Farley only has eyes for Clara. While I’m barely through the front door, Farley already holds Clara against her chest, letting the baby girl rest her head on her shoulder. Yawning, Clara nuzzles, trying to return to her interrupted nap. When she thinks no one is looking, Farley dips her neck, pressing her nose against Clara’s tiny head of brown hair. She shuts her eyes and inhales.
Meanwhile, Mom plants another of a dozen kisses on my temple, grinning. “Home again,” she murmurs.
“So they really did it,” Dad says. “Corvium is gone.” I untangle myself from Mom long enough to give him a proper hug. We’re still unaccustomed to touching this way, without my father huddled in his wheelchair. Despite his long months of recuperation with the aid of Sara Skonos, as well as the healers and nurses of the Montfort army, nothing can erase the years we all remember. The pain is still there, sitting in his brain. And I suppose it should. Forgetting doesn’t feel right.
He leans on me, not as heavily as he used to, and I lead him into the sitting room. We share a bitter smile, a private one that passes only between us. My father was a soldier once too, longer than any of us. He understands what it is to see death and return from it. I try to imagine who he was, beneath the wrinkles and the scraggly whiskers fading into gray, behind his eyes. We had few photographs at home. I don’t know how many made it to the refuge on Tuck Island, then to the other base in the Lakelands, and then here. One of them sticks out in my memory. An old scrap of a picture, worn at the edges, fuzzy and faded in the image. My mother and father posed for it a long time ago, before even Bree was born. They were teenagers, kids of the Stilts like I was. Dad must not have been eighteen. He wasn’t conscripted yet, and Mom was just an apprentice. Dad used to look so much like Bree, my oldest brother. Same grin, his mouth almost too wide, framed by dimples. Thick, straight eyebrows across a high forehead. Ears that could be a little too big. I try not to think of my brothers aging like my father has, subjected to the same pains and worries. I can make sure they don’t share our father’s fate—or Shade’s.
Bree flops into an armchair near us, crossing his bare feet on the simple rug. I wrinkle my nose. Men do not have lovely feet.
“Good riddance to that heap,” Bree says, cursing Corvium.
Tramy bobs his head in agreement. His dark brown beard continues to fill in. “Won’t miss it,” he agrees. Both of them were conscripted like Dad. Both of them know the fortress well enough to hate its memory. They trade smiles, as if they’ve won some kind of game.
Dad is less celebratory. He eases himself down into another chair, stretching out his regrown leg. “Silvers will just build another. It’s their way. They don’t change.” His eyes flash, finding mine. My stomach drops when I realize what he’s trying to say. My cheeks burn at the implication. “Do they?”
Shamed, I look back at Gisa, searching her quickly. Her shoulders droop and she sighs, barely nodding. She picks at the sleeve of her shirt, avoiding my eyes.
“So you’ve heard,” I say, my voice flat and empty.
“Not everything,” she replies. Her eyes dart to Kilorn, and I’m willing to bet he tipped everyone off, relaying the less painful parts of my message last night. Nervous, Gisa twists a lock of hair around her finger. The dark red strands gleam. “But enough to figure it out. Something about another queen, a new king, and Montfort, of course. Always Montfort.”
Kilorn’s lips twist, pursing together. He runs a hand through his choppy blond hair, mirroring Gisa’s discomfort. There’s anger too. It simmers in him, lighting up his green eyes. “I can’t believe he said yes.”
I can only nod.
“Coward,” Kilorn snaps. He clenches a fist. “Idiot coward. Wasteful, spoiled-brat bastard. I should break his jaw.”
“I’ll help,” Gisa mutters.
No one scolds them. Not even me, though Kilorn certainly expects it. He glances my way, surprised by my silence. I hold his gaze, trying to speak without saying the name. Shade gave his life for our cause, and Tiberias can’t even give up the crown.
I wonder if Kilorn knows my heart is broken in two. He must.
Is this what it felt like, when I pushed Kilorn away? When I told him I didn’t feel the same? That I couldn’t give him what he wanted?
His gaze softens with pity. I hope he doesn’t know what this feels like. I hope I didn’t put him in this much pain. It’s just not in you to love me, he said once. Now I wish that weren’t true. I wish I could save us both from this agony.
Thankfully, Mom puts a hand on my arm. A light touch, but enough to guide me to the long sofa. She doesn’t say anything about the Calore prince, and the glare she shoots around the room communicates her point. Enough.
“We got your message,” she says, her voice a little too loud and bright as she forces the change in subject. “From that other newblood, with the beard—”
“Tahir,” Gisa offers as she sits down next to me. Kilorn hovers behind us both. “You’ve decided on resettlement for us.” Even though it’s what she wanted, I don’t miss the sharp edges to her tone. My sister blinks at me, one eyebrow raised.
I sigh aloud. “Well, I’m not making decisions for you. But if you want to go, there’s a place for you all. The premier said you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”
“What about everyone else?” Tramy asks. He narrows his eyes as he perches on the arm of Bree’s chair. “We’re not the only ones evacuated here.”
He catches an elbow in the side and doubles over as Bree snickers. “Thinking about that clerk? What’s-her-name, with the curly hair.”
“No,” Tramy grumbles back, his golden cheeks flaming beneath his beard. Bree tries to poke at his flushed face but gets swatted away. My brothers have a terrific talent for acting like children. It used to annoy me, but not anymore. The normalcy of them is soothing.
“It will take time.” I can only shrug. “But for us . . .”
Gisa scoffs aloud. She tosses back her head, exasperated. “For you, Mare. We’re not silly enough to think the leader of the Republic wants to do us a favor. What does he get in return?” With nimble fingers, she grabs my hand, tightening her grip. “What does he get from you?”
“Davidson isn’t Silver,” I say. “What he wants, I’m willing to give.”
“And when do you get to stop giving things?” she snaps back. “When you die? When you end up like Shade?”
The name drops a hush over the room. At the door, Farley turns her face, hiding in shadow.
I stare at Gisa, searching my sister’s pretty face. She’s fifteen now, settling into herself. Her face used to be rounder, her freckles less numerous. And she didn’t have the cares she has now. Just the usual worries. It used to be little Gisa we relied on. Her skill, her talent. Her ability to save our family. Not anymore. She doesn’t begrudge the loss of that weight. But her concern is clear. She doesn’t want it on my shoulders either.
Too late.
“Gisa,” Mom says, her voice a low warning.
I recover as best I can, pulling my hand away. My spine turns to steel. “We need to request more troops, and Premier Davidson’s government has to approve before they can be sent. I’ll help present our coalition, show them who we all are. Make a convincing argument for the war against Norta and the Lakelands.”
My sister is unconvinced. “I know you’re good at arguing, but you aren’t that good.”
“No, but I’m the crossroads,” I say, dancing around the truth of it. “Between the Scarlet Guard, the Silver courts, the newbloods, and Reds too.” I’m not lying, at least. “And I’ve had enough practice putting on a good show.”
Farley balances her baby in one arm, putting her other hand on her hip. She drums a finger against the holster of the pistol glued to her side. “Mare’s trying to say she’s a good distraction. Where she goes, Cal follows. Even now, when he’s trying to win back his throne. He’s coming with us to Montfort, and so is his new betrothed.”
Behind me, I hear Kilorn suck in a hissing breath.
Gisa is just as disgusted. “Only they would stop to arrange marriages in the middle of a war.”