King's Cage
Page 57
“You think giving people crumbs is going to placate them?” I growl, gesturing to the windows with my chin. Farms, barren for the winter, stretch out to the hills. “Oh, lovely, the king has given me back two years of my child’s life. Doesn’t matter that they’re still going to be taken away eventually.”
His smirk only widens. “You think that?”
“I do. That’s how this kingdom is. That’s how it’s always been.”
“We’ll see.” Leaning farther, he puts a foot up on the seat next to me. He even removes his crown, spins it between his hands. Bronze and iron flames glint in the low light, reflecting my face and his. Slowly, I edge away, crowding myself into the corner.
“I suppose I taught you a hard lesson,” he says. “You missed so much last time, and now you trust nothing. You’re always watching, looking for information you’re never going to use. Have you figured out where we’re going yet? Or why?”
I take a breath. I feel like I’m back in Julian’s classroom, being tested on a map. The stakes feel much higher here. “We’re on the Iron Road now, heading northwest. To Corvium.”
He has the gall to wink. “Close.”
“We’re not . . .” I blink quickly, trying to think. My brain buzzes through all the pieces I’ve jealously collected over the days. Shards of news, bits of gossip. “Rocasta? Are you going after Cal?”
Maven settles back farther, amused. “So small-minded. Why would I waste time chasing rumors of my exiled brother? I have a war to end and a rebellion to prevent.”
“A war to . . . end?”
“You said yourself, the Lakelands will overthrow us if given the chance. I’m not going to let that happen. Especially with Piedmont focused elsewhere, on their own multitude of troubles. I have to handle these matters myself.” Despite the warmth of the transport, due in large part to the fire king sitting in front of me, I feel a finger of ice trail down my spine.
I used to dream of the Choke. The place where my father lost his leg, where my brothers almost lost their lives. Where so many Reds die. A waste of ash and blood.
“You’re not a warrior, Maven. You’re not a general or a soldier. How can you possibly hope to defeat them when—”
“When others couldn’t? When Father couldn’t? When Cal couldn’t?” he snaps. Each word sounds like the crack of bone. “You’re right, I’m not like them. War is not what I was made for.”
Made. He says it with such ease. Maven Calore is not his own self. He told me as much. He is a construct, a creation of his mother’s additions and subtractions. A mechanical, a machine, soulless and lost. What a horror, to know that someone like this holds our fates in the palm of his quivering hand.
“It will be no loss, not truly,” he drones on to distract us both. “Our military economy will simply turn its attention to the Scarlet Guard. And then whoever we decide to fear next. Whatever avenue is best for population control—”
If not for the manacles, my rage would certainly turn the transport into a heap of electrified scrap. Instead, I jump forward, lunging, hands stretched out to grab him by the collar. My fingers worm beneath the lapels of his jacket and I seize fabric in both fists. Without thinking, I shove, pushing, smashing him back into his seat. He flinches, a hand’s breadth from my face, breathing hard. He’s just as surprised as I am. No easy thing. I immediately go numb with shock, unable to move, paralyzed by fear.
He stares up at me, eye to eye, lashes dark and long. I’m so close to him I can see his pupils dilate. I wish I could disappear. I wish I were on the other side of the world. Slowly, steadily, his hands find mine. They tighten on my wrists, feeling manacle and bone. Then he pries my fists from his chest. I let him move me, too terrified for anything else. My skin crawls at his touch, even beneath gloves. I attacked him. Maven. The king. One word, one tap on the window, and a Sentinel will rip out my spine. Or he could kill me himself. Burn me alive.
“Sit back down,” he whispers, every word sharp. Giving me one single chance.
Like a scrambling cat, I do as he says, retreating to my corner.
He recovers faster than I do and shakes his head with the ghost of a smile. Quickly he smooths his jacket and brushes back a lock of rumpled hair.
“You’re a smart girl, Mare. Don’t tell me you never connected those particular dots.”
My breath comes hard, as if there’s a stone sitting on my chest. I feel heat rise in my cheeks, both out of anger and shame. “They want our coast. Our electricity. We want their farmlands, resources . . .” I stumble over the words I was taught in a ramshackle schoolhouse. The look on Maven’s face only becomes more amused. “In Julian’s books . . . the kings disagreed. Two men arguing over a chessboard like spoiled children. They’re the reason for all this. For a hundred years of war.”
“I thought Julian taught you to read between the lines. To see the words left unsaid.” He shakes his head, despairing of me. “I suppose even he could not undo your years of poor education. Another well-used tactic, I might add.”
That I knew. That I’ve always known, and lamented. Reds are kept stupid, kept ignorant. It makes us weaker than we already are. My own parents can’t even read.
I blink away hot tears of frustration. You knew all this, I tell myself, trying to calm down. The war is a ruse, a cover to keep Reds under control. One conflict may end, but another will always begin.
His smirk only widens. “You think that?”
“I do. That’s how this kingdom is. That’s how it’s always been.”
“We’ll see.” Leaning farther, he puts a foot up on the seat next to me. He even removes his crown, spins it between his hands. Bronze and iron flames glint in the low light, reflecting my face and his. Slowly, I edge away, crowding myself into the corner.
“I suppose I taught you a hard lesson,” he says. “You missed so much last time, and now you trust nothing. You’re always watching, looking for information you’re never going to use. Have you figured out where we’re going yet? Or why?”
I take a breath. I feel like I’m back in Julian’s classroom, being tested on a map. The stakes feel much higher here. “We’re on the Iron Road now, heading northwest. To Corvium.”
He has the gall to wink. “Close.”
“We’re not . . .” I blink quickly, trying to think. My brain buzzes through all the pieces I’ve jealously collected over the days. Shards of news, bits of gossip. “Rocasta? Are you going after Cal?”
Maven settles back farther, amused. “So small-minded. Why would I waste time chasing rumors of my exiled brother? I have a war to end and a rebellion to prevent.”
“A war to . . . end?”
“You said yourself, the Lakelands will overthrow us if given the chance. I’m not going to let that happen. Especially with Piedmont focused elsewhere, on their own multitude of troubles. I have to handle these matters myself.” Despite the warmth of the transport, due in large part to the fire king sitting in front of me, I feel a finger of ice trail down my spine.
I used to dream of the Choke. The place where my father lost his leg, where my brothers almost lost their lives. Where so many Reds die. A waste of ash and blood.
“You’re not a warrior, Maven. You’re not a general or a soldier. How can you possibly hope to defeat them when—”
“When others couldn’t? When Father couldn’t? When Cal couldn’t?” he snaps. Each word sounds like the crack of bone. “You’re right, I’m not like them. War is not what I was made for.”
Made. He says it with such ease. Maven Calore is not his own self. He told me as much. He is a construct, a creation of his mother’s additions and subtractions. A mechanical, a machine, soulless and lost. What a horror, to know that someone like this holds our fates in the palm of his quivering hand.
“It will be no loss, not truly,” he drones on to distract us both. “Our military economy will simply turn its attention to the Scarlet Guard. And then whoever we decide to fear next. Whatever avenue is best for population control—”
If not for the manacles, my rage would certainly turn the transport into a heap of electrified scrap. Instead, I jump forward, lunging, hands stretched out to grab him by the collar. My fingers worm beneath the lapels of his jacket and I seize fabric in both fists. Without thinking, I shove, pushing, smashing him back into his seat. He flinches, a hand’s breadth from my face, breathing hard. He’s just as surprised as I am. No easy thing. I immediately go numb with shock, unable to move, paralyzed by fear.
He stares up at me, eye to eye, lashes dark and long. I’m so close to him I can see his pupils dilate. I wish I could disappear. I wish I were on the other side of the world. Slowly, steadily, his hands find mine. They tighten on my wrists, feeling manacle and bone. Then he pries my fists from his chest. I let him move me, too terrified for anything else. My skin crawls at his touch, even beneath gloves. I attacked him. Maven. The king. One word, one tap on the window, and a Sentinel will rip out my spine. Or he could kill me himself. Burn me alive.
“Sit back down,” he whispers, every word sharp. Giving me one single chance.
Like a scrambling cat, I do as he says, retreating to my corner.
He recovers faster than I do and shakes his head with the ghost of a smile. Quickly he smooths his jacket and brushes back a lock of rumpled hair.
“You’re a smart girl, Mare. Don’t tell me you never connected those particular dots.”
My breath comes hard, as if there’s a stone sitting on my chest. I feel heat rise in my cheeks, both out of anger and shame. “They want our coast. Our electricity. We want their farmlands, resources . . .” I stumble over the words I was taught in a ramshackle schoolhouse. The look on Maven’s face only becomes more amused. “In Julian’s books . . . the kings disagreed. Two men arguing over a chessboard like spoiled children. They’re the reason for all this. For a hundred years of war.”
“I thought Julian taught you to read between the lines. To see the words left unsaid.” He shakes his head, despairing of me. “I suppose even he could not undo your years of poor education. Another well-used tactic, I might add.”
That I knew. That I’ve always known, and lamented. Reds are kept stupid, kept ignorant. It makes us weaker than we already are. My own parents can’t even read.
I blink away hot tears of frustration. You knew all this, I tell myself, trying to calm down. The war is a ruse, a cover to keep Reds under control. One conflict may end, but another will always begin.
