War Storm
Page 8
At the window, Tyton’s eyes flicker in the light as he finally deigns to look at me.
I raise my chin. “Only what you promised.”
“Resettlement?” For once, Davidson looks truly startled. “You want to—”
“I want my family safe.” My voice never wavers. I push a little of what I remember from a dead Silver and her etiquette rules into my bearing. Straight spine, squared shoulders. Hold eye contact.
“We are truly at war,” I say. “Norta, Piedmont, the Lakelands, and your Republic too. Nowhere is safe, from either side. But you’re farthest away, and you seem to be the strongest, or at least the most defended. I think it will be best if I can take my family there myself. Before I come back to finish what better people started.”
“The promise was for newbloods, Miss Barrow,” Davidson says quietly. The flurry of activity around us almost drowns him out.
My stomach drops, but I harden my expression. “I don’t think so, Premier.”
He pulls that bland smile of his, retreating behind his usual mask. “Really, you think me so heartless?” A strange joke, but Davidson is nothing if not a strange man. He flashes even teeth. “Of course your family is welcome. Montfort would be proud to accept them as citizens. Ibarem, a word?” he adds, calling over my shoulder.
A man bustles in from one of the connecting rooms, and I can’t help but jump. He’s the spitting image of Rash and Tahir, the newblood twins. If I didn’t know Tahir was still in Piedmont and Rash embedded in Archeon, both relaying information for the cause, I would think he was one of the twins. Triplets, I quickly realize, and a bitterness fills my mouth. I don’t like surprises.
Like his brothers, Ibarem has dark brown skin, black hair, and a well-manicured beard. I can just glimpse a scar beneath the hair on his chin, a single white line of raised flesh. He’s marked too, cut by a Silver lord long ago to distinguish him from his identical siblings.
“Pleased to meet you,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at Davidson.
He senses my unease. “Ah, yes, this would be the brother of Rash and Tahir.”
“Couldn’t tell,” I shoot back dryly.
Ibarem’s lips twist into a small smile as he nods his head in greeting. “Glad to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Barrow.” Then he turns to the premier, expectant. “What do you need, Premier?”
Davidson eyes him. “Send word to Tahir. Have him inform the Barrow family that their daughter will be collecting them tomorrow. For resettlement in Montfort.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies. His eyes glaze for a moment, as the message travels from his brain to his brother’s. It only takes a second, despite the hundreds of miles between them. He ducks his head again. “Relayed, sir. Tahir says congratulations and welcome, Miss Barrow.”
I only hope my parents accept the offer. Not that they wouldn’t. Gisa wants to go, and Mom will follow her lead. Bree and Tramy will follow Mom. But Dad, I’m not sure. Not if he knows I won’t be staying with them. Please go. Please let me give you this.
“Tell him thanks,” I mumble, still disconcerted by him.
“Relayed,” Ibarem says again. “Tahir says you’re very welcome.”
“Thank you both,” Davidson cuts in, and for good reason. The brothers can go back and forth with maddening speed, although it’s worse when their linked brains are side by side. Ibarem nods, taking the dismissal, before shuffling away to continue his work elsewhere.
“Are there any more of them you’d like to tell me about?” I hiss, leaning forward to grit my teeth at the premier.
He takes my annoyance in stride. “No, though I wish I had more of their like at my disposal,” he sighs. “Funny, those brothers. Usually Ardents have Silver counterparts, but I’ve never seen their like beyond our blood.”
“His brain feels different from any other,” Tyton mutters.
I eye him sharply. “The way you say that is very disconcerting.”
Tyton only shrugs.
I turn back to Davidson, still smarting, but unable to ignore what a gift he’s just given me. “Thank you for doing this. I know you lead the country, and it may not seem like much, but this means a great deal to me.”
“Of course it does,” he replies. “And I hope to do the same for other families like yours, as soon as we are able. My government is currently debating how to face what is rapidly becoming a refugee crisis, as well as how to move already-displaced Reds and newbloods. But for you, for what you’ve done and continue to do, exceptions can be made.”
“And what have I done? Really?” The words slip out before I can bite them back. Heat spreads across my cheeks.
“You’ve made cracks in the impenetrable.” Davidson speaks like he’s pointing out the obvious. “Put dents in armor. You loosened the proverbial jar, Miss Barrow. Let us break it open.” His grin is true, wide and white and stretching. I’m reminded of a cat. “And it’s no small thing that, because of you, a claimant to the throne of Norta will be coming to the Republic.”
That sends a jolt through me. Is that a threat? I move quickly, leaning over his desk, my palms braced against the wood, my voice low, in warning. “I want your word he won’t be harmed.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “You have it,” he says, matching my tone. “I won’t touch a hair on his head. Nor will anyone else, not while Calore is in my country. You have my solemn promise. That’s not how I operate.”
“Good,” I reply. “Because it would be ridiculously stupid to remove the buffer between our alliance and Maven Calore. And you aren’t a stupid person, are you, Premier?”
That cat smile widens. He nods.
“Won’t it be good for the little prince to see something different?” Davidson cocks one manicured gray eyebrow. “A country without a king?”
See that it’s possible. That the crown, the throne—they aren’t his duty. He doesn’t have to be a king or a prince. Not if he doesn’t want to be.
But I think he wants to be.
“Yes” is all I can say. And all I can hope for. After all, didn’t I first meet Tiberias in a dark tavern, where he pretended to be someone else so he could see what the world really looked like? See what should change?
Davidson leans back, clearly finished with me. I do the same. “Consider your request granted,” he says. “And consider yourself lucky we have to return to Piedmont first anyway, or else I might not be so amenable to retrieving a metric ton of Barrows.”
He almost winks.
I almost smile.
Halfway to the barracks, I realize I’m being followed through the fortress city. Footsteps trail close behind, nimble and even along the winding street. The fluorescent lights cast two shadows, mine and someone else’s. I tense, uneasy, but not afraid. Corvium is crawling with coalition soldiers, and if any of them are stupid enough to wish me harm, they’re welcome to try. I can protect myself. Sparks ripple beneath my skin, easy to unleash. Ready to loose.
I turn on my boot heel, hoping to catch whoever it is off guard. It doesn’t work.
Evangeline stops smoothly, expectant, her arms crossed and dark, perfect eyebrows raised. She still wears her opulent armor, the kind better suited to a king’s court than a battleground. No crown, though. She used to spend her free time fashioning tiaras and circlets from whatever metal she could get her hands on. But now, when she has every right to wear one, her head is bare.
I raise my chin. “Only what you promised.”
“Resettlement?” For once, Davidson looks truly startled. “You want to—”
“I want my family safe.” My voice never wavers. I push a little of what I remember from a dead Silver and her etiquette rules into my bearing. Straight spine, squared shoulders. Hold eye contact.
“We are truly at war,” I say. “Norta, Piedmont, the Lakelands, and your Republic too. Nowhere is safe, from either side. But you’re farthest away, and you seem to be the strongest, or at least the most defended. I think it will be best if I can take my family there myself. Before I come back to finish what better people started.”
“The promise was for newbloods, Miss Barrow,” Davidson says quietly. The flurry of activity around us almost drowns him out.
My stomach drops, but I harden my expression. “I don’t think so, Premier.”
He pulls that bland smile of his, retreating behind his usual mask. “Really, you think me so heartless?” A strange joke, but Davidson is nothing if not a strange man. He flashes even teeth. “Of course your family is welcome. Montfort would be proud to accept them as citizens. Ibarem, a word?” he adds, calling over my shoulder.
A man bustles in from one of the connecting rooms, and I can’t help but jump. He’s the spitting image of Rash and Tahir, the newblood twins. If I didn’t know Tahir was still in Piedmont and Rash embedded in Archeon, both relaying information for the cause, I would think he was one of the twins. Triplets, I quickly realize, and a bitterness fills my mouth. I don’t like surprises.
Like his brothers, Ibarem has dark brown skin, black hair, and a well-manicured beard. I can just glimpse a scar beneath the hair on his chin, a single white line of raised flesh. He’s marked too, cut by a Silver lord long ago to distinguish him from his identical siblings.
“Pleased to meet you,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at Davidson.
He senses my unease. “Ah, yes, this would be the brother of Rash and Tahir.”
“Couldn’t tell,” I shoot back dryly.
Ibarem’s lips twist into a small smile as he nods his head in greeting. “Glad to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Barrow.” Then he turns to the premier, expectant. “What do you need, Premier?”
Davidson eyes him. “Send word to Tahir. Have him inform the Barrow family that their daughter will be collecting them tomorrow. For resettlement in Montfort.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies. His eyes glaze for a moment, as the message travels from his brain to his brother’s. It only takes a second, despite the hundreds of miles between them. He ducks his head again. “Relayed, sir. Tahir says congratulations and welcome, Miss Barrow.”
I only hope my parents accept the offer. Not that they wouldn’t. Gisa wants to go, and Mom will follow her lead. Bree and Tramy will follow Mom. But Dad, I’m not sure. Not if he knows I won’t be staying with them. Please go. Please let me give you this.
“Tell him thanks,” I mumble, still disconcerted by him.
“Relayed,” Ibarem says again. “Tahir says you’re very welcome.”
“Thank you both,” Davidson cuts in, and for good reason. The brothers can go back and forth with maddening speed, although it’s worse when their linked brains are side by side. Ibarem nods, taking the dismissal, before shuffling away to continue his work elsewhere.
“Are there any more of them you’d like to tell me about?” I hiss, leaning forward to grit my teeth at the premier.
He takes my annoyance in stride. “No, though I wish I had more of their like at my disposal,” he sighs. “Funny, those brothers. Usually Ardents have Silver counterparts, but I’ve never seen their like beyond our blood.”
“His brain feels different from any other,” Tyton mutters.
I eye him sharply. “The way you say that is very disconcerting.”
Tyton only shrugs.
I turn back to Davidson, still smarting, but unable to ignore what a gift he’s just given me. “Thank you for doing this. I know you lead the country, and it may not seem like much, but this means a great deal to me.”
“Of course it does,” he replies. “And I hope to do the same for other families like yours, as soon as we are able. My government is currently debating how to face what is rapidly becoming a refugee crisis, as well as how to move already-displaced Reds and newbloods. But for you, for what you’ve done and continue to do, exceptions can be made.”
“And what have I done? Really?” The words slip out before I can bite them back. Heat spreads across my cheeks.
“You’ve made cracks in the impenetrable.” Davidson speaks like he’s pointing out the obvious. “Put dents in armor. You loosened the proverbial jar, Miss Barrow. Let us break it open.” His grin is true, wide and white and stretching. I’m reminded of a cat. “And it’s no small thing that, because of you, a claimant to the throne of Norta will be coming to the Republic.”
That sends a jolt through me. Is that a threat? I move quickly, leaning over his desk, my palms braced against the wood, my voice low, in warning. “I want your word he won’t be harmed.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “You have it,” he says, matching my tone. “I won’t touch a hair on his head. Nor will anyone else, not while Calore is in my country. You have my solemn promise. That’s not how I operate.”
“Good,” I reply. “Because it would be ridiculously stupid to remove the buffer between our alliance and Maven Calore. And you aren’t a stupid person, are you, Premier?”
That cat smile widens. He nods.
“Won’t it be good for the little prince to see something different?” Davidson cocks one manicured gray eyebrow. “A country without a king?”
See that it’s possible. That the crown, the throne—they aren’t his duty. He doesn’t have to be a king or a prince. Not if he doesn’t want to be.
But I think he wants to be.
“Yes” is all I can say. And all I can hope for. After all, didn’t I first meet Tiberias in a dark tavern, where he pretended to be someone else so he could see what the world really looked like? See what should change?
Davidson leans back, clearly finished with me. I do the same. “Consider your request granted,” he says. “And consider yourself lucky we have to return to Piedmont first anyway, or else I might not be so amenable to retrieving a metric ton of Barrows.”
He almost winks.
I almost smile.
Halfway to the barracks, I realize I’m being followed through the fortress city. Footsteps trail close behind, nimble and even along the winding street. The fluorescent lights cast two shadows, mine and someone else’s. I tense, uneasy, but not afraid. Corvium is crawling with coalition soldiers, and if any of them are stupid enough to wish me harm, they’re welcome to try. I can protect myself. Sparks ripple beneath my skin, easy to unleash. Ready to loose.
I turn on my boot heel, hoping to catch whoever it is off guard. It doesn’t work.
Evangeline stops smoothly, expectant, her arms crossed and dark, perfect eyebrows raised. She still wears her opulent armor, the kind better suited to a king’s court than a battleground. No crown, though. She used to spend her free time fashioning tiaras and circlets from whatever metal she could get her hands on. But now, when she has every right to wear one, her head is bare.
