I can almost see the hairs on Father’s neck rise. He sets his jaw. “As long as Maven breathes, he’s a threat to Norta.”
Cal is quick to nod, gesturing with an open palm. “On that we can agree.”
Usually any destabilization of Cal’s fledgling reign would be cause for celebration, but I find little to cheer here. Instead I take a seat of my own, leaning back with a huff. “Most of the High Houses will still swear their loyalty to you,” I say aloud, speaking mostly to myself. “They know he’s finished.”
Above me, Cal clucks his tongue in a very annoying fashion. I imagine cutting it out of his head. “That isn’t good enough. We need a united country if we’re going to fight off the Lakelands and Piedmont.”
Behind us, Anabel shuts the door and crosses the room to stand at her grandson’s side. Her constant posturing is becoming tedious. “Those bloody rats can’t wait for us all to kill each other so they can feed on our corpses.”
I sneer up at her, remembering when she first came to the Rift. Then, she pledged that any Red alliance would be fleeting and Norta as we knew it would return to its traditions. “If I’m not mistaken,” I say as innocently as I can, “didn’t we plan to do the same?”
She looks at me with disgust, as Cal continues his walk. He passes between us, shielding me for a moment. I meet his eyes, locking our gaze for a second. I can’t speak, but I try to communicate what I can. He doesn’t trust me, doesn’t care for me, and I feel the same. But we need each other right now, no matter how much we might despise the thought.
He turns away, moving to face my parents again. “We can’t lose sight of the true danger right now. The Lakelands will return, in full force, with Piedmont backing their play.”
“Who knows what they promised Bracken for his help,” Anabel curses.
On her couch, my mother can’t help but sneer. “Well, they didn’t ally with the people who kidnapped his children,” she says coolly, inspecting her nails. “For a start.”
I almost expect the Lerolan queen to lay hands on my mother, but she doesn’t move.
Father maneuvers, his voice smooth. “We’re quite able to do two things at once, King Tiberias.”
Cal responds with his usual fire. “I’m not fighting two wars, Volo. And neither are you.”
The command lingers, shocking us all. Even Mother draws back, looking to Father with fear in her eyes. For what he might do, how he could respond to such impudence.
They stare each other down, one king against another. The contrast is jarring. Cal is young, a tested warrior but a floundering politician. Driven by love, passion, some kind of fire that’s always burning inside him. My father is deadly in many ways, with weapons or words. And he is infinitely cold, a calculating statue, his heart nothing but an empty hole.
This could end everything. Cut the Rift from Norta, and me with it. But no, Father would never do that. He has plans of his own, plans I cannot fathom. And they hinge on Cal keeping his throne.
Father speaks slowly, as if restraining himself. “I’m not talking about a war with Montfort, or the Red criminals they conspire with.” He lays his hands flat on his knees, displaying many rings and bracelets. All deadly under his command. “Hit them where it hurts. Take back whatever victory they thought they won here. Be a Silver king, a king for your own people.”
The singer lord speaks first. I brace myself for his voice, always afraid of the sound. “What are you suggesting?”
Father doesn’t condescend to look at Julian. “Your proclamations will cripple this country,” he says to Cal. “Erase them.”
To my surprise, Julian laughs openly. The sound is oddly kind, a gentle sort of laughter. I’m not familiar with it. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but my nephew can’t very well reverse what he did today. That isn’t strength. That isn’t kingly at all.”
Now my father turns, fixing Julian with the full weight of his stare. “It’s a fitting punishment for their Red betrayal.”
That strikes a chord in Cal. “I rule in Norta, not you,” he says, careful to speak as clearly as possible. “Or anyone else,” he adds, shooting a meaningful look at both his uncle and his grandmother. “The proclamations remain.”
Father’s response is quick. “Not in my kingdom.”
Like Mother, I feel myself pull back as Cal steps forward, closing the distance between himself and my father. It almost looks like a challenge. “Fine,” he grinds out, glaring at the king of the Rift.
Again, they hold each other’s gaze, never blinking, never breaking. I wish I could give both of them a shove. Destroy all this for good.
Anabel intervenes before either side of the scale can tip. She cuts neatly between the kings, putting a hand to Cal’s shoulder. “We’ll pick this up in the morning, when we have clearer heads and a better view of the situation.”
Behind them, Julian rises to his feet. He adjusts his robes. “I agree, Your Majesty.”
Mother sees reason too, and she gestures for Ptolemus to follow. I stand with them, exhausted. Only Father remains sitting. He won’t break first.
Cal is less inclined to play such games. He turns away, dismissing all of us with a disinterested wave of one hand. “Very well, I’ll see you all in the morning.” Then he pauses, looking back. Not at Father. But at me. “Actually, Evangeline, could I have a word?” I blink at him, feeling very sly indeed. The rest of the room could not look more confused. “In private.”
Slowly, I sit back down as the rest go. Even Father, who prowls away with the rest of my family in tow. Only Ptolemus looks back, locking eyes with me for a moment. I wave him off. I’ll be fine; there’s nothing for him to worry about here.
Julian is quick to acquiesce to his nephew’s wishes, but Anabel lingers. “Is this something I can help with?” she asks, glancing between us.
“No, Nanabel,” Cal replies. He walks with her, deftly herding her toward the door. She notes his intention with a sour twist of her lips, but bows her head. He is her king, and she is bound to obey.
When the door shuts behind her, I relax a little, my posture drooping. Cal hesitates, his back to me, and I hear him take a shuddering breath.
“Crowns are heavy, aren’t they?” I say to him.
“Indeed.” Reluctant, he turns around. Without the pressure to perform for the council and his family, Cal slumps as I do. Exhausted by the days, ready to drop.
I raise an eyebrow. “Worth the price?”
Cal doesn’t respond, walking silently to the chair across from mine. He leans backward, one leg bent, the other stretched. As he moves, I think I hear a click in his knee. “Is yours?” he finally says, gesturing to my empty brow. There isn’t any animosity to his words, not like I expect. He’s too tired to fight me.
And I see no use now in fighting him.
“No, I don’t think so,” I mumble back.
The admission surprises him. “Are you planning to do anything about it?” he says, voice colored by what could be hope.
My plan is to do nothing, I think to myself.
“There isn’t much I can do,” I say aloud. “Not with him holding my leash.” He knows who I mean.
“Evangeline Samos on a leash,” Cal replies, forcing a false smirk. “Seems impossible.”
I don’t have the energy to correct him properly. “I wish that were so” is all I can manage.
He runs a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Me too.”
I have to scoff. The whining of men never ceases to amaze. “What leash could there be on the king of Norta?” I sneer at him.
“More than a few.”
“You backed yourself into this corner.” I shrug, unable to summon any real sympathy for the young man before me. “They gave you a choice, one last chance to change things before they left.”
He bristles, leaning forward on his elbows. “And what would have happened if I’d done what they wanted? Thrown this infernal thing away?” To illustrate his point, he reaches up and grabs his own crown. He discards it with a thunk. How dramatic. “Chaos. Riots. Maybe another civil war. And certainly war with your father. Maybe my own grandmother too.”