War Storm
Page 104
Because the true prize is your father.
I glance at him sidelong, noting the set of his shoulders, proud and straight beneath the curves of his chromium armor, polished so well I can see my reflection in it. I look afraid, my eyes wide and darting, ringed with dark makeup to hide the circles beneath my eyes. I fought well yesterday, enough to keep myself and my brother alive while so many of our kin died. Father hasn’t said a word about it. Nothing to indicate he’s happy that his children, his legacy, survived. Volo Samos is as hard as the steel we come from, all sharp edges. Even his beard is manicured and pruned to mathematic perfection. I have his coloring, his disposition, and his hunger. But now we yearn for different things. He wants power, as much of it as he can consume. I want freedom. I want my own fate.
I want the impossible.
“Now, as for the royal wedding—” Anabel begins, but I can’t stand it any longer.
“Excuse me,” I snap, not bothering to look at any of them as I go. It feels like a surrender. But no one stops me, not even Father. No one says a word.
I’m barely up the grand staircase before my mother cuts across my path. She almost hisses in anger, imitating one of her snakes. How such a small woman can take up an entire hallway, I’ll never understand.
“Hello, Mother. Don’t worry, I’m all right. Not a scratch on me,” I mutter.
She waves off the greeting. Like Father, she doesn’t seem to care, or mind, that I faced death yesterday.
“Really, Evangeline,” she scolds, planting her jeweled hands on her hips. Today she favors pale green clothing. Her nose twitches slightly, and I can tell I don’t have her undivided attention. The rest is in a mouse still watching the council. “You can climb the walls of Fort Patriot, but a simple meeting is too much for you?”
I shudder, trying not to think about the battle. With some effort, I push the memory away. “I hardly enjoy wasting my time,” I tell her with a sneer.
She rolls her eyes as only a mother can. “Discussing your own wedding?”
“There’s no discussion to it,” I scoff. “I have no say, so why does it matter if I’m there? Besides, Tolly will tell me everything later. All of Father’s commands,” I add, spitting out the last word like a bad taste.
Mother seems to coil, taut and dangerous. “You act like this is some kind of punishment.”
I raise my chin. All over my body, the steel threads of my gown tighten with my anger. “Isn’t it?”
She reacts like I’ve slapped her and insulted her entire bloodline. “I don’t understand you!” she says, throwing up her hands. “This is what you want, what you’ve worked for your entire life.”
I have to laugh at her blindness. No matter how many eyes my mother sees through, she will never see through mine. My laughter unsettles her at least. I glance at her brow, tracing her braid blooming with gemstones. Let no one say Larentia Viper does not play the part of a queen well. All this for that. “A crown suits you, Mother,” I sigh.
“Don’t change the subject, Eve,” she says, exasperated, as she closes the distance between us. With all the warmth she can muster, she puts both hands to my arms as if to pull me into an embrace. I keep still, rooted. Slowly, her fingers run up and down my arms, rubbing my bare skin. The image is almost maternal, far more than I’m used to. “It’s almost over, darling.”
No, it is not.
Deliberate, I step out of her grasp. The air is warmer than her hands, so cold they could be reptilian. She looks pained by the sudden distance, but holds her own ground. “I’m going to have a bath,” I tell her. “Keep your ears and eyes away from me while I do.”
Mother purses her lips. She makes no promises. “Everything we do is for your own good.”
I turn to go, my dress swishing in my wake as I walk from her. “Keep telling yourself that.”
By the time I get back to my rooms, I feel like breaking something, smashing a vase or a window or a mirror. Glass, not metal. I want to shatter something I cannot put back together. I resist the urge, mostly because I don’t want to clean up the ensuing mess. There are Red servants left in Ocean Hill, but few. Only those who wish to continue their profession, at better compensation, will still serve in the palace here, or in any Silver employ.
I wonder how far the ripples of Cal’s decision will travel. How much will change? Red equality will have far-reaching consequences, and not just for the tidiness of my bedroom.
I step deeper into my chamber, throwing open the windows as I go. Late afternoon in the Bay is a beautiful time, filled with golden light and a fragrant sea breeze. I try to find some comfort in it, but it just makes me angrier. The high keening of the gulls seems to taunt me. I think about skewering one, just for target practice. Instead I throw back the soft blankets of the bed and start to crawl in. A nap is better than a bath. I just want this day to end.
I freeze when my hand slides over paper amid the silk.
The note is short and small, written in tight, looping script. Nothing like Elane’s elegant, ostentatious cursive. I don’t recognize the penmanship, but I don’t have to. Very few people would leave me secret notes, and even fewer could actually get access to my bed. My heartbeat quickens in my chest, breath catching.
We’re right to call the Scarlet Guard rats. I think they might actually live in the walls.
I apologize I could not give you this invitation in person, but the circumstances allow little else. Leave Norta. Leave the Rift. Come to Montfort. Allowances will be made for you, and for Lady Elane. You will be welcome in the mountains, free to be as you wish. Abandon this empty shell of a life. Don’t subject yourself to that fate. The choice is in your own hands, and no one else’s. We ask nothing in return.
I almost crumple Davidson’s note at such naked dishonesty. Nothing in return. My simple presence is a gift in itself. Without me, Cal’s alliance to the Rift will be in jeopardy. His only remaining ally might waver. It’s a way for Davidson and the Scarlet Guard to pull him back into their grasp.
If you agree, order a cup of tea to your room. We’ll take care of the rest.
—D
The words burn, branding themselves into my mind. I stare at them for what feels like hours, but only a few minutes pass.
The choice is in your own hands. Nothing could be further from the truth. Father will chase me to the ends of the earth, no matter who stands in his way. I’m his investment, part of his legacy.
“What will you do?” a familiar voice asks, sweeter than a song.
Elane blooms into existence across the room, silhouetted against a window. Still beautiful, but with none of her glow. The sight makes me ache.
I glance at the note in hand. “There’s nothing I can do,” I mutter. “If . . .” I can’t even say the words aloud, even to her. “It will only make things worse. For me, and for you.”
She doesn’t move, no matter how much I want her to cross the room. Her eyes remain far away, fixed on the city and the ocean. “You really think things aren’t already worse for me?”
Her whisper, fragile and soft, breaks my heart.
“My father would kill you, Elane. He would kill you if he thought—if he knew how tempted we are by this,” I say, tightening my grip on the note.
And what about Tolly? I can’t leave him alone, the only heir to the throne of a small and precariously positioned kingdom. The letters of the note seem to blur and swirl.
I glance at him sidelong, noting the set of his shoulders, proud and straight beneath the curves of his chromium armor, polished so well I can see my reflection in it. I look afraid, my eyes wide and darting, ringed with dark makeup to hide the circles beneath my eyes. I fought well yesterday, enough to keep myself and my brother alive while so many of our kin died. Father hasn’t said a word about it. Nothing to indicate he’s happy that his children, his legacy, survived. Volo Samos is as hard as the steel we come from, all sharp edges. Even his beard is manicured and pruned to mathematic perfection. I have his coloring, his disposition, and his hunger. But now we yearn for different things. He wants power, as much of it as he can consume. I want freedom. I want my own fate.
I want the impossible.
“Now, as for the royal wedding—” Anabel begins, but I can’t stand it any longer.
“Excuse me,” I snap, not bothering to look at any of them as I go. It feels like a surrender. But no one stops me, not even Father. No one says a word.
I’m barely up the grand staircase before my mother cuts across my path. She almost hisses in anger, imitating one of her snakes. How such a small woman can take up an entire hallway, I’ll never understand.
“Hello, Mother. Don’t worry, I’m all right. Not a scratch on me,” I mutter.
She waves off the greeting. Like Father, she doesn’t seem to care, or mind, that I faced death yesterday.
“Really, Evangeline,” she scolds, planting her jeweled hands on her hips. Today she favors pale green clothing. Her nose twitches slightly, and I can tell I don’t have her undivided attention. The rest is in a mouse still watching the council. “You can climb the walls of Fort Patriot, but a simple meeting is too much for you?”
I shudder, trying not to think about the battle. With some effort, I push the memory away. “I hardly enjoy wasting my time,” I tell her with a sneer.
She rolls her eyes as only a mother can. “Discussing your own wedding?”
“There’s no discussion to it,” I scoff. “I have no say, so why does it matter if I’m there? Besides, Tolly will tell me everything later. All of Father’s commands,” I add, spitting out the last word like a bad taste.
Mother seems to coil, taut and dangerous. “You act like this is some kind of punishment.”
I raise my chin. All over my body, the steel threads of my gown tighten with my anger. “Isn’t it?”
She reacts like I’ve slapped her and insulted her entire bloodline. “I don’t understand you!” she says, throwing up her hands. “This is what you want, what you’ve worked for your entire life.”
I have to laugh at her blindness. No matter how many eyes my mother sees through, she will never see through mine. My laughter unsettles her at least. I glance at her brow, tracing her braid blooming with gemstones. Let no one say Larentia Viper does not play the part of a queen well. All this for that. “A crown suits you, Mother,” I sigh.
“Don’t change the subject, Eve,” she says, exasperated, as she closes the distance between us. With all the warmth she can muster, she puts both hands to my arms as if to pull me into an embrace. I keep still, rooted. Slowly, her fingers run up and down my arms, rubbing my bare skin. The image is almost maternal, far more than I’m used to. “It’s almost over, darling.”
No, it is not.
Deliberate, I step out of her grasp. The air is warmer than her hands, so cold they could be reptilian. She looks pained by the sudden distance, but holds her own ground. “I’m going to have a bath,” I tell her. “Keep your ears and eyes away from me while I do.”
Mother purses her lips. She makes no promises. “Everything we do is for your own good.”
I turn to go, my dress swishing in my wake as I walk from her. “Keep telling yourself that.”
By the time I get back to my rooms, I feel like breaking something, smashing a vase or a window or a mirror. Glass, not metal. I want to shatter something I cannot put back together. I resist the urge, mostly because I don’t want to clean up the ensuing mess. There are Red servants left in Ocean Hill, but few. Only those who wish to continue their profession, at better compensation, will still serve in the palace here, or in any Silver employ.
I wonder how far the ripples of Cal’s decision will travel. How much will change? Red equality will have far-reaching consequences, and not just for the tidiness of my bedroom.
I step deeper into my chamber, throwing open the windows as I go. Late afternoon in the Bay is a beautiful time, filled with golden light and a fragrant sea breeze. I try to find some comfort in it, but it just makes me angrier. The high keening of the gulls seems to taunt me. I think about skewering one, just for target practice. Instead I throw back the soft blankets of the bed and start to crawl in. A nap is better than a bath. I just want this day to end.
I freeze when my hand slides over paper amid the silk.
The note is short and small, written in tight, looping script. Nothing like Elane’s elegant, ostentatious cursive. I don’t recognize the penmanship, but I don’t have to. Very few people would leave me secret notes, and even fewer could actually get access to my bed. My heartbeat quickens in my chest, breath catching.
We’re right to call the Scarlet Guard rats. I think they might actually live in the walls.
I apologize I could not give you this invitation in person, but the circumstances allow little else. Leave Norta. Leave the Rift. Come to Montfort. Allowances will be made for you, and for Lady Elane. You will be welcome in the mountains, free to be as you wish. Abandon this empty shell of a life. Don’t subject yourself to that fate. The choice is in your own hands, and no one else’s. We ask nothing in return.
I almost crumple Davidson’s note at such naked dishonesty. Nothing in return. My simple presence is a gift in itself. Without me, Cal’s alliance to the Rift will be in jeopardy. His only remaining ally might waver. It’s a way for Davidson and the Scarlet Guard to pull him back into their grasp.
If you agree, order a cup of tea to your room. We’ll take care of the rest.
—D
The words burn, branding themselves into my mind. I stare at them for what feels like hours, but only a few minutes pass.
The choice is in your own hands. Nothing could be further from the truth. Father will chase me to the ends of the earth, no matter who stands in his way. I’m his investment, part of his legacy.
“What will you do?” a familiar voice asks, sweeter than a song.
Elane blooms into existence across the room, silhouetted against a window. Still beautiful, but with none of her glow. The sight makes me ache.
I glance at the note in hand. “There’s nothing I can do,” I mutter. “If . . .” I can’t even say the words aloud, even to her. “It will only make things worse. For me, and for you.”
She doesn’t move, no matter how much I want her to cross the room. Her eyes remain far away, fixed on the city and the ocean. “You really think things aren’t already worse for me?”
Her whisper, fragile and soft, breaks my heart.
“My father would kill you, Elane. He would kill you if he thought—if he knew how tempted we are by this,” I say, tightening my grip on the note.
And what about Tolly? I can’t leave him alone, the only heir to the throne of a small and precariously positioned kingdom. The letters of the note seem to blur and swirl.
