War Storm
Page 89

The pair of them wear matching clothes of pearly white and bright silver. He has a jacket, tightly fitted and buttoned up to his throat, pants, and black boots similar to Cal’s, and a gray sash fastened across his chest from shoulder to hip. The pattern on it is strange, but as he approaches, I realize that the black diamond shapes dotting the sash aren’t a pattern at all, but knives fixed directly into the fabric. Weapons, should he need them.
His sister is equally outfitted, the folds of her long gown slashed to show fine white leather leggings beneath. Should this meeting end in blood, she won’t find herself restricted by a skirt. I wish I’d thought of that. Her hair is tightly braided back, the silver strands studded with starry glints of pearl metal. Razor-edged. Good for cutting flesh. Her arms are bare, no sleeves to impede her movement or catch on the jewelry on her hands. A ring winks on every finger, white stones and black, and fine strands of chain wrap around each wrist. Garrotes for strangling or slicing. Even her earrings look deadly, long and tapering to a wicked point.
I find myself glad Evangeline took so much time. She’s wearing an arsenal.
“Shall I have the clocks adjusted in your rooms, Your Highnesses?” Anabel crows from where she stands next to Julian.
Evangeline answers with a smile as sharp as her knives. “Our clocks are exactly on time, Your Majesty.” Her skirt billows around her legs as she passes the old queen, making for us. I shudder as she turns that smile on me. “Good morning, Mare. You seem well rested,” she says. Then she runs her eyes over Cal, teeth still bared. “And you don’t.”
“Thank you,” I say stiffly, through gritted teeth. I quickly regret any kind feeling I ever had toward her.
She revels in my sharp reply, and in the flush spotting Cal’s cheeks. Behind her, Ptolemus crosses his arms behind his back, puffing out his chest. Displaying the daggers proudly. Farley notes each one, her eyes wide and angry.
“A pity this meeting could not be held in the evening,” Ptolemus murmurs. His voice is deeper than Cal’s and infinitely less kind. He’s brave to speak here, especially to Farley and me.
I wonder if she sees Shade, as I do, speared by a blow from Ptolemus Samos. Even standing in his presence feels like a betrayal.
Farley has more restraint than me. While I can only keep my mouth firmly shut, she tosses her head with a sneer. “So your sister could have more time to paint her face?” she snaps, gesturing to the intricate makeup sculpting Evangeline.
The Samos princess shifts, if only a little, putting herself between her brother and us. Protective to the last. I almost expect her to shoo him off and out of our reach.
“So my father could attend,” she explains with a proud toss of her head. “King Volo will be here by sunset.”
Cal narrows his eyes. He sees the threat as clearly as I do. “With reinforcements?”
“More Samos-sworn to die for you? Hardly,” Evangeline sneers. “He’s come to oversee the final push against Maven.”
Oversee. Her storm-gray eyes darken, if only for a moment, shadowed by meaning. It isn’t hard to puzzle out the spaces between her words, what she means against what she says.
He’s coming to clean up our mess.
I shiver. The Samos children are formidable, violent, and dangerous, but they are tools at the end of it all. Weapons wielded by an even more powerful man.
“Good, saves me the time of summoning him here,” Cal says, resting a hand on the hilt of his bejeweled sword. He grins easily, as if the prospect of Volo Samos were his own idea. “I’m sure you’ll give him a happy welcome, Evangeline.”
The look she throws at him could poison rivers.
“Let’s get this nonsense over with,” she snarls under her breath.
Dawn streaks along the waves, bleeding from the horizon in shimmers of pink and paling blue. I keep my forehead braced against the cool glass of the dropjet window to watch our descent. As each second passes, my body tightens, my pulse a rising thrum, until I fear I might explode. It takes all my energy to keep my lightning at bay and the jet safe from my electric fits. Across from me, Farley stares at me, her hands ready at the buckles of her safety belts. To unfasten them and jump out the door if I happen to lose control.
Cal has more faith. He puts on a show of casual disregard, one leg stretched out in front of him, with the left side of his body braced against my side. He radiates soothing warmth, and his fingers brush mine every few seconds, a firm reminder of his presence.
If his grandmother is disgruntled or surprised by our closeness, she doesn’t show it. She sits quietly with Julian, his face shadowed like never before.
Davidson rounds out the rest of our jet, and thankfully, Evangeline and her brother are in the other craft, following along. I can see the reflection in the water, their small, whirring jet a blurring shadow among the waves. Dropjets are loud, horrendously so, and for once I’m glad for it. No one can talk right now, or scheme, or snipe. I try to lose myself in the constant hum.
Province Island comes too soon, a circle of green edged in a pale ribbon of sand. From above, it seems like one of Julian’s maps. Simply drawn, the village at the edge of the water a small grid of a few streets. The harbor is empty, but almost a dozen warships anchor about a half mile from shore. Maven could shoot us out of the air if he wanted, I think, imagining the distant rumble of artillery fire.
But we land without incident. The turning, tightening sensation in my chest grows, moving far beyond my tolerance. I grate my teeth together, feeling as if my jaw might shatter from the force of it, and hop out of the jet as quickly as I can, if only to suck down the fresh air.
And perhaps run right into the sea.
Instead I move away from the circling engines of the dropjet, one hand raised to keep my hair from the worst of the roaring wind. Farley follows, shoulders hunched.
“You okay?” she says over the noise, so only I can hear.
Mouth tight, I shake my head slightly. No.
I search the tall grass covering the dunes of the beach, half expecting a contingent of Sentinels to spring out and surround us. Force our surrender, force me back into manacles. Bile rises in my throat, the taste almost making me retch. The sensation of Silent Stone against my skin returns with smirking vengeance. I can’t go back there. I turn my face away, hiding in my whipping hair. Trying to breathe and take the precious seconds I need to stabilize.
Farley’s hand clasps my shoulder, her grip firm but soft. “I’m not going to tell you to get over it,” she whispers in my ear. “But you have to get through it. Just for now.”
Get through it.
I grit my teeth and turn back to her, my eyes mercifully clear. “Just for now,” I echo. I’ll fall apart later. After all this is done.
Behind her, Cal hangs back, watchful but hesitant to interrupt. I hold his gaze over her shoulder and give him the slightest nod. I can do this. I have to do this.
We look strange, a contingent of Silver royals, a Red general, and two newbloods, all flanked by guards in our varying colors. While no one is willing to trust Maven to obey the rules of war, we know that the Lakelander queen probably will. Still, I keep close to Farley and her two Scarlet Guard officers. I trust their guns and their loyalty.
Evangeline and Ptolemus step down from their own jet, looking merely inconvenienced by the meeting. As if they have something more important to do. It’s an act, of course. Evangeline wants to see Maven as much as I don’t. She would never pass up the chance to sneer in his face. The dropjet engines rustle her hair as she stands, eyes sharp and keen on the grass around us.