War Storm
Page 25
Bracken dismisses the apology with a wave of one large hand. “They knew the risks, as do all in my service. I’ve lost dozens to the search for my son and daughter.” There is true sorrow in his words, laced beneath the anger.
“Let us hope we don’t lose any more,” I mutter, thinking of myself. And what my mother said. It must be you.
Maven raises his chin, his eyes flashing between Bracken and the folio. It has to be filled with information on Montfort, their mysterious cities, their mountains, their armies. Information we need.
“We’re prepared to do what you cannot, Bracken,” he says. Maven is a skilled performer, and he layers his words with just the right amount of sympathy. If given the chance, the young king might lure Bracken to his side before I even get a chance to play my hand. “I understand that, while the Montfortans hold your children, you can’t move against them. The smallest rescue mission could jeopardize their lives.”
“Yes, exactly true.” Bracken nods rapidly. He’s eating up everything Maven gives him. “Even gathering intelligence was almost too dangerous.”
The Nortan king raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“We were able to track the children to their capital, Ascendant,” the prince offers. He extends his hand, holding out the folio to us. “It’s deep in the mountains, protected by a valley. Our maps of the city are old, but usable.”
I take the information before one of the Sentinels can, weighing the folio. It’s heavy, worth its weigh in gold.
“Were you able to find where they’re being held?” I ask, eager to crack open the pages and get to work.
Bracken dips his head. “I believe so. At great cost.”
I cross my arms, cradling the substantial book to my chest. “I won’t waste it.”
The Piedmont prince looks me up and down, his face pulled in respectful confusion. Maven is less obvious. He doesn’t move and his expression doesn’t change. The temperature doesn’t rise a single degree. But I can smell the suspicion rolling off him. And the warning. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut in front of the prince, unable to stop me from spinning my web.
“I’m leading the team myself,” I offer, fixing Bracken with my most determined stare. He doesn’t blink, resolute as a statue. Examining me, weighing me. The simple clothing was a good choice on my part. I look more like a warrior than a queen. “I’ll use Nortan soldiers and soldiers of the Lakelands, a small-enough force to pass through unnoticed. Rest assured, we’ve been hard at work since yesterday.”
Even though it makes my skin crawl, I put a hand on Maven’s arm. His flesh is cold beneath his sleeve. I can’t see it, but I feel the tiniest tremble in him. My smile widens.
“Maven came up with a brilliant plan.”
He slides his hand over mine, fingers like ice. A threat plain as day.
“Indeed I did,” Maven says, his lips pulling into a feral smile to match my own.
Bracken sees only the offer, and the possibility, of his children’s rescue. I don’t blame him. I can only imagine what my mother would do, if Tiora and I were in the same position.
The prince breaths a long sigh of relief. “Magnificent,” he offers, bowing his head one more time. “And in return, I can pledge to uphold the alliance we’ve had for decades. Until the blood freaks decided to intervene.” Bracken hardens. “But no more. The tide turns today.”
I feel his words as keenly as I feel the river below, flowing in its course. Unbreakable. Unstoppable.
“The tide turns today,” I echo, the folio tight in hand.
This time, Maven climbs into my transport after me, and I’m tempted to kick him back out in the grass. Instead I retreat to the farthest corner of my seat, Bracken’s intelligence laid across my knees. Maven keeps his eyes on me as he sits down. His calm manner almost makes me sweat.
I wait for him to speak, matching his icy gaze with my own. Inwardly, I curse his presence. I want to crack into the papers and start filling in the gaps in my rescue plan, but I can hardly start with Maven sneering at me. And he knows it. He’s enjoying this, as he always enjoys bothering people. I think it makes him feel better about his own demons, to make demons for everyone else.
Only after the transport is moving, hurtling away from the borderlands at high speed, does he speak.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asks, his voice smooth and devoid of all emotion. It’s his favorite tactic, giving no indication as to his mood. It’s useless to search his eyes or his face for any feeling, to try to read him as I would any other person. He’s too skilled for that.
I answer simply, head held high. “Winning Piedmont for us.”
Us.
Maven hmms deep in his throat, before settling back for the long journey. “Very well,” he says, and speaks no more.
EIGHT
Mare
The Montfort escort leads us toward a palatial compound set high on a ridge overlooking the central valley, where the rest of Ascendant clings to the slopes. Everywhere, dark green banners drift in the sweet evening breeze, bearing the mark of the white triangle. A mountain, I realize, feeling silly for not having figured out their symbol sooner. Their uniforms have the same marking.
My own clothes are plain, not even a uniform, just items cobbled together from stores in both Corvium and Piedmont. Probably owned by a Silver, judging by the fine make of the jacket, pants, boots, and shirt. Farley tromps along in her version of a uniform, with Clara swaddled on her hip. She wears red all over, with three metal squares at her collar. The mark of a Command general.
The Silvers behind us are more flashy, and I expect nothing less from their kind. They cut a rainbow of vibrant, sharp colors against the white walkways of Ascendant that wind through the city. Cal is difficult to ignore in his burning red cloak, but I certainly try. He walks with Evangeline, and I half expect her to shove him off one of the more treacherous terraces or stairways.
I keep close to my father’s side, listening to him breathe. The steps of Ascendant are many, and he is an old man with a regrown leg, not to mention his repaired lung. The thin air can’t be helping either.
He works hard not to stumble, his red face the only hint of how much effort this takes. Mom flanks him on the left, sharing my thoughts. Her hands trail behind him, fingers splayed to help him if he falters.
I would call for some kind of aid, a strongarm maybe, or even just Bree and Tramy, if Dad asked. But I know he won’t. He forges ahead, touching my arm once or twice. Grateful for my presence, and equally grateful for my restraint.
The steps level eventually, carrying us through an archway carved to look like tree trunks and leaves. We pass through into a central plaza, its stonework a checkered spiral of hewn green granite and milky limestone. Pines of every kind line the arches bounding the place, some of them tall as towers and just as thick. I’m struck by the overpowering swell of birdsong, chittering against the purpled sky.
Behind me, Kilorn lets loose a low whistle. He stares through the trees to a long, pillared building set into and up the cresting slope. It’s a strange mix of tumbled stone, like the bottom of a riverbed, with lacquered timber and marble detail. Balconies dot its many wings, some bursting with wildflowers. All of them face into the valley, to watch over Ascendant.
This is the premier’s house, I’m certain of it. A palace in all but name. It makes me uneasy, while the rest of my family is rightfully dazzled. I’ve had enough of palaces to know I shouldn’t trust what lingers behind sculpted beauty and gleaming windows.
“Let us hope we don’t lose any more,” I mutter, thinking of myself. And what my mother said. It must be you.
Maven raises his chin, his eyes flashing between Bracken and the folio. It has to be filled with information on Montfort, their mysterious cities, their mountains, their armies. Information we need.
“We’re prepared to do what you cannot, Bracken,” he says. Maven is a skilled performer, and he layers his words with just the right amount of sympathy. If given the chance, the young king might lure Bracken to his side before I even get a chance to play my hand. “I understand that, while the Montfortans hold your children, you can’t move against them. The smallest rescue mission could jeopardize their lives.”
“Yes, exactly true.” Bracken nods rapidly. He’s eating up everything Maven gives him. “Even gathering intelligence was almost too dangerous.”
The Nortan king raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“We were able to track the children to their capital, Ascendant,” the prince offers. He extends his hand, holding out the folio to us. “It’s deep in the mountains, protected by a valley. Our maps of the city are old, but usable.”
I take the information before one of the Sentinels can, weighing the folio. It’s heavy, worth its weigh in gold.
“Were you able to find where they’re being held?” I ask, eager to crack open the pages and get to work.
Bracken dips his head. “I believe so. At great cost.”
I cross my arms, cradling the substantial book to my chest. “I won’t waste it.”
The Piedmont prince looks me up and down, his face pulled in respectful confusion. Maven is less obvious. He doesn’t move and his expression doesn’t change. The temperature doesn’t rise a single degree. But I can smell the suspicion rolling off him. And the warning. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut in front of the prince, unable to stop me from spinning my web.
“I’m leading the team myself,” I offer, fixing Bracken with my most determined stare. He doesn’t blink, resolute as a statue. Examining me, weighing me. The simple clothing was a good choice on my part. I look more like a warrior than a queen. “I’ll use Nortan soldiers and soldiers of the Lakelands, a small-enough force to pass through unnoticed. Rest assured, we’ve been hard at work since yesterday.”
Even though it makes my skin crawl, I put a hand on Maven’s arm. His flesh is cold beneath his sleeve. I can’t see it, but I feel the tiniest tremble in him. My smile widens.
“Maven came up with a brilliant plan.”
He slides his hand over mine, fingers like ice. A threat plain as day.
“Indeed I did,” Maven says, his lips pulling into a feral smile to match my own.
Bracken sees only the offer, and the possibility, of his children’s rescue. I don’t blame him. I can only imagine what my mother would do, if Tiora and I were in the same position.
The prince breaths a long sigh of relief. “Magnificent,” he offers, bowing his head one more time. “And in return, I can pledge to uphold the alliance we’ve had for decades. Until the blood freaks decided to intervene.” Bracken hardens. “But no more. The tide turns today.”
I feel his words as keenly as I feel the river below, flowing in its course. Unbreakable. Unstoppable.
“The tide turns today,” I echo, the folio tight in hand.
This time, Maven climbs into my transport after me, and I’m tempted to kick him back out in the grass. Instead I retreat to the farthest corner of my seat, Bracken’s intelligence laid across my knees. Maven keeps his eyes on me as he sits down. His calm manner almost makes me sweat.
I wait for him to speak, matching his icy gaze with my own. Inwardly, I curse his presence. I want to crack into the papers and start filling in the gaps in my rescue plan, but I can hardly start with Maven sneering at me. And he knows it. He’s enjoying this, as he always enjoys bothering people. I think it makes him feel better about his own demons, to make demons for everyone else.
Only after the transport is moving, hurtling away from the borderlands at high speed, does he speak.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asks, his voice smooth and devoid of all emotion. It’s his favorite tactic, giving no indication as to his mood. It’s useless to search his eyes or his face for any feeling, to try to read him as I would any other person. He’s too skilled for that.
I answer simply, head held high. “Winning Piedmont for us.”
Us.
Maven hmms deep in his throat, before settling back for the long journey. “Very well,” he says, and speaks no more.
EIGHT
Mare
The Montfort escort leads us toward a palatial compound set high on a ridge overlooking the central valley, where the rest of Ascendant clings to the slopes. Everywhere, dark green banners drift in the sweet evening breeze, bearing the mark of the white triangle. A mountain, I realize, feeling silly for not having figured out their symbol sooner. Their uniforms have the same marking.
My own clothes are plain, not even a uniform, just items cobbled together from stores in both Corvium and Piedmont. Probably owned by a Silver, judging by the fine make of the jacket, pants, boots, and shirt. Farley tromps along in her version of a uniform, with Clara swaddled on her hip. She wears red all over, with three metal squares at her collar. The mark of a Command general.
The Silvers behind us are more flashy, and I expect nothing less from their kind. They cut a rainbow of vibrant, sharp colors against the white walkways of Ascendant that wind through the city. Cal is difficult to ignore in his burning red cloak, but I certainly try. He walks with Evangeline, and I half expect her to shove him off one of the more treacherous terraces or stairways.
I keep close to my father’s side, listening to him breathe. The steps of Ascendant are many, and he is an old man with a regrown leg, not to mention his repaired lung. The thin air can’t be helping either.
He works hard not to stumble, his red face the only hint of how much effort this takes. Mom flanks him on the left, sharing my thoughts. Her hands trail behind him, fingers splayed to help him if he falters.
I would call for some kind of aid, a strongarm maybe, or even just Bree and Tramy, if Dad asked. But I know he won’t. He forges ahead, touching my arm once or twice. Grateful for my presence, and equally grateful for my restraint.
The steps level eventually, carrying us through an archway carved to look like tree trunks and leaves. We pass through into a central plaza, its stonework a checkered spiral of hewn green granite and milky limestone. Pines of every kind line the arches bounding the place, some of them tall as towers and just as thick. I’m struck by the overpowering swell of birdsong, chittering against the purpled sky.
Behind me, Kilorn lets loose a low whistle. He stares through the trees to a long, pillared building set into and up the cresting slope. It’s a strange mix of tumbled stone, like the bottom of a riverbed, with lacquered timber and marble detail. Balconies dot its many wings, some bursting with wildflowers. All of them face into the valley, to watch over Ascendant.
This is the premier’s house, I’m certain of it. A palace in all but name. It makes me uneasy, while the rest of my family is rightfully dazzled. I’ve had enough of palaces to know I shouldn’t trust what lingers behind sculpted beauty and gleaming windows.
