War Storm
Page 86
She doesn’t look convinced, but nods anyway. Her eyes pass to Julian, then to the single paper in his hand. The copy of Maven’s response. “Did he have any other demands?”
Julian shakes his head. “None.”
“May I see it?” She holds out a hand in gentle request, palm turned upward. Julian is happy to oblige.
For a second, she hesitates, gripping the paper between her thumb and forefinger like something unclean. He used to write her letters, back when we were operating from the Notch, collecting newbloods. He used to leave them on the corpses of the ones he got to first. Each one begged her to return, promising to stop the bloodshed if she went back. Eventually, he got his wish. I would take the paper from her, protect her from the pain his words bring, but she doesn’t need me to shield her. She’s faced worse without me.
Finally, she blinks, steeling herself to read Maven’s response. Her frown only deepens as her eyes scan the words, over and over again.
I glance at Julian. “Has Nanabel been informed?”
“She has,” he says.
“Does she have thoughts?”
“When doesn’t she?”
I offer him a wry smile. “True.” Julian and my grandmother aren’t exactly the closest of friends, but they’re certainly allies, at least where I am concerned. Their shared history, my mother, is enough for them both. At the thought, I feel a sudden cold, and I can’t help but look at my desk drawer. It’s firmly shut, the book out of sight.
But never far from my mind.
Ocean Hill was my mother’s favorite palace, and I see her everywhere, even though I have no memory of her face. Only what I’ve seen in pictures or paintings. I’ve asked for some of her portraits to be rehung, at least in the salon outside my bedroom. Her colors were gold, more vibrant than the yellows Julian wears now. Fitting a queen born of a High House, though she was far from the norm.
She slept in this room. She breathed this air. She was alive here.
Julian’s voice snaps me out of the quicksand of my mother’s memory. “Queen Anabel thinks you should send someone in your stead,” he says.
A corner of my mouth tugs into a half smile. “I’m sure she suggested herself.”
His face mirrors mine. “She did.”
“I’ll thank her for the suggestion and politely decline. If anyone is going to face him, it should be me. I’ll present our terms—”
“Maven won’t bargain.” Mare’s fist closes, crumpling a bit of the communication. Her gaze feels like her kiss. Devouring.
“He agreed to the meeting—” Julian begins, but she cuts him off.
“And that’s all he’ll agree to. This isn’t to discuss terms. He isn’t anywhere close to surrender.” I hold her livid stare, watching the storm in her eyes. I almost expect a peal of thunder overhead. “He just wants to see us. It’s his way.”
To my surprise, Julian takes a harried step toward her. His face pales, draining of color. “We should still try,” he pleads, exasperated.
She just blinks at him. “And torture ourselves? Give him the satisfaction?”
I respond before Julian can. “Of course we’re going to meet with him.” My voice deepens, heavier than before. “And of course he isn’t going to bargain.”
“So why do this?” Mare spits. I’m reminded of one of Larentia Viper’s snakes.
“Because,” I mutter, trying not to growl. To keep some semblance of control and dignity. “I want to see him too. I want to look into his eyes and know that my brother is gone forever.”
Neither Julian nor Mare, two of the most talkative people I know, has any response to give. She looks at her feet, brows knitting together, while a red bloom rises in her cheeks. It could be shame or frustration or both. Julian only goes paler, white as a sheet. He avoids my eyes.
“I have to know that whatever his mother did to him cannot be reversed. I need to be sure,” I murmur, moving closer to Mare. If only to calm myself. I’m suddenly aware of the cloying heat in the room, rising with my own temper. “Thank you, Julian,” I add, trying to dismiss him as gently as I can.
He takes the hint well. “Of course,” he replies, bowing his head. Even though I’ve repeatedly asked him never to bow to me. “Have you . . . ,” he adds, stumbling over the question. “Have you read what I gave you?”
The pain of another person lost flares in my chest. My eyes dart to the desk drawer again. Mare follows my line of sight, even though she doesn’t know what we’re talking about.
I’ll tell her later. At a better time.
“Some,” I manage to say.
Julian looks almost disappointed. “It isn’t easy.”
“No, it isn’t, Julian.” I’m done talking about this. “And if you could . . . ,” I mumble, gesturing feebly between myself and Mare to change the subject. “You know.”
Mare snickers slightly, but Julian is happy to comply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with an easy grin.
As he goes, stepping back out into the salon, I follow his retreating figure. When he passes the painting, propped up against a chair for now, he slows. But he doesn’t stop. He only trails a hand along the frame, unable to spare a glance for his sister.
They have a similar look, based on the portrait. The thin chestnut hair and inquisitive eyes. She was simple, an easy beauty. The kind most overlook. I don’t have much of her in me, if anything at all.
I wish I did.
The door swings shut, removing her and my uncle from sight.
Slowly, smooth fingers weave into mine, taking my hand.
“He can’t be fixed,” Mare breathes, resting her chin against my shoulder. Not quite on top of it—she can’t reach—but now isn’t the time to tease her. Instead I lean down into her grasp, making it easier on us both.
“I need to see for myself. If I’m going to give up on him—”
Her grip tightens sharply. “There’s no giving up against the impossible.”
The impossible. Part of me still refuses to believe that. My brother is not a lost cause. He can’t be. I won’t allow it. “Davidson tried,” I whisper. Reluctant to say the words out loud. But I have to. I have to make them real. “He searched. There are no newblood whispers.”
She takes a long, trailing breath. “And that’s probably for the best,” she says after a moment. “In the grand scheme of the world.”
It stings to know she’s right.
Methodic, she puts her hands on my shoulders, steering me away from the desk. Away from the memory sitting in a drawer. “You should sleep,” she says firmly, pushing at the bed. “Maven wears exhaustion better than you do.”
I stifle a yawn, eager to follow her commands. With a sigh, I slip between the blankets. When my head hits the pillow, I almost drop asleep instantly. “Will you stay?” I mumble, watching her through slitted eyes.
She crawls over to me in reply, kicking off her boots as she goes. She worms her way under the silk. I watch her, smirking, and she shrugs. “Everyone will know anyway.”
Without thought, I take her hand, knitting our fingers at the hem of the blanket. “Julian can keep a secret.”
Mare barks out a laugh. “Evangeline can’t, not with her agenda.”
I have to chuckle too, halfhearted in my exhaustion. “Whoever thought she’d be the one pushing us at each other?”
Julian shakes his head. “None.”
“May I see it?” She holds out a hand in gentle request, palm turned upward. Julian is happy to oblige.
For a second, she hesitates, gripping the paper between her thumb and forefinger like something unclean. He used to write her letters, back when we were operating from the Notch, collecting newbloods. He used to leave them on the corpses of the ones he got to first. Each one begged her to return, promising to stop the bloodshed if she went back. Eventually, he got his wish. I would take the paper from her, protect her from the pain his words bring, but she doesn’t need me to shield her. She’s faced worse without me.
Finally, she blinks, steeling herself to read Maven’s response. Her frown only deepens as her eyes scan the words, over and over again.
I glance at Julian. “Has Nanabel been informed?”
“She has,” he says.
“Does she have thoughts?”
“When doesn’t she?”
I offer him a wry smile. “True.” Julian and my grandmother aren’t exactly the closest of friends, but they’re certainly allies, at least where I am concerned. Their shared history, my mother, is enough for them both. At the thought, I feel a sudden cold, and I can’t help but look at my desk drawer. It’s firmly shut, the book out of sight.
But never far from my mind.
Ocean Hill was my mother’s favorite palace, and I see her everywhere, even though I have no memory of her face. Only what I’ve seen in pictures or paintings. I’ve asked for some of her portraits to be rehung, at least in the salon outside my bedroom. Her colors were gold, more vibrant than the yellows Julian wears now. Fitting a queen born of a High House, though she was far from the norm.
She slept in this room. She breathed this air. She was alive here.
Julian’s voice snaps me out of the quicksand of my mother’s memory. “Queen Anabel thinks you should send someone in your stead,” he says.
A corner of my mouth tugs into a half smile. “I’m sure she suggested herself.”
His face mirrors mine. “She did.”
“I’ll thank her for the suggestion and politely decline. If anyone is going to face him, it should be me. I’ll present our terms—”
“Maven won’t bargain.” Mare’s fist closes, crumpling a bit of the communication. Her gaze feels like her kiss. Devouring.
“He agreed to the meeting—” Julian begins, but she cuts him off.
“And that’s all he’ll agree to. This isn’t to discuss terms. He isn’t anywhere close to surrender.” I hold her livid stare, watching the storm in her eyes. I almost expect a peal of thunder overhead. “He just wants to see us. It’s his way.”
To my surprise, Julian takes a harried step toward her. His face pales, draining of color. “We should still try,” he pleads, exasperated.
She just blinks at him. “And torture ourselves? Give him the satisfaction?”
I respond before Julian can. “Of course we’re going to meet with him.” My voice deepens, heavier than before. “And of course he isn’t going to bargain.”
“So why do this?” Mare spits. I’m reminded of one of Larentia Viper’s snakes.
“Because,” I mutter, trying not to growl. To keep some semblance of control and dignity. “I want to see him too. I want to look into his eyes and know that my brother is gone forever.”
Neither Julian nor Mare, two of the most talkative people I know, has any response to give. She looks at her feet, brows knitting together, while a red bloom rises in her cheeks. It could be shame or frustration or both. Julian only goes paler, white as a sheet. He avoids my eyes.
“I have to know that whatever his mother did to him cannot be reversed. I need to be sure,” I murmur, moving closer to Mare. If only to calm myself. I’m suddenly aware of the cloying heat in the room, rising with my own temper. “Thank you, Julian,” I add, trying to dismiss him as gently as I can.
He takes the hint well. “Of course,” he replies, bowing his head. Even though I’ve repeatedly asked him never to bow to me. “Have you . . . ,” he adds, stumbling over the question. “Have you read what I gave you?”
The pain of another person lost flares in my chest. My eyes dart to the desk drawer again. Mare follows my line of sight, even though she doesn’t know what we’re talking about.
I’ll tell her later. At a better time.
“Some,” I manage to say.
Julian looks almost disappointed. “It isn’t easy.”
“No, it isn’t, Julian.” I’m done talking about this. “And if you could . . . ,” I mumble, gesturing feebly between myself and Mare to change the subject. “You know.”
Mare snickers slightly, but Julian is happy to comply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with an easy grin.
As he goes, stepping back out into the salon, I follow his retreating figure. When he passes the painting, propped up against a chair for now, he slows. But he doesn’t stop. He only trails a hand along the frame, unable to spare a glance for his sister.
They have a similar look, based on the portrait. The thin chestnut hair and inquisitive eyes. She was simple, an easy beauty. The kind most overlook. I don’t have much of her in me, if anything at all.
I wish I did.
The door swings shut, removing her and my uncle from sight.
Slowly, smooth fingers weave into mine, taking my hand.
“He can’t be fixed,” Mare breathes, resting her chin against my shoulder. Not quite on top of it—she can’t reach—but now isn’t the time to tease her. Instead I lean down into her grasp, making it easier on us both.
“I need to see for myself. If I’m going to give up on him—”
Her grip tightens sharply. “There’s no giving up against the impossible.”
The impossible. Part of me still refuses to believe that. My brother is not a lost cause. He can’t be. I won’t allow it. “Davidson tried,” I whisper. Reluctant to say the words out loud. But I have to. I have to make them real. “He searched. There are no newblood whispers.”
She takes a long, trailing breath. “And that’s probably for the best,” she says after a moment. “In the grand scheme of the world.”
It stings to know she’s right.
Methodic, she puts her hands on my shoulders, steering me away from the desk. Away from the memory sitting in a drawer. “You should sleep,” she says firmly, pushing at the bed. “Maven wears exhaustion better than you do.”
I stifle a yawn, eager to follow her commands. With a sigh, I slip between the blankets. When my head hits the pillow, I almost drop asleep instantly. “Will you stay?” I mumble, watching her through slitted eyes.
She crawls over to me in reply, kicking off her boots as she goes. She worms her way under the silk. I watch her, smirking, and she shrugs. “Everyone will know anyway.”
Without thought, I take her hand, knitting our fingers at the hem of the blanket. “Julian can keep a secret.”
Mare barks out a laugh. “Evangeline can’t, not with her agenda.”
I have to chuckle too, halfhearted in my exhaustion. “Whoever thought she’d be the one pushing us at each other?”
