“Do we tell them what just happened?” he asks, pointing a thumb back toward the room.
I frown. I would rather not retell our conversation to a larger audience, especially one that includes the Samos brood. “If we do, we risk Rash and Ibarem. Volo would enjoy using that particular advantage if he could.”
“I agree. But it is an advantage. To be able to speak to him, watch him.” He lowers his voice. Gauging my reaction. Letting me make the decision.
“Leave him in peace. We can relay with the Scarlet Guard on the ground. Get our people back.”
He nods along. “Of course.”
“No word about Cameron,” I add, wincing as I say her name. She went back to Piedmont to be with her brother when we went on to Montfort. Chasing peace instead of war. And war found her again.
Tiberias turns thoughtful—sympathetic, even. Not for show, but truly. I try not to look at his handsome features as he looms above me. “She’ll be okay,” he says, just for me. “Can’t imagine anyone taking her down.”
Ibarem didn’t mention seeing her among the prisoners, but he didn’t think she was among the dead either. I can only hope she’s among the ones who escaped, hiding in the swamps, slowly making her way back to us. Besides, Cameron can kill a man as easily as I can. More easily. Any Silver hunter would find her to be dangerous prey, with her ability to smother the strongest of their powers. She must have escaped. I will entertain no other possibility. I simply can’t.
Especially because I need her for what I have planned.
“Farley might pop a blood vessel if we keep her waiting any longer.”
“I would prefer not to see that,” Tiberias grumbles after me.
FIFTEEN
Evangeline
Anabel stalls with such talent, as we wait for her chronologically impaired grandson. I’m torn between asking for a lesson and skewering her to the wall with the steel of my throne.
There are maybe a dozen people in the throne room, only those necessary for a war council. Red and Silver, Scarlet Guard and agents of Montfort alongside noble houses of the Rift and rebel Norta. No matter how many times I see it, I can hardly get used to the sight.
Neither can my parents. Today, Mother coils on her throne of emeralds like one of her snakes. She sinks back into black silk and rough gems, looking incomplete without some threatening predator pet at her knee. The panther must be indisposed today. She sneers while Anabel spins her wheels.
Father, on the other hand, sits in rapt attention, his acute focus locked entirely on Anabel even as she steps back. Trying to make her squirm. The head of House Lerolan does not, to her credit. I’m a magnetron. I know steel when I see it. And she has steel in her bones.
“Tiberias the Seventh needs a capital. A place to plant his flag.” She pauses, pacing for effect as she surveys the throne room. I want to scream, Get on with it, old woman!
What she should really do is go find Cal, wherever he might be, and drag him back here by the ears. The Piedmont base is lost, and this is a meeting of his own war council, not to mention my father’s court. Making us wait isn’t just rude; it’s politically stupid. And a waste of my own precious time.
He’s probably off arguing with Mare again, pretending not to look at her lips while he does it. The prince is terribly predictable, and I hope the pair of them will boil over into some not-so-secret secret relationship once more. Will I be expected to guard the door? I sneer to myself.
In a flash, I envision the life he wants for us all. The life he would subject all of us to. The crown on my head, his heart in her hand. My children threatened every second by any child she might have. My days spent bending to his will, no matter how gentle it might be. No matter how many days he might let me spend with my Elane, as long as he can spend his with Mare.
If only he wanted her more. If only I could make him want her more. But, as I told Mare back in Corvium, Cal isn’t the abdicating kind. You weren’t either, I remind myself. Until you had a taste of the other side.
At the thought, my insides flip. With excitement, with hope—and with exhaustion. I’m already annoyed by the prospect of tangling myself up with Cal and Mare more than I already am. Even if it’s for my own happiness.
Stop complaining, Samos.
When General Farley and Mare finally enter the room, with Cal on their heels, I sigh to myself. Mare Barrow is not unfortunate-looking, but she’s no lady. Cal must like that sort of thing. A rougher edge. Warmth, dirt under fingernails, a rotten temper. I don’t see the appeal. But he must.
“Ah,” Anabel says, turning gracefully on her heel. “Your Majesty.” Her face relaxes in relief as she beckons Cal to join her before the Samos thrones. The rest of the chamber looks on.
“So kind of you to join us, King Tiberias,” my father says. He runs a hand through his silver beard, pulling at the strands. “I’m sure you’ve been made aware of our dire situation.”
Cal sweeps into a low bow, surprising us. Kings and queens of the blood do not bow, not even to each other. Still he does it. “My apologies. I was detained,” he says, offering nothing else. And giving us no opportunity to ask further as he waves Farley forward. “I believe General Farley has some good news, at least.”
“Weighed against the loss of our foothold in Piedmont?” Father scoffs. “As well as any leverage we had over Prince Bracken? It must be very good news.”
“I consider over a hundred of our people saved from Piedmont to be good news, sir,” she says, also stooping into a quick, pitiful bow. “The Scarlet Guard and our Montfortan allies left only a skeleton garrison behind in Piedmont. There were a few hundred soldiers left behind at the base when Bracken struck. Right now, according to our intelligence, at least a third have made it into the swamps. The Scarlet Guard has contingents all over the region; we are more than able to retrieve and transport those who escaped to safety.”
“How many dead, do you estimate?” Anabel says, now standing to the side with her hands clasped.
“A hundred, we think,” she forces out, as if she can run right past the thought. But it seems to catch up to her as she repeats, more slowly, “A hundred dead.”
“We lost more in Corvium,” I say, tapping my fingers in time. “A hard trade, to be sure,” I add, feigning sympathy before I send the Red woman into a rage spiral.
“It will be difficult, going forward, without the base,” Ptolemus offers, making the painfully obvious point. Sometimes I think he just wants to hear himself talk, even in situations like this.
“Yes, that’s true,” Cal offers. “We still have the Rift, and all that entails, but we’ve lost two of our conquests in so many weeks. First Corvium—”
“We chose to destroy Corvium; we didn’t lose it,” Mare puts in, eyeing him with venom. I’d wager she’s glad to be rid of that city.
Cal nods in begrudging agreement. “And now Piedmont,” he continues. “It doesn’t exactly present the image of strength, especially to any houses aligned to Maven who might still be swayed.”
Mother angles on her throne, her knuckles glinting with a ransom of green gems. “What of Montfort?” She raises an eyebrow, searching the room. “I’m told you were successful in procuring their army?”
“I don’t count my soldiers before they form up,” Cal shoots back, harsher than he should be. “I trust Premier Davidson will deliver what his government promises, but I won’t make decisions based on resources we can’t see yet.”
“What you need is a capital,” Anabel says, circling the conversation back to her original song and dance. She paces, her red-and-orange regalia matching the light outside as it shifts toward sunset. “The city of Delphie will provide. The seat of House Lerolan will support the rightful king.”
Cal avoids her gaze. “That’s true. But—”
“But?” She snaps to him, stopping in her tracks.