“Jacos,” I mutter in his direction. “We’re training, in case you haven’t noticed.”
One side of his mouth twitches, begging to pull into a sneer of his own, but Julian refrains. Like the rest of us, he looks better here in Rocasta. Supplies are easier to come by. Our clothes are higher quality, quilted and lined against the cold. The food is heartier, the rooms warmer. Julian’s color has returned, and his gray-flecked hair looks glossier. He’s Silver. He was born to thrive.
“Oh, how foolish of me. I thought you were down here sitting on cold concrete for the fun of it,” he replies. Clearly no love lost between us. Sara glares at him, a weak reproach, but it softens him anyway. “My apologies, Cameron,” he adds quickly. “I just wanted to tell Sara something.”
Sara quirks an eyebrow, a question. When I get up to go, she stops me and, with a dip of her head, asks Julian to continue. He always obeys where she is concerned.
“There’s been an exodus from court. Maven expelled dozens of nobles, mostly his father’s old advisers and those who might still harbor loyalties to Cal. It’s . . . I didn’t believe the intelligence report at first. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Julian and Sara hold each other’s gaze, both pondering what this means. I don’t care at all about a few Silver lords and ladies, old friends of Julian and Sara’s. “And Mare?” I wonder aloud.
“She’s still there, still a prisoner. And any further fractures we may have expected from the rebelling houses . . .” He sighs, shaking his head. “Maven is already at war, and now he prepares for a storm.”
I shift on the floor, moving my weight into a more comfortable position. He’s right. Cold concrete isn’t pleasant. Good thing I’m used to it. “We already knew rescuing her was impossible. What else does this do for us?”
“Well, it’s good and it’s bad. More enemies for Maven give us more opportunity to work beyond his reach. But he’s closing ranks, retreating further into his enclave of protection. We’ll never get to him personally.”
Next to me, Sara hums low in her throat. She can’t say what we’re all thinking, so I do.
“Or to Mare.”
Julian nods with sobering eyes.
“How is your training coming along?”
He changes topics with whiplash speed, and I stutter out a reply.
“As—as good as it can. We don’t have many teachers here.”
“Because you refuse to train with my nephew.”
“The others can,” I say, not bothering to keep the bite from my voice. “But I can’t promise I won’t kill him, so it’s better I don’t tempt myself.”
Sara tsks, but Julian brushes her off with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine, really. You may think I don’t understand, that I can’t understand your point of view, and you’re right. But I’m certainly doing my best to try, Cameron.” He takes a daring step toward us, still cross-legged on the floor. I don’t like it one bit and scramble to my feet, letting my defensive instincts take over. If I’m going to be this close to Julian Jacos, I want to be ready. “There’s no need to be afraid of me, I promise you.”
“Silver promises mean nothing.” I don’t have to snap. The words are harsh enough.
To my surprise, Julian smiles. But the expression is hollow, empty. “Oh, don’t I know that,” he mutters, more to himself and Sara. “Hold on to your anger. Sara might not agree, but it will help you more than anything else, if you can learn to harness it.”
As much as I don’t want advice from such a man, I can’t help but tuck it away. He trained Mare. I’d be stupid to deny he can help my ability grow. And anger is something I have in spades.
“Any other news?” I ask. “Farley and the Colonel seem to be stalling, or your nephew is stalling them.”
“Yes, it seems he is.”
“Odd. Thought he was always up for a fight.”
Julian offers that strange smile again. “Cal was raised to war the same way you were raised to machines. But you don’t want to go back to the factory, do you?”
An answer, any answer, sticks in my throat. I was a slave; I was forced; it was all I knew.
“Don’t get smart with me, Julian” grinds out instead, searing between my clenched teeth.
He only shrugs. “I’m trying to understand your perspective. Do a bit to understand his.”
On another day, I might storm from the room, angry, defensive. Find solace in a broken fuse, a stripped wire. I sit back down instead, taking my place next to Sara. Julian Jacos will not send me scurrying away like a scolded child. I’ve dealt with overseers far worse than him.
“I watched babies die without seeing the sun. Without breathing fresh air. Slaves to your kind. Have you? When you have, then you can lecture me on perspective, Lord Jacos.” I turn from him. “Let me know when the prince finally picks a side. And if he picks the right one.”
Then I nod at Sara. “Ready to go again?”
TWELVE
Mare
Months ago, when the Silvers fled the Hall of the Sun, frightened by a Scarlet Guard attack on their precious ball, it was a united act. We left together, as one, heading downriver in succession to regroup in the capital. This is not the same.
Maven’s dismissals come in packs. I’m not privy to them, but I notice as the numbers dwindle. A few older advisers missing. The royal treasurer, some generals, members of various councils. Relieved of their posts, the rumors say. But I know better. They were close to Cal, close to his father. Maven is smart not to trust them, and ruthless in their removal. He doesn’t kill them or make them disappear. He’s not stupid enough to trigger another house war. But it’s a decisive move, to say the least. Sweeping away obstacles like pieces from a chess board. The results are feasts that look like mouths of missing teeth. Gaps appear, more with every passing day. Most of those asked to leave are older, men and women with ancient allegiances, who remember more and trust their new king less.
Some start to call it the Court of Children.
Many lords and ladies are gone, sent away by the king, but their sons and daughters are left behind. A request. A warning. A threat.
Hostages.
Not even House Merandus escapes his growing paranoia. Only House Samos remains in their entirety, not one of them falling prey to his tempestuous dismissals.
Those still here are devout in their loyalty. Or at least they make it look like it.
That’s probably why he summons me more now. Why I see so much of him. I’m the only one with loyalties he can trust. The only one he really knows.
He reads reports over our breakfast, eyes skimming back and forth with blistering speed. It’s useless to try to see what they are. He’s careful to keep them to his side of the table, turned over when finished, and well out of my reach. Instead of reading the reports, I have to read him. He doesn’t bother to surround himself with Silent Stone, not here in his private dining room. Even the Sentinels wait outside, posted at every door and on the other side of the tall windows. I see them, but they can’t hear us, as is Maven’s design. His uniform jacket is unbuttoned, his hair unkempt, and he doesn’t put on his crown this early in the morning. I think this is his little sanctuary, a place where he can trick himself into feeling safe.
He almost looks like the boy I imagined. A second prince, content with his place, unburdened by a crown that was never his.