Red Queen
Page 112

“I still don’t know why you cared. You didn’t even know I was different.”
A moment passes in silence, broken only by the bark of lieutenants far below, still drilling even as the sun sets.
“You were different to me,” he finally murmurs.
“I wonder what could have been, if all this”—I gesture to the palace and the Square beyond—“wasn’t between us.”
Let him chew on that.
He puts a hand on my arm, his fingers hot through the fabric of my sleeve.
“But that can never be, Cal.”
I force as much longing as I can into my eyes, relying on the memory of my family, Maven, Kilorn, all the things we’re trying to do. Maybe Cal will mistake my feelings. Give him hope where none should be. It’s the cruelest thing I can do, but for the cause, for my friends, for my life, I will.
“Mare,” he breathes, dipping his head toward me.
I turn away, leaving him on the balcony to think on my words and, hopefully, drown in them.
“I wish things were different,” he whispers, but I can still hear him.
The words take me back to my home and my father when he said the same thing so long ago. To think that Cal and my father, a broken Red man, can share the same thoughts makes me pause. I can’t help looking back, watching the sun dip behind his silhouette. He stares down at the training army before looking back to me, torn between his duty and whatever he feels for the little lightning girl.
“Julian says you’re like her,” he says quietly, eyes thoughtful. “Like she used to be.”
Coriane. His mother. The thought of the dead queen, a person I never knew, somehow makes me sad. She was taken too soon from those she loved, and she left a hole they’re trying to make me fill.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t blame Cal for feeling caught between two worlds. After all, so am I.
Before the ball I was anxious, a bundle of nerves dreading the night to come. Now I can’t wait for dawn. If we win in the morning, the sun will set on a new world. The king will throw down his crown, passing his power to me, Maven, and Farley. The shift will be bloodless, a peaceful transition from one government to the next. If we fail, the Bowl of Bones is all I can hope for. But we will not fail. Cal will not let me die, and neither will Maven. They are my shields.
When I lie down in my bed, I find myself staring at Julian’s map. It’s an old thing, practically useless, but still comforting. It’s proof the world can change.
With that thought in my head, I drift into a restless, light sleep. My brother visits me in my dreams. He stands by the window, looking at the city with a strange sorrow, before turning back to me. “There are others,” he says. “You must find them.”
“I will,” I murmur back to him, my voice heavy with sleep.
Then it’s four o’clock in the morning and I have no more time for dreams.
The cameras fall like trees before the ax, each little eye clicking off as I walk to Maven’s room. I jump at every shadow, expecting an officer or a Sentinel to step out into the hall, but no one does. They protect Cal and the king, not me, not the second prince. We don’t matter. But we will.
Maven opens his door a second after I jiggle the handle, his face pale in the darkness. There are circles beneath his eyes, like he hasn’t slept at all, but he looks sharp as ever. I expect him to take my arm, to envelop me in his warmth, but there’s nothing but cold dripping off him. He’s afraid, I realize.
We’re outside in a few agonizing minutes, walking in the shadows behind War Command to wait at our place between the structure and the outer wall. Our spot is perfect; we’re able to see the Square and the Bridge, with most of War Command’s gilded roof blocking us from the patrols. I don’t need a clock to know we’re right on time.
Above us, the night fades, giving way to dark blue. The dawn is coming.
At this hour, the city is quieter than I ever thought possible. Even the patrol guards are drowsy, slowly moving from post to post. Excitement trills through me, making my legs shake. Somehow, Maven keeps still, barely even blinking. He stares through the diamondglass wall, always watching the Bridge. His focus is staggering.
“They’re late,” he whispers, never moving.
“I’m not.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Farley was a shadow, able to shift in and out of visibility. She seems to melt out of the semidarkness, pulling herself up from a drain.
I offer her my hand, but she pushes herself to her feet alone. “Where are the others?”