“How many dead, do you estimate?” Anabel says, now standing to the side with her hands clasped.
“A hundred, we think,” she forces out, as if she can run right past the thought. But it seems to catch up to her as she repeats, more slowly, “A hundred dead.”
“We lost more in Corvium,” I say, tapping my fingers in time. “A hard trade, to be sure,” I add, feigning sympathy before I send the Red woman into a rage spiral.
“It will be difficult, going forward, without the base,” Ptolemus offers, making the painfully obvious point. Sometimes I think he just wants to hear himself talk, even in situations like this.
“Yes, that’s true,” Cal offers. “We still have the Rift, and all that entails, but we’ve lost two of our conquests in so many weeks. First Corvium—”
“We chose to destroy Corvium; we didn’t lose it,” Mare puts in, eyeing him with venom. I’d wager she’s glad to be rid of that city.
Cal nods in begrudging agreement. “And now Piedmont,” he continues. “It doesn’t exactly present the image of strength, especially to any houses aligned to Maven who might still be swayed.”
Mother angles on her throne, her knuckles glinting with a ransom of green gems. “What of Montfort?” She raises an eyebrow, searching the room. “I’m told you were successful in procuring their army?”
“I don’t count my soldiers before they form up,” Cal shoots back, harsher than he should be. “I trust Premier Davidson will deliver what his government promises, but I won’t make decisions based on resources we can’t see yet.”
“What you need is a capital,” Anabel says, circling the conversation back to her original song and dance. She paces, her red-and-orange regalia matching the light outside as it shifts toward sunset. “The city of Delphie will provide. The seat of House Lerolan will support the rightful king.”
Cal avoids her gaze. “That’s true. But—”
“But?” She snaps to him, stopping in her tracks.
He throws his shoulders wide, self-assured. “It’s too easy.”
Like a true grandmother, Anabel pats him on the arm with the manner of someone teaching a toddler a syrupy life lesson. “Nothing in life is truly easy, but you take the breaks you manage to find, Tiberias.”
“I mean it says nothing,” he answers, extricating himself from her grasp. “Not to the people of Norta, not to our allies, and certainly not to our enemies. It’s an empty move. An expected move. Delphie is already mine in all but name, correct? I simply have to raise my flag and proclaim it.”
“Yes,” she says with a blink. “Why throw away such a gift?”
He sighs, a little exasperated, and I share the feeling. “I’m not. The gift is already given. You’re right: We do need another stronghold, preferably in Norta. Another victory to prove our strength. Put fear in the Lakelands and Piedmont, as there is already fear in Maven.”
“Where do you suggest?” I ask, leaning forward. If only to move along his proposal and end this miserable show.
He nods at me. “Harbor Bay.”
“That was your mother’s favorite palace,” Anabel mutters at his side, forgetting herself. Cal doesn’t respond, as if he doesn’t hear her. “And governed by families loyal to Maven.”
“It’s strategic,” he offers.
General Farley narrows her eyes. “It’s another siege and another battle that could get hundreds of us killed.”
“It has Fort Patriot,” Cal fires back. “It services the army, the Air Fleet, and the navy armada.” He ticks each one off on his fingers. His fervor is palpable, almost contagious. I can understand why he was made a general at such a young age. Maybe if I were a simple soldier, if I didn’t know any better, I would willingly follow such a man into the jaws of death. “We can choke off a large piece of Maven’s military, and perhaps win some of it in the process. At the very least, we’ll be able to replace what we lost in Piedmont. Weapons, transports, jets. It’s all there for the taking. And the city itself is a Scarlet Guard hot spot.”
Father arches one sharp eyebrow. He is almost grinning, a ferocious sight. “A wise decision,” he says. King Volo’s agreement seems to take Cal by surprise, but it shouldn’t. I know my father and see the hunger in him, the lust for power that he always keeps close. I bet he already dreams of Harbor Bay laid bare, a Samos flag raised over the conquered city. “Maven has taken a fort from us. We’ll take a city from him.”
Cal dips his head. “Yes, exactly.”
“If you can take it,” Mare replies, looking over her shoulder at him. Her brown-and-gray hair spins with her momentum, gleaming with a reddish hue in the sunset.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“Attack Harbor Bay. Attempt to overthrow the city. It’s a good risk and we should try,” she says. “But even if we fail, we can still strike a real blow to Maven’s forces.”
In spite of myself, I find this intriguing. I smooth my skirts, rippled sheets of speckled silver and white silk, as I lean toward her. “How, Barrow?”
She seems almost grateful, and shows me her teeth in what could be a reluctant smile. “Split open New Town, the techie slum outside Harbor Bay. Loose the Reds. It’s a manufacturing hub, and it fuels Norta as much as any Silver fort. If we hit New Town, Gray Town, Merry Town—”
Again, Father is taken off guard. “You want to get rid of the tech centers?” he sputters, blinking at her like she told him to cut out his own beating heart.
Mare Barrow stands firm beneath his confounded gaze. “Yes.”
Anabel eyes Mare in disbelief, almost laughing. “And what about after this war is done, Miss Barrow? Will you pay to rebuild them?”
Mare almost bites off a chunk of her own tongue to keep back a sudden, unchecked retort. She takes a breath, willing herself to something within the realm of calm.
“If destroying them means victory?” she says slowly, ignoring Anabel’s questions. “Winning the country?”
Cal’s eyes shift and he steadily nods his head. Agreeing because she’s right—or because he’s still a lovesick puppy. “Breaking up even one tech center will greatly disrupt Maven’s ability to fight back, and it will spread unrest through his supporters. If the Reds see us as liberators, that can only help us,” he says. “Add that to taking over Fort Patriot—he could lose control of everything north of the Bay, all the way to the Lakelander border.” Thoughtful, he looks to his grandmother, opening his stance to her. “Cut off the entire region. And sandwich Maven between our already loyal Delphie, the Rift, and our new conquest.”
I imagine Norta in my head, or Norta as she was a year ago. Lines carve across her lands, like a cook slicing up pieces of pie. One chunk to us, two more to Cal. And the rest? My eyes linger on the Red general and Mare Barrow. And I think of that insufferable premier a thousand miles away. Which piece will they take?
I know what they want, at least.
The whole damn pie.
Ptolemus makes a show of mulling over my proposition. He runs a finger around the rim of his water glass, listening to the crystal sing. The sound is haunting, an ethereal echo weaving through our dinner. The sky behind him is blood red against his silhouette. My brother is strong-jawed, broad, with my father’s long nose and mother’s tiny rosebud mouth. He looks more like her in this light, with the growing shadows gathering beneath his eyes, in the hollows of his cheeks and throat. His clothes are fresh and casual for him: clean, white linen, light enough for the summer season.