Over the rim of my water glass, I watch every tick and flash across his face. Narrowed eyes, a tightening jaw. Bad news. The dark circles have returned, and while he eats enough for two people, tearing through the plates in front of us, he seems thinned by the days. I wonder if he has nightmares of the assassination attempt. Nightmares of his mother, dead by my hand. His father, dead by his action. His brother, in exile but a constant threat. Funny, Maven called himself Cal’s shadow, but Cal is the shadow now, haunting every corner of Maven’s fragile kingdom.
There are reports of the exiled prince everywhere, so prevalent that even I hear about them. They place him in Harbor Bay, Delphie, Rocasta; there’s even shaky intelligence hinting that he escaped across the border into the Lakelands. I honestly don’t know which, if any, of these rumors are true. He could be in Montfort for all I know. Gone to the safety of a faraway land.
Even though this is Maven’s palace, Maven’s world, I see Cal in it. The immaculate uniforms, drilling soldiers, flaming candles, gilded walls of portraits and house colors. An empty salon reminds me of dance lessons. If I glance at Maven from the corner of my eye, I can pretend. They’re half brothers after all. They share similar features. The dark hair, the elegant lines of a royal face. But Maven is paler, sharper, a skeleton in comparison, body and soul. He is hollowed out.
“You stare so much I wonder if you can read reflections in my eyes,” Maven suddenly muses aloud. He flips the page in front of him, hiding what it holds, as he looks up.
His attempt to startle me fails. Instead, I continue spreading an embarrassing amount of butter onto my toast. “If only I could see something in them,” I reply, meaning all things. “You’re an empty boy.”
He doesn’t flinch. “And you’re useless.”
I roll my eyes and idly tap my manacles against the breakfast table. Metal and stone rap against wood like knocking on a door. “Our talks are so fun.”
“If you prefer your room . . . ,” he warns. Another empty threat he makes every day. We both know this is better than the alternative. At least now I can pretend I’m doing something of use, and he can pretend he isn’t entirely alone in this cage he built for himself. For both of us.
It’s hard to sleep here, even with the manacles, which means I have a lot of time to think.
And plan.
Julian’s books are not only a comfort, but a tool. He’s still teaching me, even though we’re who knows how many miles apart. In his well-preserved texts, there are new lessons to be learned and utilized. The first—and most important—is divide and conquer. Maven’s already done it to me. Now I must return the favor.
“Are you even trying to hunt for Jon?”
Maven is actually startled at my question, the first mention of the newblood who used the assassination attempt to escape. As far as I know, he hasn’t been captured. Part of me is bitter. Jon escaped where I couldn’t. But at the same time, I’m glad. Jon is a weapon I want far away from Maven Calore.
After a split-second recovery, Maven returns to eating. He shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth, throwing etiquette to the wind. “You and I both know that’s not a man who is easily found.”
“But you are looking.”
“He had knowledge of an attack on his king and did nothing,” Maven states, matter-of-fact. “That’s tantamount to murder itself. For all we know, he conspired with Houses Iral, Haven, and Laris too.”
“I doubt it. If he’d helped them, they would have succeeded. Pity.”
He dutifully ignores the jab, continuing to read and eat.
I tip my head, letting my dark hair spill across one shoulder. The gray ends are spreading, leaching upward despite my healer’s best efforts. Even House Skonos cannot heal what is already dead.
“Jon saved my life.”
Blue eyes meet mine, holding firm.
“Seconds before the attack, he got my attention. He made me turn my head. Or else . . .” I run a finger along my cheekbone. Where the bullet only grazed my cheek, instead of leaving my skull a ruin. The wound healed, but not forgotten. “I must have a part to play in whatever future he sees.”
Maven focuses on my face. Not my eyes, but the place where a bullet would have obliterated my skull. “For some reason, you’re a difficult person to let die.”
For him, for the pageantry, I force a small, bitter laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“How many times have you tried to kill me?”
“Just the once.”
“And the sounder was what?” My fingers tremble at the memory. The pain of the device is still fresh in my mind. “Just part of a game?”
Another report flutters in the sunlight, landing facedown. He licks his fingers before raising the next. All business. All for show. “The sounder wasn’t designed to kill you, Mare. Just incapacitate you, if need be.” A strange look crosses his face. Almost smug, but not exactly. “I didn’t even make that thing.”
“Clearly. You’re not one for ideas. Elara, then?”
“Actually it was Cal.”
Oh. Before I can stop myself, I look down, away from him, needing a moment of my own. The sting of betrayal pricks at my insides, if only for a second. It’s no use being angry now.
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.” Maven presses on. “He’s usually very proud of himself. A brilliant thing too. But I don’t care for it. I had the device destroyed.” His eyes are on my face. Hungry for a reaction. I keep my expression from changing, despite the sudden skip in my heartbeat. The sounder is gone. Another small gift, another message from the ghost.
“It can easily be rebuilt, though, if you decide to stop cooperating. Cal was kind enough to leave the device plans behind when he ran off with your band of Red rats.”
“Escaped,” I mumble. Move on. Don’t let him throw you off. Feigning disinterest, I push the rest of my food around my plate. I do my best to look hurt, as Maven wants me to be, but not let myself feel it. I have to stick to the plan. Twist the conversation as I want to twist it. “You forced him away. All so you could take his place, and be exactly like him.”
Like me, Maven forces a laugh to hide how annoyed he is. “You have no idea what he would’ve been like, with the crown on his head.”
I cross my arms, settling back in my chair. This is playing out exactly as I want it to. “I know he would have married Evangeline Samos, continued fighting a useless war, and kept ignoring a country full of angry, oppressed people. Does that sound at all familiar?”
He may be a snake in human form, but even Maven doesn’t have a retort for that. He slaps down the report in front of him. Too quickly. It faces up, just for a second, before he turns it over. I glimpse only a few words. Corvium. Casualties. Maven sees me see them, and he hisses out a sigh of annoyance.
“As if that will help you,” he says quietly. “You’re not going anywhere, so why bother?”
“I suppose that’s true. My life probably won’t last much longer.”
He tips his head. Concern furrows his brow, as I hope it will. As I need it to. “What makes you say that?”
I glare up at the ceiling, studying the elaborate molding and the chandelier above us. It flickers with tiny electric bulbs. If only I could feel them.
“You know Evangeline won’t let me live. Once she’s queen . . . I’m done for.” My voice trembles, and I push all my fear into the words. I hope it works. He has to believe me. “It’s what she’s wanted since the day I fell into her life.”
He blinks at me. “You don’t think I’ll protect you from her?”
“I don’t think you can.” My fingers pick at my gown. Not as beautiful as the ones made for court, but just as overwrought. “You and I both know how easy it is for a queen to be killed.”
The air ripples with heat as he continues to stare, daring me to meet his gaze. My natural instinct is to glare back, but I lean away, refusing to look at him. It will only incense him further. Maven loves an audience. The moment stretches, and I feel bare before him, prey in the path of a predator. That’s all I am here. Caged, restrained, leashed. All I have left is my voice, and the pieces of Maven I hope I know.