King's Cage
Page 144
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Over Mare’s shoulder, the commander sneers at me, her eyes like two blue daggers. If this room and my own clothes weren’t dripping with metal, I might be afraid. I stare back at her, looking every inch the Silver princess she was raised to hate. At my feet, the maid finishes her work and shuffles away, her hands pincushioned with pieces of glass. I make a mental note to send Wren to heal her later.
“Poorly done,” Mother whispers in my ear. She pats my arm and the snake slithers along her hand, curling over my skin. Its flesh is clammy and cold.
I grit my teeth against the sensation.
“How can we accept this?”
The prince’s voice cuts the chaos. It stuns many into silence, including the sneering Red commander. Mare bodily removes her, escorting her back to her chair with some difficulty. The rest turn to the exiled prince, watching him as he straightens. The months have been good to Tiberias Calore. A life of war suits him. He seems vibrant and alive, even after narrowly escaping death on the walls. In her seat, his grandmother allows herself the smallest smile. I feel my heart sink in my chest. I don’t like that look. My hands claw the arms of my throne, nails digging into wood instead of flesh.
“Every single person in this room knows we have reached a tipping point.” His eyes wander to find Mare. He draws his strength from her. If I were a sentimental person, I might be moved. Instead, I think of Elane, left safely behind at Ridge House. Ptolemus has need of an heir, and neither of us wanted her in the battle. Even so, I wish she were here to sit beside me. I wish I didn’t have to suffer this alone.
Cal was trained to statecraft, and he is no stranger to speeches. Still, he’s not as talented as his brother, and he trips up more than a few times as he prowls the floor. Unfortunately, no one seems to mind. “Reds have lived their lives as glorified slaves, bonded to their lots. Be it in a slum town, in one of our palaces—or in the mud of a river village.” A flush spreads across Mare’s cheeks. “I used to think as I was taught. That our ways were set. Reds were inferior. Changing their place would never come to pass, not without bloodshed. Not without great sacrifice. Once, I thought those things were too high a cost to pay. But I was wrong.
“To those of you who disagree”—he glares at me, and I tremble—“who believe yourself better, who believe yourself gods, you are wrong. And not because people like the lightning girl exist. Not because we suddenly find ourselves in need of allies to defeat my brother. Because you are simply wrong.
“I was born a prince. I knew more privilege than almost anyone here. I was raised with servants at my beck and call, and I was taught that their blood, because of a color, meant less than mine. ‘Reds are stupid; Reds are rats; Reds are incapable of controlling their own lives; Reds are meant to serve.’ These are words we’ve all heard. And they are lies. Convenient ones that make our lives easier, our shame nonexistent, and their lives unbearable.”
He stops next to his grandmother, tall at her side. “It can’t be tolerated anymore. It simply can’t be. Difference is not division.”
Poor, naive Calore. His grandmother nods in approval, but I remember her in my own house, and what she said. She wants her grandson on the throne, and she wants the old world.
“Premier,” Tiberias says, gesturing to the Montfort leader.
With a clearing of his throat, the man stands. Taller than most, but weedy. He has the look of a pale fish with an equally empty expression. “King Volo, we thank you for your aid in the defense of Corvium. And here, now, before the eyes of our leadership and your own, I would like to know your sentiments on what Prince Tiberias has just said.”
“If you have a question, Premier, ask it,” Father rumbles.
The man keeps his face still, unreadable. I get the sense he hides as many secrets and ambitions as the rest of us. Would that I could put the screws to him. “Red and Silver, Your Majesty. Which color rises in this rebellion?”
A muscle quivers in one pale cheek as my father exhales. He runs a hand through his pointed beard. “Both, Premier. This is a war for us both. On this you have my word, sworn on the heads of my children.”
Thank you so much, Father. The Red commander would collect that price with a smile if given the opportunity.
“Prince Tiberias speaks truthfully,” Father continues, lying though his teeth. “Our world has changed. We must change with it. Common enemies make strange allies, but we are allies all the same.”
As with Salin, I sense a noose tightening. It loops around my neck, threatening to hang me above the abyss. Is this what the rest of my life will feel like? I want to be strong. This is what I trained and suffered for. This is what I thought I wanted. But freedom was too sweet. One gasp of it and I can’t let go. I’m sorry, Elane. I’m so sorry.
“Do you have other questions about the terms, Premier Davidson?” Father pushes on. “Or shall we continue planning the overthrow of a tyrant?”
“And what terms would those be?” Mare’s voice sounds different, and no wonder. I knew her last as a prisoner, smothered almost beyond recognition. Her sparks have returned with a vengeance. She glances between Father and her premier, looking to them for answers.
Father is almost gleeful as he explains, and I hold my breath. Save me, Mare Barrow. Loose the storm I know you have. Bewitch the prince as you always do.
“The Kingdom of the Rift will stand in sovereignty after Maven is removed. The kings of steel will reign for generations. With allowances made for my Red citizens, of course. I have no intention of creating a slave state like the one Norta is.”
“Poorly done,” Mother whispers in my ear. She pats my arm and the snake slithers along her hand, curling over my skin. Its flesh is clammy and cold.
I grit my teeth against the sensation.
“How can we accept this?”
The prince’s voice cuts the chaos. It stuns many into silence, including the sneering Red commander. Mare bodily removes her, escorting her back to her chair with some difficulty. The rest turn to the exiled prince, watching him as he straightens. The months have been good to Tiberias Calore. A life of war suits him. He seems vibrant and alive, even after narrowly escaping death on the walls. In her seat, his grandmother allows herself the smallest smile. I feel my heart sink in my chest. I don’t like that look. My hands claw the arms of my throne, nails digging into wood instead of flesh.
“Every single person in this room knows we have reached a tipping point.” His eyes wander to find Mare. He draws his strength from her. If I were a sentimental person, I might be moved. Instead, I think of Elane, left safely behind at Ridge House. Ptolemus has need of an heir, and neither of us wanted her in the battle. Even so, I wish she were here to sit beside me. I wish I didn’t have to suffer this alone.
Cal was trained to statecraft, and he is no stranger to speeches. Still, he’s not as talented as his brother, and he trips up more than a few times as he prowls the floor. Unfortunately, no one seems to mind. “Reds have lived their lives as glorified slaves, bonded to their lots. Be it in a slum town, in one of our palaces—or in the mud of a river village.” A flush spreads across Mare’s cheeks. “I used to think as I was taught. That our ways were set. Reds were inferior. Changing their place would never come to pass, not without bloodshed. Not without great sacrifice. Once, I thought those things were too high a cost to pay. But I was wrong.
“To those of you who disagree”—he glares at me, and I tremble—“who believe yourself better, who believe yourself gods, you are wrong. And not because people like the lightning girl exist. Not because we suddenly find ourselves in need of allies to defeat my brother. Because you are simply wrong.
“I was born a prince. I knew more privilege than almost anyone here. I was raised with servants at my beck and call, and I was taught that their blood, because of a color, meant less than mine. ‘Reds are stupid; Reds are rats; Reds are incapable of controlling their own lives; Reds are meant to serve.’ These are words we’ve all heard. And they are lies. Convenient ones that make our lives easier, our shame nonexistent, and their lives unbearable.”
He stops next to his grandmother, tall at her side. “It can’t be tolerated anymore. It simply can’t be. Difference is not division.”
Poor, naive Calore. His grandmother nods in approval, but I remember her in my own house, and what she said. She wants her grandson on the throne, and she wants the old world.
“Premier,” Tiberias says, gesturing to the Montfort leader.
With a clearing of his throat, the man stands. Taller than most, but weedy. He has the look of a pale fish with an equally empty expression. “King Volo, we thank you for your aid in the defense of Corvium. And here, now, before the eyes of our leadership and your own, I would like to know your sentiments on what Prince Tiberias has just said.”
“If you have a question, Premier, ask it,” Father rumbles.
The man keeps his face still, unreadable. I get the sense he hides as many secrets and ambitions as the rest of us. Would that I could put the screws to him. “Red and Silver, Your Majesty. Which color rises in this rebellion?”
A muscle quivers in one pale cheek as my father exhales. He runs a hand through his pointed beard. “Both, Premier. This is a war for us both. On this you have my word, sworn on the heads of my children.”
Thank you so much, Father. The Red commander would collect that price with a smile if given the opportunity.
“Prince Tiberias speaks truthfully,” Father continues, lying though his teeth. “Our world has changed. We must change with it. Common enemies make strange allies, but we are allies all the same.”
As with Salin, I sense a noose tightening. It loops around my neck, threatening to hang me above the abyss. Is this what the rest of my life will feel like? I want to be strong. This is what I trained and suffered for. This is what I thought I wanted. But freedom was too sweet. One gasp of it and I can’t let go. I’m sorry, Elane. I’m so sorry.
“Do you have other questions about the terms, Premier Davidson?” Father pushes on. “Or shall we continue planning the overthrow of a tyrant?”
“And what terms would those be?” Mare’s voice sounds different, and no wonder. I knew her last as a prisoner, smothered almost beyond recognition. Her sparks have returned with a vengeance. She glances between Father and her premier, looking to them for answers.
Father is almost gleeful as he explains, and I hold my breath. Save me, Mare Barrow. Loose the storm I know you have. Bewitch the prince as you always do.
“The Kingdom of the Rift will stand in sovereignty after Maven is removed. The kings of steel will reign for generations. With allowances made for my Red citizens, of course. I have no intention of creating a slave state like the one Norta is.”
