In the seats of the Gallery, one of the politicians stands. A Silver man, with wispy blond hair, bone-white skin, and robes of deep emerald green. His nails are oddly long and polished to a high shine. “You speak of overthrowing a regime, Premier,” he says. “But I see beside you a young man with Silver blood and a crown upon his head. I see no other crowns in this room. And you know, as well as I do, the crowns we had to destroy to forge our country. How much we had to burn to rise from the ashes.”
The politician touches his own brow. His meaning is clear. One of the crowns given up was his own. I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to look at Tiberias. I want to yell at him, See? It can be done.
Davidson offers a deep bow of his head. “Very true, Representative Radis. The Free Republic is a nation made from war, from sacrifice, and above all things from opportunity. Before we rose up, the mountains were a patchwork of petty kingdoms and worse, fighting for dominance. There was no unity. It was easy to worm ourselves into the cracks and break apart what was already breaking.” He pauses, eyes alight. “I see a similar opportunity now, in the Silver kingdoms of the east. Room to change things in Norta. To remake things for the better.”
Another politician stands from the Gallery ranks, a Red woman with smooth copper skin, close-cropped black hair, and a white gown crossed with an olive sash. “Does Your Majesty agree?” she asks, fixing her eyes on Tiberias.
He hesitates, surprised at her directness. Tiberias isn’t as quick with his words as his cursed brother. “Norta is in a state of civil war,” he replies, his voice wavering. “More than a third of the nation has seceded, some pledging fealty to the Kingdom of the Rift. Where my betrothed’s father is king.” Clenching his jaw, he gestures to Evangeline next to him. She doesn’t react. “The rest are pledged to me. To putting me back on my own father’s throne, and casting out my brother.” A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Who murdered his way to it.”
Tiberias lowers his eyes slowly. I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the folds of his red cape. The thought of Maven still wounds us both, Tiberias even more than me. I was there when Maven and Elara forced him to murder his own father, the old king. I see that terrible moment written on his grim face, clear as letters in a book.
The representative is not satisfied. She tips her head, bringing long fingers together. “Reports say that King Maven is beloved among the people. The ones still loyal to him, I mean,” she adds. “Curious, that the Red populace of Norta is counted in that regard.”
A low current of heat ripples across my exposed skin. Not a lot, but enough to communicate Tiberias’s discomfort. I curl my fingers into a fist, speaking before he is forced to.
“King Maven is greatly skilled in manipulation,” I tell the woman. “He easily uses his own image, the boy king forced to the throne, and tricks anyone who doesn’t truly know him.”
And even sometimes those who do. Tiberias, most of all. He told me once he was looking for newblood whispers, stronger than Queen Elara, perhaps able to fix what she broke in his brother. An impossible wish, a terrible dream. I’ve seen Maven without her machinations. She is dead, and he is still the monster she forced him to be.
The politician turns her eyes on me, and I continue. “He brokered the Lakeland alliance, ending a war my people were sent to fight. He lifted the restrictions his father made on their lives. It isn’t hard to understand why he has support. It’s easy to win the favor of the people you feed.” As I speak, I think about myself, my family. The Stilts. Cameron and the slum towns full of Reds trapped to their lives. Where would we be, if someone had not broken through the wall around us? Shown us how the world really should be? “Especially when you control what they are given, both on the table and on the video screen.”
She grins at me, showing gapped teeth. “You’ve been a thorn in his side, Mare Barrow. And a boon to him as well. We’ve seen videos from your capture. Your words swayed people to him too.”
The heat I feel next isn’t from Tiberias, but from my own embarrassment. It claws over my face, warming my cheeks. “Yes. And I am ashamed of it,” I tell her bluntly.
On my left, Farley clenches a fist on the seat of her chair. She leans forward. “You can’t blame her for things said to the business end of a gun.”
The Red woman tightens. “I do not, of course. But your face and your voice have been used so many times, Miss Barrow. You will be little use in trying to sway your own people back in Norta. And, I apologize, but it makes it difficult to trust what you say now, and who you speak for.”
“Then speak to me,” Farley snaps, her voice echoing throughout the Gallery. My flush recedes, chased away by cool relief. I glance sidelong, more grateful for Farley than ever before. She keeps her temper in check, using it as fuel. “I am a general of the Scarlet Guard, a high officer of Command. My organization has been working in the shadows for years, from the frozen shores of the Hud to the Piedmont lowlands, and everywhere in between. We’ve done very much with very little. Imagine what we can do with more.”
On the opposite side of the chamber, another one of the Montfort representatives puts up a hand winking with golden rings. He’s Red, his smile sharp and slick. “Much, you say? Forgive me, General. But before you began working with us, your Scarlet Guard was little more than a network of allied criminals. Smugglers. Thieves. Murderers, even.”
Farley just sniffs. “We did what we had to. The premier speaks of working through cracks—we made them. And we transported thousands out of danger. Reds who needed our help. Newbloods too. Your own premier is Nortan-born, isn’t he?” She points her chin at Davidson, who holds her gaze. “Nearly executed for the crime of what he was born as. We saved people like him every day.”
The sly man shrugs his shoulders. “Our point is that you cannot do this alone, General,” he says. “And while your cause is just, accordances must be made. You are a group with no nation, no citizens to answer to. Your methods are beyond the usual bounds of war. We have our own to think of.”
“We answer to everyone, sir,” Farley replies coolly. She turns her head just so, letting the scarred side of her mouth catch the light from the dome overhead. “Especially those who think no one is listening. We are listening, and we are doing, and we will keep fighting. To the last rattle of our last breath, the Scarlet Guard will do what it can to fix what is broken. With or without your aid.”
Still pacing, Davidson passes by her. He shoots her a glance I cannot decipher, lips pressed into a neutral line, eyes locked on her face. I can’t tell if he’s pleased or infuriated.
The Silver representative named Radis stands again. He doesn’t look a day over thirty-five, and he’s old enough to remember what this country was before Montfort. He eyes us all. “So you propose we support another Silver monarch and help him to a throne.”
On my right, Evangeline grins, and I can see she capped her eyeteeth with pointed silver. Gruesome, I think to myself. And a message like the rest of her image. She will bite out the heart of anyone in her way. Including all of us.
“Two, actually,” she says, projecting her voice across the amphitheater. “My father, the king of the Rift, must also be recognized as a legitimate ruler.”