War Storm
Page 95

The last time I saw Salin Iral, he was stripped of his titles, nearly choked to death at my father’s hand for his foolishness and pride. He killed the Lakelander king outside the walls of Corvium, against orders, for nothing more than a pat on the head. He was too shortsighted to see that that would only strengthen the Lakelander alliance with Maven, and the resolve of both their queens. Now he’ll pay for that mistake with his life.
Salin hangs loose, his eyes oddly empty. He stares at his feet, and despite the weak grip from either guard, he doesn’t try to run. With Julian Jacos standing close, I can see why. I doubt he’s been given permission to run.
“What is this—I didn’t authorize any—” Cal sputters, looming over his grandmother. Gently, she puts a hand to his chest, pushing her king backward.
“But you’ll do it. Won’t you, Cal?” she says sweetly. With only the tenderness a mother can give, she reaches up to cup his face. “We can end this war today, right now. This is the cost. One life, instead of thousands.”
It isn’t a difficult choice to make.
“That’s right, Cal. You’re doing this to save lives, aren’t you?” Maven says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Words are the only weapon he has left. “Noble to the last.”
Slowly, Cal raises his eyes to stare at his brother. Even Maven falls silent, letting the moment stretch and burn. Neither blinks. Neither falters. The younger Calore continues to sneer, daring his brother to react. Cal’s face never changes and he doesn’t say a word. But he speaks volumes as he tips his shoulder, stepping out of his grandmother’s path.
Julian puts a finger to Salin’s face, lifting his head so their eyes meet. “Walk to the queens,” he says, and I hear the melodious ability of a talented singer. The kind who could bewitch us all if he wanted, and sing his way to a throne. Luckily for all of us, Julian Jacos has no interest in power.
Despite his haze, Salin Iral is a silk, and his footsteps are graceful. He crosses the meager distance between our party and Maven. The Lakelander queens look like women starved, watching a meal approach. Iris grabs Salin by the neck, kicks the backs of his legs, and forces him to kneel in the water, hands submerged.
“Send him across,” Cenra says quietly, waving a hand toward Maven.
All of this seems wrong, as if filtered through smoked glass, too slow to be real. But it is. The Lakelander guards shove Maven ahead, making him stumble toward his brother. He still grins, spitting blood, but tears gleam in his eyes. He’s losing control, and the tight grip he keeps on himself is coming undone.
He knows this is the end. Maven Calore has lost.
The guards keep shoving, never letting him catch his balance. It’s a pitiful sight. He starts whispering to himself, harried words between peals of sharp laughter.
“I did as you said,” he mutters to no one. “I did as you said.”
Before he can fall at his brother’s feet, Anabel steps forward, planting herself firmly between the pair of them. Protective as a tiger.
“Not a step closer to the true king,” she growls. The woman is smart not to trust him, even now, with nothing left.
Maven sinks to a knee and runs a hand through his hair, mussing the dark, wet curls. He glares at his brother with all the fire he can no longer possess. “Afraid of a boy, Cal? I thought you were the warrior.”
At Cal’s side, Mare tenses, putting a hand to his arm. To stop him or push him on, I don’t know. His throat bobs as he swallows, deciding what to do.
With aching slowness, the last king standing puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’d kill me if our places were exchanged.”
Breath whistles between Maven’s teeth. He hesitates just long enough, leaving space for a lie. Or the hope of a lie. There is no predicting the mind of Maven Calore, or what face he allows anyone to see.
“Yes, I would,” he mutters. He spits blood once more. “Are you proud?”
Cal doesn’t reply.
The ice-blue eyes shift, jumping to the girl at his brother’s side. Mare hardens under his gaze, firm as tempered steel. She has every reason to fear him, but hides it all.
“Are you happy?” Maven asks, almost a whisper. I’m not sure who the question is for.
Neither says a word.
A gurgling sound draws my attention, and I look up from Maven to see the queens circling their prey. They move in a kind of circle. Not a dance, not a ritual. There is no pattern to it. Only cold, collected rage. Even Bracken looks unsettled by them. He takes a few steps back, allowing them room to do what they must. Still on his knees, Salin sways between them, his mouth foaming with seawater.
They take turns pouring water over his face with torturous efficiency. Just enough to keep him breathing. Little by little, drop by drop, his face pales, then purples, then blackens. And he falls, twitching, drowning in half a foot of water, unable to sit up. Unable to save himself. They bend over his body, putting their hands to his shoulders. Making sure they are the last thing he sees as he dies.
I’ve seen torture before, from people who delight in it. It always unsettles. But this brutality is too measured for me to understand. It terrifies me.
Iris catches me watching, and I look away, unable to stand it.
She was certainly right. Maven made a mistake letting her into his kingdom and his palace.
“Are you happy?” Maven asks again, more desperate and ferocious, his teeth like white fangs.
“Be silent, Maven,” Julian sings, forcing the boy to look at him. For the first time in his twisted life, Maven Calore shuts his weasel mouth.
I look over my shoulder, only to find Ptolemus as white-faced as I feel. The world has shifted beneath our feet. Alliances broken and remade, leaving borders to be redrawn, betrothals to be carried out.
And, I realize with a sinking sensation, one more piece of the bargain. There must be.
I lean into my brother, whispering so only he can hear.
“This can’t just be for Salin.”
Iral is a disgraced lord without title or land or any kind of power, in either the Rift or Norta. He isn’t worth anything beyond what he did. And even the Lakelander queens wouldn’t trade Maven to feed their vengeance. They’re strange, not stupid. Anabel said this was the price, but that can’t be true. There must be more. Someone else.
I keep my face blank as the realization churns through me. No one can see behind my mask of stillness.
I wasn’t far off the mark, when I feared we were the trade.
But Maven’s right. A prince and princess for a king? Idiotic. We aren’t worth him.
Our father certainly is.
Volo Samos, king of the Rift. Salin stuck a knife in the Lakelander king to please my father and win his favor. It’s his fault as much as anyone. It was done in his name.
And he is a rival to the Lakelands as much as he is a rival to Cal.
It would be easy for Anabel to bargain him. A logical move to trade my father’s life.
I keep my fingers tightly knit to hide their shaking. I weigh the options as best I can, my expression empty and devoid of any emotion.
If Father dies, the Rift dissolves. It won’t stand without him, not with the way things are. I won’t be a princess anymore. I won’t be his subject, his hand-raised pet, his toy to trade, his sword to use as he pleases.
I won’t have to marry anyone I don’t love, or live my days as a lie.
But even against all things, I love my father. I can’t help it. I can’t bear it.