“Agreed,” my sister and I whisper in unison.
With even motion, Mother turns her head to the frozen fountain, shaping the liquid to her liking. It arcs in the air, like a glass complexity. Light plays off the water, splitting into prisms of every color. Mother doesn’t flinch, unblinking against the flash of sun. “The Lakelands will wash clean those godless nations. Conquer Norta. And the Rift too. They gnaw at each other already, sacrificing their own for such petty rivalries. It won’t be long until their strength is spent. There will be no escape from the fury of the line of Cygnet.”
I have always been proud of my mother, even when I was a child. She is a great woman, duty and honor personified. Clear-eyed, unyielding. A mother to her entire kingdom as well as her children. I realize now I didn’t know the half of it. The resolve beneath her still surface, as strong as any storm. And what a storm it will be.
“Let them face the flood,” I say, an old promise of judgment. The one we use to punish traitors. And enemies of every kind.
“What of the Reds? The ones with abilities, in the mountain country? They have spies running through our own kingdom.” Tiora furrows her brow, cutting a canyon in her skin. I want to smooth away her infinite cares, but she’s right.
People like Mare Barrow must be accounted for. They’re part of this too. We’re fighting them too.
“We use Maven against them,” I tell Tiora. “He has an obsession with newbloods, the lightning girl especially. He’ll pursue them to the ends of the earth if need be, and spend all his strength doing it.”
Mother nods in grim approval. “And Piedmont?”
“I did as you said.” Slowly, I straighten, proud of myself. “That seed is planted. Maven needs Bracken as much as we do. He’ll try to rescue the children. If we can win Bracken to our side, use his armies instead of our own . . .”
My sister finishes for me. “The Lakelands can be preserved. Our strength gathered and waiting. Bracken could even be made to turn against Maven.”
“Yes,” I say. “If we’re lucky, they’ll all kill each other long before we show our true selves.”
Tiora clucks her tongue. “I put little stock in luck when your life hangs in the balance, petasorre.” Little sister.
Though she says the word with love, meaning no disrespect, it still makes me uncomfortable. Not because she is the heir, the eldest, the daughter meant to rule. But because it shows how much she cares and how much she will sacrifice for me. Something I don’t want from her, or my mother. My family has given enough.
“It must be you who rescues Bracken’s children,” my mother says, her voice sullen and cold. Her eyes match her tone. “A daughter of Cygnet. Maven will send his Silvers, but he won’t go himself. He doesn’t have the skill or stomach for such things. But if you go with his soldiers, if you return to Prince Bracken with his children in your arms . . .”
I swallow hard. I’m not a dog playing fetch. I told Maven that only minutes ago, and I almost say the same to my royal mother.
“It’s too dangerous,” Tiora says quickly, almost stepping between us.
Mother holds her ground, unflinching as always. “You cannot leave our borders, Ti. And if Bracken is to be swayed, to us and us alone, we must be the ones to help him. Such is the Piedmont way.” She clenches her teeth. “Or would you rather Maven do it and win himself a staunch ally? That boy is dangerous enough alone. Don’t give him another sword to wield.”
Even though it wounds me, both my pride and my resolve, I see reason in her words. If Maven is the one to lead, or to order a rescue of the children, then Maven will certainly win Bracken’s allegiance. That cannot be allowed.
“Of course not,” I answer slowly. “It must be me, then. Somehow.”
Tiora concedes too. She seems to shrink. “I’ll have my diplomats make contact. Discreetly as they can. What else do you need?”
I nod, feeling a numbness in my fingers. Rescue Bracken’s children. I don’t even know where to start.
The seconds drag as they pass, more difficult to ignore.
If we stay in here much longer, the Nortans will get suspicious, I think, biting my lip. Maven, especially, if he isn’t already. My legs turn to lead as I back away from Mother, my hands suddenly cold without her warmth.
As I pass the fountain, I run my fingers in the arcing water, wetting the tips. I draw the liquid over my eyelids, smudging the dark makeup on my lashes. False tears roll down my cheeks, black as the mourning flowers.
“Pray, Ti,” I tell my sister. “Trust the gods if you will not trust luck.”
“My trust in them is absolute,” she replies, mechanical, automatic. “I’ll pray for us all.”
I linger at the door, one hand on the simple knob. “As will I.” Then I pull, popping the bubble around us, ending what could be our last moments of security for years to come. Under my breath, I mumble to myself, “Will this work?”
Somehow Mother hears me. She looks up, her eyes inescapable as I back away.
“Only the gods know.”
FIVE
Mare
The dropjet feels sluggish on the air, heavier than usual. I sway against my safety restraints, eyes lidded. The motion of the craft paired with the comforting buzz of electricity has me half asleep. The engines chug calmly, despite the extra weight. More cargo, I know. The hold is filled to the brim with the spoils of Corvium. Munitions, guns, explosives, weapons of every kind. Military uniforms, rations, fuel, batteries. Even bootlaces. Half is going to Piedmont now, and the rest is on another jet, returning to Davidson’s mountains.
Montfort and the Scarlet Guard are not wasteful in their endeavors. They did the same thing after the Whitefire attack, stripping what they could from the palace in such limited time. Money, mostly, hauled out of the Treasury once it was clear Maven was beyond our reach. It happened in Piedmont too. It’s why the southern base seems empty, in the lodgings, in the administrative buildings once meant for grand war councils. No paintings, no statues, no fine plates or cutlery. None of the trappings great Silvers require. Nothing but what is necessary. The rest was pulled apart, sold, repurposed. Wars are not cheap. We can only maintain what is useful.
That’s why Corvium crumbles behind us. Because Corvium is no longer useful.
Davidson argued that leaving a garrison of soldiers was foolish, a waste. The fortress city was built to funnel soldiers into the Choke to fight Lakelanders. With that war ended, it has little purpose. No river to guard, no strategic resources. Just one of many roads to the Lakelands. Corvium had become little more than a distraction. And while we held the city, it was deep in Maven’s territory, and too close to the border. The Lakelands could sweep through without warning, or Maven could return in force. We might win again, but more would die. For nothing more than some walls in the middle of nowhere.
The Silvers opposed. Naturally. I think they must be honor-bound to disagree with anything someone with red blood says. Anabel argued the optics.
“How many dead, how much blood spent on these walls, and you want to give up the city? We’ll look like fools!” she scoffed, glaring across the council chamber. The old woman looked at Davidson like he had two heads. “Cal’s first victory, his flag raised—”
“I don’t see his flag anywhere,” Farley interrupted, dry as bone.
But Anabel ignored her. She pressed on, seeming like she might obliterate the table beneath her fingers. Cal sat silent at her side, his eyes ablaze as he stared at his hands. “It will look like weakness to abandon the city,” the old queen said.