Her sister was not so fortunate. Mariella died poorly, hollowed out by the seething Merandus whisper. I avoided him as much as I could, glad I knew nothing of Father’s plans.
I saw the depths of his punishment in Mare. After the interrogation, she flinched from him like a kicked dog. It was my fault. I forced Maven’s hand. Without my interference, he might have never let the whisper have his way—but then he would have stayed away from Mare altogether. He would not have been so blinded by her. Instead, he did as I hoped, and drew her closer. I expected them to drown each other. How easy. Sink two enemies with one anchor. But she refused to break. The girl I remember, the masquerading, terrified servant who believed every lie, would have submitted to Maven months ago. Instead, she donned a different mask. Danced on his strings, sat by his side, lived a half-life without freedom or ability. And still held on to her pride, her fire, her anger. It was always there, burning in her eyes.
I have to respect her for that. Even though she took so much from me.
She was a constant reminder of what I was supposed to be. A princess. A queen. I was born ten months after Tiberias. I was made to marry him.
My first memories are of Mother’s snakes hissing in my ears, breathing her whispers and promises. You are a daughter of fangs and steel. What are you meant for, if not to rule? Every lesson in the classroom or the arena was preparation. Be the best, the strongest, the smartest, the most deadly and the most cunning. The most worthy. And I was everything.
Kings are not known for their kindness or their compassion. Queenstrial is not meant to make happy marriages, but strong children. With Cal, I had both. He would not have begrudged me my own consort, or tried to control me. His eyes were soft and thoughtful. He was more than I had ever hoped for. And I had earned him with every drop of blood I’d spilled, all my sweat, all my tears of pain and frustration. Every sacrifice of who my heart wanted to be.
The night before Queenstrial, I dreamed what it would be like. My throne. My royal children. Subject to no one, not even Father. Tiberias would be my friend and Elane my lover. She would marry Tolly, as planned, ensuring none of us could ever be parted.
Then Mare fell into our lives and blew that dream away like sand.
Once, I thought the crown prince would do the unthinkable. Push me aside for the long-lost Titanos with strange ways and an even stranger ability. Instead, she was a deadly pawn, sweeping my king from the board. The paths of fate have strange twists. I wonder if that newblood seer knew about today. Does he laugh at what he sees? I wish I’d gotten my hands on him just once. I hate not knowing.
On the banks ahead, manicured lawns come into view. The edges of the grass tinge gold and red, giving the estates lining the river a lovely glow. Our own manor house is close, just one more mile. Then we turn west. Toward our true home.
Mother never answered my question.
“So, was Father able to convince the other houses?” I ask her.
She narrows her eyes, her entire body tightening. Coiling up, like one of her snakes. “House Laris was already with us.”
That I knew. Along with controlling most of the Nortan Air Fleet, the Laris windweavers govern the Rift. In truth, they rule by our command. Eager puppets, willing to trade anything to maintain our iron and coal mines.
Elane. House Haven. If they aren’t with us—
I lick lips that are suddenly dry. A fist clenches at my side. The boat groans beneath me. “And . . .”
“Iral has not agreed to the terms, and more than half of Haven won’t either.” Mother sniffs. She folds her arms across her chest, as if insulted. “Don’t worry, Elane isn’t one of them. Please stop crushing the boat. I don’t feel like swimming the last mile.”
Tolly nudges my arm, a slight touch. Exhaling, I realize my grip on the steel was a bit too strong. The bow smooths again, rippling back into shape.
“Apologies,” I mutter quickly. “I’m just . . . confused. I thought the terms were already agreed upon. The Rift will rise in open defiance. Iral brings on House Lerolan and all of Delphie. An entire state will secede.”
Mother glances past me, to Father. He angles his boat toward the shore, and I follow his lead. Our familiar estate peeks through the trees, backlit by dusk. “There was some debate over titles.”
“Titles?” I sneer. “How stupid. What could their argument possibly be?”
Steel hits stone, bumping up to the low retaining wall running along the water. With a small burst of focus, I hold the metal firm against the current. Wren helps Tolly out first, stepping up onto the lush carpet of grass. Mother watches, her gaze lingering on his missing hand while the cousins follow.
A shadow falls over us both. Father. He stands over her shoulder. A light wind ripples his cloak, playing along the folds of void-black silk and silver thread. Hidden beneath is a suit of blue-tinged chromium so fine it could be liquid.
“‘I will not kneel to another greedy king,’” he whispers. Father’s voice is always soft as velvet, deadly as a predator. “That’s what Salin Iral said.”
He reaches down, offering my mother his hand. She takes it deftly and steps from the boat. It doesn’t move under her, held by my ability.
Another king.
“Father . . . ?”
The word dies in my mouth.
“Cousins of iron!” he shouts, never breaking our stare.
Behind him, our Samos cousins drop to a knee. Ptolemus does not, looking on with as much confusion as I feel. Blood members of a house do not kneel to one another. Not like this.
They respond as one, their voices ringing. “Kings of steel!”
Quickly, Father extends his hand, catching my wrist before my shock ripples the boat beneath.
His whisper is almost too low to hear.
“To the Kingdom of the Rift.”
TWENTY
Mare
The green-uniformed teleporter lands evenly, on steady feet. It’s been a long time since the world squeezed and blurred for me. The last time was Shade. The split-second memory of him aches. Paired with my wound and the nauseating rush of pain, it’s no wonder I collapse to my hands and knees. Spots dance before my eyes, threatening to spread and consume. I will myself to stay awake and not vomit all over . . . wherever I am.
Before I can look much farther than the metal beneath my fingers, someone pulls me up into a crushing embrace. I cling on as hard as I can.
“Cal,” I whisper in his ear, lips brushing flesh. He smells like smoke and blood, heat and sweat. My head fits perfectly in the space between his neck and shoulder.
He trembles in my arms, shaking. Even his breath hitches. He’s thinking the same thing I am.
This can’t be real.
Slowly, he pulls back, bringing his hands to cup my face. He searches my eyes and glares over every inch of me. I do the same, looking for the trick, the lie, the betrayal. Maybe Maven has skin changers like Nanny. Maybe this is another Merandus hallucination. I could wake up on Maven’s train, to his ice eyes and Evangeline’s razor smile. The entire wedding, my escape, the battle—some horrific joke. But Cal feels real.
He’s paler than I remember, with blunt, close-cut hair. It would curl like Maven’s if given the chance. Rough stubble lines his cheeks, along with a few minor nicks and cuts along the sharp edges of his jaw. He is leaner than I remember, his muscles harder beneath my hands. Only his eyes remain the same. Bronze, red-gold, like iron brought to blazing heat.
I look different too. A skeleton, an echo. He runs a limp lock of hair through his fingers, watching the brown fade to brittle gray. And then he touches the scars. At my neck, my spine, ending with the brand below my ruined dress. His fingers are gentle, shockingly so after we almost ripped each other apart. I am glass to him, a fragile thing that might shatter or disappear at any moment.
“It’s me,” I tell him, whispering words we both need to hear. “I’m back.”
I’m back.
“Is it you, Cal?” I sound like a child.