone is another bit of Piedmont bled away. Montfort has already cost them millions of crowns, using whatever they get their hands on. Guns, jets, food stores. The military base in the Lowcountry was stripped, with much of its contents shipped back to the mountains. The Montfortans are locusts, feeding upon all they can. Whatever resources Bracken has left are almost spent.
The transports coast to a halt some yards away, keeping a safe distance from our own convoy. When they open, a dozen guards troop out, resplendent in dark purple edged in gold. They carry swords and guns, though a few seem to favor war hammers or axes instead of blades.
Bracken carries no weapons at all.
He is tall, black-skinned, with a smooth complexion, full lips, and eyes like two polished stones of jet. Where Maven is draped in his cape, his medals, and his crown, Bracken seems less reliant on style. His clothes are finely made, dark purple edged in gold to match his guards, but I see no crown, no furs, no jewels. This man is here on a dire mission and has no cause for pageantry.
The prince towers over us both, with the muscular physique of a strongarm, though I know for a fact that Bracken is a mimic. If he were to touch me, he would be able to use my nymph abilities, albeit only for a time, and to a lesser extent. The same goes for any Silver. Perhaps even newbloods too.
“I wish our first meeting were under better circumstances,” he says in a deep, rumbling voice. As is custom, he ducks into a shallow bow, observing both our ranks. He might rule Piedmont, but his country is no match for ours.
“As do we, Your Highness,” I reply, offering a nod of my own.
Maven copies my motions, but too quickly. As if he wants this to be over with as soon as possible. “What do you have for us?”
I wince at the lack of tact. On instinct, I open my mouth, ready to smooth over the rough edges of such a precarious conversation. But to my surprise, Bracken grins.
“I don’t like to waste time either,” he replies, his smile taking on a hard edge. Over his shoulder, one of his guards approaches, carrying a leather-bound folio in hand. “Not when my children hang in the balance.”
“This is your intelligence on Montfort?” I ask, eyeing the papers as the guard passes them to her prince. “You pulled this together so quickly.”
“The prince has been searching for his children, and for people to help in his endeavor, for months,” Maven drawls. “I remember your envoys, the princes Alexandret and Daraeus. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any . . . help to them.”
I almost snort aloud. One of the princes died in the Archeon palace, killed in a failed coup to overthrow Maven himself. And the other is dead too, as far as I know.
Bracken dismisses the apology with a wave of one large hand. “They knew the risks, as do all in my service. I’ve lost dozens to the search for my son and daughter.” There is true sorrow in his words, laced beneath the anger.
“Let us hope we don’t lose any more,” I mutter, thinking of myself. And what my mother said. It must be you.
Maven raises his chin, his eyes flashing between Bracken and the folio. It has to be filled with information on Montfort, their mysterious cities, their mountains, their armies. Information we need.
“We’re prepared to do what you cannot, Bracken,” he says. Maven is a skilled performer, and he layers his words with just the right amount of sympathy. If given the chance, the young king might lure Bracken to his side before I even get a chance to play my hand. “I understand that, while the Montfortans hold your children, you can’t move against them. The smallest rescue mission could jeopardize their lives.”
“Yes, exactly true.” Bracken nods rapidly. He’s eating up everything Maven gives him. “Even gathering intelligence was almost too dangerous.”
The Nortan king raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“We were able to track the children to their capital, Ascendant,” the prince offers. He extends his hand, holding out the folio to us. “It’s deep in the mountains, protected by a valley. Our maps of the city are old, but usable.”
I take the information before one of the Sentinels can, weighing the folio. It’s heavy, worth its weigh in gold.
“Were you able to find where they’re being held?” I ask, eager to crack open the pages and get to work.
Bracken dips his head. “I believe so. At great cost.”
I cross my arms, cradling the substantial book to my chest. “I won’t waste it.”
The Piedmont prince looks me up and down, his face pulled in respectful confusion. Maven is less obvious. He doesn’t move and his expression doesn’t change. The temperature doesn’t rise a single degree. But I can smell the suspicion rolling off him. And the warning. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut in front of the prince, unable to stop me from spinning my web.
“I’m leading the team myself,” I offer, fixing Bracken with my most determined stare. He doesn’t blink, resolute as a statue. Examining me, weighing me. The simple clothing was a good choice on my part. I look more like a warrior than a queen. “I’ll use Nortan soldiers and soldiers of the Lakelands, a small-enough force to pass through unnoticed. Rest assured, we’ve been hard at work since yesterday.”
Even though it makes my skin crawl, I put a hand on Maven’s arm. His flesh is cold beneath his sleeve. I can’t see it, but I feel the tiniest tremble in him. My smile widens.
“Maven came up with a brilliant plan.”
He slides his hand over mine, fingers like ice. A threat plain as day.
“Indeed I did,” Maven says, his lips pulling into a feral smile to match my own.
Bracken sees only the offer, and the possibility, of his children’s rescue. I don’t blame him. I can only imagine what my mother would do, if Tiora and I were in the same position.
The prince breaths a long sigh of relief. “Magnificent,” he offers, bowing his head one more time. “And in return, I can pledge to uphold the alliance we’ve had for decades. Until the blood freaks decided to intervene.” Bracken hardens. “But no more. The tide turns today.”
I feel his words as keenly as I feel the river below, flowing in its course. Unbreakable. Unstoppable.
“The tide turns today,” I echo, the folio tight in hand.
This time, Maven climbs into my transport after me, and I’m tempted to kick him back out in the grass. Instead I retreat to the farthest corner of my seat, Bracken’s intelligence laid across my knees. Maven keeps his eyes on me as he sits down. His calm manner almost makes me sweat.
I wait for him to speak, matching his icy gaze with my own. Inwardly, I curse his presence. I want to crack into the papers and start filling in the gaps in my rescue plan, but I can hardly start with Maven sneering at me. And he knows it. He’s enjoying this, as he always enjoys bothering people. I think it makes him feel better about his own demons, to make demons for everyone else.
Only after the transport is moving, hurtling away from the borderlands at high speed, does he speak.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asks, his voice smooth and devoid of all emotion. It’s his favorite tactic, giving no indication as to his mood. It’s useless to search his eyes or his face for any feeling, to try to read him as I would any other person. He’s too skilled for that.