Red Queen (39 page)

There’s usually a feast to celebrate the king’s return to his city, but in light of recent events, Caesar’s Square is much quieter than it should be. Maven pretends to lament the lack of spectacle, if only to fill the silence.

“The banquet hall is twice the size of the one at the Hall,” he says as we enter the great gates. I can see part of Cal’s legion drilling at the barracks, a thousand of them marching in time. Their steps beat like a drum. “We used to dance until dawn—at least, Cal did. Girls didn’t ask me to dance much, not unless Cal made them.”

“I would ask you to dance,” I murmur back to him, my eyes still on the barracks.
Will they be ours tomorrow?

Maven doesn’t answer, shifting in his seat as we coast to a stop.
He will always choose you.

“I feel nothing for Cal,” I whisper in his ear as we clamber out of the transport.

He smiles, his hand closing around mine, and I tell myself it’s not a lie.

When the doors to the palace open to us, a wretched scream twists through the long marbled passages. Maven and I exchange glances, startled. Our guards bristle, hands straying to their guns, but they aren’t enough to stop me from bolting. Maven keeps up as best he can, trying to match my pace. The scream sounds again, accompanied by a dozen marching feet and the familiar clank of armor.

I break into a dead sprint, Maven right behind me. We burst into a round chamber, a council hall of polished marble and dark wood. There’s already a crowd and I almost collide with Lord Samos himself, but my feet stop me just in time. Maven slams into my back, nearly knocking us over.

Samos sneers at both of us, his black eyes cold and hard.

“My lady, Prince Maven,” he says, barely inclining his head to either of us. “Have you come to see the show?”

The show.
There are other lords and ladies around us, along with the king and queen, all staring straight ahead. I push through them, not knowing what I’ll find on the other side, but I know it won’t be good. Maven follows, his hand never leaving my elbow. When we reach the front of the crowd, I’m glad for his warm hand, a comfort to keep me quiet—and to pull me back.

No less than sixteen soldiers stand in the center of the chamber, their booted feet tracking dirt over the great crown seal. Their armor is the same, scaled black metal, except for one with a reddish glint.
Cal.

Evangeline stands with him, her hair pulled back into a braid. She breathes heavily, winded, but looks proud of herself.
And where there’s Evangeline, her brother cannot be far behind.

Ptolemus appears from the back of the pack, dragging a screaming body by her hair. Cal turns away and meets my eyes the moment I recognize her. I can see regret there, but he does nothing to save her.

Ptolemus tosses Walsh to the polished floor, her face smashing against the rock. She barely spares a glance at me before turning her pained eyes on the king. I remember the playful, smiling servant who first introduced me to this world; that person is gone.

“The rats crawl in the old tunnels,” Ptolemus snarls, turning her over with his foot. She scrambles away from his touch, surprisingly quick for her many injuries. “We found this one trailing
us
near the river holes.”

Trailing them? How could she be so stupid?
But Walsh isn’t stupid.
No, this was an order
, I realize with growing horror. She was watching the train tunnels, making sure the way was clear for us to get back from Naercey. And while we made it through safely, she did not.

Maven’s grip on my arm tightens, pulling me into him until his chest lies flush to my back. He knows I want to run to her, to save her, to help her.
And I know we can’t do anything at all.

“We went as far as the radiation detectors would allow,” Cal adds, trying his best to ignore Walsh coughing up blood. “The tunnel system is huge, much larger than we originally thought. There must be dozens of miles in the area and the Scarlet Guard know them better than any of us.”

King Tiberias scowls beneath his beard. He gestures at Walsh, waving her forward. Cal seizes her by the arm, pulling her toward the king. A thousand different tortures fill my head, each one worse than the last. Fire, metal, water, even my own lightning, could be used to make her talk.

“I will not make the same mistake again,” the king growls into her face. “Elara, make her sing. Right now.”

“With pleasure,” the queen replies, freeing her hands from her trailing sleeves.

This is worse.
Walsh will talk, she’ll implicate us all, she’ll ruin us.
And then they’ll kill her slowly. They’ll kill us all slowly.

An Eagrie in the crowd of soldiers, an eye with the ability of foresight, suddenly jumps forward. “Stop her! Hold her arms!”

But Walsh is faster than his vision. “For Tristan,” she says, before slamming a hand to her mouth. She bites down on something and swallows, knocking her head back.

“A healer!” Cal snaps, grabbing her throat, trying to stop her. But her mouth foams white and her limbs twitch—she’s choking. “A healer, now!”

She seizes violently, twisting out of his grip with the last of her strength. When she hits the floor, her eyes are wide open, staring but not seeing.
Dead
.

For Tristan.

I can’t even mourn her.

“A suicide pill.”

Cal’s voice is gentle, like he’s explaining this to a child. But I suppose I am a child when it comes to war and death. “We give them to officers on the line, and our spies. If they’re captured—”

“They won’t talk,” I spit back at him.

Careful
, I warn myself. As much as his presence makes my skin crawl, I have to endure it. After all, I let him find me here on the balcony.
I must give him hope. I must let him think he has a chance with me.
That part was Maven’s idea, as much as it hurt him to say so. As for me, it’s hard to walk the narrow line between a lie and the truth, especially with Cal. I hate him, I know that, but something in his eyes and his voice reminds me that my feelings aren’t so simple.

He keeps his distance, standing an arm’s length away. “It’s a better death than she would get from us.”

“Would she be frozen? Or maybe burned for a change of pace?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “She would go to the Bowl of Bones.” He raises his eyes from the barracks, looking across the river. On the far side, nestled among the high-rises, is a massive oval arena with spikes around the rim in a violent crown.
The Bowl of Bones.
“She’d be executed in a broadcast, as a message to all the rest.”

“I thought you didn’t do that anymore. I haven’t seen one in over a decade.” I barely remember those broadcasts from when I was a little girl, years ago.

“Exceptions can be made. The arena fights haven’t stopped the Guard from taking hold, maybe something else will.”

“You knew her,” I whisper, trying to find just one shred of regret in him. “You sent her to me after we first met.”

He crosses his arms, like that can somehow protect him from the memory. “I knew she came from your village. I thought that might help you adjust a little.”

“I still don’t know why you cared. You didn’t even know I was different.”

A moment passes in silence, broken only by the bark of lieutenants far below, still drilling even as the sun sets.

“You were different to me,” he finally murmurs.

“I wonder what could have been, if all this”—I gesture to the palace and the Square beyond—“wasn’t between us.”

Let him chew on that.

He puts a hand on my arm, his fingers hot through the fabric of my sleeve.

“But that can never be, Cal.”

I force as much longing as I can into my eyes, relying on the memory of my family, Maven, Kilorn, all the things we’re trying to do. Maybe Cal will mistake my feelings.
Give him hope where none should be.
It’s the cruelest thing I can do, but for the cause, for my friends, for my life, I will.

“Mare,” he breathes, dipping his head toward me.

I turn away, leaving him on the balcony to think on my words and, hopefully, drown in them.

“I wish things were different,” he whispers, but I can still hear him.

The words take me back to my home and my father when he said the same thing so long ago. To think that Cal and my father, a broken Red man, can share the same thoughts makes me pause. I can’t help looking back, watching the sun dip behind his silhouette. He stares down at the training army before looking back to me, torn between his duty and whatever he feels for the little lightning girl.

“Julian says you’re like her,” he says quietly, eyes thoughtful. “Like she used to be.”

Coriane. His mother.
The thought of the dead queen, a person I never knew, somehow makes me sad. She was taken too soon from those she loved, and she left a hole they’re trying to make me fill.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t blame Cal for feeling caught between two worlds. After all, so am I.

Before the ball I was anxious, a bundle of nerves dreading the night to come. Now I can’t wait for dawn. If we win in the morning, the sun will set on a new world. The king will throw down his crown, passing his power to me, Maven, and Farley. The shift will be bloodless, a peaceful transition from one government to the next. If we fail, the Bowl of Bones is all I can hope for. But we will not fail. Cal will not let me die, and neither will Maven. They are my shields.

When I lie down in my bed, I find myself staring at Julian’s map. It’s an old thing, practically useless, but still comforting.
It’s proof the world can change.

With that thought in my head, I drift into a restless, light sleep. My brother visits me in my dreams. He stands by the window, looking at the city with a strange sorrow, before turning back to me. “There are others,” he says. “You must find them.”

“I will,” I murmur back to him, my voice heavy with sleep.

Then it’s four o’clock in the morning and I have no more time for dreams.

The cameras fall like trees before the ax, each little eye clicking off as I walk to Maven’s room. I jump at every shadow, expecting an officer or a Sentinel to step out into the hall, but no one does. They protect Cal and the king, not me, not the second prince. We don’t matter.
But we will.

Maven opens his door a second after I jiggle the handle, his face pale in the darkness. There are circles beneath his eyes, like he hasn’t slept at all, but he looks sharp as ever. I expect him to take my arm, to envelop me in his warmth, but there’s nothing but cold dripping off him.
He’s afraid
, I realize.

We’re outside in a few agonizing minutes, walking in the shadows behind War Command to wait at our place between the structure and the outer wall. Our spot is perfect; we’re able to see the Square and the Bridge, with most of War Command’s gilded roof blocking us from the patrols. I don’t need a clock to know we’re right on time.

Above us, the night fades, giving way to dark blue.
The dawn is coming.

At this hour, the city is quieter than I ever thought possible. Even the patrol guards are drowsy, slowly moving from post to post. Excitement trills through me, making my legs shake. Somehow, Maven keeps still, barely even blinking. He stares through the diamondglass wall, always watching the Bridge. His focus is staggering.

“They’re late,” he whispers, never moving.

“I’m not.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Farley was a shadow, able to shift in and out of visibility. She seems to melt out of the semidarkness, pulling herself up from a drain.

I offer her my hand, but she pushes herself to her feet alone. “Where are the others?”

“Waiting.” She gestures to the ground below.

If I squint, I can just see them, crowded into the drain system, about to retake the surface. I want to climb into the tunnel with them, to stand with Kilorn and my kind, but my place is here, next to Maven.

“Are they armed?” Maven’s lips barely move. “Are they ready to fight?”

Farley nods. “Always. But I’m not calling them out until you’re sure the Square is ours. I don’t put much faith in Lady Barrow’s ability to charm.”

Neither do I, but I can’t say that out loud.
He will always choose you.
I’ve never wanted anything to be right and yet wrong at the same time.

“Kilorn wanted you to have this,” she adds, holding out her hand. In it is a tiny green stone, the color of his eyes.
An earring.
“He said you’d know what it means.”

I choke on my words, feeling a great surge of emotion. Nodding, I take the earring from her and raise it to the others.
Bree, Tramy, Shade
—I know each stone and what they mean.
Kilorn is a warrior now. And he wants me to remember him as he was.
Laughing, teasing me, sniffing around like a lost puppy. I will never forget that.

The sharp metal stings, drawing blood. When I pull my hand back from my ear, I can see the crimson stain on my fingers.
This is who you are.

I look back to the tunnel, hoping to see his green eyes, but the darkness seems to swallow the tunnel whole, hiding him and all the others.

“Are you ready for this?” Farley breathes, looking between us both.

Maven answers for me, his voice firm. “We are.”

But Farley isn’t satisfied. “Mare?”

“I’m ready.”

The revolutionary takes a calming breath before tapping her foot against the side of the drain. One, twice, three times. Together, we turn to the Bridge, waiting for the world to change.

There’s no traffic at this hour, not even the whisper of a transport. The shops are closed, the plazas empty. With any luck, the only thing lost tonight will be concrete and steel. The last section of the Bridge, the one connecting West Archeon to the rest of the city, seems serene.

And then it explodes in bright plumes of orange and red, a sun to split the silver darkness. Heat surges, but not from the bombs—it’s
Maven.
The explosion sparks something in him, lighting his flame.

The sound rumbles, almost knocking me off my feet, and the river below churns as the end section of the Bridge collapses. It groans and shudders like a dying beast, crumbling in on itself as it detaches from the bank and the rest of the structure. Concrete pillars and steel wire crack and snap, splashing into the water or against the bank. A cloud of dust and smoke rises, cutting off the rest of Archeon from view. Before the Bridge even hits the water, alarms sound over the Square.