“Well, hopefully you summon the courage to find out.”
Reading it feels like pushing a stone through mud. Sluggish, difficult, foolish. The words pull at me with inky fingers, trying to hold me back. Each page is heavier than the last. Until they aren’t. Until the stone is rolling down a hill, and the voice I give my mother rings in my head, speaking as quickly as my mind allows. Sometimes my eyes blur. I don’t stop to wipe the tears from the pages, letting them mark the hours as the night passes. Sometimes I find myself smiling. My mother liked to tinker with things. Repair and build. Just like me.
Sometimes I even laugh. The way she talks about Julian, their kind rivalry, how he gave her books she would never read. I can almost trick myself into thinking she’s alive. Sitting next to me instead of trapped in a book.
But mostly I feel a deep ache. Hunger for her. Sorrow. Regret. My mother had her demons, just like the rest of us. Her own pains that began long before she became a queen. Before my father married her and put a target on her back.
Her entries grow scarcer as time wears on. As her life changes.
There are only a few pages dedicated to me.
He will not be a soldier. I owe him that much. Too long the sons and daughters of House Calore have been fighting, too long has this country had a warrior king. Too long have we been at war, on the front and—and also within. It might be a crime to write such things, but I am a queen. I am the queen. I can say and write what I think.
The Calores are children of fire, as strong and destructive as their flame, but Cal will not be like the others before. Fire can destroy, fire can kill, but it can also create. Forest burned in the summer will be green by spring, better and stronger than before. Cal’s flame will build and bring roots from the ashes of war. The guns will quiet, the smoke will clear, and the soldiers, Red and Silver both, will come home. One hundred years of war, and my son will bring peace. He will not die fighting. He will not. HE WILL NOT.
I run a finger over the letters, feeling the press of a faraway pen. This isn’t her handwriting but Julian’s. Her real diaries were destroyed by Elara Merandus, but Julian had the wherewithal to preserve something before they disappeared. He painstakingly copied each letter, even these. He nearly put a hole in the page writing those words.
They certainly put a hole through me.
Coriane Jacos wanted a different life for her son, entirely separate from how I was raised, and who my father made me into.
I have to wonder if there is some fate in between what each of my parents wanted for me, a path that is truly my own to choose.
Or is it simply too late?
THIRTY-ONE
Maven
I am not even afforded a window. At least I gave Mare one, when she was my prisoner. Of course, that was a torture as much as anything else. Letting her see the world pass, the seasons change, from behind the bars of her opulent cage. I don’t think this is quite as personal an affront. Clearly, they will take no chances with me. My flamemaker bracelets are long gone, probably destroyed. There’s Silent Stone set in the floor, dulling any ability I have left. I’m watched night and day by no less than twelve guards, each one alert and ready on the other side of cell bars.
I’m the only person being held here. No one speaks to me, not even the guards.
Only Mother whispers to me still, and those words are ever fleeting, growing dim. Leaving me with my thoughts. It’s the only benefit of Silent Stone. While it weakens the rest of me, it weakens her voice as well. I felt the same thing on my old throne. It was a shield as much as an anchor, making me ache, but also keeping me insulated from influence, both within and without. Any choice I made in that seat was mine alone.
It’s the same here.
I choose to sleep, mostly.
Even the Stone won’t allow me to dream. It can’t undo whatever she did. Mother took that ability away long ago, and it never came back.
Sometimes I stare at the walls. They’re cool to the touch, and I suspect we’re partially underground. I was blindfolded when I was led into the city and brought to speak before that strange council. I must spend hours tracing the lines of mortar and cement holding the slabs together, running my fingers over rough and smooth textures. Normally, I’d talk out my thoughts to myself, but the guards are always there, always listening. It would be more than stupid to give them any glimpse, however small, into my mind.
Cal is alone, cut off from his strongest allies. He did it to himself, the fool. Iris and her mother won’t waste much time, or give him the opportunity to try to stabilize the kingdom. He got that crown he wanted so much, but he won’t keep it long.
I smile to think of my perfect brother perfectly ruining things for himself. All he had to do was say no. Turn aside the throne. He’d have his armies; he’d have a chance; he’d have Mare. But even she wasn’t enough for him.
I guess I understand that.
She wasn’t enough for me either. Enough to make me change, to pull me back from what I’ve willingly become.
I wonder if Thomas would have been enough.
As usual, the splitting headache comes whenever I think his name, or remember his face, or feel his touch on my hands. I lie back against the cot in the corner, pressing my fists against my eyes. Trying to relieve the pressure of the memory and this place.
I know less than I should about Montfort, let alone its capital, Ascendant. Even trying to plan an escape from here would be a waste of my time and limited energy. Of course, I’ll take my chances in Archeon. Lose them in the tunnels after setting another army on my brother. The last revenge of Maven Calore, before I disappear. To where, I don’t know. It’s just another waste to try to plan beyond Archeon. I’ll cross that bridge when it comes.
Certainly Mare will suspect. She knows me well enough by now. I might have to kill her, at the end of this.
Her life or mine.
A difficult choice, but I’ll choose myself.
I do it every time.
“We need to know where to enter the tunnels.”
At first, I wonder if I’m actually dreaming. If that piece of my mother has finally been washed away.
But that’s impossible.
I open my eyes to see Mare standing on the other side of the bars, far enough to be out of reach. The guards are gone, or at least out of sight. Probably gathered at either end of the corridor, ready to be called upon if necessary.
It’s been two days since I was summoned to the premier’s council, and she doesn’t look like she’s slept since. The lightning girl is worn, with shadows beneath her eyes and cheekbones. Still, she looks better than she did when she was my prisoner, in spite of the gowns and jewels I kept her in. Her eyes spark here. She isn’t hollowed out, aching to the bone. I know that sensation intimately. I feel it here now, and I felt it when I was a king, shielded by a silent throne.
Slowly, I rise up on my elbows, peering at her over the toes of my shoes.
“Two days to agree to my terms,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “Must have been quite the argument.”
“Careful, Maven.” She barks out the warning, all rough edges. “Any difficulty and I’ll be happy to call Tyton down here.”
The other newblood who shares her ability is a stranger, with his white hair and inscrutable eyes. Stronger than me, she said back in the council. And I have seen such strength from Mare Barrow. Certainly his lightning will shred me, nerve from nerve. Not that it will help them. I can withstand torture. I know how to keep my mouth shut, even if it means dying.
Still, I don’t fancy being turned into a lightbulb this early in the day.
“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” I answer her. “I do so enjoy our time alone.”