Farley is just as angry as I am. She can barely look at Cal, even when speaking to him. “The question now is how to effectively dispatch our own. We can’t focus everyone on the walls, important as they are.”
“By my count, ten thousand Red soldiers occupy Corvium at any given time.” I almost laugh at Ada’s humbleness. By my count. Her count is perfect, and everyone knows it. “Military protocol dictates one officer to every ten, giving us at least one thousand Silvers inside the city, not accounting for command units and administration. Neutralizing them should be our objective.”
Cal crosses his arms, unconvinced even by Ada’s perfect, inarguable intelligence. “I’m not so sure. Our goal is to destroy Corvium, to strike Maven’s army at its heart. That can be done without”—he stumbles—“without a massacre on both sides.”
As if he cares what happens to our side. As if he cares if any one of us dies.
“How do you plan to destroy a city with a thousand Silvers looking on?” I wonder aloud, knowing I won’t get much of an answer. “Will the prince ask them to sit quietly and watch?”
“Of course we fight those who resist,” the Colonel breaks in. He stares at Cal, daring him to argue. “And they will resist. We know this.”
“Do we?” Cal’s tone is quietly smug. “Members of Maven’s own court tried to kill him last week. If there’s division in the High Houses, then there’s division in the armed forces. Attacking them outright will only serve as a unifier, in Corvium at least.”
My scoff echoes around the room. “So, what, we wait? Let Maven lick his wounds and regroup? Give him time to catch his breath?”
“Give him time to hang himself,” Cal snaps back. He matches my scowl. “Give him time to make even more mistakes. Now he’s on thin ice with Piedmont, his only ally, and three High Houses are in open rebellion. One of them all but controls the Air Fleet, another a vast intelligence network. Not to mention he still has us and the Lakelanders to worry about. He’s scared; he’s scrambling. I wouldn’t want to be on his throne right now.”
“Is that true?” Farley asks, her voice casual. But the words move through the room like knives. They sting him. Anyone can see that. His royal teachings are enough to keep his face still, but his eyes betray him. They flash in the fluorescent light. “Don’t lie to us and say you’re unconcerned with the other news out of Archeon. The reason Laris and Iral and Haven tried to kill your brother.”
He stares. “They attempted a coup because Maven is a tyrant who abuses his power and murders his own.”
I slam my fist against the arm of my chair. He’s not going to dance his way around this one. “They revolted because they want to make you king!” I shout. To my surprise, he flinches. Maybe he’s expecting more than just words. But I keep my ability in check, hard as it may be. “‘Long live Tiberias the Seventh.’ That’s what the assassins said to Maven. Our operatives in Whitefire were clear.”
He expels a long, frustrated sigh. He seems aged by this conversation. Brow furrowed, jaw tight. Muscles stand out at his neck and his hands curl into fists. He’s a machine about to break—or explode.
“It’s not unexpected,” he mutters, as if it makes anything better. “There was bound to be a succession crisis eventually. But there’s no feasible way anyone can put me back on the throne.”
Farley tips her head. “And if they could?” Silently, I cheer her on. She won’t let him off as easily as Mare used to. “If they offered the crown, your so-called birthright, in exchange for an end to all this—would you take it?”
The fallen prince of House Calore straightens to look her dead in the eye.
“No.”
He’s not as good a liar as Mare is.
“As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point about waiting.”
I almost cough up the tea Farley poured me. Quickly I set the chipped cup back down on her ramshackle table. “You’re not seriously saying that. How can you trust him?”
Farley paces back and forth, crossing her tiny room in only a few long steps. One hand massages her back as she moves, working out another of her aches. Her hair is longer every day, and she keeps it braided back from her face at odd lengths. I would offer her my seat, but she doesn’t like to sit much these days. She has to keep moving, for her own comfort and her own nervous energy.
“Of course I don’t trust him,” she replies, kicking weakly at one of the paint-peeling walls. Her frustration runs as high as her emotions. “But I can trust things about him. I can trust him to act a certain way where certain people are concerned.”
“You mean Mare.” Obviously.
“Mare and his brother. His affection for one plays nicely off his hatred for the other. It might be our only way to keep him around.”
“I say let him go, let him rile up a few more Silvers and be another thorn in Maven’s side. We don’t need him here.”
She almost laughs, a bitter sound nowadays. “Yes, I’ll just tell Command that we kicked out our most well known and legitimate operative. That will go over very well.”
“He’s not even really with us—”
“Well, Mare’s not really with Maven, but people don’t seem to understand that either, do they?” Even though she’s right, I have to scowl. “As long as we have Cal, people take notice. No matter how badly we botched that first attempt at Archeon, we still ended up with a Silver prince on our side.”
“A bleeding useless prince.”
“Annoying, frustrating, a veritable pain in the ass—but not useless.”
“Oh yeah? What’s he done for us lately besides get Nanny killed?”
“Nanny wasn’t forced to go to Archeon, Cameron. She made a choice and she died. That’s how it works sometimes.”
Nurturing as she sounds, Farley isn’t much older than me. Twenty-two, maybe, at most. I think her maternal instincts are kicking in early.