War Storm
Page 43

She grins at me, showing gapped teeth. “You’ve been a thorn in his side, Mare Barrow. And a boon to him as well. We’ve seen videos from your capture. Your words swayed people to him too.”
The heat I feel next isn’t from Tiberias, but from my own embarrassment. It claws over my face, warming my cheeks. “Yes. And I am ashamed of it,” I tell her bluntly.
On my left, Farley clenches a fist on the seat of her chair. She leans forward. “You can’t blame her for things said to the business end of a gun.”
The Red woman tightens. “I do not, of course. But your face and your voice have been used so many times, Miss Barrow. You will be little use in trying to sway your own people back in Norta. And, I apologize, but it makes it difficult to trust what you say now, and who you speak for.”
“Then speak to me,” Farley snaps, her voice echoing throughout the Gallery. My flush recedes, chased away by cool relief. I glance sidelong, more grateful for Farley than ever before. She keeps her temper in check, using it as fuel. “I am a general of the Scarlet Guard, a high officer of Command. My organization has been working in the shadows for years, from the frozen shores of the Hud to the Piedmont lowlands, and everywhere in between. We’ve done very much with very little. Imagine what we can do with more.”
On the opposite side of the chamber, another one of the Montfort representatives puts up a hand winking with golden rings. He’s Red, his smile sharp and slick. “Much, you say? Forgive me, General. But before you began working with us, your Scarlet Guard was little more than a network of allied criminals. Smugglers. Thieves. Murderers, even.”
Farley just sniffs. “We did what we had to. The premier speaks of working through cracks—we made them. And we transported thousands out of danger. Reds who needed our help. Newbloods too. Your own premier is Nortan-born, isn’t he?” She points her chin at Davidson, who holds her gaze. “Nearly executed for the crime of what he was born as. We saved people like him every day.”
The sly man shrugs his shoulders. “Our point is that you cannot do this alone, General,” he says. “And while your cause is just, accordances must be made. You are a group with no nation, no citizens to answer to. Your methods are beyond the usual bounds of war. We have our own to think of.”
“We answer to everyone, sir,” Farley replies coolly. She turns her head just so, letting the scarred side of her mouth catch the light from the dome overhead. “Especially those who think no one is listening. We are listening, and we are doing, and we will keep fighting. To the last rattle of our last breath, the Scarlet Guard will do what it can to fix what is broken. With or without your aid.”
Still pacing, Davidson passes by her. He shoots her a glance I cannot decipher, lips pressed into a neutral line, eyes locked on her face. I can’t tell if he’s pleased or infuriated.
The Silver representative named Radis stands again. He doesn’t look a day over thirty-five, and he’s old enough to remember what this country was before Montfort. He eyes us all. “So you propose we support another Silver monarch and help him to a throne.”
On my right, Evangeline grins, and I can see she capped her eyeteeth with pointed silver. Gruesome, I think to myself. And a message like the rest of her image. She will bite out the heart of anyone in her way. Including all of us.
“Two, actually,” she says, projecting her voice across the amphitheater. “My father, the king of the Rift, must also be recognized as a legitimate ruler.”
A corner of Tiberias’s mouth twitches, and Anabel purses her lips. As before in Corvium, Evangeline does her best to sidetrack any progress her betrothed might make.
Radis sneers back at her, gray eyes flashing. “But as you told us, Premier,” he says, “the Free Republic was built from such kingdoms. We know what they are, what they become.” His gaze ticks from Evangeline to Tiberias. “No matter how noble, how true, how honorable the king or queen.”
Premier Davidson’s blank mask threatens to slip, betraying a frown. He bows his head slightly, acknowledging Radis’s point. Others murmur around the room, ruminating on the same flaw in this alliance. Of course, Davidson and the Guard have a longer game, with no intention of propping up more kings and queens, but we can’t exactly argue that in front of the Silvers.
The lie comes easily for me, because it isn’t entirely false.
“You said something else before, Premier,” I say quickly, pushing out of my chair. “Before the second battle of Corvium, when we were still in Piedmont.”
Davidson whirls to me, an eyebrow raised.
“Inches for miles,” I explain, sharpening each letter on my tongue.
The full strength of the Gallery’s attention makes me shiver with desperation. They must agree. We need their support if we’re going to end Maven’s reign and stop Tiberias from picking up the crown he leaves behind. “Change can be quick, or it can be slow. But the movement should always be forward. I know some of you look at King Tiberias, at Queen Anabel and Princess Evangeline, and wonder, how are they different? How is spilling your own blood to give them a throne better than staying alive and letting Maven keep his?”
Radis looks down his long nose at me. “Because you claim Maven Calore is a monster. A wayward boy with no leash.”
I toss my head, flicking my braid over my shoulder. Like Farley, I let my scars tell their own story. The M on my collarbone cooks beneath a hundred pairs of eyes. “Because Maven Calore is, without question, without argument, the worse option,” I say, directing my words to all of them. “Not only will he never move his country forward, but he will also drag Norta backward. He has no regard for Red life, or even Silver. No thoughts of equality. Not even an inkling of anything beyond his broken circle of vengeance and the desire to be loved. And unlike Tiberias, unlike King Volo in the Rift, unlike perhaps any Silver monarch breathing today, he is willing to do anything to keep his crown.”
Slowly, Radis sits. He gestures with a white hand, asking me to continue. Not that I need his permission. Still, pride surges in me.
“Yes,” I tell them. “Under most circumstances, you would be better off staying here, protected by your mountains, insulated against the world. If you can find it in your stomachs to ignore the atrocities of Norta and her allies.” Some of them squirm in their chairs. “But not now. Not with the Lakelands on his side. You can take your time deciding whether to give us more aid, but that bell has already rung. You voted to help us before. Your soldiers were there when I was rescued from Whitefire Palace. Your army helped us hold the walls of Corvium. And Maven Calore will never forget what you did. He will never forget how you stole me from him.”
You’re like Thomas was, Maven told me once. I hear him still muttering in my head. You are the only person I care about, the only person who reminds me I am alive. Not empty. And not alone.
He was a monster then, keeping me trapped in his palace, trapped inside my own skin. I wonder what kind of beast he is now, with nothing and no one but the splintered pieces in his head.
I grit my teeth, trying to picture his next moves. Not in the coming days, but months from now. Years. “One day, his armies will be at your door. The Nortans, the Lakelanders.” They swim before my eyes, the High Houses in their colors, the Lakelanders in their royal blue. “All of them with all their fury, marching behind a shield of Red soldiers you’ll be forced to kill. You might win, but many of your own will die with them. How many, I can’t say. I can only assure you, it will be more.”