He certainly tries to look unaffected by her presence, but Cal isn’t his brother. Unlike Maven, Cal has little skill in masking his emotions. A silver blush blooms beneath his skin, coloring his cheeks, neck, and even the tops of his ears. The temperature in the room rises a little, rippling with whatever emotion he’s fighting. What a fool, I sneer in my head. You made your choice, Calore. You doomed us both. You can at least pretend to keep it together. If anyone is going to lose their mind to heartbreak, it should be me.
I almost expect him to start mewling like a lost kitten. Instead he blinks furiously, ripping his eyes away from the lightning girl. One fist clenches on the arm of his chair, and the flamemaker bracelet on his wrist glows red with the dying sun. He keeps himself in check. It doesn’t ignite, and neither does he.
Mare is a stone compared to Cal. Rigid, unyielding, unfeeling. Not even a spark. She just keeps staring at me. It’s unnerving, but not a challenge. Her eyes are strangely devoid of her usual anger. They certainly aren’t kind, of course, but they aren’t brimming with disgust either. I guess the lightning girl has little reason to hate me right now. My chest tightens—does she know this wasn’t my choice? She must.
“Good of you to return, Miss Barrow,” I tell her, and I mean it. She’s always a guaranteed distraction for Calore princes.
She doesn’t respond, only folding her arms.
Her companion, the Scarlet Guard general, is not so inclined to silence. Unfortunately. She scowls at my mother, tempting fate. “Our operatives are currently in relay, tracking King Maven’s army as they retreat. We’ve received word that his troops are on a hard march to Detraon, moving with speed. Maven himself, and a few of his generals, boarded ships on Lake Eris. Supposedly bound for Detraon as well. There’s talk of a funeral for the Lakelander king. And they have far more healers than we do. Whoever survived the battle will be back to fighting shape quicker than we will.”
Anabel scowls, cutting a glare at Father. “Yes, House Skonos still remains split between our factions, with the majority remaining loyal to the usurper.” As if that’s our fault. We did what we could, convinced who we could. “Not to mention the Lakelands have skin-healer houses of their own.”
With a sweeping hand and a tight smile, Davidson inclines his head. Wrinkles form at the corner of his eyes, marking his age. I suspect he’s forty or so, but it’s difficult to tell for sure.
He touches his fingers to his brow in some kind of strange salute or promise. “Montfort will provide. I plan to petition for more healers, both Silver and Ardent.”
“Petition?” Father sneers. The other Silvers match his confusion, and I find myself glancing down our line to meet Tolly’s eye. He furrows his brow. He doesn’t know what Davidson means. My stomach flops a bit, and I bite my lip against the sensation. Usually whatever one of us lacks, the other provides. But in this, we’re both at sea. And so is Father. Angry as I am with him, this scares me more than anything else. Father can’t protect us from what he doesn’t understand.
Mare doesn’t understand either, wrinkling her nose in confusion. These people, I curse to myself. I wonder if even the scowling, scarred woman knows what Davidson means.
The premier himself gives a small chuckle. The old man is enjoying this. He lowers his eyes, letting dark lashes brush against his cheeks. If he wanted to, he could be handsome. I suppose it doesn’t serve whatever agenda he has. “I’m not a king, as you all know.” He looks back up and turns his gaze on Father, then Cal, then Anabel. “I serve at the will of my people, and my people have other elected politicians to represent their interests. They must be in agreement. When I return to Montfort to request more troops—”
“Return?” Cal echoes, and Davidson stops short. “When did you plan to tell us this?”
After a moment, Davidson shrugs. “Now.”
Mare’s lips twist. Fighting a scowl or a smirk, I can’t tell. But probably the latter.
I’m not the only one to notice. Cal’s eyes flicker, looking between her and the premier with a growing suspicion. “And what will we do in your absence, Premier?” he demands. “Wait? Or fight with one hand tied behind our backs?”
“Your Majesty, I’m flattered you consider Montfort so vital to your cause,” Davidson says, grinning. “I apologize, but the laws of my country cannot be broken, not even in war. I won’t betray the principles of Montfort, and I stand by the rights of my people. After all, they’re some of the people who will help you reclaim your own country.” The warning in his words is just as clear as the easy smile still pasted on his face.
Father is better at this than Cal. He dons an empty smile of his own. “We would never ask a ruler to turn on his own nation, sir.”
“Of course not,” the scarred Red woman adds dryly. Father takes her disrespect in stride, but only for the coalition’s sake. If not for our alliance, I suspect he would kill her, to teach everyone a lesson in propriety.
Cal calms a little, doing his best to keep his head. “How long will you be gone, Premier?”
“It depends on my government, but I don’t expect a long debate,” Davidson says.
Queen Anabel claps her hands in amusement. She laughs, deepening the lines on her face. “How interesting, sir. And what does your government consider a long debate?”
At this point, I feel like I’m watching a play led by mediocre actors. Not one of them—Father, Anabel, Davidson—trusts a breath out of the others.
“Oh, years.” Davidson sighs, matching her forced humor. “Democracy is a funny thing. Not that any of you know that yet.”
The final jab is meant to sting, and it does. Anabel’s smile turns frosty. She taps a hand against the table, another warning. Her ability can destroy with ease. Just like the rest of us. All deadly, all with our own motives at play. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
“I’m excited to see it for myself.”
The temperature rises before the words are barely out of Mare’s mouth. She’s the only one who doesn’t glance at Cal. He glares at her, eyes burning, while his teeth worry at his lip. She remains resolute, her expression pleasantly blank. I think she’s taking a page out of Davidson’s book.
Quickly, I put a hand to my mouth, stifling a surprised giggle. Mare Barrow is so wickedly talented when it comes to upsetting Calore men. At this point, I wonder if she plans it. Lies awake at night and schemes on how best to confuse Maven or distract Cal.
But does she? Could she?
On instinct, I try to smother the spark of hope that bursts in my chest. Then I let it bloom.
She did it to Maven. Kept him occupied. Kept him off balance. Kept him away from you. Why can’t she do the same with Cal?
“Then you will be a good envoy for Norta instead.” I try to sound bored, uninterested. Not eager. I don’t want anyone to realize I’m throwing the bone far away, knowing the puppy will follow. Mare’s eyes snap to me, her brows rising a centimeter. Come on, Mare. I’m glad no one here can read my mind.
“No, she won’t, Evangeline,” Cal says quickly, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “I mean no disrespect, Premier, but we don’t know enough about your nation—”
I blink at my betrothed, tipping my head. Silver hair slides across the scaled armor at my collarbone. The power I have in this moment, however small, snaps through my nerves. “And what better way to know? She’ll be well received, a hero. Montfort is a country of newbloods. Her presence will help our cause. Won’t it, Premier?”
Davidson fixes me with his blank eyes. I feel his stare go through me. Look all you want, Red. “Undoubtedly.”
“You trust her to report what she finds there? Without embellishment or omission?” Anabel scoffs in disbelief. “Make no mistake, Princess Evangeline, the girl has no loyalty to anyone with Silver blood.”
Both Cal and Mare lower their eyes at the same moment, as if fighting not to look at each other.
I shrug. “Then send a Silver with her. Perhaps Lord Jacos?” The older man, thin in his yellow robes, seems startled by the sound of his own name. He has a frayed appearance, like a worn piece of cloth. “If memory serves, you’re a scholar, aren’t you?”