Iris stares back at me, her eyes tipping like a scale. She is cold and calculating, still water hiding a riptide.
“So we return to Archeon,” she replies. “Gather the full mass of our strength, everyone that can be spared. Bring the full fury of this war to bear on their heads.”
I lean back against the rail of the ship, exuding an appearance of calm detachment. Sighing, I glance at the waves as they stain red with sunset. “We’ll move tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Cenra balks. “We should go now.”
Slowly, I grin, careful to show my canines. The kind of smile that sets people off balance. “I have a feeling my brother will be sending us a message soon.”
“What are you talking about?” Cenra murmurs.
I offer no explanation and look out to the east instead. On the darkening horizon, smudges stand out against the stark line of the sea. “The islands will be neutral ground,” I muse.
“Neutral ground,” Cenra repeats, turning the words over in her mouth.
Iris says nothing, but her eyes narrow to slits.
I drum my fingers against my chest, huffing out a low breath. “What a joyous reunion this will be.”
I can only imagine it. A rainbow of scowling backstabbers and betrayers seated across from us, ready to preach and preen. Evangeline, with her claws and her put-upon arrogance. That Red general, Farley, who will bleed for all she’s done to my kingdom. Moping, methodic Julian, trailing my brother like a forgotten ghost. Our own grandmother, Anabel, another person who was supposed to love me and never did. The Montfort leader, still a mystery and a danger.
Of course, Mare will be there, a storm in her skin.
And my brother too.
It’s been a long time since I’ve looked into Cal’s eyes. I wonder if they’ve changed.
For I certainly have.
Will we make terms? I very much doubt it. But I want to see them again, both of them. At least once more before this war is done, ended in whatever fate. Their deaths or mine.
Neither future frightens me.
My only fear now is losing the throne, the crown, the reason for all this misery and torment. I won’t destroy myself in vain. I won’t let this all be for nothing.
TWENTY-TWO
Iris
When Maven returns to his own ship, I fear he might force me to go with him and deny me a few more hours with my mother. To my surprise, his petty rage and his political cunning do not extend so far. We are left alone on Mother’s flagship once more, given over to our own devices. With room to talk at length, and time to plan. Either he doesn’t see us as a threat, or he doesn’t care to fear us. I would venture the latter. He has more immediate enemies right now, and can spare little thought for his own wife.
The Swan is a warship, built for battle and speed. What pass for staterooms are spare and rigid, barely suited to Red servants. Still, Mother looks at home in them, equally at ease upon a bolted-down, narrow bed as on a jeweled throne. She isn’t a vain woman and carries none of the flawed, materialistic pride most Silvers have. That was Father’s domain. He preferred his finery, even on the battlefield. The thought sends a sharp stab of pain through me as I remember the last time I saw him alive. He was dashing in his armor, blue steel studded with sapphires, gray hair pulled back from his face. I suppose Salin Iral found some flaw, and exploited it well.
I pace to settle myself, moving back and forth before my mother, stopping occasionally to glare out the small porthole window. The sea outside has turned bloodred. A bad omen. I feel a familiar itch and make a mental note to pray later on, in the Swan’s small shrine. It might bring me a bit of peace.
“Be still. Conserve your strength,” Mother says, her Lakelander melodic and fluid. She sits with her legs drawn up under herself, and her long-sleeved coat is tossed aside, making her seem smaller than usual. It has little effect on her bearing, and I feel the weight of her eyes as I walk.
I am a queen too, and hesitate to follow her commands, if only to be contrarian. But she’s right. I eventually concede and take a seat on the bench on the opposite wall, an uncomfortable thing with thin padding and rivets fixed to the metal floor. My fingers curl around the edge of it, gripping tight. It vibrates with the reverberations of the ship engines, low and humming. I fixate on the sensation, reclaiming a bit of my calm.
“In your communications, you said there was something you couldn’t tell me,” Mother says. “Not until we were face-to-face.”
Steeling myself, I look up at her. “Yes.”
“Well.” She spreads her hands wide. “Here we are.”
My expression doesn’t change, but I feel my heartbeat quicken with nerves. I have to get up again and cross to the window, look out on the crimson waters. Even though my mother’s room is the safest place for me, it still feels dangerous to repeat what I know. Anyone could be listening, waiting to report back to Maven.
I put my back to her and force out the words. “We’re operating on the assumption that Maven will win.”
She scoffs behind me. “Win this war, you mean. But not the next.”
Our war for this country.
“Yes,” I reply. “But I think we’re on the losing side now. His brother’s coalition, that Montfort army . . .”
Her voice is level, devoid of judgment. “They frighten you.”
I spin around, scowling. “Of course they frighten me. And the Scarlet Guard too.”
“Reds?” Mother scoffs. She even rolls her eyes. I grit my teeth against a sigh of frustration. “They’re of little importance.”
“That kind of thinking will be our ruin, Mother,” I tell her as sternly as I can. One queen to another. Listen to me.
But she dismisses me with a dancing wave. As if I’m still a child pulling at her skirts. “I doubt that,” she says. “Silvers war, not Reds. They can’t possible hope to win against us.”
“And yet they keep doing it,” I answer flatly. I fought in Harbor Bay, against the Samos heirs and their battalion. Populated by Silvers and newbloods, mostly, but Reds too. Skilled snipers, trained fighters. Not to mention Norta’s own Red soldiers who turned. One of Maven’s great strengths lies in the loyalty of his people, but if it wanes? His Silvers will run and leave him empty.
Mother just clucks her tongue. My teeth clench with the sound. “The Reds keep winning because of a Silver alliance,” she says. “It will quickly crumble when one or both of the Calore brothers die.”
Wincing, I try another tactic. Instead of standing tall, I drop to my knees in front of my mother, taking her hands in mine. The pleading image of a child is sure to stir her. “I know Mare Barrow, Mother,” I tell her, hoping she hears me. “Reds are made of stronger stuff than we realize. Yes, we make them think themselves inferior, insignificant, to keep them controlled. But we risk falling into our own trap if we forget to fear them too.”
My words fall on deaf ears. She pulls one hand away, using it to smooth my hair away from my face. “Mare Barrow isn’t Red, Iris.”
Her blood certainly is, I think, keeping the retort to myself.
Mother continues to run her fingers through my hair, combing out the strands. “All will be well. All will be taken care of,” she croons, as if to soothe a baby. “We’ll drown our enemies and return to our peace, safe at home. The glory of the Lakelands will wash forth to this very coast. Across Prairie, into those infernal mountains. To the borders of Ciron and Tiraxes, and Piedmont too. Your sister will rule an empire, with you at her side.”