My brother is a warrior as much as Cal is, but no strategist. He is all brutal strength. And Cal is quick to point out his error.
“The Cygnet queens will feel out which side is weakest,” he says. “If both sides are balanced, they won’t find a weaker side to prey on. And we can pin them in the river.”
“Concentrate the Air Fleet over the city.” It isn’t a suggestion, but an order. And no one shoots me down. Despite our impending doom, I feel a surge of pride. “Use their weapons on the ships. If we can sink one downriver, we’ll slow their pace.” A dark grin plays on my lips. “Even nymphs can’t keep a ship full of holes afloat.”
There is no joy in Tiberias Calore when he speaks next, his eyes flickering with some inner torment. “Turn the river into a graveyard.”
A graveyard for both kinds of blood, Silver and Red. Lakelanders, soldiers of Piedmont. Enemies. That’s all they are. Faceless, nameless. Sent to kill us. It’s an easy equation to balance, with the people I love on one side. Still, my stomach turns a little, though I’ll never admit it to anyone. Not even Elane. What color will the river be when all this is over?
“We’ll be outnumbered on the ground.” Cal begins to pace, his words taking on a manic quality. He’s almost talking to himself, puzzling out a battle plan before our eyes. “And whatever their storms cook up will keep most of the Air Fleet busy.”
My father still hasn’t spoken a word.
“They’ll have Red soldiers among the Silvers,” Julian says. He sounds almost apologetic. Again my stomach churns, and Cal seems to feel the same trepidation. He falters a little in his steps.
Anabel merely scoffs. “That’s one advantage, at least. Their numbers are more vulnerable. And less dangerous.”
The rift between Cal’s closest advisers yawns like a canyon. Julian almost sneers at her, his usually calm manner fading a little. “That’s not what I meant.”
More vulnerable. Less dangerous. Anabel isn’t wrong, but not for the reason she thinks. “The Lakelands haven’t eased their treatment of Reds,” I say. “Norta has.”
The withered stare from the old queen is a thing of lethal beauty. “So?”
I speak slowly, like I’m explaining battle theory to a child. It rankles her delightfully. “So the Lakelander Reds might be less willing to fight. They might even want to surrender to a country where they’ll be given better treatment.”
Her eyes narrow. “As if we can rely on that.”
I shrug with a practiced smirk, raising the steel pauldrons on both shoulders. “They did in Harbor Bay. It’s worth keeping in mind.”
The bug-eyed looks of the Silvers around me are not difficult to interpret. Even Ptolemus is perplexed by what I’m saying. Only Cal and Julian seem open to the idea, their expressions measured but oddly thoughtful. My gaze lingers on Cal, and he meets my eyes firmly, inclining his head in a small, almost invisible nod.
He licks his lips, vaulting into another round of planning. “We don’t have any newblood teleporters, but if we can somehow get you two”—he gestures to Ptolemus and me—“onto the battleships again, neutralize their guns—”
“My children will do no such thing.”
Volo’s voice is low but resounding, almost vibrating on the air. I feel it in my chest, and suddenly I’m a little girl again, cowering before a commanding father. Willing to do whatever I must to keep him happy, to win a rare smile or show of affection, however small.
Don’t, Evangeline. Don’t let him do that.
My fist clenches at my side, nails digging into the flesh of my palm. It grounds me somehow. The sharp pain brings me back to who I am, and the cliff we all stand upon.
Cal glares openly at my father, the two of them locked in a silent battle of wills. Mother remains quiet, one hand resting on the head of a wolf. Its yellow eyes stare up at the young king, never wavering from his face.
My parents don’t intend to fight at all, or let us do it either. In Harbor Bay, they were willing to send us into the fighting. Risk us both. For victory.
They think this battle is already lost.
They’re going to run.
Father speaks again, breaking the tense silence. “My own soldiers and guards, my surviving cousins of House Samos, are yours, Tiberias. But my heirs are not yours to gamble with.”
Cal grits his teeth. He plants his hands on his hips, thumbs drumming. “And what about you, King Volo? Will you sit back as well?”
I blink, stunned. He all but called the king of the Rift a coward. A shudder runs through my mother’s wolf, mirroring her anger.
My father has his own schemes already working. He must. Or else he wouldn’t let the slight pass so easily. With a wave of his hand, he brushes off the accusation. “I don’t have to buy loyalty with my own blood,” he says simply, jabbing back. “We’ll be here, defending the Square. If the Lakelanders strike the palace, they’ll find quite the opposition.”
Cal grinds his teeth, gnashing them together. A habit he’ll have to break if he ever hopes to hold a throne. Kings shouldn’t be so easily read.
His uncle looms close at his shoulder, his own watery eyes alight as he stares.
At Father.
Almost smiling, Julian opens his mouth, lips parting to draw in a long, threatening breath. I expect my father to drop his gaze. Break eye contact. Take away the singer’s weapon. But then that would be an admission of fear. He would never do that, even to protect his own mind.
It’s a standoff.
“Is that wise, Jacos?” my mother purrs, and the wolves at her knees growl in response.
Julian merely smiles. The sharp thread of tension snaps. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice blissfully normal. No haunting melody, no aura of power. “But Cal, if I can get to the Lakelander queen, I could be of some use,” he adds softly. Not for some part of the pageantry. It isn’t an act to send a message. It’s an actual proposition.
True pain cross Cal’s face. He turns, forgetting my parents.
“That’s little more than suicide, Julian,” he hisses. “You won’t even get close to her.”
The old singer just raises an eyebrow. “And if do? I could end this.”
“Nothing will end.” Cal slices a hand in dismissal, and I swear I can almost hear the air singe. His eyes are wide, desperate, all masks of propriety sliding away. “You can’t sing both Cenra and Iris out of this war. Even if you manage to make them both drown themselves, or turn their entire army around, they’ll just come back. Another Cygnet waits in the Lakelands.”
“It could buy us valuable time.”
The uncle isn’t wrong, but Cal won’t hear of it. “And it will lose us a valuable person.”
Julian lowers his eyes, stepping back. “Very well.”
“This is all very touching,” I can’t help but mutter.
My dear brother mirrors my sentiment. I’m surprised his eyes don’t roll out of his head. “That aside, do we know what we’re going to be facing out there?”
Our mother scoffs in reply. Like Father, she thinks this battle is already hopeless. The city already lost. “Besides the full might of the Lakelands? Red legions with all the Silvers they can muster, not to mention powerful nymphs with a river to wield?”
“And perhaps some might of Norta too.” I tap a finger against my lip. I’m not the only one who thinks this. I can’t be. It’s too obvious. Judging by the flushes on the faces around me, the others realize what I’m saying, and they’ve had the same suspicions. “The High Houses missing from your coronation. None have come to pledge loyalty. None have responded to your commands.”
Cal’s throat bobs. A silver blush blooms high on his cheeks. “Not while Maven lives. They still kneel to another king.”
“They knelt to another queen,” I muse.
His face falls, dark brows pulling together. “You think Iris has Nortans on her side?”
“I think she’d be stupid not to try.” I shrug my shoulders. “And Iris Cygnet is anything but stupid.”