I feel a low tremor of heat, a small ripple from Cal’s direction. A bad sign. With a sigh, I let go of any hope that he might finally see reason. It draws his attention, if only for a second. I see hurt in him, enough to evoke the same in me. Just a tiny pinprick, dull compared to all the wounds I have from the Calore brothers.
Cal looks back to Davidson, directing his rising anger to someone else. “So you’ll leave us to the Lakelanders and Piedmont. Kingdoms and princes worse than I will ever be?” he says, exasperated, almost stumbling over the words. It’s clear he’s trying to salvage this, and doing all he can to keep us here. “Like you said, we’re weak right now. Easy prey. Without your armies—”
“Red armies,” the premier reminds him coolly. “Newblood armies.”
“It can’t be done,” Cal replies, his voice blunt. He puts his hands out, palms up, empty. With nothing to offer. “It just can’t be done. Not now. In time, maybe, but the High Houses won’t kneel if there isn’t a king. We’ll splinter. Norta won’t exist anymore. We don’t have time to change our entire form of government while preparing for an inevitable invasion—”
Farley cuts him off. “Make the time.”
Despite his height, his broad form, the crown, the uniform, all the trappings of a warrior and a king, Cal has never seemed more like a child. He looks between us, glancing from me to his grandmother to Volo. The latter offer no respite, their faces carved into matching scowls. If he bends to us, they will refuse. And the other side of his alliance will be broken.
Behind Cal, unseen, Julian lowers his head. He says nothing to anyone, and keeps his mouth shut.
Volo runs one deadly hand through his silver beard. His eyes flash. “The Silver lords of Norta will not give up their birthrights.”
Fast as lightning, Farley jumps out of her seat. She spits impressively at Volo’s feet. “That’s what I think of your birthright.”
The Samos king is, to my infinite surprise, stunned into silence. He gawks at her, mouth agape. I’ve never known a Samos to be at a loss for words.
“Rats don’t change,” Anabel snarls. She taps one hand against the arm of her chair, the threat clear as day. Not that it affects Farley much.
Cal only repeats himself, his voice barely more than a mumble. The hunters have pushed him into a corner. “It can’t be done,” he says.
Slowly, with finality, Davidson stands from his seat, and I follow suit. “Then we’re sorry to leave you like this,” he says. “Truly. I consider you a friend.”
Cal glances between us, eyes running back and forth. I see sadness in him, the same I feel in myself. We share an acceptance too. This was always the path we chose to walk.
“I know that,” Cal replies. His voice shifts, deepening. “And you should know I don’t respond well to ultimatums, friendly or otherwise.”
A warning.
And not just to us.
We step down together, Reds aligned in our beliefs and our goals. Red uniforms and green, our skin kissed by the same undertones of rose and scarlet. We leave behind the Silvers, as cold and unmoving as if they were carved from stones, statues with living eyes and dead hearts.
“Good luck,” I manage to say over my shoulder, stealing one last glance.
Cal responds in kind, watching me go. “Good luck.”
In Corvium, when he chose the crown, I thought the world had been snatched away, leaving me to fall through an abyss. This isn’t the same. My heart has already been broken, and one night did not sew it back together. This wound isn’t new; this ache isn’t unfamiliar. Cal is the person he told me he was. Nothing and no one will ever change him. I can love him, and perhaps always will, but I can’t make him move when he decides to stay still. The same could be said of me.
Farley nudges my hand, a sharp reminder as we walk. Our last request is yet to be made.
I turn again, angling my face to him. I try to look as I must. Determined, deadly, an inevitable downfall for the Silver king. But still Mare, still the girl he loves. The Red who tried to turn his heart. “Will you let Reds leave the slums, at the very least?”
Next to me, Farley barks out the rest. “And end conscription?”
We expect nothing in return. Perhaps a pantomime of sadness, or another tragic explanation of how impossible such things would be. Maybe even Anabel chasing us from the room.
Instead Cal speaks without looking at the Silvers on his right. Deciding without their input. I didn’t know he had it in him. “I can promise fair wages.”
I almost scoff out loud, but he keeps speaking.
“Fair wages,” he continues. Volo blanches, looking disgusted. “No restrictions on movement. They’re free to live and work where they please. Same for the armies. Fair wages, fair enlistment terms. No conscription.”
It’s my turn to be caught off guard. I have to blink and bow my head. He returns the gesture. “Thank you for that,” I force out.
His grandmother slaps the arm of his throne, indignant. “We’re about to fight another war,” she sneers, as if anyone needs reminding of the Lakelander danger.
I turn back around to hide my smile. Next to me, Farley does the same. We exchange glances, pleasantly surprised by the acquiescence. It means little in the grand scheme; it could be an empty promise, and it probably won’t last. But it serves one purpose, at least.
Driving a wedge between the Silvers, putting cracks in an already precarious alliance. The only one Cal has left.
Behind me, Cal’s voice takes on a dangerous edge as he talks his grandmother down. “I am king. Those are my orders,” he says to her.
Her response is a whisper I cannot hear, muffled by the groaning noise of the doors as they swing open again and then shut. The receiving hall in front of us is as crowded as before, full of rubbernecking nobles and soldiers, eager to glimpse the new king and his patchwork council. We pass through in silence, our faces blank and unreadable. Farley and Davidson mutter to their officers, relaying our decision. It’s time for us to leave Harbor Bay and Norta behind. I unbutton my uniform collar, letting the jacket fall open so I can breathe more easily, unfettered by stiff fabric.
Kilorn is the only person waiting for me, and he is quick to reach my side. He doesn’t bother to ask how the meeting went. Our exit, along with our silence, is answer enough.
“Damn it,” he growls as we walk, our pace brisk and determined.
I don’t have anything to pack. All my clothes are borrowed or easily replaced, even the ones I came to Harbor Bay in. I have nothing in the way of personal belongings, except the piercings in my ear. And the earring back in Montfort, tucked away in a box. The red stone, the one I couldn’t bear to part with. Until now.
I wish I had it here. To leave it in his room, on the pillow I slept on.
That would be a fitting good-bye. And easier than the one I have to make now.
I break off from Farley and Davidson, who are heading for their own rooms at the bottom of the grand staircase. “I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes,” I tell them both. Neither questions my decision, or my purpose, letting me go with a wave and a nod.
Kilorn hesitates on the first step, waiting for an invitation to follow. He’ll never get one.
“You too,” I mutter. “This won’t take long.”
His green eyes narrow, hard as chips of emerald. “Don’t let him ruin you.”
“He’s already done what he can to me, Kilorn,” I say. “Maven can’t break anything else.”
The lie soothes him, enough for him to turn away, satisfied with my safety.
But there’s always something left to be broken.
His door guards step aside, letting me turn the knob of his room. I do it quickly, so I can’t lose my nerve or change my mind. His cell is not a cell, but a fine sitting room tucked away on an upper floor, facing the ocean. No bed, just a few chairs and a long couch. Either he’ll die this afternoon, and he has no use for sleeping arrangements, or a bed hasn’t been prepared yet.
He stands at the window, one hand on the curtains, as if to pull them shut.
“No use,” he mutters, his back to me as I shut the door again. “They don’t block the light.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted,” I reply. “To stay in the light?”