Red Queen
Page 95

Maven lets me think, his eyes thoughtful as he watches the emotions rise in my face. He always lets me think. Sometimes his silence is better than anyone else’s words.
“How long do we have left here?”
“We go this afternoon. Most of the court is leaving before that, but we have to take the boat. Keep some tradition in all this madness.”
When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my porch and watch the pretty boats pass, heading downriver to the capital. Shade would laugh at me for wanting to catch a glimpse of the king. I didn’t realize then it was just part of the pageant, another display just like the arena fights, to show exactly how low we were in the grand scheme of the world. Now I’m going to be part of it again, this time standing on the other side.
“At least you’ll get to see your home again, if only for a little while,” he adds, trying to be gentle. Yes, Maven, that’s just what I want. To stand and watch my home and my old life pass by.
But that’s the price I must pay. Freeing Kilorn and the others means losing my last few days in the valley, and it’s a trade I’m happy to make.
We’re interrupted by a loud crash from a nearby passage, the one leading to Cal’s room. Maven reacts first, moving to the edge of the hall before I can, like he’s trying to protect me from something.
“Bad dreams, brother?” he calls out, worried by what he sees.
In response, Cal steps out into the hallway, his fists clenched, like he’s trying to keep his own hands in check. Gone is the bloodstained uniform, replaced by what looks like Ptolemus’s armor, though Cal’s has a reddish tint.
I want to slap him, to claw at him and scream for what he did to Farley and Tristan and Kilorn and Walsh. The sparks dance inside me, begging to be loosed. But after all, what did I expect? I know what he is and what he believes in—Reds are not worth saving. So I speak as civilly as I can.
“Will you be leaving with your legion?” I know he isn’t, judging by the livid anger in his eyes. Once I feared he would go, and now I wish he would. I can’t believe I cared about saving him. I can’t believe that was ever a thought in my head.
Cal heaves a breath. “The Shadow Legion isn’t going anywhere. Father will not allow it. Not now. It’s too dangerous and I’m too valuable.”
“You know he’s right.” Maven puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to calm him. I remember watching Cal do the same thing to Maven, but now the crown is on a different head. “You are the heir. He can’t afford to lose you too.”
“I’m a soldier,” Cal spits, shrugging away from his brother’s touch. “I can’t just sit by and let others fight for me. I won’t do it.”
He sounds like a child whining for a toy—he must enjoy killing. It makes me sick. I don’t speak, letting the diplomatic Maven talk for me. He always knows what to say.
“Find another cause. Build another cycle, double your training, drill your men, prepare yourself for when the danger passes. Cal, you can do a thousand other things, and none of them end with you being killed in some kind of ambush!” he says, glaring up at his brother. Then he smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “You never change, Cal. You just can’t sit still.”
After a moment of harsh silence, Cal breaks into a weak smile. “Never.” His eyes flick to me, but I won’t get caught in his bronze stare, not again.
I turn my head, pretending to examine a painting on the wall. “Nice armor,” I sneer. “It will go well with your collection.”
He looks stung, even confused, but quickly recovers. His smile is gone now, replaced by narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He taps at his armor; it sounds like claws on stone. “This was a gift from Ptolemus. I seem to share a common cause with my betrothed’s brother.” My betrothed. Like that’s supposed to make me jealous or something.
Maven eyes the armor warily. “What do you mean?”
“Ptolemus commands the officers in the capital. Together with me and my legion, we might be able to do something of use, even within the city.”
Cold fear steals into my heart again, brushing away whatever hope and happiness last night’s success brought me. “And what is that, exactly?” I hear myself breathe.
“I’m a good hunter. He’s a good killer.” Cal takes a step backward, walking away from us.
I can feel him slipping down not just the hall but a dark and twisted path. It makes me afraid for the boy who taught me how to dance. No, not for him. Of him. And that is worse than all my other terrors and nightmares.