Then she gets down to business, facing our mother with the gravity of a general. “We have word from Snows, Hills, Trees, Rivers, and Plains,” she says, rattling off the other citadels dotting the vast expanse of the Lakelands. “All are ready.”
Queen Cenra nods, pleased by the news. “As they should be. The time to strike is coming, and coming soon.”
The time to strike. We’ve spoken of nothing else since I returned to my homeland. I haven’t even had time to enjoy my freedom beyond the bounds of Maven’s kingdom or his marriage. Mother has me in endless meetings and reviews. After all, I’m the only one of us to have faced Tiberias and his contingent of unknown Red soldiers, not to mention his Rift allies.
We have Bracken and Piedmont on our side, yes, but is he a better ally than Maven was? A better shield against the Calore brother now on the throne? Is it even any use to wonder? Our decision is long since made. Maven is a card we’ve already played and traded off.
Tiora forges on. “More importantly, it seems Tiberias Calore’s newly made kingdom is splintering again.”
I blink at her, forgetting the food on my plate. “How so?”
“The Reds are no longer with him,” she replies. I feel myself twitch in surprise. “According to our intelligence reports, the Scarlet Guard, that strange newblood, and the Montfort armies, have all disappeared. Returned to the mountains, we think. Or gone underground.”
At the head of the table, Mother sighs aloud. She raises one hand, massaging her temple. “When is anyone going to learn that young kings are fools?”
Tiora smirks in amusement, enjoying Mother’s show of female frustration.
I’m more interested in the implication of Red desertion. Without Montfort, the newbloods, the spies of the Scarlet Guard, without Mare Barrow, the scales have certainly tipped against Tiberias Calore. And it isn’t difficult to understand why.
“The Reds won’t support him on the throne,” I say. I didn’t know Mare well, but I saw enough of her to guess. She fought Maven at every turn, even as a prisoner. Surely she wouldn’t stomach another king. “They must have had an agreement, to win the country back and build anew. Tiberias refused his end of the bargain. Silvers still rule in Norta.”
After a bite of lamprey, Tiora shakes her head. “Not entirely. There have been proclamations. More rights for the Reds of Norta. Better wages. The end of forced labor. They’ve stopped conscription too.”
My eyes widen. Mostly out of shock, but also from unease. If Reds across the border are offered such boons, what will happen to Reds in the Lakelands? It will be an exodus, a mad dash.
“We have to close our borders,” I say quickly. “Stop any Reds from crossing into Norta.”
Again, Mother sighs. “He’s truly an idiot,” she mutters. “Of course, we’ll double our watch at the Nortan border. Leave it to a Calore to cause us more headaches.”
Tiora hums low in her throat. “He’s causing himself headaches as well. Their tech towns are draining as we speak. I assume any economic might they have now will soon follow.”
At that, our mother almost laughs to herself. I would join her if I could. All I can think about is the magnificent stupidity of Tiberias Calore. He’s only just won back his throne, and now he seeks to strip his country of its greatest strengths? For who? Some red-blooded nobodies? For the myth of equality, justice, honor, or whatever other foolish ideal he hopes to achieve? I scoff to myself. I wonder if the Calore king, left to his own devices, will simply drown under the weight of his crown. Or be devoured by the Rift king, scheming to leech what he can from the so-called Flame of the North.
He won’t be the only Silver in the Nortan territories to chafe under the proclamations. I feel a smirk curl on my lips, twisting to one side as I think. “I doubt the Silvers of Norta will like that,” I say, waving a finger over my water glass. Inside, the liquid swirls with my motions.
Mother eyes me, trying to follow my train of thought. “Indeed.”
“I could reach out to a few of them,” I continue, the plan coming as quickly as I speak it. “Offer condolences. Or incentives.”
“If some could be swayed, just a few key regions . . . ,” Mother says, seeming to light up.
I nod. “Then this war will be over in a single battle. Archeon falls, and Norta with it.”
Across from me, Tiora pushes her favored stew away. “What about the Reds?”
I gesture to her with an open hand. “You said it yourself: They’ve gone to ground. Retreated. Left Norta open for the taking.” Grinning, I glance between my mother and sister. All thoughts of the Iral lord and his death seem to evaporate from my mind. We have more important things to worry about. “And we have to take it.”
“For the gods,” Tiora breathes, gently hitting her fist against the table.
I stifle the urge to correct her. Instead I dip my head to my older sister. “For our own protection.”
She blinks, confused. “Our protection?”
“We sit here, serving our own lunch, for fear of the Scarlet Guard. Reds surround us, in our nation and outside it. If their rebellion continues to spread, hungry as a cancer, where will that leave us?” I brush my fingers over the plates and cups, then gesture to the empty room and windows. The rain has lessened, easing to a steady pattern of drips. In the distance, to the west, the sun breaks through the gray clouds in tiny spatters of light. “And what about Montfort? An entire country of Reds and those strange newbloods set against us? We have to defend ourselves. Make ourselves too big and too strong to challenge.”
Neither of you has been there. You haven’t seen their city, high in the mountains. Red and Silver and newblood, joined together. And stronger for the joining. It was easy to sneak into Ascendant, to rescue Bracken’s children, but I can’t imagine an army doing the same. Any war with Montfort will be bloody, for both sides. It must be prevented, made impossible, before it can even begin.
I steel myself. “Give them no chance to rise up or stand against us.”
Mother is quick to respond. “Agreed.”
“Agreed,” Tiora offers with the same speed. She even raises her glass, the clear liquid turning in the faceted cup.
Outside, as the rain ebbs to nothing, I feel a bit calmer. Still anxious about what is to come, but satisfied by the plan taking shape. If Maven’s houses can be made loyal to us, then Tiberias will be severely hobbled. Losing allies left and right. Alone on the throne is no place for anyone to be.
Maven was alone too, no matter how many advisers and nobles surrounded him. I’m glad he never tried to make me share his empty hours, at least not more than was necessary. He frightened me, when he was alive. He was an impossible person to predict. I never knew what he might say or do, and it forced me to live on edge. I’ve only just begun to catch up on all the sleep lost in his palace, too close to the monstrous king for comfort.
“I’m surprised they didn’t execute him publicly,” I muse aloud, my voice low. “I wonder how they did it.”
I see Maven in my head, struggling weakly against our guards. He didn’t see it coming. I’m impossible to predict too.
My sister dips her spoon in the lamprey stew, not eating, but pushing the liquid back and forth. It sloshes, filling the silence.
“What is it, Tiora?” Mother prods, seeing right through her display.
Tiora hesitates, but not for long. “There’s been some speculation about that,” she says. “He hasn’t been seen or heard from since he was taken to the palace in Harbor Bay.”
I shrug. “Because he’s dead.”
Tiora doesn’t look at me. Can’t look at me. “Our spies don’t think so.”
Despite the warmth of the room and the food, I feel a sudden chill deep in my chest. I swallow hard, trying to understand—and ignore the fear threatening to return. Don’t be a coward. He’s far away, imprisoned if not dead. He’s not your problem anymore.
Mother shares none of my terror. She just blusters. “Why keep him alive? I swear, these Calore br
others are trying to out-idiot each other.”
I try to be more thoughtful. I speak if only to mask my unease. “Perhaps the older brother can’t do it. He seemed softhearted.” He must be, to allow himself to be so manipulated by a Red girl.
Tiora is just as observant as our mother, and she tries to be gentle as she explains. “There are rumors that Maven isn’t there anymore.”
The queen of the Lakelands blanches. “Well, where could he be?”
There are few options, and I run through them quickly. Of course, one is more obvious than the rest. And woefully awful for that lightning girl. At least I escaped Maven Calore. She, it seems, cannot. “I suspect Montfort,” I say. “He’s with the newbloods and the Scarlet Guard. With Mare Barrow.”
Tiora bobs her head, thinking as she nods. “So when the Reds left . . .”
“He’s a valuable hostage, yes,” I tell her. “If Maven is still alive, Tiberias is vulnerable. Nobles might still be loyal to his brother.”
Mother surveys me like an adviser, not a daughter. It thrills me, and I feel my spine straighten, flattening my back against my seat as I draw up to my full height. “Do you think that’s possible?” she asks.
I chew on the answer for a moment, weighing what I know of Norta and its Silvers. “I think those Silver houses just want a reason not to back Tiberias. To hold on to their country as it was.” Both my mother and Tiora, a queen and a queen to be, watch me silently. I raise my chin.
“I say we give them a reason.”
TWENTY-NINE
Mare
It’s nightfall when we reach Ascendant, gliding through the mountains in almost pitch darkness. I try not to think about being smashed against the black slopes. But the pilots are skilled, landing our airjet on the alpine runway with ease. The rest of Montfort’s Air Fleet, as well as the transport convoys carrying the bulk of their army, is down on the plain. They’ll have to climb the Hawkway to get to the city, or disperse along other roads and travel routes throughout Montfort to return to their posts. The country will then take up defensive positions, guarding its own borders, on the off chance the Lakelanders decide to try their might against the mountains. Or prod the raiders and Prairie into doing their work for them.
Farley, Davidson, their attendants, and I make the trek into the city in silence, walking the steps beneath an arc of glittering starlight. I watch the sky as we go, trying to name the constellations. I refuse to think about either Calore brother. Not the one we left in Norta, nor the one marching with us, bound in chains, held at gunpoint. He chatters occasionally, asking questions about Montfort. No one answers, and his voice dies slowly, left to echo into nothing. Before we reach the premier’s home, Maven is taken away, down another flight of steps, where more guards appear to flank him. Montfort won’t risk losing another prisoner. Maven won’t get the gentle treatment given to Bracken’s children. He will be being taken deep into the city, to the prison below the Ascendant main barracks. I try not to watch his silhouette as it grows smaller and smaller. He never looks back.
Farley outpaces everyone, even Kilorn and his long strides. I don’t have to be a mind reader to guess her thoughts are of her daughter, left behind with the rest of our family.
Davidson was good enough to send word on ahead, so his palatial home is ablaze when we approach, the many windows and balconies lit by warm candles and lights. Familiar figures cast shadows across the stones, and we beeline for them. My mother hands off Clara, the baby girl sleepy but smiling as Farley lifts her up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Davidson embrace his husband, Carmadon, before my mom does the same to me. Her arms squeeze my shoulders tightly, and she hugs me to her chest with a deep sigh. I relax as I only can with the rest of my family, letting them usher us inside and up to our rooms.
The reunion is sentimental as ever, even though it’s become a habit. I leave, face death, and, against all odds, return in one piece. I know my parents would tie me down to stop me from repeating the cycle, if they thought it might work. But they trust me to make my own choices, and besides, I’m a newblood. The lightning girl. There are very few bonds that can hold me back. No matter how much I might want to stay, the need to move on, to keep fighting, is always stronger.
Farley disappears into her own bedroom, Clara on her hip, with an exhausted smile. No one stops her. She needs time alone with her daughter, and we’re all happy to give it.
Instead my family filters onto the tiled terrace, which is bursting with more flowers than I remember. Tramy has been busy. “They’re beautiful,” I tell him, gesturing to a lovely array of white blooms curling up and over the railing. He heaves himself into a chair with a bashful grin, and Gisa perches on the arm of the seat. I plop down next to them both, content to sit on a flat, squashy cushion set on the tile.
“Mom helped,” Tramy says, gesturing across to her.
At the edge of the terrace, she waves a hand. Her hair is down tonight. I’m used to long years of my mother in twisted braids and neat buns, always keeping her hair out of her face. Despite the gray, she looks younger like this. “I just followed you around with a watering can,” she says.
I’ve never considered Ruth Barrow beautiful. How could anyone, let alone a poor Red woman, be considered beautiful next to Silvers? But Montfort brings a glow to her, a healthiness in her golden skin that makes it gleam. Even her wrinkles seem lessened, softened by the gentle lamplight. Of course, Dad looks better than ever, heartier than he was in the Stilts. He’s gained weight where he needs to, arms and legs filling out, while his waist looks trimmer. I chalk it up to nutrition, and of course his replaced leg and lung. After he greets me, he settles into his usual gruff silence, claiming a seat of his own next to Bree. The weeks have been good to all of them. Especially Gisa. Her dark red hair glints like oil in the dim light. I take in her clothing, a repurposed Montfort uniform. But the cuffs and collar are heavily embroidered in swirls of colored thread, pricking out a pattern of flowers and purple-bright zags of lightning. I reach out to her, running my fingers over her careful handiwork.
“I can make you one, if you like,” she says, eyeing my own uniform. The offensively bright red of the Scarlet Guard outfit makes her wrinkle her nose. “Maybe downplay all this,” she mutters, waving her hands a little. “Give you something a little better than medals.”
Kilorn eases himself down next to me, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed. “Do I get one too?”
“If I feel like it,” Gisa replies with her usual sniff. She eyes him up and down, as if assessing a customer. “Fish instead of flowers, I think.”
I can’t help but chuckle into my hand, grinning at Kilorn’s exaggerated pout.
“So how long will you be here this time?” My father’s voice is still a low grunt, full of accusation. I glance at him, meeting his dark brown eyes. The same eyes as Bree and Tramy, darker than my own.
Mom puts a hand on his shoulder, as if she can push him off the subject. “Daniel, she just got back.”
He doesn’t look at her. “That’s my point.”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, glancing between them. It’s an honest question, and a good one, especially based on recent circumstances. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. It could be days. Could be weeks. Could be months.” My family seems to brighten with each larger measurement of time. It pains me to give them what could be false hope, even though I want it to be true. “We still don’t know how things will proceed.”
Dad purses his lips. “With Norta.”
I shake my head. “With the Lakelands, mostly.” The others look on, silent as I explain. Except for Kilorn. His brow furrows slowly, creasing his forehead with deep, angry lines. “They hold all the power right now. Cal is still consolidating a torn country, and we’re waiting to see how everything shakes out. If the Lakelands strike—”
My oldest brother draws an angry breath before pushing it out in an exasperated sigh. He glares at me because there’s simply no one else to glare at. “You’ll h
elp fight them off?” As with Dad, I hear an accusation in him.
I can only shrug. It isn’t me he’s frustrated with, but the situation I keep finding myself in. Pulled toward danger, torn between Silver kings, a weapon to be wielded, a face to be used. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “We aren’t allied to him anymore.”
At my side, Kilorn shifts, uncomfortable on the tile. Or the subject. “And what about the other one?”
Around the cluster of chairs, my family blanches in varying levels of confusion. Mom crosses her arms over her chest, fixing me with a piercing stare I know all too well. “Who?” she asks, even though she knows. She just wants to make me say it.
Gritting my teeth, I force an answer. “He means Maven.”
My father’s voice turns deadly, like I’ve never heard it before. “He should be dead by now.”
“He’s not, and he’s here,” Kilorn snarls before I can stop him.
A pulse of fury thrums through my family, every face turning red, every lip curling, all eyes sharpening with glints of rage.
“Kilorn, don’t start trouble,” I hiss, squeezing his wrist. But the damage is already done. The silence around our circle runs heavy with scarlet anger, so strong I can almost taste it.
Finally, Gisa speaks, her tone as feral as my father’s. “We should kill him.”
My sister is not a violent girl, better suited to a needle than a knife. But she looks like she could claw Maven’s eyes out if given the opportunity. I would feel guilty for bringing this anger out in her, but I can’t get beyond the sudden swell of love, appreciation, and pride.
My brothers nod slowly, agreeing with her sentiment. They might even be cooking up some harebrained attempt to get into Maven’s cell right now.
“He’s valuable alive,” I say quickly, if only to stop them short.
“I don’t give a shit about his value,” Bree snaps.
I expect our mother to scold him for his language, but she isn’t bothered by the curse. In fact, she looks positively murderous herself, and for an instant I see the violent love of Queen Anabel, Larentia Viper, and even Elara Merandus in her eyes. “That creature took my son from me, and he took you.”