King's Cage
Page 102

“Cal—”
“Is absolutely fine with your father and brothers. He can storm the capital; he can handle them.”
With a smirk, I imagine Cal sandwiched between Bree and Tramy.
“Besides, he did everything he could to bring you back to us,” she adds with a wink. “They won’t give him any trouble, not tonight at least. Now get in that bed and shut your eyes, or I’ll shut them for you.”
The lights hiss in their bulbs; the wiring in the room snakes along electric lines of light. None of it compares to the strength of my mother’s voice. I do as she says, clambering under the blankets of the closest bed. To my surprise, she gets in next to me, hugging me close.
For the thousandth time tonight, she kisses my cheek. “You’re not going anywhere.”
In my heart, I know that’s not true.
This war is far from won.
But at least it can be true for tonight.
Birds in Piedmont make a horrible racket. They chirp and trill outside the windows, and I imagine droves of them perched in the trees. It’s the only explanation for such noise. They are good for one thing, though: I never heard birds in Archeon. Even before I open my eyes, I know yesterday was not a dream. I know where I’m waking up, and what I’m waking up to.
Mom is an early riser by habit. Gisa isn’t here either, but I’m not alone. I poke out the bedroom door to find a lanky boy sitting at the top of the stairs, his legs stretched out over the steps.
Kilorn gets to his feet with a grin, his arms spread wide. There’s a decent chance I’ll fall apart from all the hugging.
“Took you long enough,” he says. Even after six months of capture and torment, he won’t treat me with kid gloves. We fall back into our old ways with blinding speed.
I nudge him in the ribs. “No thanks to you.”
“Yeah, military raids and tactical strikes aren’t exactly my specialty.”
“You have a specialty?”
“Well, besides being a nuisance?” he laughs, walking me downstairs. Pots and pans clatter somewhere, and I follow the smell of frying bacon. In the daylight, the row house seems friendly, and out of place for a military base. Butter-yellow walls and florid purple rugs warm the central hallway, but it is suspiciously bare of decorations. Nail holes dot the wallpaper. Maybe a dozen paintings have been removed. The rooms we pass—a salon and a study—are also sparsely furnished. Either the officer who lived here emptied his home, or someone else did it for him.
Stop it, I tell myself. I’ve earned the right not to think about betrayals or backstabbing for one damn day. You’re safe; you’re safe; it’s over. I repeat the words in my head.
Kilorn puts an arm out, stopping me at the door to the kitchen. He leans forward into my space, until I can’t avoid his eyes. Green as I remember. They narrow in concern. “You’re okay?”
Usually, I would nod, smile away the insinuation. I’ve done it so many times before. I pushed away the people closest to me, thinking I could bleed alone. I won’t do that anymore. It made me hateful, horrific. But the words I want to pour out of me won’t come. Not for Kilorn. He wouldn’t understand.
“Starting to think I need a word that means yes and no at the same time,” I whisper, looking at my toes.
He puts a hand to my shoulder. It doesn’t linger. Kilorn knows the lines I’ve drawn between us. He won’t push past them. “I’m here when you need to talk.” Not if, when. “I’ll hound you until you do.”
I offer a shaky grin. “Good.” The sound of cooking fat crackles on the air. “I hope Bree hasn’t eaten it all.”
My brother certainly tries. While Tramy helps her cook, Bree hovers at Mom’s shoulder, picking strips of bacon right out of the hot grease. She swats him away as Tramy gloats, smirking over a pan of eggs. They’re both adults, but they seem like children, like I remember them. Gisa sits at the kitchen table, watching out of the corner of her eye. Doing her best to remain proper. She drums her fingers on the wooden tabletop.
Dad is more restrained, leaning against a wall of cabinets, his new leg angled out in front of him. He spots me before the others and offers a small, private smile. Despite the cheerful scene, sadness eats at his edges.
He feels our missing piece. The one that will never be found.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, pushing the ghost of Shade away.
Cal is also noticeably absent. Not that he will stay away long. He’s probably sleeping, or perhaps planning the next stage of . . . whatever’s going on.
“Other people need to eat,” I scold as I pass Bree. Quickly, I snatch the bacon from his fingers. Six months have not dulled my reflexes or impulses. I grin at him as I take a seat next to Gisa, now twisting her long hair into a neat bun.
Bree makes a face as he sits, a plate in hand piled with buttered toast. He never ate this well in the army, or on Tuck. Like the rest of us, he’s taking full advantage of the food. “Yeah, Tramy, save some for the rest of us.”
“Like you really need it,” Tramy retorts, pinching Bree’s cheek. They end up slapping each other away. Children, I think again. And soldiers too.
Both of them were conscripted, and both of them survived longer than most. Some might call it luck, but they’re strong, both of them. Smart in battle, if not at home. Warriors lie beneath their easy grins and boyish behavior. For now I’m glad I don’t have to see it.
Mom serves me first. No one complains, not even Bree. I dig into eggs and bacon, as well as a cup of rich, hot coffee with cream and sugar. The food is fit for a Silver noble, and I should know. “Mom, how did you get this?” I ask around bites of egg. Gisa makes a face, wrinkling her nose at the food lolling about in my mouth as I speak.