“So, in the interest of transparency, I felt it best for Miss Barrow to detail her captivity, as much as she can, to all parties. And afterward, I will answer any and all questions you may have about myself, my country, and our road ahead.”
In Julian’s histories, there were records of rulers who were elected, rather than born. They earned their crowns with an array of attributes—some strength, some intelligence, some empty promises and intimidation. Davidson rules the so-called Free Republic, and his people chose him to lead. Based on what, I can’t say yet. He has a firm way of speaking, a natural conviction. And he’s obviously very smart. Not to mention he is the kind of man who gets more attractive with the years. I could easily see how people wanted him to rule.
“Miss Barrow, whenever you’re ready.”
To my surprise, the first hand to hold mine is not Cal’s, but Farley’s. She gives me a reassuring squeeze.
I start at the beginning. The only place I can think to start.
My voice breaks when I detail how I was forced to remember Shade. Farley lowers her eyes, her pain just as deep as mine. I soldier through, to Maven’s growing obsession, the boy king who twisted lies into weapons, using my face and his words to turn as many newbloods as possible against the Scarlet Guard. All the while his fraying edges becoming more apparent.
“He says she left holes,” I tell them. “The queen. She toyed in his head, taking pieces away, putting pieces in, jumbling him up. He knows that he is wrong, but he believes himself on a path, and he won’t turn from it.”
A current of heat ripples. At my side, Cal keeps his face still, eyes boring holes in the table. I tread carefully.
His mother took away his love for you, Cal. He loved you. He knows he did. It just isn’t there anymore, and it never will be. But those words are not for Davidson or the Colonel or even Farley to hear.
The Montfort people seem most interested in the Piedmont visit. They perk up at the mention of Daraeus and Alexandret, and I walk them through their visit step by step. Their questioning, their manner, down to what kind of clothes they wore. When I mention Michael and Charlotta, the missing prince and princess, Davidson purses his lips.
As I speak, spilling more and more of my ordeal, a numbness washes over me. I detach from the words. My voice drones. The house rebellion. Jon’s escape. Maven’s near death. The sight of silver blood gushing from his neck. Another interrogation, mine and the Haven woman’s. That was the first time I saw Maven truly rattled, when Elane’s sister pledged her allegiance to a different king. To Cal. It resulted in the exile of many members of court, possible allies.
“I tried to separate him from House Samos. I knew they were his strongest remaining ally, so I played on his weakness for me. If he married Evangeline, I told him, she would kill me.” Pieces move into place as I speak them. I flush at the implication that I am the reason for such a deadly alliance. “I think it may have convinced him to look to the Lakelands for a different bride—”
Julian cuts me off. “Volo Samos was already searching for an excuse to detach from Maven. Ending the betrothal was just the final straw. And I assume the Lakelander negotiations were in play much longer than you think.” He quirks a thin smile. Even if he’s lying, it makes me feel a bit better.
I race through my memories of the coronation tour, a glorified parade to hide his dealings with the Lakelanders. Maven’s revocation of the Measures, the end of the Lakelander War, his betrothal to Iris. Careful moves to buy goodwill from his kingdom, to get credit for stopping a war without stopping its destruction.
“Silver nobles came back to court before the wedding, and Maven kept me alone for most of the time. Then there was the wedding itself. The Lakelander alliance was sealed. The storm—your storm—followed. Maven and Iris fled to his escape train, but we were separated.”
It was only yesterday. Still, this feels like recalling a dream. Adrenaline fogs the battle, reducing my memories to color and pain and fear. “My guards dragged me back into the palace.”
I pause, hesitating. Even now, I can’t believe what Evangeline did.
“Mare?” Cal prods, his voice and the brush of his hand gentle. He’s just as curious as the rest.
It’s easier to face him than the others. He alone understands how strange my escape was. “Evangeline Samos cut us off. She killed the Arven guards and she . . . she freed me. She set me loose. I still don’t know why.”
A silence descends over the table. My greatest rival, a girl who threatened to kill me, a person with cold steel instead of a heart, is the reason I’m here. Julian doesn’t try to hide his surprise, his thin eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. But Cal doesn’t look surprised at all. Instead, he draws a deep breath, his chest rising with the motion. Could that be—pride?
I don’t have the energy to guess. Or to detail the way Samson Merandus died, playing Cal and me off each other until we both burned him alive.
“You know the rest,” I finish, exhausted. I feel like I’ve been talking for decades.
Premier Davidson stands, stretching. I expect more questions, but instead he opens a cabinet and pours me a glass of water. I don’t touch it. I’m in an unfamiliar place run by unfamiliar people. I have very little trust left in me, and I won’t waste it on someone I just met.
“Our turn?” Cal asks. He leans forward, eager to begin his own interrogation.
Davidson inclines his head, lips tugged into flat, neutral line. “Of course. I assume you’re wondering what we’re doing here in Piedmont, and on a royal fleet base to boot?”