The temperature begins to rise, a small but steady increase. Next to me, Tiberias tightens. He fixes his grandmother with a firm stare. “I don’t want soldiers who haven’t agreed to fight for me. Especially Bracken’s Silvers. They can’t be trusted. Neither can he.”
“We have his children,” Farley says. “That should be enough.”
“Montfort has his children,” Tiberias replies, his voice deepening.
Before, on the base, it was easy to ignore the price someone paid. The evils done for good reasons. I look to Davidson, who glances at his watch. This is war, he said once, trying to justify what must be done.
“If they were returned, could we convince Piedmont to stand aside?” I ask. “Remain neutral?”
The premier turns his empty wineglass around in his hands, letting the many facets catch the soft light of lanterns. I think I see regret in him. “I doubt that very much.”
“Are they here?” Anabel asks the question with a calm so forced I almost expect her to pop a vein in her neck. “Bracken’s children?”
Davidson doesn’t reply, moving only to refill his glass.
The old queen tips a finger, her eyes shining. “Ah. They are.” Her grin spreads. “Good leverage. We can bargain for more of Bracken’s soldiers. An entire army if we wish.”
I look at the napkin in my lap, stained with fingerprints of grease and bits of lipstick wiped away. They could be in this palace. Looking down at us right now. Children at the window, trapped behind a locked door. Are they strong enough to require silent guards, or even the torture of chains like the ones I used to wear? I know what that kind of prison is like. Under the table, I touch both my wrists, feeling the empty skin there. Flesh instead of manacles. Electricity instead of silence.
Tiberias suddenly slams a closed fist on the table, making the plates and glassware jump. I jolt too, surprised. “We will do no such thing,” he snarls. “The resources are enough.”
His grandmother scowls at him, deepening the lines of her face. “You need bodies to win wars, Tiberias.”
“The discussion of Bracken is over” is all he says in reply. With finality, he cuts the last piece of steak in two, sawing with his knife. Anabel sneers, showing teeth, but says nothing. He is her grandson, but also a king by her own declaration. She has long passed the line of what is proper debate with a sovereign.
“So we must beg tomorrow,” I mumble. “It’s the only choice left.”
Frustrated, I signal for a glass of wine of my own, and don’t waste time gulping it down. The sweet red soothes enough that I can almost ignore the feel of eyes on my face. Bronze eyes.
“I suppose you could call it that,” Davidson says, his gaze faraway. He looks down, first at his watch again, then sidelong to Carmadon. Their glance speaks volumes I cannot fathom. It makes me envious, and again I find myself wishing things were different.
“What chance do we have?” Tiberias is blunt, forceful, and direct. All the things he’s been taught a king should be.
“For a full deployment of every soldier in our armies?” Davidson shakes his head. “No chance at all. We have borders of our own to guard. But half? A bit more? I could see the scales tipping in our favor. If.”
If. I hate that word.
I brace myself in my seat, suddenly more on edge than usual. I feel like the terrace might crumble beneath me and send us all plunging into the valley.
Farley’s face mirrors my fear. She keeps her knife in hand, wary of our ally. “If what?”
The bells sound before Davidson can answer. And while the rest of us jump, startled by the noise, he doesn’t move. He’s used to it.
Or he expected it.
This isn’t a chime to mark the hours on a clock. These bells ring deep and low, their voices trembling down the mountainside, echoing across Ascendant, calling to other bells throughout the city. The din spreads like a wave, running down this slope and back up the other. Lights spread with the noise. Bright, harsh lights. Floodlights. Security lights. The alarm that follows is mechanical, whining. It shatters the calm mountain valley with its wail.
Tiberias jumps to his feet, cloak swirling around his shoulders. He frees one hand, fingers wide, the flamemaker bracelet glinting beneath his sleeve. If he calls to fire, it will come. Evangeline and Anabel do the same, both of them lethal. Neither looks afraid, only determined to protect themselves.
I feel the lightning in me rise the same way, and my thoughts fly to my family in the palace behind us. Not safe. Not even here. But we have no time for one more of my heartbreaks.
Farley stands too, leaning hard on her hands. She glares at Davidson. “If what?” she snaps again, yelling over the alarm.
He looks up at her, oddly serene among the chaos. Soldiers replace servants in the shadows, flanking our table. I tense, fists clenching at my sides.
“If Montfort will fight for you,” the premier says, turning his eyes on Tiberias, “you must also fight for us.”
Carmadon doesn’t seem startled by the bells. He only glances toward the palace before sighing in what could be annoyance. “Raiders,” he scowls. “Every single time I try to throw a dinner party.”
“That’s hardly true.” Davidson cracks a grin, though he never breaks his gaze. His eyes remain on Tiberias, a challenge as much as anything.
“Well, it feels true,” says Carmadon, pouting.
As security lights blaze all around us, Davidson’s gaze flames gold. Tiberias’s burns red.
“They call you the Flame of the North, Your Majesty. Show us fire.”
Then the premier looks at me.
“And show us storm.”
NINE
Mare
“I said no more surprises,” I hiss to Davidson, following close on his heels as he leads us through his palace. Farley marches next to him, her hand resting on the pistol at her hip, as if she expects raiders to start popping out of the closets.
The Silver members of our party are just as on edge. Anabel keeps their ranks tight. She repeatedly slows Tiberias, nudging him back behind a protective wall of loyal guards from House Lerolan. Evangeline is better at hiding her fear, her face the usual twist between sneer and smirk. She has two escorts of her own—Samos cousins, I think. Her dress changes quickly, re-forming into scaly armor as we weave through the halls of the Montfort palace.
The premier looks over his shoulder when I speak and surveys me with a withering glance. The bells and alarm echo strangely in the hall, dancing around his words. “Mare, I can hardly control the whims of raiders, and I do not schedule their attacks, frequent as they may be.”
I hold his gaze and quicken my pace, hot anger pulsing through my veins. “You don’t?” It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen kings do worse to their own people in exchange for power.
Davidson turns steely and presses his lips into a grim line. A sudden flush spreads across his broad cheekbones. His voice drops to a whisper. “We had warning, yes. We knew they were coming. And we had enough lead time to make sure the outskirts were protected. But I resent the implication that I would spill the blood of my own people, risk their lives, for what? Dramatic effect?” he hisses, his voice deadly as a knife edge. “Yes, this presents an opportunity for the Scarlet Guard and for Calore to uphold their ends of the bargain, and to prove something before we go to my government and beg. But it is not a trade I’m happy to make,” he snaps. “I’d much rather be sitting out on the terrace getting pleasantly drunk with my husband, watching overpowered children sneer at each other, than do this.”
I feel scolded but also relieved. Davidson glares at me, fire burning in his golden eyes. He’s usually so serene, unflappable, impossible to discern. His strength lies not just in ability or charisma, but in a well-practiced calm that few can see beyond. Not now. Merely the suggestion of any betrayal, however small, to his country has him incensed. I understand that kind of loyalty. I respect it. I can even almost trust it.
“So what are we going to do?” I ask, satisfied for the moment.
The premier slows, then halts, turning his back to the wall. So he can see all of us. It stops everyone short, crowding the wide passageway with waiting Reds and Silvers. Even Queen Anabel looks on Davidson with grave attention.