I fight to my feet, ignoring the old aches setting off across my bones. “The prince is with us, Nix. He’s here to help, same as me.”
That does nothing to assuage him. Nix sits back on his heels, baring yellow teeth. His breath sounds ragged and visceral. “Help?” he scoffs. “That Silver bastard helped my daughters into an early grave.”
Cal does his best to look polite, despite the blood dripping down his chin. “Sir—”
“Dara Marsten. Jenny Marsten,” Nix hisses in reply. His glare goes right through me, a knife in the darkness. “The Hammer Legion. Battle of the Falls. They were nineteen years old.”
Died in the war. A tragedy, if not a crime, but how is it Cal’s fault?
Judging by the look of pure shame crossing his face, Cal agrees with Nix. When he speaks, his voice is thick, choked with emotion. “We won,” he murmurs, unable to look Nix in the eye. “We won.”
Nix clenches a single fist, but resists the urge to charge. “You won. They drowned in the river, and their bodies went over Maiden Falls. The grave diggers couldn’t even find their shoes. What was it the letter said?” he presses on, and Cal winces. “Ah yes, that my girls ‘died for victory.’ To ‘defend the kingdom.’ And there were some very nice signatures at the bottom. From the dead king, the general of the Hammer, and the tactical genius who decided an entire legion should march across the river.”
Every eye turns to Cal, and he burns under our gaze. His face goes white, flushed with blood and disgrace. I remember his room back in the Hall of the Sun, the books and manuals filled to the brim with notes and tactics. They made me sick then and they make me sick now, with Cal and myself. Because I’ve forgotten who he truly is. Not just a prince, not just a soldier, but a murderer. In another life it could’ve been me he marched to death, or my brothers, or Kilorn.
“I’m sorry,” Cal breathes. He forces himself to look up, to meet the eyes of an angry, grieving father. I suppose he was trained to do it. “I know my words mean nothing. Your daughters—all the soldiers—deserved to live. And so do you, sir.”
Nix’s knees crack when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Is that a threat, boy?”
“A warning,” Cal replies, shaking his head. “You’re like Mare, like Shade.” He gestures to us in turn. “Different. What we call a newblood. Red and Silver.”
“Don’t you ever call me Silver,” Nix says through gritted teeth.
It doesn’t stop Cal from continuing, rising to his feet. “My brother will be hunting people like you. He plans to kill you all, and pretend you never existed. He plans to erase you from history.”
Something sticks in Nix’s throat and confusion clouds his eyes. He glances to me, looking for support. “There are . . . others?”
“Many others, Nix.” This time when I touch his skin, I have no intention of shocking him. “Girls, boys, old and young. All over the country, waiting to be found.”
“And when you find them . . . us? What then?”
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I haven’t thought that far ahead.
Farley steps forward when I can’t, extending a hand. She holds a red scarf, ragged but clean. “The Scarlet Guard will protect them, hide them. And train them if they want to be trained.”
I almost balk at her words, thinking back to the Colonel. The last thing he seems to want is newbloods around, but Farley sounds so sure, so convincing. Like always, I’m sure she has something else up her sleeve, something I shouldn’t question. Yet.
Slowly, Nix takes the scarf from her, turning it over in his stained hands. “And if I refuse?” he asks lightly, but I hear the steel beneath.
“Then Shade will put you right back in bed, and you’ll never hear from us again,” I tell him. “But Maven will come. If you don’t want to stick with us, you’re better off in the wild.”
His grip tightens on the scarlet fabric. “Not much of a choice.”
“But you do have a choice.” I hope he knows I mean it. I hope it for my own sake, for my own soul. “You can choose to stay, or come. You know better than anyone how much has been lost—but you can help us regain something too.”
Nix is quiet for a long while after that. He paces, scarf in hand, occasionally glancing through the branches at the watchtower beacon. It revolves three times before he speaks again.
“My girls are dead, my wife’s dead, and I’m sick of the marsh stink,” he says, stopping in front of me. “I’m with you.” Then he glares over my shoulder, and I don’t need to turn around to know he’s looking at Cal. “Just keep that one far away from me.”
TWELVE
We trudge back through the woods unscathed, chased by nothing except sea breeze and clouds. But I can’t shake the feeling of dread curling around my heart.
Even though Nix almost split Cal’s skull, recruiting him seemed easy. Too easy. And if I’ve learned anything over the past seventeen years, over the past month, it’s that nothing is easy. Everything has a price. If Nix is not a trap, then he is certainly a danger. Anyone can betray anyone.
So even though he reminds me of Dad, even though he’s little more than a gray beard and grief, even though he’s like me, I close my heart to the man from Coraunt. I have saved him from Maven, told him what he was, and let him make his choice. Now I must carry on, to do the same for another and another and another. All that matters is the next name.
The starlight illuminates the woods enough for a quick glance, and I thumb through the now familiar pages of Julian’s list. There are few in the area, clustered around the city of Harbor Bay. Two are listed in the city proper, and one in the New Town slum. How we’ll get to any of them, I’m not sure. The city will surely be walled like Archeon and Summerton, while the restrictions on techie slums are even worse than the Measures. Then I remember; walls and restrictions don’t apply to Shade. Luckily, he’s walking better by the hour, and shouldn’t need the crutch after a few more days. Then we’ll be unstoppable. Then we might even win.
The thought thrills and confuses me in equal measure—what will a world like that look like? I can only imagine where I’ll be. At home maybe, certainly with my family, somewhere in the woods where I can hear a river. With Kilorn nearby, of course. But Cal? I don’t know where he’ll choose to be, in the end.
In the darkness of night, it’s easy to let your mind wander. I’m used to forests and don’t really need to focus to keep from tripping on roots and leaves. So I dream as I walk, thinking of what might be. An army of newbloods. Farley leading the Scarlet Guard. A proper Red uprising, from the Choke trenches to the alleys of Gray Town. Cal always said that all-out war was not worth the cost, that the loss of Red and Silver life would be too great. I hope he’s right. I hope Maven will see what we are, what we can do, and know he cannot win. Even he is not a fool. Even he knows when he is beaten. At least, I hope he does. Because as far as I can tell, Maven has never been defeated. Not when it really counts. Cal won their father, his soldiers, but Maven won the crown. Maven won every battle that truly mattered.
And given time . . . he would’ve won me too.
I see him in every shadow of every tree, a ghost standing tall against the rainstorm in the Bowl of Bones. Water streams between the points of his iron crown, into his eyes and mouth, into his collar, into the icy abyss that is his wasted heart. It goes red in color, turning from water to my blood. He opens his mouth to taste it, and the teeth within are sharp, gleaming razors of white bone.
I blink him away, blotting out the memory of the traitor prince.