Red Queen
Page 72

And then a blazing arm of fire knocks the metal monster off me, burning it into nothing more than a charred black pile of ash. Strong hands pull me to my feet, and then go to my hair, pulling it across my face to hide the red mark that could betray me. I turn in to Maven, letting him walk me from the training room. Every inch of me shakes, but he keeps me steady and moving. A healer comes my way, but Cal heads him off, blocking my face from his sight.
Before the door slams behind us, I hear Evangeline yelling and Cal’s usually calm voice yelling right back, roaring over her like a storm.
My voice breaks when I finally speak again. “The cameras, the cameras can see.”
“Sentinels sworn to my mother man the cameras, trust me, they aren’t what we should be worrying about,” Maven says, almost tripping over his words. He keeps a tight grip on my arm, like he’s afraid I might be pulled away from him. His hand ghosts over my face, wiping away the blood with his sleeve. If anyone sees . . .
“Take me to Julian.”
“Julian’s a fool,” he mutters.
Figures appear at the far end of the hall, a pair of roaming nobles, and he pushes us down a service passage to avoid them.
“Julian knows who I am,” I whisper back, grabbing onto him. As his grip tightens, so does mine. “Julian will know what to do.”
Maven looks down on me, conflicted, but finally nods. By the time we reach Julian’s quarters, the bleeding has stopped, but my face is still a mess.
He opens the door on the first knock, looking his usual haphazard self. To my surprise, he frowns at Maven.
“Prince Maven,” he says, bending into a stiff, almost insulting bow. Maven doesn’t respond, only pushes me past Julian into the sitting room beyond.
Julian has a small set of rooms, made smaller by darkness and stale air. The curtains are drawn, blotting out the afternoon sun, and the floor is slippery with loose stacks of paper. A kettle simmers in the corner, on an electric piece of metal meant to replace a stove. No wonder I never see him outside of Lessons; he appears to have everything he needs right here.
“What’s going on?” he asks, waving us to a pair of dusty chairs. Obviously he doesn’t entertain much. I take a seat, but Maven refuses, still standing.
I draw aside my curtain of hair, revealing the shining red flag of my identity. “Evangeline got carried away.”
Julian shifts, uncomfortable on his own two feet. But it’s not me making him squirm; it’s Maven. The two glare at each other, at odds over something I don’t understand. Finally, he turns his gaze back on me. “I’m not a skin healer, Mare. The best I can do is clean you up.”
“I told you,” Maven says. “He can’t do anything.”
Julian’s lip curls into a snarl. “Find Sara Skonos,” he snaps, his jaw tightening as he waits for Maven to move. I’ve never seen Maven this angry, not even with Cal. But then, it’s not anger spilling out from Maven or Julian—it’s hate. They absolutely despise each other.
“Do it, my prince.” The title sounds like a curse coming from Julian’s lips.
Maven finally concedes, and slips out the door.
“What’s that all about?” I whisper, gesturing between Julian and the door.
“Not now,” he says, and tosses me a white cloth to clean myself with. It stains a dark red as my blood ruins the fabric.
“Who’s Sara Skonos?”
Again, Julian hesitates. “A skin healer. She’ll take care of you.” He sighs. “And she’s a friend. A discreet friend.”
I didn’t know Julian had friends beyond me and his books, but I don’t question him.
When Maven slips back into the room a few moments later, I’ve managed to clean my face properly, though it still feels sticky and swollen. I’ll have a few bruises to hide tomorrow, and I don’t even want to know what my back looks like now. Gingerly, I touch the growing lump where Evangeline punched me.
“Sara’s not . . .” Maven pauses, mulling over the words. “She’s not who I would have chosen for this.”
Before I can ask why, the door opens, revealing the woman I assume is Sara. She enters silently, barely raising her eyes. Unlike the others, the Blonos blood healers, her age is displayed proudly on her face, in every wrinkle and her sunken, hollow cheeks. She looks to be about Julian’s age, but her shoulders droop in a way that tells me her life has felt far longer than his.
“Nice to meet you, Lady Skonos.” My voice is calm, like I’m asking about the weather. It seems my Protocol lessons might be sinking in after all.