King's Cage
Page 108

Cal sucks in a breath. “You’re working with Bracken?”
“He’s working for us,” Davidson replies proudly.
My mind spins out. A Silver royal, operating on behalf of a country looking to take everything away from him? For a moment, it sounds ludicrous. Then I remember exactly who’s sitting next to me.
“The princes visited Maven on Bracken’s behalf. They questioned me for him.” I narrow my eyes at the premier. “You told them to do that?”
General Torkins shifts in her seat and clears her throat. “Daraeus and Alexandret are sworn allies to Bracken. We had no knowledge of their contact with King Maven until one of them turned up dead in the middle of an assassination attempt.”
“Thanks to you, we know why,” Salida adds.
“What about the survivor? Daraeus. He’s working against you—”
Davidson blinks slowly, his eyes blank and unreadable. “He was working against us.”
“Oh,” I murmur, thinking of all the ways the Piedmont prince could have been killed.
“And the others?” The Colonel presses on. “Michael and Charlotta. The missing prince and princess.”
“Bracken’s children,” Julian says, his voice tight.
A sick feeling washes over me. “You took his children? To make him cooperate?”
“A boy and girl for control of coastal Piedmont? For all these resources?” Torkins scoffs, her white hair rippling as she shakes her head. “An easy trade. Think of the lives we would lose fighting for every mile. Instead, Montfort and the Scarlet Guard have real progress.”
My heart clenches at the thought of two children, Silver or not, being held captive to make their father kneel. Davidson reads the sentiment on my face.
“They’re well taken care of. Provided for.”
Overhead, the lights flicker like the beating of moth’s wings. “A cell is still a cell, no matter how you dress it up,” I sneer.
He doesn’t flinch. “And a war is a war, Mare Barrow. No matter how good your intentions may be.”
I shake my head. “Well, it’s too bad. Save all those soldiers here, but waste them on rescuing one person. Was that an easy trade too? Their lives for mine?”
“General Salida, what was the last count?” the premier asks.
She nods, reciting from memory. “Of the one hundred and two Ardents recruited to the Nortan army in the last few months, sixty were present as special guards to the wedding. All sixty were rescued, and debriefed last night.”
“Due in large part to the efforts of General Salida, who was embedded with them.” Davidson claps a hand on her meaty shoulder. “Including you, we saved sixty-one Ardents from your king. Each will be given food, shelter, and a choice of resettlement or service. In addition, we were able to raid a large amount of the Nortan Treasury. Wars are not cheap. Ransoming worthless or weak prisoners only gets us so far.” He pauses. “Does that answer your question?”
Relief mixes with the undercurrent of dread I can never seem to shake. The attack on Archeon was not just for me. I have not been freed from one dictator only to be taken by another. None of us knows what Davidson might do, but he isn’t Maven. His blood is red.
“One more question for you, I’m afraid,” Davidson pushes on. “Miss Barrow, would you say the king of Norta is in love with you?”
In Whitefire, I smashed too many glasses of water to count. I feel the urge to do it again. “I don’t know.” A lie. An easy lie.
Davidson is not so easily swayed. His wild eyes flicker, amused. Catching the light, they seem gold then brown then gold again. Shifting as the sun on a field of swaying wheat. “You can take a well-educated guess.”
Hot anger licks up inside me like a flame.
“What Maven considers love is not love at all.” I yank aside the collar of my shirt, revealing my brand. The M is plain as day. So many eyes brush my skin, taking in the raised edges of pearly scar tissue and burned flesh. Davidson’s gaze traces the lines of fire, and I feel Maven’s touch in his stare.
“Enough,” I breathe, pushing the shirt back in place.
The premier nods. “Fine. I will ask you to—”
“No, I mean I’ve had enough of this. I need . . . time.” Heaving a shaky breath, I push back from the table. My chair scrapes against the floor, echoing in the sudden silence. No one stops me. They just watch, eyes full of pity. For once, I’m glad of it. Their pity lets me go.
Another chair follows mine. I don’t need to look back to know it’s Cal.
As on the airjet, I feel the world start to close and suffocate, expand and overwhelm. The halls, so like Whitefire, stretch into an endless line. Lights pulse overhead. I lean into the sensation, hoping it will ground me. You’re safe; you’re safe; it’s over. My thoughts spiral out of control, and my feet move of their own volition. Down the stairs, through another door, out into a garden choked by fragrant flowers. The clear sky above is a torment. I want it to rain. I want to be washed clean.
Cal’s hands find the back of my neck. The scars ache beneath his touch. His warmth bleeds into my muscles, trying to soothe away the pain. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. It helps a little. I can’t see anything in the darkness, including Maven, his palace, or the bounds of that horrible room.
You’re safe; you’re safe; it’s over.
It would be easy to stay in the dark, to drown. Slowly, I lower my hands and force myself to look at the sunlight. It takes more effort than I thought possible. I refuse to let Maven keep me prisoner one second longer than he already has. I refuse to live this way.