War Storm
Page 3

“You saw what she did in there, how she provoked you.” The fresh memory flashes. Evangeline calling upon a Red servant in front of everyone, smashing a goblet, forcing the poor maid to clean it up, simply for the sport of it. To anger every red-blooded person in the room. It’s not hard to understand why she did it, or what she hoped to accomplish. “She wants no part of this alliance, not when it means she has to marry . . . Tiberias.”
For once, Farley seems caught off guard. She blinks, perplexed. Albeit intrigued. “But she’s back where she started. I thought—I mean, I don’t pretend to understand Silver behavior at all, but still—”
“Evangeline is a princess in her own right now, with everything she ever wanted. I don’t think she wants to go back to being someone else’s. That’s all their betrothal ever was to her. And him,” I add, with a pang of heartache. “An arrangement for power. Power she already has now, or”—my words falter a little—“power she doesn’t want anymore.” I think back on Evangeline, on my time spent with her in Whitefire. She was relieved when Maven married Iris Cygnet instead of her. And not just because he was a monster. I think because . . . there was someone else she cared about more. More than herself or Maven’s crown.
Elane Haven. After her house rebelled against him, I remember Maven called her Evangeline’s whore. I didn’t notice Elane at the council, but much of House Haven stands behind House Samos, allied to them. Shadows all, able to disappear at will. I suppose Elane could have been there the whole time and I wouldn’t even know it.
“You think she would try to undo her father’s work? If she could?” Farley looks very much like a cat that just caught a particularly fat mouse for supper. “If someone . . . helped her?”
Cal didn’t deny the crown for love. But would Evangeline?
Something tells me she might. All her maneuvering, the quiet resistance, walking a razor’s edge.
“It’s possible.” The words take on new meaning to both of us. New weight. “She has motivations of her own. And I think that gives us a bit of an advantage.”
Farley’s lips curve, taking on the shadow of a true smile. In spite of all I’ve learned, I feel a sudden burst of hope. She thumps me on the arm, her grin spreading.
“Well, Barrow, write it down again. I’m damn proud of you.”
“I do prove useful from time to time.”
She barks a laugh and steps away, gesturing for me to follow. The avenue outside the alley beckons, its flagstones gleaming as the last of the snow melts beneath the summer sun. I hesitate, reluctant to leave this corner of dark safety. The world beyond this narrow space still seems too big. The inner ward of Corvium looms, and the core tower stands at the center of it all. With a shaky breath, I force myself to move. The first step aches. So does the second.
“You don’t have to go back up,” Farley mutters, falling in at my side. She glares at the tower. “I’ll let you know how it shakes out. Davidson and I can handle it.”
The thought of going back to the council chamber, sitting there in silence as Tiberias throws everything we’ve ever done in my face—I don’t know if I can bear it. But I have to. I notice things the others can’t. Know things others don’t. I have to go back. For the cause.
And for him.
I can’t deny how much I want to go back for him.
“I want to know everything you know,” I whisper to Farley. “Everything Davidson has planned. I’m not going into anything else blind.”
She agrees quickly. Almost too quickly. “Of course.”
“I’m yours to use. In any way. On one condition.”
“Name it.”
My steps slow, and she matches my pace. “He lives. At the end of all this.”
Like a confused dog, she tips her head.
“Break his crown, break his throne, rip his monarchy apart.” I stare up at her with as much strength as I can muster. The lightning in my blood responds with fervor, begging to crack loose. “But Tiberias lives.”
Farley sucks in a searing breath, drawing herself up to her full, formidable height. It feels like she can see right through me. To my imperfect heart. I hold my ground. I’ve earned the right.
Her voice wavers. “I can’t make that promise. But I’ll try. I’ll certainly try, Mare.”
At least she doesn’t lie to me.
I feel cut in two, torn in different directions. An obvious question hangs in my mind. Another choice that I might need to make. His life or our victory? I don’t know which side I might choose, if I ever have to. Which side I might betray. The knife of that knowledge cuts deep, and I bleed where no one else can see.
I suppose this is what the seer was talking about. Jon spoke very little, but everything he said had calculated meaning. As much as I don’t want to, I suppose I have to accept the fate he foretold.
To rise.
And rise alone.
The flagstones roll beneath me, passing with each step. The breeze kicks up again, blowing in from the west this time. It carries with it the unmistakable tang of blood. I fight the urge to retch as it all comes rushing back. The siege. The bodies. The blood in both colors. My wrist snapping clean in a stoneskin’s grasp. Necks broken, chests obliterated in bursts of flesh, glistening organs, and spiked bone. In the battle, it was easy to detach from such horror. Necessary, even. The fear would only get me killed. Not anymore. My heartbeat triples in speed and cold sweat breaks across my body. Even though we survived and won, the terror of loss ripped open canyons inside me.
I can still feel them. The nerves, the electric paths my lightning traced in every person I killed. Like thin, glowing branches, each one different but also the same. Too many to count. In red and blue uniforms, Nortan and Lakelander. All Silvers.
I hope.
The possibility hits me like a punch in the gut. Maven has used Reds for cannon fodder before, or as human shields. I didn’t even think about it. None of us did—or maybe the others didn’t care. Davidson, Cal, maybe even Farley, if she thought the outcome was worth the cost.
“Hey,” she murmurs, taking my wrist. Her skin on mine makes me jump, her fingers circling like a manacle. I break her grip forcefully, twisting away with what sounds like a snarl. I flush, embarrassed that I still react this way.
She pulls back, palms up, eyes wide. But no fear, no judgment. Not even pity. Is that understanding I see in her? “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I forgot about the wrists.”
I barely bob my head, shoving my hands into my pockets to hide the purple sparks at my fingertips. “It’s fine. That’s not even—”
“I know, Mare. It happens when we slow down. The body starts to process more again. Sometimes it’s too much, and there’s no shame in it.” Farley tips her head, gesturing away from the tower. “There’s no shame in getting some rack time either. The barracks are—”
“Were there Reds out there?” I gesture blankly, toward the battlefield and the now-broken walls of Corvium. “Did Maven and the Lakelanders send Red soldiers with the rest?”
Farley blinks, truly taken aback. “Not to my knowledge,” she finally replies, and I hear the unease in her. She doesn’t know either. She doesn’t want to know, and neither do I. I can’t bear it.
I spin on my heel, forcing her to keep up with my pace for once. Silence falls again, this one brimming with anger and shame in equal measure. I lean into it, torturing myself. To remember this disgust and pain. More battles will come. More people will die, no matter the color of blood. That’s war. That’s revolution. And others will be caught in the crossfire. To forget is to doom them again, and doom others to come.