Strangely it’s Maven, not Farley, who tries to sway me.
“Cal believes that change is not worth the cost,” he says. His voice shakes, quivering with nerves and conviction. “And he’s going to rule one day—do you want to let him be the future?”
For once, my answer is easy. “No.”
Farley nods, pleased. “Walsh and Holland.” She jerks her head toward them. “Tell me there’s going to be a little party here.”
“The ball,” Maven offers.
“It’s an impossible target,” I snap. “Everyone will have guards, the queen will know if something goes wrong—”
“She will not,” Maven breaks in, almost scoffing at the idea. “My mother is not all-powerful, as she would want you to believe. Even she has limits.”
Limits? The queen? Just the thought makes my mind run wild. “How can you say that? You know what she can do—”
“I know that in the middle of a ball, with so many voices and thoughts swirling around her, she’ll be useless. And so long as we stay out of her path, give her no reason to prod, she won’t know a thing. The same goes for the Eagrie eyes. They won’t be looking ahead for trouble, and so they won’t see it.” He turns back to Farley, his spine straight as an arrow. “Silvers might be strong, but we are not invincible. It can be done.”
Farley nods smoothly, smiling with her teeth. “We’ll be in contact again, once things are set in motion.”
“Can I ask something in return?” I blurt, reaching out to grab her arm. “My friend, the one I came to you about before, wants to join the Guard. But you can’t let him. Just make sure he doesn’t get involved in any of this.”
Gently, she peels my fingers from her arm as regret clouds her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mean me.”
To my horror, one of her shadowy guards steps forward. The red rag around his face doesn’t hide the set of his broad shoulders or the ratty shirt I’ve seen a thousand times. But the steely look in his eyes, the determination of a man twice his age, is something I don’t recognize at all. Kilorn looks years away already. Scarlet Guard to the bone, willing to fight and die for the cause. He’s Red as the dawn.
“No,” I whisper, drawing back from Farley. Now I can only see Kilorn running full speed toward his doom. “You know what happened to Shade. You can’t do this.”
He pulls away the rag and reaches out to embrace me but I step away. His touch feels like a betrayal. “Mare, you don’t have to keep trying to save me.”
“I will as long as you won’t.” How can he expect to be anything but a human shield? How can he do this? Far away, something hums at me, growing louder by the second, but I barely notice. I’m more focused on keeping the tears from falling in front of Farley and the Guard and Maven.
“Kilorn, please.”
He darkens at my words, like they’re an insult rather than a young girl’s plea.
“You made your choice, and I’m making mine.”
“I made the choice for you, to keep you safe,” I snap. It’s amazing how easily we fall back into our old rhythm, bickering like always. But there’s much more on the line now. I can’t just shove him into the mud and walk away. “I bargained for you.”
“You’re doing what you think will protect me, Mare,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble. “So let me do what I can to save you.”
My eyes squeeze shut, letting my heartache take over. I’ve been protecting Kilorn every day since his mother left, since he almost starved to death in my doorway. And now he won’t let me, no matter how dangerous the future has become.
Slowly, I open my eyes again.
“Do what you want, Kilorn.” My voice is cold and mechanical, like the wires and circuits trying to switch back on. “The power’s coming back soon. We should be on the move.”
The others spring into action, disappearing into the conservatory, and Walsh takes me by the arm. Kilorn backs away, following the others into the shadows, but his eyes stay on me.
“Mare,” he calls after me. “At least say good-bye.”
But I’m already walking, Maven by my side, Walsh leading us both. I won’t look back, not now when he’s betrayed all I’ve ever done for him.
Time moves slowly when you’re waiting for something good, so naturally the days fly by as the dreaded ball approaches. A week passes without any contact, leaving Maven and me in the dark as the hours march on. More Training, more Protocol, more brainless lunches that almost leave me in tears. Every time I have to lie, to praise the Silvers and rip down my own. Only the Guard keeps me strong.
Lady Blonos scolds me for being distracted in Protocol. I don’t have the heart to tell her that, distracted or not, I’ll never be able to learn the dance steps she’s trying to teach for the Parting Ball. As suited as I might be to sneaking, I’m horrible with rhythmic motion. Meanwhile, the once dreaded Training is an outlet for all my anger and stress, allowing me to run or spark off everything I’m trying to keep inside.
But just when I’m finally beginning to get the hang of things, the mood of Training shifts drastically. Evangeline and her lackeys don’t snipe at me, instead focusing intently on their warm-ups. Even Maven goes through his stretches more carefully, like he’s preparing for something.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, nodding to the rest of the class. My eyes linger on Cal, currently doing push-ups in perfect form.
“You’ll see in a minute,” Maven replies, his voice oddly dull.
When Arven enters with Provos, even he has a strange spring in his step. He doesn’t bark out an order to run, and approaches the class instead.
“Tirana,” Instructor Arven murmurs.
A girl in a blue-striped suit, the nymph from House Osanos, jumps to attention. She makes her way toward the center of the floor, waiting for something. She looks equal parts excited and terrified.
Arven turns, searching through us. For a second, his eyes linger on me but thankfully shift to Maven.
“Prince Maven, if you please.” He gestures to where Tirana waits.
Maven nods and moves to stand beside her. Both of them tense, fingers twitching as they await whatever’s coming.
Suddenly, the training floor moves around them, pushing clear walls up to form something. Again, Provos raises his arms, using his abilities to transform the training hall. As the structure takes shape, my heart hammers, realizing exactly what it is.
An arena.
Cal takes Maven’s place at my side, his movements quick and silent. “They won’t hurt each other,” he explains. “Arven stops us before anyone can do real damage, and there are healers on hand.”
“Comforting,” I choke out.
In the center of the quickly forming arena, both Maven and Tirana prepare for their match. Maven’s bracelet sparks, and fire blazes in his hands, streaking up his arms, while droplets of moisture leech from the air to swirl around Tirana in a ghostly display. Both of them look ready for battle.
Something about my unease sets Cal on edge. “Is Maven the only thing you’re worried about?”
Not even close. “Protocol’s not exactly easy right now.” I’m not lying, but on my list of problems, learning to dance is at the very bottom. “It seems I’m even worse at dancing than memorizing court etiquette.”
To my surprise, Cal laughs loudly. “You must be horrible.”
“Well, it’s difficult to learn without a partner,” I snap, bristling at him.
“Indeed.”
The last two pieces lock together, completing the training arena and fencing in Maven and his opponent. Now they’re separated from the rest of us by thick glass, trapped together in a miniature version of a battle arena. The last time I watched Silvers fight, someone almost died.
“Who has the advantage?” Arven says, questioning the class. Every hand but mine shoots into the air. “Elane?”
The Haven girl juts her chin forward, speaking proudly. “Tirana has the advantage. She is older and more experienced.” Elane says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maven’s cheeks flush white, though he tries to hide it. “And water defeats fire.”
“Very good.” Arven shifts his eyes back to Maven, daring him to argue. But Maven holds his tongue, letting the growing fire speak for him. “Impress me.”