She sits in the center of the oddly bare salon, surrounded by twisted pieces of metal. They vary in color and material—iron, bronze, copper. Her hands work diligently, shaping flowers from chrome, curling them into a braided silver and gold band. Another crown for her collection. Another crown she can’t wear yet.
Two attendants wait on her. A man and a woman, plainly dressed, their clothes striped with the colors of House Samos. With a jolt, I realize they are Red.
“Make her presentable, please,” Evangeline says, not bothering to look up.
The Reds descend, waving me to the single mirror in the room. As I stare into it, I realize Elane is here as well, lazing on a long couch in a beam of sunlight like a satisfied cat. She meets my gaze without question or fear, only disinterest.
“You may wait outside,” Elane says when she breaks eye contact, turning back to my Arven guards. Her red hair catches the light, rippling like liquid fire. Even though I have an excuse for looking horrible, I still feel self-conscious in her presence.
Evangeline nods, agreeing, and the Arvens file out. Both cast disgruntled glances in my direction. I greedily drink them in to treasure later.
“Anyone care to explain?” I ask the quiet room, expecting no answer.
The other two laugh together, exchanging pointed glances. I take the opportunity to assess the room and the situation. There’s another door, probably leading to Evangeline’s bedroom, while the windows are locked tight against the cold. Her room looks out on a familiar courtyard, and I realize my cell of a bedroom must face hers. The revelation shivers me.
To my surprise, Evangeline drops her work with a clatter. The crown shatters, unable to hold its shape without her ability. “It is the queen’s duty to receive guests.”
“Well, I’m not a guest and you’re not a queen, so . . .”
“If only your brain were as quick as your mouth,” she snaps back.
The Red woman blinks rapidly, flinching like our words might hurt her. Actually, they might, and I resolve to be less stupid. I bite my lip to keep more foolish thoughts from spilling out, letting the two Red servants work. The man attends to my hair, brushing it through and coiling it into a spiral, while she does up my face. No Silver paint, but she uses blush, a bit of black to line my eyes, and striking red for my lips. A garish sight.
“That will do,” Elane says from her back. The Reds are quick to pull away, dropping their hands to their sides and bowing their heads. “We can’t have her looking too well treated. The princes won’t understand it.”
My eyes widen. Princes. Guests. Who am I being paraded in front of now?
Evangeline notices. She huffs aloud, flicking a bronze flower at Elane. It embeds in the wall above her head, but Elane doesn’t seem to mind. She only sighs dreamily.
“Mind what you say, Elane.”
“She’ll find out in a few moments, my dear. What’s the harm?” She gets up from her pillows, extending long limbs that glow with her ability. Evangeline’s eyes track her every movement, sharpening when Elane crosses the room to my side.
She joins me at the mirror, looking into my face. “You’ll behave today, won’t you?”
I wonder how quickly Evangeline would skin me if I slammed my elbow into Elane’s perfect teeth.
“I’ll behave.”
“Good.”
And then she disappears, wiped from sight but not sensation. I still feel her hand on my shoulder. A warning.
I look through where Elane’s body was, back to Evangeline. She gets up from the floor, her dress pooling around her, fluid as mercury. It very well could be.
When she strides toward me, I can’t help but recoil. But Elane’s hand keeps me from moving, forcing me to stand up straight and allow Evangeline to lean over me. A corner of her mouth lifts. She likes seeing me afraid. When she raises a hand and I flinch, she smiles openly. But instead of striking me, she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Make no mistake, this is all for my benefit,” she says. “Not yours.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod along anyway.
Evangeline doesn’t lead us to the throne room, but to Maven’s private council chambers. The Sentinels guarding the doors look more imposing than usual. When I enter, I realize they’re even manning the windows. An extra precaution after Nanny’s infiltration.
The last time I passed through, the room was empty save for Jon. He’s still here, quiet in the corner, unassuming next to the half-dozen others around the room. I shiver at the sight of Volo Samos, a quiet spider in black with his son, Ptolemus, at his side. Of course, Samson Merandus is here too. He leers at me and I lower my eyes, avoiding his gaze as if I can shield myself from the memory of him crawling into my brain.
I expect to see Maven seated alone at the far end of the marble table, but instead, two men flank him closely. Both are draped in heavy furs and soft suede, dressed to withstand arctic cold even though we are well sheltered from the winter. They have deep, blue-black skin like polished stone. The one on the right has bits of gold and turquoise beaded into the intricate whorls of his braids, while the one on the left settles for long, gleaming locks topped by a crown of blossoms hewn from white quartz. Royalty, clearly. But not ours. Not from Norta.
Maven raises a hand, gesturing to Evangeline as she approaches. In the light of a winter sun, she gleams. “My betrothed, Lady Evangeline of House Samos,” he says. “She was integral to the capture of Mare Barrow, the lightning girl and the leader of the Scarlet Guard.”
Evangeline plays her part, bowing before the two. They bow their heads in turn, their motions long and fluid.
“Our congratulations, Lady Evangeline,” the one with the crown says. He even extends a hand, gesturing for her own. She lets him kiss her knuckles, beaming at the attention.
When she glares at me, I realize Evangeline means for me to join her. I do so reluctantly. I intrigue the two newcomers, and they watch me in fascination. I refuse to so much as nod my head.
“This is the lightning girl?” the other prince says. His teeth flash moon white against night-dark skin. “This is the one giving you so much trouble? And you let her live?”
“Of course he did,” his compatriot crows. He gets to his feet, and I realize he must be almost seven feet tall. “She’s marvelous bait. Though I’m surprised her terrorists haven’t attempted a real rescue, if she’s as important as you say.”
Maven shrugs. He exudes an air of quiet satisfaction. “My court is well defended. Infiltration is all but impossible.”
I glance at him, meeting his eyes. Liar. He almost smirks at me, like it’s a private joke between us. I fight the familiar urge to spit at him.
“In Piedmont we would march her through the streets of every city,” the prince with the quartz crown says. “Show our citizens what becomes of people like her.”
Piedmont. The word rings like a bell in my head. So these are the Piedmont princes. I rack my brain, trying to remember what I know of their country. An ally of Norta, forming part of our southern border. Governed by a collection of princes. All that I know from Julian’s lessons. But I know other things too. I remember finding shipments on Tuck, supplies stolen from Piedmont. And Farley herself hinted that the Scarlet Guard was expanding there, intent on spreading their rebellion through Norta’s closest ally.
“Does she speak?” the prince continues, looking between Maven and Evangeline.
“Unfortunately,” she replies with a pointed smirk.
Both princes laugh at that, as does Maven. The rest of the room follows suit, pandering to their lord and master.
“Well then, Prince Daraeus? Prince Alexandret?” Maven sweeps his gaze over each in turn. He proudly plays the part of king, despite the two royals twice his age and size. Somehow he measures up against them. Elara trained him so well. “You wanted to see the prisoner. And you’ve seen her.”
Alexandret, already standing so close, takes my chin in soft hands. I wonder what his ability is. I wonder how afraid of him I should be. “Indeed, Your Majesty. We have a few questions, if you would be so kind as to allow it?”